Maxim

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About Maxim

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    Fighter
  • Birthday 03/01/1922

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  1. Hey Man Nice Shot

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 8px; width: 250px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } You'd fight and you were right, but they were just too strong. They'd stick it in your face, and let you smell what they consider wrong. “Hey, lil’ guy. Mommy decided to sleep in a little late today. She ate something kinda nasty last night, and has a tummy ache,” Bobby piles on, hearkening back to his earlier reasoning that he’d tell as many lies as were necessary to keep his… his arrangement—this family—safe. Continuing thinking on his feet, he tried to volley a bit with Emma’s son. “I’ll tell you what… I’ll run out real quickly and go grab us all something to eat, eh? Whatcha hungry for, some pancakes?” To Lucas’ enthusiastic nodding, Bobby smirked and ruffled the kid’s hair, much to his amusement. “Alright, good boy. But you have to promise me you won’t wake Mommy, okay? Let’s shake on it.” The intimate scene, regardless of it being more tactical thinking on his part, opened up a soft spot in Bobby’s heart. He regards the tender moment between the two of them warmly, but one glance at the discarded cell phone served as a barreling, combustible meteor on his earthly plane; a harsh reminder of a life he could not have. A mock handshake with Lucas, followed by another ruffle of his hair, Bobby felt content enough to slip out of the home. “Can I play with your cool toy while you’re gone?” Lucas suddenly piped up. Genuinely befuddled, he turned directly to the boy to address him. “What toy?” “The one behind your back, silly,” the toddler answered matter-of-factly. At that, Bobby practically heard his heart drop to the lowest chambers of his stomach. He was equal parts astounded, impressed, and annoyed at how attentive and focused the bright young boy was. He also realized that he was losing precious time being tied up and desperately needed a rope to fish him out. “Oh, THAT one!” he responded, smacking the side of his head with his palm in feigned realization. “So that one is actually broken, and… I was… just on my way to get it fixed! Yeah. So I’ll go do that in the meantime, get a monster helping of pancakes, and pick you up your own toy on the way back. Sound like a deal?” “Deal.” “My man! Alright, get back up to your own and I’ll see you in a bit, alright?” At the first sight of Lucas taking off in an opposite direction, Bobby skillfully withdrew the still-loaded gun from his waist, released the contents of the chamber, and made a swift beeline to the front door, into his pickup. There was the faintest feeling that, by chance, he might’ve forgotten something, but at this moment, devoting any time to remembering what it could be was of zero importance to him. MONTY @Mariah.
  2. Hey Man Nice Shot

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 8px; width: 250px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } You'd fight and you were right, but they were just too strong. They'd stick it in your face, and let you smell what they consider wrong. Shit! Fucking shit! Bobby had suspected his intel with “Hunter” had an expiration date on it, but he’d always figured it would be on the terms of the other man; perhaps wanting to get out of the game and move forward with his life and ambitions. He could sniff out the obvious ploy from the barbarous, cock-sucking bastard on the other end, but with another life strewn into the mix, there was no recourse. Bobby’s immediate reaction was definitely knee-jerk, arm and neck waging battle in their effort to free themselves of the hastily-thrown on tee, before he had to pump his brakes a bit, becoming aware of how raucous he’d become in his impetuosity. Having to explain his action to Emma wasn’t necessarily a tree he’d wanted to bark up right, and knowing that he’d, in a heartbeat, outright lie about it before cluing her into anything made him feel a bit uneasy. He’d do anything necessary to ensure that his worlds never converged, but those weren’t tactics he wanted to employ unless backed completely into a wall. But an attempt at discreteness, coupled with absolute acrimony and dread, was not a brilliant recipe, and Bobby had to quickly rein his emotions in until he was at a measurable distance. Hastily stepping out of the modest, but snug bedroom into the hallway, he craftily unsheathes the P226 handgun from the inseam of his jeans with enough precision to testify that he’s done so numerous times before—so much, that it practically comes as second-nature to him. “Lookit, you fucking pussy, I dunno know what the fuck you think you’re playing at—” Bobby flares into the phone tucked between ear and shoulder, absolutely heated while arming the weapon, but he’s stopped dead in his tracks, like an obstinate hare staring down the barrel of his impending ruin. As the large, inquisitive doe-eyes of his lover’s juvenile son try earnestly to process the intricacies of the portrait in front of him, Bobby’s heart could’ve just about exploded into a few dozen pieces. Shit, shit, shit! Impulsively, he tossed the phone out of hands, thoughts of how much he'd invested into the mobile device temporarily disregarded. He wasn't sure of what good that would do in this case, but he was feeling as if he'd been caught with his pants down and now he has to will away the glaring hard-on. Mentally kicking himself over the inopportune timing, he realized that he couldn't replicate the same action with the already-loaded gun, as he'd done with the phone. Acting instinctively, he pulled Lucas close to his body in a makeshift one-armed hug, delicately smothering the young boy's face in the fleece fabric of his shirt, effectively cutting his vision of anything but complete darkness. "Morning, lil' buddy," he started to coo, "why are you up so early?" He used this opportunity to shove the barrel of the handgun into the rear waist of his jeans, blousing his shirt over the back in a functional way to conceal the protruding handle. A temporary reprieve it was, but having a loaded gun susceptible to misfire by shock shoved in the back of his pants was probably a less-than-ideal situation. Realizing now that he wasn’t even in a position for free movement, Bobby tried to ponder when most things around him started to crumble to shit. Only after becoming aware of faint mumbling and feeling a slight puff of heat on his abdomen, did Bobby loosen his grip on the young boy, “What was that, Lucas?” “I was waiting for my breakfast from mommy,” Lucas repeated. Bobby’s mind caught up to the fact that the quaint little household likely had a systematic routine that he was no doubt imposing on. He swears he doesn’t need one more thing to feel mildly guilty about. MONTY @Mariah.
  3. I'll Never Break Your Heart [M]

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I'll give you all of me, honey, that's no lie. To anyone on the outside—likely to Emma herself—appearances would project that Bobby either hadn’t heard a word of what Emma had said, or he’d pointedly ignored her personal encroachments, as he’d continued ministrations of his preoccupation with the setup of the wine he’d produced after making his way back on to the outside deck. Neither scenario was conclusive. Bobby had been privy to every word spoken to him by the beguiling, winsome blonde perched along the pearl of the chester privacy walls outlining their current little sanctum (a structure that Bobby had developed on his own, and was absolutely proud of, admiring his own craftsmanship). His silence elucidated a man deep in contemplation, not exercising circumvention. The tale of Bobby’s ties wasn’t as simple as a casual round table anecdote by the water cooler. It essentially dictated his modern-day existence, in fact, and was perhaps the likeliest catalyst for every moral gaffe that has threatened to beset Bobby over his last six or so years. What troubles him is the inability to subtly relinquish hold on the zipper protecting the integrity of the baggage of his family, without unwittingly having it all combust under so much pressure. At some point, he’d vaguely registered Emma hastily trying to waive her inquest and dismiss it as misguided, likely out of fear that she’d overstepped a boundary or two, before interjecting. “Once upon a time, I probably was,” he relayed as he handed a flute of Riesling, gesturing to the patio seat adjacent to him on the deck, inviting her to join his company. Robert Sr. was a hard-nosed, oft-times bullheaded man, framed by his arduous, but admirable, service among the high ranks of the US Marine Corps, no doubt. Despite it all, he was a man that prioritized his family almost as he did his country (a fact of which, nevertheless, served as a pretty big conflict point between him and Bobby’s mother). Out of uniform, he bestowed such a fervent fondness and adoration that may have almost seemed uncharacteristic of the normally no-nonsense major general to those observing, and Bobby often took solace, sometimes selfish indulgence, in what he’d felt was reserved for his family alone. He could vividly remember his father’s ruefulness any time he had to be away for extended periods of time, due to the demands of his service. But Bobby had never once given him any grief over it. He could never fault him for yielding to the demands of the greater good over their little family; for being the real-life superhero he’d viewed him as his. He was Bobby’s Superman. “Robert. Robert Sr. was his name. Heck of a guy.” He’d unintentionally chugged the contents of the glass flute in one shot while pondering over recollections of his father. Unsettled, and admittedly slightly shamed upon realizing his action, he turned to give Emma what was meant to be a reassuring half-grin, and poured himself another glass. MONTY @Mariah.
  4. Hey Man Nice Shot

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 8px; width: 250px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } You'd fight and you were right, but they were just too strong. They'd stick it in your face, and let you smell what they consider wrong. Sounds of heavy rainfall that would normally topple densely outside seem as though they’re massaging the window pane; the sonance seeming almost soothing as Bobby is stirred awake by the patter. His eyes immediately begin to adjust to the abrasive intrusion of light permeating through the deep maroon drapery, before he makes a vain attempt at shielding his eyes in his arm. He’s managed to examine enough of his surroundings to discern that he’s probably not in his own abode. The room encompassing is outfitted with lots of dark reddish and gold tones; hues of copper and mahogany that give the atmosphere an almost regal, albeit rustic, touch. The faint hint of honeysuckle and a sort of dry cinnamon at least gave Bobby an (admittedly shallow) indication that he’d woken up in a room owned by a female and that—thank heavens—he likely hadn’t done anything potentially incriminating or regrettably shameful in an either stoned or inebriated fit. Only after finally taking heed of the soft becalmed figure beside him, did all pleasant memories of their lascivious romp flood their way back into Bobby’s consciousness. As he turns his attention back to the svelte frame of his soft lover beside him, he takes into account all of the humps and curves outlined on her body as she’s wounded tightly between the sheets. Just a glance at her soft and ample breasts poorly concealed within the hastily-restored bra had Bobby recalling the way they fit almost perfectly in his hands—as if they were hand-sculpted specifically for him. It may very well be his eyes deceiving him, but he’s pretty sure he can still see the outline on her chest from where his palms were likely situated for most of the night. The ever beautiful Emma looked utterly and thoroughly fucked out; from the smeared lipgloss running across both cheeks, devising a makeshift grin of its own, to the multitude of red prints dancing from her jaw all the way to her collarbone, giving her a considerably ‘spotted’ feline aesthetic. Maybe he’d had her ingest more than enough Zinfandel than she could probably handle, but he’s willing to bet everything he owned that it only enhanced the experience to as much of a mind-blowing level for her, as it had him—perhaps even more-so. Suffice to say, their days spent since the turning point in their relationship were bliss. The sound of an obnoxious vibration hard against the cedar bedside dresser had instantly shaken Bobby from his abstraction. He’d considered it rude for him to allow the blare to forcibly wake Emma from her seemingly peaceful rest, at her own place of residence, so he tried to respond with haste. It was a bit puzzling to him seeing the emboldened “HUNTER” flashing across the screen of his phone. “Hunter” was a discreet watchword for a man Bobby had met while on ‘the inside’. Through all of their illicit operations, Bobby had begun something akin to appreciation for the man’s prudence and aloofness and, eventually, had developed a rapport with one he considered a credible ally and an unfailing companion. Enough so, in fact, that he’d been the one to encourage Bobby not to become too deeply wounded in the inter-webbing of organized crime, being privy to Bobby’s story and all his unbroached potential; to strike out his own path while he still had viable options. Bobby felt he had reason to be appreciative for his ubiety in his life; not only for what he’d shown Bobby before, but for the presence he's maintained afterward. Even after Bobby decided to tidy up his act a bit, he still saw it necessary enough to have eyes on the other side; rather, he needed a pair of eyes on his back making sure other eyes stay off of it. “Hunter” kept Bobby abreast of enough of the workings of the vainglorious and borderline neurotic ‘kingpins’ that monopolize the criminal underworld—namely one man, in particular. For those reasons alone, he chooses to keep his lines of communication with him shrouded in anonymity. Though, despite probably being one of the most dependable people to Bobby at this current iteration of his life, he couldn’t say that he knew too much about him, other than his actual name and the fact that he had a wife-to-be and a son, with another on the way, tucked away in the remote recesses of the city, far away from the purview of anything he does in darkness. “Yes?” Bobby answers, deeming it necessary to do so detachedly, given the dubious circumstances. “Bobby… what’s up, man?” the voice on the other end responds slightly feverishly, but making an near-valiant effort to attempt to subdue it. Bobby picked it up almost immediately and put himself on alert. “Things are things, brother. What you need?” Bobby decided to prod. He’d picked up on a heavy sigh that was poorly concealed as an attempt at a cough almost immediately as it came. “I… I got some good intel I need to drop in your hands…” MONTY @Mariah.
  5. I'll Never Break Your Heart [M]

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I'll give you all of me, honey, that's no lie. “I also save orphans misplaced in remote countries around the world in my spare time. Watch where you walk, babe—you just might trip over my big red cape,” he quipped before smoothly slipping back into the house, making his way to the kitchen almost anxiously. He was making a beeline toward his cherished wine cabinet, approaching it with an almost child-like enthusiasm. Truth be told, he’d practically been giddy for this first experience with Emma, for a multitude of reasons. Getting to indulge in his affinity for wine, bizarre as it sounds, was one of them. Though, he hadn’t a clue as to whether Emma even enjoyed the sensations of good, pure wine, or appreciated the extent of maturation and how it affects both value and consumption. Come to think of it, he still wasn’t completely sure Emma even had a tolerance for any kind of alcohol. The only drink he’d ever seen her take was the one he’d offered that first night that they’d met. Not that it would be much of a deterrence; if anything, he saw it as a quaint opportunity for a ‘proper’ wine-and-dine, being the big wine enthusiast that he was. He sifted through the pretty sizable collection, eyes scanning the assortment keenly before widening briefly in a notion of acknowledgement, as he finds his gratification in a sleek, narrow, effulgent deep green bottle that he gingerly extracts from its secure hold. Joh. Jos. Prüm Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Auslese. Or really, just JJ Prum Riesling. Aged from 1988, this was probably amongst Bobby’s more prized acquisitions; definitely one meant for an occasion like this one. After withdrawing two glasses from the cabinet from above his head, he makes his way back on to the outside deck. The sight of Emma propped along the railing of the deck, peering across the scenic cerulean shoreline below, a gentle mist-imbued breeze dancing through her soft blonde hair, provided Bobby with such an ethereal visual. Legitimately, he contemplated standing in place, and just gazing at the imagery for another few harmless minutes, with Emma clearly none the wiser, but he’d rather engage with her heavenly, unparalleled visage up close, and drink her in with his spirit selection. “You thirsty?” he'd query as he approaches her with his signature cocky stride, the muscles forming his shape noticeably contracting with his movement. He’d begin to pour the wine into the pair of glasses, expertly balancing both in his hand as though it were an impressive party trick. “I’m admittedly a bit of a wine guy. Picked it up from my dad.” At surface, his last remark was a passing one, but not a day went by that he didn’t think about his tragically murdered father; the senior Robert Carter would have very much fancied a girl like Emma for his son. But despite the brief somber thought, Bobby maintains his suave demeanor. MONTY @Mariah.
  6. I'll Never Break Your Heart [M]

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I'll give you all of me, honey, that's no lie. Scenarios like this were ones most guys could only hope to dream of; a scene that would fit well in a niche soft rock indie film, about the ‘bad boy’ and some fine ass broad riding along the sunny strips of the Pacific coast. He, too, had once sought after a phantom reverie—visions of fool’s gold fueled by proclivities of hedonism that valued big cars, big houses, and big rings as immeasurable standards of fulfillment. Those fantasies were the foundations he’d wanted to build his life upon. That was before all before the throes of war had near-stripped him completely of adherence to any frivolous vision. Time spent in service can be a prodigious experience for any man or woman. In Bobby’s experience, it granted him nothing but unyielding dysphoria and lifelong discontent. Truth be told, there wasn’t much that could prepare anyone for the trials and mental handicap of the residuals of war. Needless to say, Bobby’s time served had stripped him atom by atom, completely deconstructing every pre-existing concept of life he’d thought he’d figured out up to that. Vapid fantasies were ripped from his core, and he was forcibly fed the harsh realities of the real world. The Bobby of old would’ve basked a bit in Emma's obvious elation and astonishment. He would’ve seen it as a prime opportunity for a major flex, having ‘achieved’ what he had at his mild age. But it was possessions like these that hardly gave him any kind of excitement anymore, and while he was grateful that Emma seemed satisfied enough with what he’d had, he couldn’t say that he was as amazed with it. Nonetheless, it was what he’d been calling home for the better part of the last few years; his forum of solitude. Its remoteness and isolation were the right tools necessary to have allowed him to build some semblance of structure and stability, and placate his volatile psyche, so he’d cherish it for what it was because of it. “Yeah…” he gave something of a drained sigh as he looked to Emma and answered, “Yeah, this is all me.” Allowing Emma into his sanctuary—their very first solo date—was perhaps one of the boldest risks he’d taken, trouncing both warfare and crime. His vulnerability was absolutely his kryptonite, but just as she’d been willing to unlock herself and open up to him, he hoped and wished to do the same. He’d take her hand in his, then begins to lead down the path of his walkway. Pausing at the door, he'd turn his head over his muscular shoulder, and become caught by her wide honey hued eyes; still ‘till now, her beauty was fucking incomprehensible, able to force time around her to stand frozen still. He’d smile, then deliver a cheeky wink, before shifting back to undo the lock. MONTY @Mariah.
  7. Amlex - 17 Captain Fox - 21 Shoaib. - 12  
  8. Amlex - 18  Captain Fox - 21 Shoaib. - 13
  9. Firestarter

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 10px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I'm the trouble starter Bobby became privy to the sketchy atmosphere almost the very instant he’d strutted back—August in tow—and had seen Andrew take notice of the new arrival in the midst of his preemptive stretching. His right hand man’s shift in demeanor mimicked a rattlesnake; to Bobby, at least, the hissing of Andrew’s vibrating tail was very easily detectable, the defense mechanism belonging to his friend having immediately come into play. But, as it were, Bobby was naturally perceptive and intuitive, strengths which propelled him in both the military and his life of crime. He was able to sense behaviors, thoughts and emotions better than most anyone, through body language and other means. The emotion specifically seen here was mild discomfort, mixed with some sort of contempt. Did Andrew and August know each other? Had there been bad blood not made known to him? Was he a third wheel to a vehicle moments away from crashing? Questions withstanding, it wasn't his place to directly address concerns that had little to nothing to do with him, and he found that he didn't particularly care to give it much further thought. There was no guarantee that he had his story straight, anyway. “Andrew, this is my friend August. August, this is my best friend, brother, therapist, Andrew,” Bobby would introduce as he stood between the two men, his muscular arms draped around both pairs of shoulders as he became saturated with glee in anticipation of the work out session. "I hope you boys are ready! I'm about to fuckin' smoke you." MONTY @ris
  10. Next MCU Big Bad?

    If it's not Galactus, it needs to be. They seemed to have tried to pull the trigger in Silver Surfer, but couldn't actualize with limited budget, lazy direction and dreadful writing. And it goes without saying that he pretty much outclasses Thanos. I guess they can try again with Dormammu, as well (also outclasses Thanos), but of course I'm not sure if they have any immediate plans into place of repurposing the character, considering they seemingly wrote him out of Doctor Strange with the intent of a possible reintroduction.
  11. Andrew Avila | Hermes | Freddie Prinze Jr.

    #allofmypride { height: 520px; width: 420px; background: white; outline: 1px solid #e59277; position: relative; margin: 20px auto 3px; box-shadow: 1px 2px 3px #e59277; overflow: hidden; } .aomp-image { width: 170px; height: 400px; position: absolute; background-size: cover; top: 85px; left: 0px; filter: grayscale(0.7); } .aomp-text { font-family: libre franklin; color: #000; position: absolute; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; padding-right: 5px; width: 195px; height: 400px; font-size: 11px; right: 25px; top: 85px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 1px; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background: none!important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { background: #000 !important; border: none !important; } .aomp-text b { background: #e2cccf; font-weight: 400;} .aomp-title { font-family: raleway; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; font-size: 9px; position: absolute; color: #e59277; letter-spacing: 2px; width: 380px; top: 38px; left: 20px; }   BOBBY & DREW | Thick as Thieves (REPOST FOR REFERENCE) This relationship has already added an entirely new dimension to Bobby's character, that I wouldn't have thought he needed. Although from the distance the pairing seems to be a direct mismatch, Andrew's affable and jocular disposition serve as a near-perfect compliment to Bobby's more destructive tendencies of petulance and belligerence; that he tends to serve as a something of an effective 'cooler' in times when Bobby can get a bit... chaotic. In that regard, I think our dynamic should lean more towards an established friendship, versus something premature and only newly-formed. I feel like this angle is essential only because Bobby is a character with so much to unpack (most notably, the destructive lasting effects of cold war) and having a steady, reliable foundation is perhaps the only thing that's kept him from imploding to this point. Andrew acts a something of an anchor in this regard --- not only as a (barely-competent) makeshift therapist at times when chaotic bouts of trauma threaten to consume him, but keeping Bobby from succumbing to his hedonistic tendencies, as well. Essentially, he's kept Bobby from going back to the pen more times than anyone has cared to keep a record of. On that note, the gleaming, dynamic bromance is only one element of this electric pairing. For now, we can just say that, with extensive coercion, Bobby has been able to find use of Drew's aptitude for thievery and chicanery --- something that they both believe they've been able to execute to remarkable effect. Of course, at the end of the day, they are still legitimately polar opposites where ideals are concerned, and that tends to invite some notable conflict and creates several key moments in their relationship. LINK TO SHIPPER MONTY
  12. The Chemicals Between Us

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; letter-spacing: 9px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I WANT YOU TO SURRENDER; ALL MY FEELINGS ROSE TODAY “Yeah,” Bobby murmured, pressing one hand against the door frame to support his muscular body. He wanted to play it cool, but while presented with the empyrean Emma and her vulnerability, he felt he could undress himself from his armor and, too, bear his naked form. There would be no more hiding—not from her. Once a lonely road, could now be shared, pending he didn’t lose control of the wheel. But combing through her sweet, honey tinted eyes, which poured over his bronze skin, he felt not a semblance of fear or pessimism. “Yeah, totally. That’d be really awesome,” he’d finish through his trance. Then, for a moment, he unabashedly basked beneath her radiance—his lips repelling as their corners formed a small curl—before returning to the current affairs. “And speaking of lil’ dude: I think I figured out what’s been going on with these ancient pipes.” Bobby collapsed back to one knee, directing Emma’s attention to the removed tubes before his explanation. “I’m guessing he’s a real big fan of Play-Doh...” he’d chuckle as he scraped a large ball of the modeling clay from out the drain, meanwhile Lucas looked at the crime scene and his annoyed mother anxiously. “But you shouldn’t be too mad at him. I was a little rascal once, too, and thankfully this is nothing that can’t be easily dealt with, unlike the crap I got up to. Though I’ve noticed that a lot of things in this place could use a good tune up. Maybe some new pipes altogether, throw some paint on these walls, give ya new baseboards and cupboards... I can run up all the supplies and bang it out in a month tops.” The private contractor would feign running down calculations in his head, before pulling out a notepad and clicking his pen. “The most it’ll cost ya is... dessert after our dinner, your treat? And I mean real dessert, in case your mind was in the gutta. I’m big on ice cream sundaes.” MONTY @Mariah.
  13. The Chemicals Between Us

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; letter-spacing: 9px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I WANT YOU TO SURRENDER; ALL MY FEELINGS ROSE TODAY Bobby had something of a morbid thought of him being glad that their small party had relocated to the bathroom versus the kitchen, away from anything flammable, because he was fairly positive that he’d seen just a few sparks fly from his brain short circuiting, trying to soak in what was being relayed to him. Of course he’d been slightly peeved at having, in his mind, been ghosted on and dusted away for the past two weeks, but he hadn’t at all considered how Emma might’ve possibly perceived the events of that hair-raising night; what it probably took her to unpack everything over those two weeks. The brash and brassy young bachelor was fully aware of what he himself had felt that night—the rush of a thrill he’d begun to seek, a staggering sense of enchantment, and an irrational eagerness to dive head first into waters of unknown depth. What he’d felt at that moment that night was an overwhelming desire and a willingness to pursue something new. He knew that he’d felt a feverish attraction to the petite blonde at that moment—does in this very moment, as well—but it was only after Emma’s… bold declaration that Bobby was prompted to assess their situation a bit more assiduously. Her reservations over him were understandable. While he’d yet to reveal to her the corroded brick of the road he’s traveled, it was easily visible to both familiars and strangers that riding alongside him would prove turbulent. It’s why, for his entire life, he’s forced himself to ride alone. And until he’d met Emma, his choice left him content. But that was until he met Emma. Since that fated night, her haunting reflection hadn’t left his rear view mirror. It was simple to point toward their attraction being solely that of lust, but of the crumbs she shared with him that was an anecdote of her past, he was helpless against feeling like she just might be perfect for his passenger seat—perfect for him. He felt as if he understood her; as if he saw her beyond skin deep. And by her apt reading of him and her wise choice to hold back from pursuing him, it was clear she saw him, as well. At least a significant side to him… at least so he thought. It’s Lucas that makes him look deeper within himself, as it’s in Lucas that he recognizes himself as a young boy who lost his father; his only hero. His entire adolescence and young adulthood to follow had been spent trying to fill that hole, with sex, with anger, with violence—none of it has paid reparations for the damage done. Now, faced with Emma’s actions and words, he begins to believe strongly in the possibility that she and the beautiful child she’d given life to, could do it. His frustration over being left cold by Emma, as it turns out, wasn’t just about being blown off by a beautiful woman. It was about potentially missing the opportunity to know her and allow her to change his life. Bobby released a deep, heavy sigh after. Perhaps he’d approached the situation a bit irrationally, and he was sure he’d put the seemingly reserved blonde beauty in somewhat of an uncomfortable spot. “Look, forgive me. I definitely came atcha the wrong way. In my mind, it’d just seemed like there were some blanks between us that weren’t being appropriately filled in, and I wanted things to be straight between us. But I kinda made a bit of an ass of myself in the process. And you deserve an explanation for how things went down that ni--... wait, wait, wait.” Bobby had smoothly re-positioned himself, so that he was leaning against the meager sink, arm folded under and acting a support for his chin, accosting Emma directly with a slinky half-grin splashed across his face. “Run it back about me being the sexiest guy you’ve ever met.” MONTY @Mariah.
  14. The Chemicals Between Us

    .intoforest { position: relative; margin: 20px auto 0px; background: #191919; height: auto; padding: 40px; width: 400px; min-height: 300px; } .intoforest img { position: absolute; height: 250px; width: 480px; object-fit: cover; left: 0px; top: 0px; filter: grayscale(0%) contrast(75%); } .ifoutline { position: relative; min-height: 220px; width: 320px; border: 1px solid #d3e0e5; } .intoforest text { display: block; position: relative; color: #e7e7e7; padding: 30px; margin-top: 210px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; line-height: 180%; font-family: roboto; padding-bottom: 20px; } .intoforest lyrics { position: absolute; color: #d3e0e5; font-family: overpass; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; letter-spacing: 9px; width: 200px; line-height: 200%; padding: 20px; } I WANT YOU TO SURRENDER; ALL MY FEELINGS ROSE TODAY Of course, the ghost of their first meeting had loomed in the air from the very moment Emma opened up her home and allowed Bobby entryway, but it was almost as if actually verbalizing anything regarding their ill-fated encounter had pulled something of a trigger within him. The endearing domestic atmosphere had almost instantly soured, and as much as Bobby would’ve liked to mask the blunt shift in his mood, he realized that he honestly didn’t quite care enough to. He didn’t necessarily owe anything to her. He’d been the one scorned and embarrassed, if anything. And for her to just casually allude to that night with nonchalant arrogance left an unsavory taste in Bobby’s mouth. Whatever barrier had begun to melt between the two of them was hastily reconstructed and bound together tight by the sturdiest mortar. “Well, what can I say?” he started as he’d turned his left shoulder to her, busy preoccupying himself with his slightly antiquated, yet always unfailing set of tools. “Tried to keep my head down a bit. Nose clean and all that. Otherwise, can’t really say I’ve had much complaints. Two weeks with no call or page kinda just flutters by pretty quickly, y’know?” He wasn’t sure if he was expecting a response, but he hadn’t stuck around waiting for one, as he grabbed his essentials and made his way to a necessary checkpoint. “Let's see what we've got goin' on in the bathroom. I'll knock out that doubleheada first.” MONTY @Mariah.
  15. Girl, shut up and along with the rest.