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Apr. 11th, 2014

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)


Mar. 12th, 2014

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

Name: Your name
Other characters: Any other characters you play here?

Name: Character's name
Fandom: Fandom of origin
Canon point/AU: Where in their story you plan to take them from?
**If you are apping a canon Hunger Games Character your canon point is automatically set to just after the 74th Annual Hunger Games.
PB: Play-by. The actor or character you are using in icons.
History: Links are preferred, however if you are apping an OC or AU, or the character doesn't have much history, feel free to elaborate on their world and life.

Presentation: What's the outside like? Their personality? How do they present themselves to the world? This section, along with motivation, should be the meat and potatoes of your app, with at least 2-3 paragraphs
Motivations: And what's going on on the inside?

Setting: How do you plan for this character to react to the Games setting? We are not looking for specifics, but more of a general idea for how you plan to play your character reacting to repeated, violent events, and their agency being stripped away from them.

First Person Thread: An example of a first person post, at least 200 words minimum. Feel free to use introspection and scene setting if your character is not chatty. Please use one of the two following prompts:

For Tributes: You have just been killed in your first arena. It was violent, messy, and unexpected. And just as suddenly you wake back up in a very cold, very medical room. After a few moments of silence, a voice comes up over the speakers.

"Please use the device to the right to record your current feeling on your loss. Once you are finished, someone will be along to take you back to the Capitol." On cue, a small recording device starts to chirp at your side.

It is quite clear that you will be staying in the room until you make that recording.

For Capitols OCs and AUs: For Capitols OCs and AUs: Somehow you ended up privy to a private post just gushing about how much they just LOVE the new games, how they think they are the best thing since sliced bread. Then the poster (Your friend? Some random person from a party who decided they wanted to send you their private thoughts? A rival trying to pin you into an uncomfortable spot?) namesdrops you for your opinion on the new format, versus the quaint, old-fashion style of the game.

Everyone on the broadcast is just waiting for your input.

Prose: 200 word minimum. To mimic the spirit of capriciousness within this game, please write your third person sample based on the following prompt:

You have been set in a room in front of the Gamemakers to be judged on a score of one to twelve, with one being the lowest and twelve being the highest. The Gamemakers sit safely behind a force field and watch, and you are provided with an array of weapons and targets, though no gun to be seen.

If you are a new tribute, you have been plucked from home and rushed in here with only a brief explanation of what is going on: You are about to enter an arena death match that only one person will make it out of, and impressing these people will help you live.

If you are someone from Panem, then you are very unlucky. You know what's going on but... you were told all the tributes were from a foreign land now. So why are you in front of the Gamemakers fighting for your life now? Are you a criminal, a traitor, deeply in debt? Or do you even know why you were shoved in to this room?

What is your character scored: When scoring your character take into account their physical strengths and weaknesses, mental strengths and weaknesses, and crowd likability. The score on your app has nothing to do with the gamemakers session in your sample, it is an OOC score for mod purposes and should not be based on how they actually are in front of the Gamemakers. In addition, please list their powers, for arena's that allow powers.

Additional information: Question specifically for certain character types. Feel free to ignore if it does not apply to your character type. Please answer all that do (For example, a past victor AU would answer both their question, and the past victory question)

Past victor: Please describe your character's arena, and their relationship with the Capitol since.

Past victor AU: What district is your character from? How do they feel about home?

Hunger Games AU and OC: What is your reasoning for the capitol to include your canon doppelganger if they app in? What district is your character from? How do they feel about home?

Dec. 13th, 2013

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

Will to Hannibal
[She holds a hunting knife in her hand, the teeth serrated and sharp. The duller, useless blades, butter knives and other silverware, are scattered on the kitchen floor. They rattled when she emptied the drawers and threw the contents to the floor; she wants to be heard in the large, dark suburban home. A family of three lives here: a mother in her early thirties, a father much older than she, and a son in high school. The son is conveniently away, tonight. It’s fine, she isn’t after the boy.

There is the glare of a flashlight bulb, the father coming down, assuming the noise had been from one of the family dogs. She had slit their throats while they slept, canine blood and fur on her knife. She similarly incapacitates the man with a sharp stab at the ribs, aiming up, slicing through muscle and fat and tissues. He’s alive, but he will bleed out. Mere collateral damage: in this situation, she is after the woman.

The wife is still waiting for her husband to return up the stairs. She climbs the steps, and sees a thin ribbon of light beneath the bedroom door. This is her chance: she kicks open the door, and the woman takes in the blood on her clothes, the weapon. She covers her mouth with a gloved hand before she can scream.

The reports state that traces of semen were found inside the woman, postmortem. She has a vivid enough imagination to fill in the blanks: she wants to defile and degrade her, to humiliate her victim for a horrible injustice done against her, a masterpiece of violence and vengeance. Just like with all the others, this is not mere pettiness, this is righteousness.

This is her design.

—The breath catches in her throat, startling her from the dark murk of her thoughts, and instead of the leathery texture of gloves, there is only the arms of a dining room chair beneath her frantic grip. At second glance, her fingernails are clean, with no trace of dark blood congealing beneath them, and her gaze drifts up to see another figure from her peripheral, not too far from her. It’s not the mangled corpse of the woman, as she mistakenly saw, but Dr. Lecter, arranging tomato flowers artfully around thin slices of liver on a plate. She looks down at herself: she is no longer wearing the blood-stained clothes of a serial killer, but her generic plaid shirt and jeans, hair worn loose, as it allows her to hide behind her bangs.

”The killer felt more than angry, he was emasculated. He has a type: all his victims match the same profile. When he butchered them, it was the ultimate display of masculinity for him. He felt pride in humiliating them, and then—violated them once they were dead, adding insult to injury. He’s insecure, his identity is attached to his ego. As long as he keeps killing, his sense of self is safe. He has to keep proving himself.”

She fits neatly into the killer’s demographic, but she keeps looking, is forced to keep looking. After all, "For every Jeffery Dahmer or John Wayne Gacy, that doesn’t mean pulling all the male agents from the field." Her psychologist is concerned; he invited her over for dinner tonight, as a pleasant distraction from her current case.]

Have any aspirin?

[Her voice is weary and frayed at the edges: the consequences of a sleepless night at the crime scene. She pinches the bridge of her nose, attempting to soothe the beginnings of a bad sinus headache and blot out the details of the case, to keep her imagination from collapsing in on her. She knows she's supposed to take medicine after eating, but it can't wait. She doesn't feel like she can stomach anything at the moment anyway. She looks at her portion, elegantly presented before her in a rich wine sauce, and tries not to think about people decomposing in mushroom fields or cannibals tearing out entrails.]

[ He is, for anyone’s concern or anyone’s curiousity, concerned about his patient.

Hannibal is not one to present such concerns directly to her. Not in the way he would to Jack, to Alana, there’s no reason to do so. Instead, she invites her to dinner – organ meat is so delicately flavoured, and deserves to be in the spotlight. A sauce is added to enrich the flavor, not to mask it. Not everyone is a fan, and he’s not so sure that Will is going to enjoy the dish – she’s usually given careful consideration to expand her palette in a way that she’ll enjoy. Dishes are hearty and full of flavor, and the tomato flowers are gently placed on top of a salad of fresh basil and mint, something that will accentuate the sauce lightly.

The case is one that he’s been briefed on, though he’s not consulted to the mental capacity of the murderer. That is Will’s job; she is much better equipped for it in any case. She’s well acquainted with the idea of murder’s intent, more acquainted than himself even. It’s why he flirts around the edges, curious and wanting to know what she will do, what will happen as a result of his actions. The way those tired eyes seem to dance across the room tell her everything that she needs to know – Will does not know where she is, does not know how she’s managed to get here, and only just now is realizing who’s kitchen she’s occupying

Encephalitis is not a laughing matter. Nothing that should be left untreated, but he finds it fascinating – knows that aspirin will hold off the side-effects, assist with the fever and some of the madness, and keep it from enflaming more so. An aspirin regimin is normally something he’d suggest to help with treatment – so he sees no physician’s remorse in allowing it to progress for scientific purposes. Will is playing into his game perfectly, allowing him to see the production of such a disease and the way it burns her brain, keeps that brilliant mind from focusing in on him, seeing the way that he’s sliced the liver so thin to where it cannot possibly be recognized what animal it comes from.

In response to her question, he gladly gets the bottle from a shelf in his medicine cabinet, pouring two small white pills into his hand, along with a glass of water to accompany them. ]

Do you remember what we were talking about?

[ Nothing of any significance, nothing of any importance. They’d simply spoken about the concept of cruelty and what it implied. Their conversations sometimes bordered on philosophy rather than any psychiatry – Hannibal enjoyed listening to how her mind worked, how it functioned. ]

Tate to Hannibal

Then show me how! [ It's a burst of anger, a sudden emotional cacophony, and he knocks over a mason jar full of pickled onions courtesy of his mom. It shatters, and Tate stares at it, breathing heavily.

The pieces of glass are scattered, like his thoughts, and he's barely aware of himself as he picks up the largest shard with bare hands and stares at it, gaze intent, gaze focused, even though he's talking to Hannibal. ]

You said you would. You promised and I'm giving it my all and you're fucking standing there in your fucking suit looking so goddamn smug I did good--I did more than good, that was fucking fantastic, what I did. Look at it.

Maybe it's finger painting to you but it's fucking Picasso to me, and because you're sitting in your smug fucking chair refusing to get up and teach me anything I'm gonna keep doing this shit.

Tate to Hannibal



Not yet. She will, though.

Tate to Hannibal

--But... But you'll do it. You'll show me.

[ Tate's smile is one of the first genuine smile he's ever given Hannibal. ]

You're not gonna regret this, Dr. Lecter.

[ Dr. Lecter. No more nicknames. ]

Luca to perry

[ Lucca holds him tight tight tight and he swears he's gonna crack the other's ribs but he can handle it--he can definitely handle it--and he finally just throws caution to the wind and plants a hard, passionate kiss on Perry.

He's set him down, at least, and one hand is forcefully pushing him towards the wall, against the makeup mirror, nearly knocking over a vase. The other has a hold of his jaw and it's only when he pulls back that he looks dazed for a moment before he simply grins. ]

I want to take you out tonight.

Irene to Sherlock
[ lace was perfect, just as irene had imagined.

not that she spent much of her time imagining sherlock in much of anything, but if she'd been forced to choose, lace would be it. and while she prided herself on her self control, it hardly seemed the time to be shy. she'd been hoping that they would be alone, hoping that an opportunity would come. pressing the other woman into the changing room and pulling the curtain was just her seizing of that moment.

and now that they were finally touching, it was electric enough that she couldn't keep herself from sighing against her lips, surprisingly gentle as she swipes a tongue over sherlock's lower lip, her hands smoothing over her hips and tugging closer, using the wall as leverage to press them together.


she hadn't expected any kind of reciprocation and was pleasantly surprised as such, making a noise low in her throat in return. ]

Cinna to finnick
You'd be surprised at what people let slip to a style team.

[ That's all he says--simple and maybe not even true. But Finnick is here, and it's nice to sling an arm over him and drag him closer as gently as he can, placing a light kiss at his temple. ]

I don't want any of the offers. I'm picky about a lot of things, Finnick.

Annie to finnick
Yes. Don't like to say things I don't mean. And think more people should thank you. For being so kind. For helping me. Saving me.

[She nods, keeping her eyes trained on him.]

I do. Always have... Uhm... [She darts her eyes to the corner of hte room, her hand coming to play with her hair.] Saved up, bought a magazine from the Capitol. [They were brought in on occasion.] One about you. After you won... [She won't tell him that she'd been 11 at the time and had put it on her door, kissing it every night before bed.]

John to Jim
(Picture prompt - death of Sherlock)

Clay to Rebecca
[ Clay lets out a groan, a quiet thing that barely makes it through the speakers. He feels the sudden pressure, the weight of Rebecca pressing down on him even if he keeps forcing himself to run, to keep the animus engaged so it doesn't eject him. So long as Rebecca doesn't single our a memory for him, he could stay in the blackroom for a long, long time. Eventually Baby would either suck him in or spit him out-- there's no room for loiterers in the animus' programming. He can still feel his ancestors clawing at his back but Rebecca is so much more present and pleasant, even, and for as much as he wants to reach up and touch her waist, he's just as pleased to lay here under her like this. ] Well, I won't complain, but I don't think you'll be debauching anyone at this pace, sweetheart.

Khan to Kirk
[No. No, no, no, nonono--

Every inch of him rebels at the very notion. "I refuse", he wants to say, or even just a simple, hateful "No," but he knows exactly what will happen if he does. Threats against his people. Maybe even more than threats. Much as he was loathe to admit it, Kirk's brutality meant he wasn't entirely easy to predict.

The mere statement that they were meant to serve just because that's what they'd been created to do, that is enough to enrage him further. They'd rose beyond that, beyond their initial purpose into something better. Better than humans, and now Kirk wanted to shove him--Khan, of all people--right back down again.

It's so unacceptable, and yet he has no choice.

There is, of course, a momentary temptation not to do his best, to be adequate, but then he remembers: "Let's see how well you do." Kirk would probably not stand for anything less.

He keeps his eyes on Kirk, lets every ounce of the hate he feels for him show as he wets his lips before his mouth opens, lips sliding around the tip of the man's cock. He hums softly, just a little, as he sucks him in, knowing what it would do. Khan hasn't really done this before, but it's easy enough to emulate what others had done to him. This was shameful, humiliating, disgusting, too, and with every passing second he felt that. Kirk ought to be the one down here, doing this to him, not the other way around. But still, for his crew, he takes him down again, almost all the way this time, then he pulls back slowly, his tongue working along the bottom of his cock as he moved.

He thinks about how much he'd love to bite down as he does his best to work him over, tongue curling around the tip of his cock, before his lips are wrapped tightly around his length again. He doesn't, of course, much as he might want to press his teeth in. Instead he swears to himself that he'll make Kirk do this later, to pay him back for this insult.]

Hulk to Bones
[boy this is awkward] Well, I started with one. And then it sort of got shredded. It's...complicated.

Dec. 2nd, 2013

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

Blake to Kirk
[This isn't exactly the direction Blake was expecting, and whatever he had in his hands has gone by the wayside in an effort to keep himself upright and in the game. He's got one hand moving along, in tandem with Kirk, and his free hand grips firmly, digging in with blunt fingertips as the bite leaves a trace of ache even after the fact.

He's panting and there's really no sense in saying much more because all he wants to do is follow this though, crescendo, peak, repeat, repeat, repeat.

But he's got to have a little more finesse than that, doesn't he? I mean, this is Jim Kirk, not just some guy, and that demands more than the minimal effort. It requires more than a sloppy handjob settled for because they just can't wait.

Without so much as a word, he pushes, pulls, tugs, until he can eventually force a separation between them, shoving against Jim in order to try to maneuver him appropriately. God, does it suck to have to stop, but honestly, there's still some safe sex to consider here, right? In whatever nebulous existence, despite the time or the planet, it's always a consideration, at least for Blake.

...so maybe he's a little more staunch than he ought to be, but that's part of his charm.]

Don't move. [It might be an order, might be a plea. Either way, it's Blake's way of ensuring he has time to roll on a space condom and maybe to assert himself a little bit.

As soon as he has the hand to spare, it's groping at Kirk, sliding a palm along his shaft, groping at his balls, just making sure he knows slowing down doesn't mean Blake's any less interested in sealing this deal.]

Okay, now you can move... [Preferably somewhere John can easily get to him.]

Kirk to Bones
[ they … don't. do they? huh.

he's known it for quite a while, honestly, but it never seems to weigh on him as much as when he's looking the other man right in the face and sees just how tired he is, realizes that they have to keep in close proximity to one another to have the area affect of their taking care of each other be anything but futile.

jim waves a hand, and as bones slips past him he ends up slipping over to the kitchen because oops, his eggs are burning. ( steve isn't around to cook breakfast, for whatever reason, maybe an early shift at the training grounds – so it's up to him to feed his best friend, and feed him he shall.

he even has real bacon. ]

Gotta lead by example, don't you? [ he's back to grinning a bit, stirring his eggs and turning his back for a short moment to get more juice. ]

Bones to Kirk
"A year and some, now. Been us'n it a little more in the past coupla months." Shoes off at the door, coat hanging on the hook as he considers what he wants to be called. In the end it's his room, his reputation's already shot and what the hell harm is it going to do? "Leonard. Or Len. Not Leo or Lenny though, please."

Leo belonged to his father, now dead. Lenny to his ex-wife and he'd hated it the entire time she'd used it on him. Len or his full name will have to work. Most of the boys called him Len, it made them comfortable and kept him happy. Some twisted Leonard into something sweet and exotic and aching- like a foreign language he'd never discovered before. Part of him wonders what it'll sound like coming from Jim's lips. The rest of him is busy trailing after Jim and just. Staring at him in his bed for a long while.

All that skin, golden and lean, that goddamn ring in his beautiful pink mouth and he is. So very tempted to do more than his usual tonight. Wants to touch, wants to taste, wants to take. His hands are trembling for the ache of it and his usual script, his usual procedure is utterly lost to him for the moment.

"I. Um. Jesus usually I'm better at this, I swear. This is not my best night." Like it matters what Jim thinks about him. Like it meant something to him that he make this good for Jim rather than just for himself. He squares his shoulders at that and takes his first few steps forward, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling them back. Massage oil- he'll start there. Calloused fingers pluck up a vial from the nightstand as he sits on the edge of the bed, smile tentative but present. "I want you to just. Lay back and enjoy yourself. Let me do all the work tonight."

Bones to Kirk
You've come back to me without a scratch or a bruise for the past five or six away missions. Brought everyone home safe and kept everything good and boring. That's how, Darlin.

[It's easy to lean down against Jim's lips, to kiss him slow and sweet and easy. To let this tenderness just rumble on through once he's done mapping out every inch of Jim in oil and a straight razor. Silky smooth and so very sweet and so easy to touch. Len loses long moments just tasting Jim, hands mapping out his newly shaven and moisturized skin. Unblemished and unmarked by anything recent. Just lets his hands relearn every divot and curve of his torso, the long stretch of his arms and legs, the flat expanse of his abdomen. Every last bit of him mapped out with steady and warm hands to smooth in the last of the oil. ]


[One last kiss to Jim's lips, his jaw, his forehead.]

That'd be lovely, darlin.

Bones to Kirk
"Not too different from earth. Damn near an exact replica, in fact. But there's no color." He sidles right past the angel, brushing by him just enough to feel a little more of those feathers, feel a slight crackle of that grace before he finds his own post to lean against. His grin is sweet, his manner mild, the curl of his tail brushing along the angel's ankle- but his words? cool and honest and almost pained.

"No sunlight. No wind- none that's fresh. Everything is hot and dry and full of the smell of blood and the screams of the damned. You haven't heard scream'n until you've spent a few hours in hell. The worst part? Is when you get used to it. When you don't gag at the rot or wince at the howling. When you forget what the sun looks like or what it ever meant to smile. Why the hell else would we try so goddamn hard to get out?" A bit of honesty- hell. A slew of honesty. More than he would've liked to say but he's wound up more than a little from the trip. From a hollow ache in his ribs that lookin at this divine creature that never knew that kind of suffering just standing here.

It's so easy to resent angels. Too easy.

"In hell there's nothing beautiful. At least up here I've got the sunrise, songbird."

Bones to Kirk
"Make contact, offer supplies, spread a li'l goodwill to strengthen alliances?" Poking at thought processes just as he pokes at skin that should have scars. This Jim's missing a few and it's damned disconcerting. Maybe he should give them over. The laser scalpel in his hand is slim and light, glinting under the dim glow above their heads.

"Nothing more?"

[He allowed himself to be steered reluctantly, still thoroughly unimpressed with Rudy One's crassness.]

She's not a freak. She's probably very nice... romantic. Not whatever perverted shit you're thinking. Not that it's anything to do with you.

[And then there's the more negative aspect of his visit. He slumps, all signs of irritation at Rudy One disappearing.] To be honest I don't think she even likes me that much. I mean, she's nice, but she doesn't want anything to do with the whole superhero jumper thing. I'll get her there in the end, that's destiny. But what if to her... I'm jut this bloke she stopped from dying in the street, and I never mean anything else?

[It was a depressing thought. One he'd managed to avoid until Rudy One had stopped him thinking about her in general, and brought it around to her going out with him.]

Nov. 26th, 2013

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

[ annie cresta was the first girl to teach him how to tie a knot. he watches her make bracelets on the beach, alone with the wind swirling her hair around her face, salt soaked and pale where the rest of district four is bronzed with the sun. ( she has sensitive skin, he sees her mother try to get her to wear a sunhat to keep her from being burned. sometimes she listens. )

that was before either of them faced the arena. sitting out on the beach, knotting ropes together, cording sailors' knots to make bracelets out of shells and seaglass. she gives him one before he leaves at the age of fourteen. he wears it, even when he spears through a boy of sixteen with the trident, feeling flesh give way to muscle and bone and blood that sprays over a net that he's wound together himself.

she doesn't need to know he used her knots to do that. he tries to be as gentle as he can with annie cresta - and it has nothing to do with how she responds and how she reacts. some say she's gone crazy since her own games, but he doesn't believe that. she's just as damaged as the rest of them; just as damaged as any of the victors he's seen. some wear it on their sleeves, like annie does. others, like himself, keep it hidden until they can't anymore. there's a fear and a rage that burns inside of him that can't be slaked; an anger that he swears feels like fire in his veins.

he's terrified of that coming to the surface, and only annie manages to make that rage disappear completely. she reminds him of home and the beaches in district four. she reminds him of coming home, reminds him he doesn't have to always be in the Capitol, doesn't always have to sell his soul for secrets. she's short and scrawny for a girl her age, and he brushes her hair over her shoulder when he sits with her, he's gentle because he doesn't have to feel rage for what the world has done.

he never remembers the exact moment he fell in love with annie.

'she crept up on me,' he tells someone who asks. she does that. she smiles at him with those lips and her hair swims around her face and her skin is pale against his arm, and she's playing with shells and starfish and making bracelets and reminds him of who he was before the games. he's not a monster with her; not a killing machine, and maybe that's why he loves her so much.

she won her games by hiding. she won her games by surviving, rather than killing in cold blood. he loves her for that, loves mags for encouraging her, loves them both for being survivors and allowing him to survive. he holds her hands and leans in and brushes his lips against her temple. ]

I'm coming back again.

[ because it's happening again ten years later, and god he's never been more infuriated in his life. but he's still gentle. ] I promise, I'll come back.
[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)


Name: Liam
Contact Information: technobabbledftw [at] gmail [dot] come
Personal Journal: technobabbled
Age: 22
Characters Played: N/A
Who Referred you: Ink!


Name: Rudy Wade (Rudy Too)
Fandom: Misfits
Canon Point:
Original Universe or Alternate Universe? OU


All of this is only one aspect of Rudy's personality, however. This is his front, his exterior personality. The one he built up as a defence for his insecurities, and to hide the parts of himself he dislikes or fears. And boy does Rudy have insecurities. To the point where when hit by a storm that endowed him with super powers, his insecurities were literally pushed out of him and that little voice in the back of his head became a living, breathing person. There is another aspect of him to, but I will move onto that in more detail later. This second part of him has claimed the name Rudy Too for himself, and on occasion will refer to his original self as Rudy One. To look at the two you wouldn't know they're the same person. Even the way they stand distinguishes them, with Rudy Too adopting a permanently hunched, far more confined posture. He covers himself more, and if he's out of his primary self for any length of time he'll opt for long sleeves if he isn't wearing any already. Rudy Too appears to be more sensitive, being more willing to listen to other people's sob stories, and becoming far more invested in relationships than Rudy is normally willing to be.

This other Rudy is almost always miserable, and if he's happy it's only vaguely, tentatively so. He's a hypochondriac, always convinced he has on incurable disease or another, and many things besides. While Rudy in himself is uncomfortable with deeper topics, Rudy Too is only too happy to discuss at length Rudy and his many problems, real or imagined, both with Rudy or anyone else who might listen. He's extremely critical of Rudy, and by extension himself. He brings up worries from the distant past as well as recent times, such as Rudy's childhood (and occasionally beyond) bed wetting, and the time teenage Rudy became turned on watching his friend Richard Saunders in the shower and had doubts about his sexuality. Rudy Too's mean streak largely only extends to Rudy, and he's mostly pretty nice if miserable on the rare occasions he talks to other people, but he still shares some of the same problems as Rudy does at controlling emotional impulses. The reason Rudy has community service in the first place is because Rudy Too became upset at the breakdown of their relationship with a girlfriend and in his grief ended up trashing her car.

Although Rudy Too is very critical of his other self, he doesn't actually enjoy seeing him unhappy. He talks to him more coaxingly when he's already obviously upset, and will help him out if he can in any truly horrendous situations. He wants Rudy to recognise his problems, but when confronting him causes him to break down it becomes clear he is actually on his side and ultimately what he wants is what's best for Rudy, and by default himself. I've spoken about them as if they are separate people here because this is how they interact, but the reality is they are just different aspects of the same person. Parts of Rudy Too's personality do show in Rudy, it's just less frequent, and very difficult for him to be able to accept that part of himself. Despite this, Rudy is grudgingly becoming more accepting of him and more able to deal with his negative emotions, both when they manifest physically and when he is able to keep Rudy Too within himself. It's a slow process, but he has made some progress. There is a lot of conflict between the two of them, but they've been shown to be far happier with each other than without despite Rudy starting off the series trying to get rid of his second self. He's mentioned he feels strange when Rudy Too isn't inside him, which goes to show he is a genuine part of him, if a difficult part to deal with much of the time.

Background: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudy_Wade
Other Notables: Rudy Too is, technically, the embodiment of all Rudy's insecurities. Under ordinary circumstances they can merge and Rudy Too will generally appear when Rudy One is feeling upset or uncomfortable with something. In game Rudy One and Rudy Too will remain separate, however, and will not be able to merge with each other as they usually can.




[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)


Name: Ink
Contact Information: come on guys
Personal Journal: you know me
Age: also i'm old
Characters Played: some butts
Who Referred you: really now.


Name: Rudy Wade
Fandom: Misfits
Age: 27
Canon Point: Season Five, Episode Four
Original Universe or Alternate Universe? OU

Personality: The key point to Rudy's personality is that he is the living embodiment of a multiple personality disorder. The premise of Misfits starts with a strange storm that's caused powers to develop in certain individuals - including Rudy. As a result, he was split into three different Rudies. Rudy is the first Rudy, simply known as his name. He's literally the frontman, the one that everyone sees. He's incredibly crude, loud-mouthed, lazy - but approachable and friendly, unlike his counterpart that seems to be shyer and more emotional.

Other Notables:





[ the short answer is he doesn't want to be left alone.

so he's trying. sort of. trying is putting his folded laundry up, trying is not using his counterpart's toothbrush to scratch his arse. he's done pretty well so far, in his humblest opinion,

Nov. 25th, 2013

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

Clara to Kirk
Might have to take you up on that. I have a pretty high "exciting" threshold. I'd love to see you try and break it..

Is that so? Might have to get a little creative then, huh? Could always come see you in person, really make things exciting. What do you think?

Raven to Kirk
Guess not.

[ she tilts her head slightly as his hand comes in to touch her hair, threading through it; she breathes a sigh shortly before his lips come down on hers, responding slowly, gently.

only after a beat does she deepen the kiss, parting her lips against his, teasingly trying to coax his open. ]

Tate to Hannibal
[ No, Tate wants to say sarcastically, I want to fuck everything up and get us both caught. Sounds like fun. ]

C'mon, Hannibal. You know Constance raised me not to half-ass anything. And with all my mommy issues, you should figure out I'm trying to do just that so she'll love me some way.

Tate to Hannibal
I don't trust her, she's a retard. [ Tate's laugh is less of a laugh, more of a derisive snort. ] Haven't you heard, Doctor? I'm mama's perfect son.

Tate to Hannibal
I can. [ It's a little stubborn, a little hurt, and he's moving up to the other's side, tongue wetting his lips as he watches. ]

I just thought it would be more beautiful like this. [ and, to prove his point, he nods his chin in the direction of his piece of work. ]

Beautiful, perhaps. But sloppy. [ he makes no attempt to sugarcoat the critique. ] It's as though you're fingerpainting, and expecting me to believe this is a masterpiece worthy of praise. If you're going to use an axe, the cuts need to be made clean.

[ he frowns. ] You need to work on your cleanliness, Tate.

Nov. 21st, 2013

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

Khan to Kirk
[Khan isn't pulling away, despite his somewhat detached conversation. He has to protect himself.

And it's just hormones, right?]

It has to be.

River to Alana
Always am. [ it's said so lightly, words discarded without any real weight behind them that she wouldn't fault anyone for not believing her. for all her talk of being dangerous, of being a weapon and so on and so forth, she's been remarkably non-violent ever since arriving in sanctum.

...there was that little incident with mike on arrival, but everyone has their off-days right? ] Have the masses started coming to heal their damage yet? The offer was kind, even if not everyone agreed. They don't always realise how much they need to talk, you know.

Bones to Kirk
Nothing so overt as that. There were ways to make one's victims run over with words; but this isn't it. That's too clumbsy, too clunky, gives away the greater game too soon. No. This little cocktail just makes whatever his victims feel they share to be a little less harmful than they might be. No reason to not talk, after all.

"Meant to what, Jim?" He taps his thumb against the biobed, eyes warm, face open, voice entirely conversational. "I ask the questions."

Bones to Kirk
"I like to think of myself as be'n real friendly." Easy as anything, easy as sunday mornings before church and quickbread simmered in butter and cinnamon, all southern and out of place in this place. Slow and sweet as molasses, the thrum of his voice, the skittering slide of his fingers along the Angel's wrist. He's pushed back and he leans but oh, doesn't that just make the line of his stomach peek out under his shirt, the heat of him under the thin barrier of his shirt.

"I'm just reacquaint'n myself with the glory of god's creation, and with the locals. Haven't been in town for a fair while. Sure as hell wouldn't have wandered off with cozy little things like you flutter'n around." His tail and hand drop away, giving the Angel his space, hell, he even leans back enough to give him breathing room.

"Missed this bridge. You ever been here just at sunrise? Gorgeous. Makes a demon wonder if that's what heaven looks like." See? He's harmless. And pious. A pious demon, wouldn't you wonder at that?

Bones to Kirk
I'm as good as you deserve, sweet boy.

[True to his word he set Jim on his- their- bed. Left him with a slow squeeze to his shoulders and a gentle kiss, all soft lips and tenderness before he had to pull away and start plucking at the wooden case that held the bulk of his implements, such as they were. He didn't use much when it came to Jim when they were like this. Didn't often have to use anything that wasn't already on hand. But he's got a few things he keeps tucked away that he remembers Jim enjoying, a few old favorites of his own, and at least one pair of supple, leather riding gloves that have never seen their intended purpose.

He flicks the worn lid up and picks through a few vials until he finds something that'll warm up nicely and smell musky, offer some nice shine and smoothness for his straight razor, which he pulled from it's own compartment in the side of the case. he had two- one for himself and one for Jim, not that Jim ever used his, or Len ever used the one for himself. They shaved one another when it came down to it.

The razor he sets aside, bringing the vial of oil back to Jim on the bed.]

Stretch out on your back, Darlin. Lemme get to work.

[First the oil, until every inch of Jim's skin was soft and glistening, having taken in as much of the oil as it could bear- then? The razor scraping him clean inch by inch, paring down the hair from everything on Jim from his neck to his toes. Not something they did horribly often for how long it took everything to grow back in and how that would make Jim shift like a squirrely little bastard- but they got time now.]

Bones to Kirk
"I'd thank you to not." Of anything that one could pick a nickname up for him something centered around his dick isn't exactly one he'd consider flattering or at all suitable for mixed company. Or any company. He smiles all the same, teasing is as teasing does and Jim's trying to be kind. Is being kind. Far more than he really ought to be and if he weren't so desperate for some of that sharp edged kindness he might feel like seeing it as pity.

He's got no room in his life for pity.

"Do you now?" That was rather quick. Didn't think he made that kind of impression on him so quickly, but either the kid heard a hellovalot about him from others or he was that creative. Or it was a generic nickname he handed out to John's of his build and coloration, not that he'd mind that overmuch. A job's a job. They're already on the way out the door when he finally stumbles a little- god.

Fucking this man, letting him suck him down? He couldn't. Hadn't. It wasn't how he did things and he had to repress a groan at the mental image. God knows this man has a mouth fit for sin but- he didn't. It wasn't. All he can do is steady himself with the arm around Jim's' waist and bury his face in the kid's hair. Take a few slow breaths to calm himself down. "Not how I usually do things, kid."

For so, so many reasons. Jesus christ. But goddamn if he isn't at least a little tempted.

One foot in front of the other, down well lit sidewalks for another myriad of reasons, fairly public- it's probably why he got caught at this. But he'll take the mess he made of his own life over mak'n things uncomfortable or potentially dangerous for the boys he took to this apartment. It's modest enough, the building, and he tugs Jim up the stairs to the front door, waving his pass to gain them entrance.

"Not far, like I said."

Katniss to Kirk
No. [She stiffened a little, talking about the Games.] It was meant to be a party for all the past victors who were now tributes, honoring their district. [She says this like it's a joke, mostly sarcastic, but every word she says is true and it cuts much deeper than she would like it to.]

The next day-- [Katniss turns to look back at him, away from the hors d'oeuvres.] They threw us in a death match.

[And no, Kirk that isn't a consolation. She just wants to get out of here.]

Gisele to Kirk
Anything that'll look good between my legs.

[ Is she fucking with you? She's totally fucking with you, but hey, it matters not. ]

The last bike I had [ had, not owned, because lbr it was probably stolen ] was a Ducati. I get the feeling that I won't be finding something like that here any time soon.

Sulu to Kirk
I'm pretty sure Scotty's been training him up, too.

[ he doesn't actually know, but he's willing to bet on this with his life. ]

Clara to Kirk
It is a bit mad. But I couldn't just pack up and leave. I'm a nanny, it wouldn't be proper. So I get both normal life and amazing life.

[She laughs and looks at him with wide eyes, she's clearly impressed by that status. And the idea that his entire job and life is all about the stars and exploring.]

Tell me about your starship captain.

Chuck to Kirk
Really. [ he sounds disbelieving and his tone is, in this case, an entirely accurate representation of what he feels. chuck is no stranger to aliens, precisely, but the kind he's encountered aren't exactly big on abduction, more on mindless and indiscriminate destruction.

( or not as indiscriminate as everyone might have thought, but that's another story. ) ]

Bones to Kirk
You don't wanna know.

[And he's not telling. The psychological ramifications of what's happened- that's not his to pick into or start tak'n a hammer to. He can't. He won't. All he'll do is sit and think of the veranda, of sweet tea and Helen on the piano inside, Elenora stirring something in the kitchen, and Jim curled up across from him on the porch swing.]

They're good. Little tired of hav'n to put up with my grumpy ass- [an old joke. Laugh with him, Jim, laugh for him so he'll know you're alive.] but good.

Nov. 20th, 2013

[Kurt] Lookin' fly

(no subject)

McCoy to mkirk
He's far more gentle than he ought to be, all things considered. But he doesn't want to have taken the time to repair everything of James' only to rend him with his fingers and careless fucking. No need to make more trouble. Not when he's making so much for himself just by fucking around with the Captain. Putting him in his place- if only for as long as he's going to be on the table.

One finger slicks and slides and becomes two, crooking and sliding, palpating the inside of James' passage like any other examination. Like he's not about to prep him for a thorough and lengthy fucking. Professional as can be. Hell, he'd probably be whistling if it weren't for the fact it'd keep him from hearing James' soft little groan.

Sheldon to Leonard
[ three hours spent attempting to find the perfect couch, leonard. hwo dare you think it could take any less than five.

.. more important things. right. your time would be better spend testing out other physicists' theories instead of coming up with your own.

oh wait. you already do that, don't you? oh, darn.

when the offer of popcorn comes up he sets his friend with the most are you insane?! look he could possibly muster. ] Are you trying to kill me, Leonard? Regular consumption of popcorn can only lead to the painful condition known as diverticulitis, and if it's all the same to you, I'm just fine without putting a trip to the emergency room on my agenda for the day.

[ pause. ]

Unless it has extra butter.

Sulu to Kirk
Probably because I'm the helmsman.

[ he's like everyone's chauffeur in space. of course he'd know something about cars.

that and he has a theory that he's being singled out. who hasn't gotten over the dampeners incident? both of them. ]

I'll get back to you soon, Captain.

McCoy to Kirk
[That worked. He wasn't sure if it would, but it seems like a stern line in the sand first and foremost got Jim's attention. Made him agree to behave. This is for him, after all, this is for his enjoyment, his release, his sense of well being. But he needs to acknowledge that Len is in control. Not buck so much against the authority he brings. If they agree, if they set the rules down to make this good? It'll be great.

They just need that understanding. And he thinks, now, that they've got it.]

Good boy.

[He slides his hand from Jim's throat back down to the small of his back, nodding to his erection.]

Get back to touch'n yourself. But don't come, not yet. You got it?

Khan to Kirk

Why would I need to be regulated?

Khan to Kirk
[Khan isn't pulling away, despite his somewhat detached conversation. He has to protect himself.

And it's just hormones, right?]

It has to be.

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