Realm of the InterNutter

Thoughts, stories and ideas.

Challenge #00054: Underground

Evoverse: Sara encounters the Morlocks.  Up to you what happens next, but I am genuinely curious *chinhands*

Cold. Wet. Hurt.

Okay. Alive. Alive is always good. Remember the three O’s. Objective, Orientation, Orders.

Objective. Um. Getting out of here would be nice.

Orientation. It’s dark. Way too dark. Wind-up lantern in right hip-pouch. Get it. Wind it up. Find out where one is. Find out the damage.

Ow. That was going to hurt when she warmed up.

Orders… orders were… um. Oh yes. Go home.

This was not home.

First things first, patch self up. She had hand sanitiser amongst her medkits. That would do for cleaning. Honey for antiseptic. Various patches for her hurts. No broken bones, that was always good.

Space blanket for temperature control. Vital.

Someone was watching her. A little kid.

“Hello, sweetie?” Sara tried. “What’s a nice little kid like you doing in an oubliette like this?”

The child just stared.

“Am I blending into the brickwork?”

She shook her head ‘no’.

“I see you don’t talk to strangers. Smart kid. I don’t have candy. Just hardtack and gum. And judging by the way you don’t turn a hair at my blue-ish appearance, I’d guess you know some mutants.”

Nod. Wave with an almost comically-oversized hand.

“Ah, you *are* a mutant. I see. It can’t be just you in these tunnels. Your clothes are too clean, for a start. And you’re very well fed, if you don’t mind me noticing. Someone’s helping you out, yes?”

Nod.

“Do they know you’re here?”

Someone morphed outwards from a wall. “We know she’s here,” said an asian-looking man with missing upper and lower cartilage on his nose. “Torpid doesn’t talk.”

Sara bowed at the child from her seat. “Greetings, Lady Torpid. I go by the code-name Chameleon, myself. And you, Sir Wallflower? Are introductions in order, or am I waiting a deeper, darker and danker dungeon?”

“We were waiting for you to wake up. You’re heavier than you look.” He gestured for her to follow. “And turn that light off.”

“I’m night-blind. Sorry. I can turn the candlepower right down if that would suit. I -um- like to see where to put my feet. Is that all right?”

He glared at her, rolled his eyes, and growled, “Whatever.”

Sara turned the candlepower of her lantern right down and wrapped her free arm up in foil. “Would you mind holding my hand, Lady Torpid?” she whispered. “I’m feeling a little scared…”

Torpid grinned and held her hand. Her code-name indicated that she had powers that would incapacitate a body and, given her general respect for personal space in combination with her age, it had to be touch-related.

No child should ever be missing a hand to hold.

She counted her paces and the lefts and rights in order, as well as the ups and downs because, when you get down to it, underground is a three-dimensional space.

And then they hit the Cavern.

It was a topsy-turvy world of stalactites and crystals and, in its way, another world. Sara turned off the lantern. She didn’t need it in here.

“This is our best-kept secret,” said her guide. “We call it the Sanctuary.”

“Sanctum sanctorum,” Sara whispered. “How can you stand to go to the surface knowing you’re leaving this?”

“We need food.”

“And you’re not using hydroponics?”

“Some of us can’t get by on vegetables.”

“Well, I’ve been experimenting with microfarming. I’m guessing you guys aren’t as fussy as some of my compatriots? They’re always telling me, Sara you just can’t eat worms. Sara, why did you feed me crickets? Sara, that risotto you’re cooking had *better* have meat from an accepted farm animal… Honestly. One batch of Hunan Surprise and people act like I’m constantly trying to poison them.”

Sir wallflower stopped so he could boggle at her. “Maybe you should talk to Callisto.”

Callisto did not live up to her mythical namesake. She had an eyepatch, a tendency to slouch, and a posture that bespoke of a vicious streak so wide that it eclipsed half the solar system. She wore faux fatigues, but had the musculature to back them up. Her entirety of being said, Don’t fuck with me.

“So riddle me this,” said Callisto. “Why do you get the fancy gear and we have to scrape?”

“Given the crystalline structures in this chamber, I’d hazard that you managed to escape detection. I know Xavier would be willing to help–”

“We don’t need his help!”

Sara frowned. “Um. You were the one complaining about having to scrape. If fancy gear is the bone of contention, I’m certain we could come up with an equit–”

“You think you can just enlist us? Just like that? A few fancy words and we’re all your helpless minions.”

“Dear, if I could make minions with fancy words, I’d have Duncan Matthews on a leash.”

That made her laugh. “Fine. We bought you down here because you’re the most likely to leave us be when we tell you to fuck off.”

When, Sara noted, not if. “Am I a consultant?”

“Unpaid, yes.”

“How do you feel about eating insect protein?”

[Muse food remaining: 1. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

Fanfic Time: Heaven, Earth and Hell, part 5

Continued from yesterday:

  Three days passed without a resurgance of the Wagners. Celia knew better than to hope they had gone forever, but she was glad that Demon was back to his show-off self. The poor kid seemed to live from moment to moment, finding joy in whatever small slice he could get.

  “Hey-hey! It’s *Kurt*!”

  _What the–?_ Celia turned, trying to find the unfamilliar speaker. At her heels, on his leash, Demon turned, too.

  There was

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primwiththeducktail: dramallamapie: fieto: historyandlions: There you go, all the anons who tell people to go and kill themselves. It's...

primwiththeducktail:

dramallamapie:

fieto:

historyandlions:

There you go, all the anons who tell people to go and kill themselves. It’s pretty easy to find out your identity.

image

Reblog. Reblog. Spread this.

Damn. That is some Sherlock shit.


Reblogging for everyone who gets Anon!Harassment.

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Fanfic Time: Heaven, Earth and Hell, part 4

Continued from yesterday:

  The money was good. Both he and Dad agreed on that. It paid for a great many luxuries. Unfortunately, it didn’t - or wouldn’t - pay for the take-out containers to go to the trash, nor for the clothes to get washed, nor for the dishes to get cleaned.

  That was his job, now.

  At least Dad didn’t make him wear that fucking collar and chain.

  No, *he* got the beating of a

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Challenge #00053: Cry Me a River

The cacophony of circumstances that allows Storm to discover Scott Summers indeed crying over spilled milk.

Ororo woke when she heard the smash. Air currents in the mansion had not changed, so no-one had broken in. Yet someone was roaming about, all the same. She summoned a ball of lightning as an improvised lantern and set it safely above her head so she could see what was going on.

Professor, sound asleep. Logan was out on one of his roaming quests, so

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yumfactory: Japanese-born artist Sayaka Ganz creates sculptures out of discarded plastics found in thrift stores, converting these unwanted...

yumfactory:

Japanese-born artist Sayaka Ganz creates sculptures out of discarded plastics found in thrift stores, converting these unwanted materials into graceful imitations of natural beauty. For her Running series, Ganz created life-like horses in mid-gallop. “Japanese Shinto beliefs are such that all objects and organisms have spirits, and I was taught in kindergarten that objects that are discarded before their time weep at night inside the trash bin. This became a vivid image in my mind,” Ganz explained her interest in recycled

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InA-WithA-WhileA

In a- alley!

With a- small dog!

While a- dark elf curses!

(#00052)

The right hand rule, Drixxt was certain, was leading him in circles. His native ability for navigating in the dark, being a Dark Elf, was failing him because this place, despite being allegedly on the surface had levels of darkness below and beyond[1] the levels of ‘stygian’. Drixxt suspected this was the sort of darkness you got before light had come by to make things all

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Fanfic Time: Heaven, Earth and Hell, part 3

Continued from yesterday:

  Kurt woke up. There wasn’t straw any more, but a warm blanket. A pillow. A *bed*.

  And he’d lost Mama’s rosary.

  Was it a sign? Was God telling him his prayers were useless? Or was it a test?

  He pulled aside the door that concealed his resting place, looking around. Nobody nearby, but it smelled like someone was cooking.

  “My ass you don’t need looking after, Cee,” someone was

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alan-rickman-for-god: lostgeekette: lostgeekette: alan-rickman-for-god: for every single person who reblogs this, i will put a song in...

alan-rickman-for-god:

lostgeekette:

lostgeekette:

alan-rickman-for-god:

for every single person who reblogs this, i will put a song in their inbox based solely on their blog content (and possibly theme).

good luck with my blog

image

2377 and I still get one (and an accurate one), he is good !

she <3 haha why thank you!

What shall mine be, I wonder?

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