Find me over at missmagnetism . Go ahead and refriend!
All New X-Factor does a Twitter Q&A.
660 words sans twitter handles.
[cut for tweets]
Serval Industries @ServalIndustries
Prepare your questions, followers! Our Q&A with our resident superteam, X-Factor, starts in five minutes!
Serval Industries @ServalIndustries
I hope you’ll join me in welcoming @QuicksilverOfficial @GambitOfficial and @PolarisOfficial to twitter!
. @ServalIndustries We’re delighted to be here, Linda.
@QuicksilverOfficial The iPad can’t process that many letters at once
@QuicksilverOfficial It’s a touch screen
This is ludicrous.
@PolarisOfficial Who thought it was a good idea to have him on anyway?
@GambitOfficial Apparently PR has classified me an “abject failure” and they want for me to atone for my actions.
@QuicksilverOfficial yeah what could go wrong with that?
@QuicksilverOfficial @GambitOfficial Shut up
. @ServalIndustries Looks like we’re all set up and checked in!
Serval Industries @ServalIndustries
. @PolarisOfficial @GambitOfficial @QuicksilverOfficial are ready to field questions!
. @MutantMakeupTipzz I have to special order online actually -- CVS has yet to capitalize on the mutant lipstick color thing.
. @HairAndStyle I straight iron it.
. @CurtainsAndDrapes No.
Look, not that I don’t appreciate the style questions, but I’m the leader of this team and GAMBIT’S getting more work Qs than me.
@PolarisOfficial wanna trade hash tags?
@GambitOfficial Lord yes
. @DisgustingFanboy239 Yeah I know I don’t pull the zipper down enough for tits, but have you SEEN my ass
. @PressMagazine No matter what they’ve done in their lives before, I have not once questioned the morals or ethics of my team.
. @PressMagazine They are fundamentally good and talented people. Without any one of them there would be no X-Factor.
. @MagnetoWasLeft you’re calling my daddy wHAT!?
@MagnetoWasLeft wait. is this quire?
. @TheCriminalRecord A thief? Me? How DARE you. I have a FAMILY. I do CHARITY and OTHER GOOD THINGS.
Serval Industries @ServalIndustries
Our apologies to those whose questions have gotten rerouted, we’ll have the issue sorted out soon.
. @Dance10Looks3 No, I will not “suckle your toes as I take you hard”.
. @TheWholeTenInches No, I will not “vibrate my tongue in your ass”.
. @WetterBabez545 No, I will not “pound your pussy at light speed”.
. @asstits22445 No, I will not “click here to see you on livecam”.
@QuicksilverOfficial some discretion in the questions you answer please
@PolarisOfficial Twitter is disgusting.
@QuicksilverOfficial Which is why we’re not encouraging it
@PolarisOfficial I think it’s important they recognize the disrespectful nature of their actions.
@QuicksilverOfficial I stg if you keep this up I’ll magnetize your ipad
@Dance10Looks3 @TheWholeTenInches @WetterBabez545 @asstits22445 DM me
@QuicksilverOfficial did you REALLY just DM my snapchat to a bunch of porn bloggers?
@GambitOfficial Only being expedient, you were posting it publicly anyhow. Only a matter of time before they found it.
@GambitOfficial Besides, you were the one who posted my cell phone number for five seconds and then deleted it.
@QuicksilverOfficial ...it was an accident?
Serval Industries @ServalIndustries
. @PolarisOfficial @HavokSaysWhat No comment. Our employees will not be fielding questions pertaining to the formation of the Uncanny Avengers
. @ServalIndustries No, I’ve got this one.
. @HavokSaysWhat Mutants are a community. No, we may not have been born into a “mutant cult” as he (let’s be honest, totally offensively)
. @HavokSaysWhat puts it, but we are mutants. Our life experience brings us together -- our identity brings us together. “Mutant” is not
. @HavokSaysWhat divisive, it’s uniting. “We are all humans”, sure. But don’t dismiss our lives and identities for the sake of your “let’s
. @HavokSaysWhat pretend mutaphobia isn’t a thing” act. I’m a mutant. I’m PROUD to be a mutant. And I will NOT pull some asshole “call me
. @HavokSaysWhat Lorna” bullshit just to get the favor of some humans who would probably spit on my shoes any other day of the week.
. @HavokSaysWhat In summary: Havok’s a prick and he does NOT speak for all mutants, whatever he may think. Put that on the record.
@ServalIndustries Sorry Linda.
@PolarisOfficial PR office is gonna show up to work with sleeping bags.
@GambitOfficial Or a gun
Serval Industries @ServalIndustries
Thank you everybody for tuning in! Sorry for cutting this short, but as for any good superteam, crime doesn’t wait.
@ServalIndustries Do I get to keep the account
Rating/Warnings: None, really. The Brand/Frost (there is a ship name in there somewhere I feel) is kinda understated bc I'm not really great at jumping straight into established relationship in fic. Takes place in a vaguely-current X-Men comics time.
Word Count: 769
[Click for fic!]
Out of the entire list of things the X-Men suck at -- not having leaders with sticks up their asses, practicing safe sex, and costume design all come to mind -- Abigail Brand has decided that hosting guests is, by far, the thing at which they suck the very most.
Abigail Brand has been knocking, kicking, slamming, and on occasion shooting at this door for fifteen solid minutes -- and not so much as a peep in response. She knows this is Scott’s new headquarters. She knows they know she’s out there. (Which she’s shouted more than a few times at this point.) All that’s greeted her is that same goddamn thumping of that same goddamn door.
“Open up or I blast it down!” Brand finally shouts, kicking hard against the steel of the facility, snow skittering away as if fleeing the threat.
“Well, so long as we’re asking politely,” Emma replies out of everywhere at once -- the altogether disheartening sensation of being spoken to from inside one’s own head. The door clicks, and Brand presses it open, exposing more steel and -- oh look -- murky darkness! That’s new.
“Congratulations, Emma. This new clubhouse is even more depressing than I thought it’d be.”
“The producers of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition have taken to forwarding Magneto’s calls to the authorities, I’m afraid. Make a right.”
She finds Emma in what she’s assuming they’re playing pretend is a kitchen; Brand’s getting the impression that every room in this place looks like a torture chamber. Emma’s -- sitting almost isn’t the right word -- poised in a chair, coffee mug in hand, looking as impeccable as ever -- despite being dressed in nothing more than a fluffy white robe.
“Coffee?” Emma gives a gesture to the pot behind her, sitting on what Brand has to assume is a counter cobbled together out of scrap metal -- and god is it good to have her voice coming from an actual mouth and not Brand’s own head.
Brand sits across from her. “Not going to ask why slash how I’m here?”
“You and Erik were in cahoots. It’s no particular surprise you’d know where we are. I’m doing you the favor of assuming you haven’t entered our location into SWORD’s database?” Emma has a knack for making the almost-dainty way she puts down her mug -- #1 Teacher, so at least one of these kids is a suck up -- seem dangerous.
“Why? Worried they’d send a health inspector?”
“Mmh.” Seemingly sated, Emma picks up her mug for another drink. “Tell me, Brand. What brings you to our edge of the Canadian wilderness?”
“Well, apparently one of your kids -- a temporally challenged one -- somehow wound up on my turf, space-cruising with pirates. He’s not on my radar -- yet -- but it’s never long after you X-Men grab a rocket that someone out there declares war on Earth.”
“And you’d like to know the where what and why.”
Emma stands up, finishing off the coffee and putting the mug in the sink. “I’m afraid you’ll have to subject yourself to the company of Pryde and Summers -- the latter of whom your temporally challenged student was, and the former of whom his teacher. Assumedly, at least one would be self-aware enough for your purposes.”
“But -- let me guess -- they’re off… what. Recruiting? Child endangerment-ing?”
“Consulting with our professional fashion designer. The children are here. Asleep. Had you consulted a clock before touching down from the celestial heavens, you might have noticed the time.” Emma hits clear on the stove, which then displays a blinking 2:26. “They should return within the hour, assuming you have a gap in your obviously busy schedule. I could ply you with liquor, if you’d like.”
“Fine. No booze, I’m on the clock, you just drank coffee. Some clothes--” Brand gestures Emma up and down-- “would be appreciated.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“You can’t seriously have a fashion designer. Not with those leather shoulderpads I see you wearing.”
“I see you’ve been looking. It does, however, raise an intriguing point. I’ve always wondered -- do you, Polaris, and all the other green-haired mutants share a single supplier of green lipstick, or do you simply have a mailing list on which you can ping each other whenever some retailer coughs it up?”
It’s going to be a long wait.
I did icons again.
(TO BE FAIR, I had a plan, and the plan was this: Mafia started on Monday, and I'm playing Polaris. Cool! I'll make a new Polaris icon while I'm at it, since my current one's not a particularly good character one. Then this got postponed and the game ended on day three, but I still had all these caps, so...)
"All these caps" meaning 105 caps, and those don't count the ones I took just as reaction shots for mafia. HOORAY. \o/ So I let the randomizer pick numbers and did it that way.
Icons are from 90s X-Factor, anywhere from issue 71-110, or from the comics involved in X-cutioner's Song. (See also: all the comics I read in the two days before mafia started for character preparation. ..I wouldn't be
Time breakdown per icon in order:
1: 49 minutes
2: 34 minutes
3: 17 minutes
4: 17 minutes
5: 41 minutes
6: 48 minutes
7: 15 minutes
8: 36 minutes
9: 31 minutes
(It's kind of very obvious which ones I had to edit the art on just from the time breakdown alone, huh? LOL. Also yeah I'm aware that's way more than 3 hours -- it's a little under 5 -- but only doing the six I actually made in the time limit seemed unreasonable. :P 9 icons in 3 hours sounds at least a little more reasonable, right? 20 minutes per icon? So not what happened, but.)
[Icons under here. spoilers: big 90s superhero hair]
Anyway, top five shows... I ended up going with Better off Ted (surprise?), Wolverine and the X-Men, Hannibal, Brooklyn 99, and Elementary. Admittedly largely because they're the things I've been watching lately. Includes caps from B99's The Party, but they aren't particularly spoilery.
[Cut for icons]
The Heart of the Fire
Fandom: X-Men Comics
Characters: Emma Frost, the Phoenix Force
Warnings: Brief reference to sexual content, child death, murder, reference to torture. Spoilers-wise it doesn't contain anything after Avengers vs. X-Men.
Summary: Three of the Phoenix Five have fallen, and Emma Frost is burning.
Word Count: 1215
[Fire pulses behind her eyes.]Fire pulses behind her eyes.
Three of the Phoenix Five have fallen now. Piotr. Illyana. Namor -- Each, in defeat, leaving a trailing blaze of fire, a blast of screaming, boiling power for those who remain to inherit. When there were five, it was a prickling under her skin. Now it feels as if she is being burned alive.
See what I can give you, the Phoenix hums, in voice too familiar, too sweet, too long missed. See who we could be.
Emma with the Phoenix is beautiful. She is powerful. She --
[“The evil we deal with, it gets inside us all.”
Logan’s gruff vocals didn’t suit the comforting tone. His presence, in fact, was a round peg in a square hole: Their relationship an awkward necessity, a begrudging admittance of need. She later wonders how they came so far, how this loathing edged itself so deep between them, but more, she wonders how their strange kinship worked to start with.
The evil we deal with. Darling, Logan, please -- a few years removed, I would be the object of that statement.
The evil didn’t get inside me, it was there all along.]
She is afraid.
Every stroke of the Phoenix’s flame takes a little more. Flakes of ash, flakes of humanity, wisp away faster than she can restore them.
Three of the Phoenix Five have fallen now, and she can’t survive this much fire.
She is sitting over her refuge, the hottest place on Earth, the Danakil Desert -- great plumes of fire pulse out and away from her as she calms, tries to soothe the steady burning of her mind.
“No other minds around for miles. I enjoy…” Emma is speaking to Scott now, she realizes. She wonders if she hasn’t been all along. “…the quiet.”
“Get it together,” he says, or wants to say, or will say. She feels every aspect of him; she wonders if they aren’t the same person now, so much goes unsaid from one mind to the next. He pretends his stoicism is reflective of how together he is. She can feel his screaming inside her.
Piotr. Illyana. Namor.
Damn those wretched Avengers.
Damn them to Hell. Damn them for forcing this upon them, damn them for corrupting what good they had done, damn them for pushing them to the brink and over.
And if Emma is allowed to make this personal -- what little personal she has left -- damn Tony Stark for splitting the Phoenix into them to start with. She takes back every orgasm she gave that despicable little man.
[“Where were you when our babies were burning?”
Emma remembers asking him, sat as they were about the terrace’s table. He’d come to ask something terrible of her, and in return, she took his mind over her knee and smacked him for it.
It has always been her babies who burn. On Genosha, when the ground burst into shards beneath her feet -- her Hellions, her beloved Hellions, and she can’t stop grieving -- so many of her students, don’t make her look -- all burning about her with little she can do to stop them.
And now --
Now, a thousand lights, burning bright in the darkness, and they’ve all gone out --
and now --
This fire that’s within her, this force who has inherited her skin, this entity of rebirth and death and creation --
She tastes their murder in her mouth, she remembers burning out their remnants, the hapless little souls created not at the whim of the mother, but at that of a weapons dealer.
Emma remembers a thousand lights, and now she feels how it felt to extinguish them.
“I’m coming for you.”
Laughter, then, laughter that sounds like Jean and tastes like Scott.]
She isn’t sure when Scott left. She isn’t sure when she did.
Emma is flying now, flying over deserts, plains -- she knows where she’s going. She heard him half the world away.
She knows what she wants to do.
“I could reach inside their heads right now and simply turn them off,” she now remembers admitting, Scott floating above her like some impassive judge, “Just like flicking a switch.” Damn them to Hell. “I think… I think part of me wants to do it.”
[Norman Osborn underestimated her once. He took her to his facility, his prison -- he took her there as if she could step over the bodies of her fellow mutants, tortured and screaming, so long as she stood one head taller than the rest.
She’s diamond so that she won’t feel. Diamond so that he won’t see her feel.
“Prove to me you’re not torturing my kind or else I’ll punch a hole through your heart, Osborn.”
It has always been a game, this life she plays at.
As in chess, as in life, the queen is the most powerful piece on the board.]
The rest only comes back to her after she’s seared her way through this man’s mind -- cleansed -- sterilized -- dead before his head so much as hits the table.
She had stood over him, as all good executioners do, to inform him of his crime.
“His name was Daniel Mantego. 13 years old, from Honduras. He’d grown wings three days before.”
[She’d seen him, Daniel Mantego, 13 from Honduras. Half the world away, in this murderer’s mind’s eye, she saw his body crack over the plane’s windshield, chest-first, his eyes so wide and his wings sputtering hopelessly against the air. He was a child, still a baby -- he didn’t know how to control them.
She felt his murderer vomit empty fluid at the streak of blood across his windshield.]
“He was a mutant, and you killed him.”
[Mr. and Mrs. Mantego, back home -- she found them, of course, on her way over, she didn’t need to look far when every mind was open to her. They remember their boy, he had told them, frightened, shown them when his mutation manifested -- his mother had held him weeping, not for their son being a mutant, but for the life she knew was ahead of him now.]
“You thought it was your little secret.”
[They never knew. His murderer never called it in. All these years, he’d thought he’d gotten away with it. Daniel’s body fell into the gulf, the water swallowed him whole. 13-year-old Daniel Mantego would have been forty now. He could have been so much more.]
“No-one has secrets anymore. Not from me.”
The man’s corpse hisses like a frying pan under water.
And then she remembers Scott as he flies away, Scott, unemotional, robotic, so unlike what she knew him to be with her -- and she remembers him ignoring her pleas, so unlike him, so wrong.
“Wait, don’t go…”
She’s collapsing in around herself, ash collapsing within the heart of a fire.
“I’m worried about… about what I might do next.”
It has always been her babies who burn.
All she wants is to burn their murderers back.
Fandom: X-Men Comics
Characters: Daken Akihiro, Logan Howlett
Warnings: Desciptions of blood/popped claws. No real spoilers; takes place in some amorphous current-ish AU in which Remender doesn't exist.
Summary: Daken returns home to find an uninvited -- and unwanted -- guest has been by.
Word Count: 918
[They're both trackers, Daken and his father.]They’re both trackers, Daken and his father. They’ve got each others’ scent under their nails and deep in their blood -- Daken can indulge in whatever exorbitant musks and perfumes he wants, but he knows full well that it doesn’t mask the scent that Logan could easily track down should he bother to take up the task. It’s an unsettling constant of the two’s relationship, part of an awkward, unspoken familial truce: you stay out of mine, and I’ll stay out of yours.
So when Daken returns to his humble Los Angeles abode (thoughtfully left to him by a couple who decided to partake in a last minute European holiday) and smells Logan’s stench, he’s, suffice it to say, displeased. The pop of his claws flings his own blood to the carpet as he eases the front door closed with a foot, for all appearances gentle despite the hostility brewing beneath.
The scent is stale, thankfully -- what a tedious chore it would be to entertain such drivel as Logan is prone to spew -- but he remains on guard. To do otherwise would be foolish, naturally; today could be the day the old man wises up and takes him into custody. (The thought nearly makes Daken laugh.) He retracts his claws in a slick splurch of bone on muscle, then sets off to follow his father’s steps through the house. Coolly drawing his pointer finger into his mouth to chase a droplet of escaped blood with his tongue, he tails the scent until he sees it: An unaddressed envelope set in the middle of the dining room table, a poor excuse for a barren hall’s centerpiece.
Cleanly breaking the seal with a thumb, Daken pulls the letter out and opens it up, scoffing at the characters that greet him -- the letter’s written in Japanese, penned in his father’s barely legible chicken scratch, as if reaching out in his son’s own tongue would reach him at all.
“Son--” the letter begins, which makes him scoff, the closeness implied in the address having never been a factor of their relationship-- “I know things haven’t been right between us for a long time.” Daken wonders if his father even reads his own writing. “But lately I’ve been taking stock of things, and I haven’t managed to hold onto many things in my life, but the enclosed is one of them.”
Daken looks, now, to the object that had rattled out of the paper and onto the table when he’d opened the letter. He picks the chain up, weaving it between his fingers, the pendant resting against his knuckles, an opal set in silver. It’s pretty in a plain sort of way, but Daken somehow doesn’t think his father gave it to him with the intention of enhancing his son’s accessorizing.
“It’s one of the few things that survived the fire. It belonged to your mother--” Daken lets the necklace fall out of his hand, making a loud clack when the opal hits the table -- “and I think she would have wanted you to have it.”
Daken’s lip curls at what follows.
“Happy birthday, son,” the letter closes. “I’m not sure if you knew that was today.”
Jubilee doesn’t have to yell loud for Logan to come, but she does so anyway, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out why.
His bedroom door has taken a knife to it, a crude substitute for a thumbtack with a letter stuck through it. His own, in fact -- the one he’d written to his son only a few days ago.
Shoulda known better.
“Check the footage,” he snarls, “and find out why the hell none of our damn telepaths noticed a serial killer on the grounds.”
Jubilee, for what it’s worth, doesn’t retort the way he knows she wants to -- and for what it’s worth, he doesn’t tell her off for the face he knows she pulls at him behind her back as she leaves.
He pulls the knife out of the door, grabbing the letter before it slides down -- but doesn’t catch the necklace, which had been pinned behind the letter, skittering down to the floor once it’s gone. He tries not to feel it. Shoulda known better. He leans down to pick it back up, gently, cradling it in his hand, before he notices Daken’s distinctive cursive scrawl on the back of the paper in his hand.
“I have interest in neither your sentimentality nor your misguided attempts at reconciliation.
Do not call again.
‘Thou losest labour.
As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed.
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.’
‘Despair thy charm,
And let the angel whom thou still hast served
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Macbeth; Act 5, Scene 8”
It won’t be until later, much later, after Logan and the staff have gone over every possible lead as to how Daken could have just strolled into the school as he did, that Logan finds the book that Daken had left on his dresser.
Logan doesn’t know why he even bothered trying.
Anyway. Do this:
Light shit on fire with me. Make me stuff. Other stuff that is mostly beneficial to me but also maybe slightly to you. Do these things.
(And then say I sent you because points.)
Anyway, my 20 hours challenge for universe_the!:
First order of business: fanmix!
( Under: Fanmix for Daken! There's blood on the cover as a heads up.Collapse )
I also made a gif set, which was a total pain in the ass and not even worth the effort.
( Gambit & Polaris gif set from WATXM under the cut. LOOKS TERRIBLE.Collapse )
But the main order of business is some drawings I broke out the pen & ink for. (Under the cut are 6 drawings around or under 750x500, so, heads up for that on click through.)
( Snip for pictures! 5 Marvel, 1 DC. Predictable me.Collapse )
[Long timeline!]Hour 01:
1 hr Emma drawing
1 hr Captain Marvel drawing
15min preparing scene to gif (trimming video to length, transcribing dialogue, cropping video from screen recording, planning division of frames)
30min coloring/editing (resizing, trimming down frames, coloring, sharpening)
-- Somewhere in here I begin to question my choice to make gifs. --
15 min Miles Morales drawing
30min Miles Morales drawing (cont.)
15min tracing/transferring Emma pencils in preparation for inks
15min inking Emma drawing
30min inking Emma drawing (cont.)
30 min coloring/editing gifs again (fiddling with coloring, finishing sharpening, reducing framerate, correcting video quality crappiness)
10 min coloring editing gifs again (cont.)
30min finishing gifs (adding text, dividing into gifs, reducing to under 1mb each, FINALLY DONE)
20 min Lorna drawing
50min Lorna drawing (cont.)
10min Magneto&Emma drawing
1hr Magneto&Emma drawing (cont.)
30min Magneto&Emma drawing (cont.)
30min finding songs for fanmix
45min finding songs for fanmix (cont.)
15min ordering/trimming down songs for fanmix
5min ordering/trimming down songs for fanmix (cont.)
20min finding art for covers
35min front cover
50min back cover
10min editing front+back covers
5min editing front+back covers (cont.)
20min setting the mix up on 8tracks
20min FUCKING HANDS (read: fixing hands on emma&erik drawing and capt marvel drawing)
15min tracing magneto&emma
5min tracing captain marvel
10min tracing spider-man
10min tracing polaris
35min drawing cassandra
5min tracing cassandra
10min transferring cassandra
15min transferring polaris
10min transferring spider-man
10min transferring captain marvel
10min transferring emma&erik
45min inking cassandra
15min inking magneto&emma
55min inking magneto&emma (cont.)
5min inking capt. marvel
45min inking capt marvel (cont.)
15min inking polaris
35min inking polaris (cont.)
25min inking spider-man
20min inking spider-man (cont.)
40min scanning + editing drawings to post
That's it! I somehow expected to be able to fit more in 20 hours, but there you have it. (I used a stopwatch. It's stupidly accurate, believe me. :P)