nextgen_cosmic:

The small ship dropped out of hyperspace, but had it arrived too late?  The usual space traffic that surrounded the Shi'ar Throneworld of Chandrilar was light, and what few ships remained were either warships, now actively engaged in battle, or trying to flee the immediate area.

What dominated their field of vision was a ship who's geometry was utterly alien, almost seeming to not exist in quite the same space as everything else.  Taa II, the worldship of Galactus, Devourer of Worlds.  Galactus himself, for the moment, was nowhere in sight, but as close to the planet as the ship had come, it would not be long.  Unless the X-Men could do something, the Shi'ar Empire's days were likely numbered.

nextgen_holiday:

Mothers are the place that we call home.
On them we rest our heads and close our eyes.
There's no one else who grants the same soft peace,
Happiness, contentment, sweet release,
Erasing nighttime tears with lullabies,
Restoring the bright sun that makes us bloom. - Anonymous

nextgen_shiar:

It was a modified kjethya scoutcraft. Big enough for passengers, but still small and simple enough for one man to fly.

Or, in this case, one seventeen-year-old princeling.  His Imperial Highness Starbridge Xavier Neramani hadn't been to the planet he was now orbitting since three summers ago. Various formal duties and complications had kept getting in the way of his visits with his father.

The father for whom he was mentally calling as his ship came screeching into the upstate New York sky. Starbridge managed to land safely at the Institute's designated area, but it was close. And until he'd gotten help, nothing counted as 'safe' anyway.

nextgen_citizen:

(bendytimed to after "--Jungle")

There's a faint ripple of magic off in the woods near Xavier's, and a presence that makes it's way towards the institute with a good amount of speed. Any telepaths would have a hard time getting into it's non-human mind, but there's no malice or ill will about it.

Which is why it may seem confusing for there to be a dead rabbit, fresh and rather plump, left on Rachel Summers' windowsill.

nextgen_misc:

The citizens of Nova Roma were responsible residents of the Amazon Rainforest. They didn't waste resources, they used every part of everything, they worked with the land instead of clearing it and they recycled everything they could. They had learned these methods thousands of years ago from the local tribes not long after establishing their settlement.

Citizens from the colony would venture out into the jungle on a daily basis to gather the herbs, plants, fruit and other items they needed. Wood was gathered from the forest floor instead of chopping down trees whenever it was possible.

Today the citizens that ventured out did not return.

shattered:

Melinda has been cleared for getting up and walking around, and wants to see the grounds. She's walked through the living areas, the kitchen, all the areas where she has clearance.

She steps outside. The jumpsuit they've provided her helps cut down on the late-winter chill, but she doesn't notice anyway. She still feels frozen through to her soul.

If she still has one.

She walks through the frosted ground, hearing the grass crunch under her feet. And it reminds her of the sound of her own body, turned to glass, shattering into deadly shards... and the blood running over it...

She stops walking, realizing she's come to a small lake on the edge of the grounds. And she stares at it, a thin sheet of ice, barely more than frost, covering it. And she considers...

nextgen_media:

"We interrupt this regularly scheduled program to bring you this breaking report. It seems like a giant, what can only be called a citadel, rose from the very ground itself and covered almost the entire area of Central Park just moments ago. The monstrosity seems to be composed completely out of stone and there are no discernible entrances. What appears to be people on flying robotic horses circle the citadel. Who built this and to what end has yet to be discovered."

dream_catcher:

The Marauders are gone. At least for now. They still haven't determined what that was all about, and right now, Lucas doesn't care. He's been hard at work ever since the attack, despite his own psychological scars, healing who he can. When the medical labs, Hank McCoy, and the other healer assured him they had things under control, he went to talk to Scott, and got permission to do the hardest task yet.
He sighs, setting down the pencil and reviewing the letter.

marvel_girl:

The mansion was in ruins; it looked like a nuclear bomb had hit it.  What hadn't been outright destroyed on a near-molecular level looked as though it had been burned to cinders.  Little pieces of bone were mixed into the ash and rubble, the last remains of what had been friends and family.  An adamantium skeleton lay useless under one of the larger remaining pieces.

Flames crackled and coalesced around a young woman, taking the general shape of a bird of prey.  Her red hair flowing seemingly of its own accord, a satisfied, wicked smile worked its way across her face.  "You are the last," she said, her voice echoing in their minds even as she spoke.  "The last of the X-Men, the last of those I once called friends."

She made a small hand gesture, painfully tightening the psionic bonds around the few surviving X-Men.  "You sought to cage me, to make me less than I was.  But the Phoenix is eternal, power incarnate.  You simple mutants could never have defeated me."

She paused, placing a finger to her chin in thoughtful consideration.  "The one question is whether to simply kill you now, slowly and painfully, or let you struggle and fight for your survival?  Or I suppose I could let you be...  You'll still die, of course, when I consume your sun... but that does lack the immediate satisfaction."

"What to do, what to do...?"

nextgen_misc:

The skies were cleared and the cat-people seemed to be calming, if still nervous, as Elder Shadow addressed them.

"My people, we have been so very wrong. Look at the anguish and fear that has only been elevated in our attempts to protect ourselves and our world." He looks towards Lucas, before hurrying down the temple steps to tend to his wound personally, still addressing the others. "We cannot let the suffering and violation of one of our own blind us to the consequences of our actions. The Rituals will never be invoked, for they can only bring more pain and madness."

As he heals the wound, his tone becomes more personal. "Lucas Moonstar, Chris Pym, all members of the X-tribe.. we cannot offer enough apologies, and I give you mine personally. I will take whatever atonement you see fit to repent for the actions of my people's will and my own leadership."

pym_kitten:

Chris' eyes opened sharply, the trance over her breaking. The people at large, and most of the honor guard, had had their resolve shaken by the outsiders' actions. The connection with the energy that fueled their civilization was disrupted. The stream of light cut off abruptly, and Chris sat up.

"...what?" She blinked, holding her head. The rattling of the jewlery that had been placed on her prompted her to open her eyes. "I... where am I? Who the hell... this... why am I tarted up like tribal fetish Barbie?!" She screamed, rolling off the altar, transforming back to her human form in her disorientation.

nextgen_deviant:

The brides were clad in white and lined up in front of the altar. A semi-circle of priests stood behind the brides and were chanting. The magic in the air became more powerful as the priests chanted. A small circle appeared in the air before the brides and started to get bigger.

Standing behind the priests was a large group of deviants. They were witnessing the rebirth of their god into the mortal realm. It was an honor and privilege to be witness to this historic moment.

nextgen_holiday:

There were traditions around the holidays and then there were traditions. One such tradition on New Year's Day was a snowball fight at Xavier's Institute For Higher Learning. Each New Year's Day the students and faculty gathered on the front lawn and participated in a snowball fight. Snow was never a problem with the resident weather goddess and in later years hydrokinetics.

A fresh blanket of snow covered the ground thanks to Mother Nature.

High noon struck and the snowball fight was officially under way.

nextgen_misc:

On the other side of a portal in the woods... there is a small empty cave, connected to a tunnel, descending deep into the earth. As the end of the tunnel comes closer, light grows brighter. The end of the tunnel opens into a cavern that seems simply too big to exist and not be known. The air is warm and humid, and there's light at the top of the cavern, like a miniature sun, but it doesn't burn the eyes to look at it. It seems to pulse and thrum with a gentle life of it's own, keeping life sustained here.

Those among the X-Men who have seen the Savage Land will feel much the same here. There are vast tracts of jungle, threaded through by areas of plain, with sandy shores along a huge lake that takes up it's own fair share of the cavern. At the center of the cave wall furthest from the tunnel's exit however, lies a village with dozens of huts, and smaller caves carved into the wall. These are all dwarfed by a ziggurat, rising up to an ornate platform. The base of the temple, and each ascending tier, are packed to the brim with bodies, arms and voices raised. Some are singing songs of celebration, some are arguing with one another. At the top however, lays Chris, still unconscious, body dressed in tribal finery that would leave her classified as indecent back in New York. Surrounding her are Elder Shadow and the honor guard that accompanied him.

By the time the X-Men could be within sight range of the individuals, the elder's voice rings out, magic carrying it to every mind in the cavern willing to listen. "My brothers and sisters, I speak to you, as ever, as the servant of your will! The spirits and our people's will have provided for us! We have brought the chosen one into our midst, and the time of alignment for the Ritual of Transformation is at hand. Although one of our kind was brutalized, and their blood perverted for the humans' science, we will not be like them. We will not rise and spill blood. We will make them as our own. They will hear nature's voices once again, and we will rise to live in peace with them!"

Another voice, that male with the moss and mud caked onto him, also carries, as if piggybacking on the magic the elder was using. "Even though there are those among us who feel the Ritual of Cleansing would be more justified, for the horrors the pink apes commit upon our mother... the greater voice of the people will be upheld.."

Elder Shadow wheels around, baring his teeth against the druid. "Cracked Claw, you are our most gifted life-weaver in three generations, and yet your mouth brings nothing but disasters and poison. You will stay your voice. The Ritual of Cleansing is an embarrassment in our people's history, and we will not speak of it."

"But Elder Shadow, they--"

The old male takes a hard step towards the younger, arching his back. "You wish to challenge my place as our people's guardian, kitten?" He does not yell, but his voice speaks with the force of a thundercloud, looking at Cracked Claw with shame and disappointment.

"...no, Elder Shadow. Your voice is the people's voice." His ears flatten, as he lowers his body towards the stones of the temple, before taking his place in a ring around the altar Chris is laid upon.

The elder turns his face out to the crowd. "If there are any who should speak against the great Transformation... now is the time to speak."

quadrimanial:

It was so good to be back. Sylvie was making her way across furniture and particularly sturdy bits of wall decor, everything just like it was supposed to --  Oh. They moved that chair in the front atrium. She couldn't reach it now.

"The nerve, not preserving everything, amberlike, to await my return," she joked to herself as she climbed down and made her way across the floor. For good measure, she grabbed the chair with her top arms and very slowly but surely dragged it towards its more convenient spot.

lytaworthington:

She has a backpack on and a purse in her hand as she touches down on the ground outside of Xavier's School for Gifted Children.

It has been too long for Lyta since she's last been here. Far too long indeed. She's missed her home, her friends, her team.

She's already called ahead to make sure that her room is the same as she's left it. Dad's shipping in the rest of her luggage tomorrow. For now though, she has enough clothes to last.

Opening the door, Lyta steps in and grins.

"Hello!"

nextgen_misc:

The city of London was seeing something straight out of a few horror films. A combination of a Romero zombie film and An American Werewolf in London, sort of. Zombies shambled and shuffled through the streets of London searching out delicious, juicy, squishy brains. Howls drifted up over the sounds of the city from North Surrey in the south to Enfield in the north part of the city. Werewolves and zombies littered the streets and the citizens rightfully locked themselves inside. Any civilian outside was considered fair game and prey to the monsters now roaming the city.

A seedy looking man stood outside of Lillywhites in Piccadilly Circus holding what looked to be a piece of very old parchment. He read the page and the unlucky citizens that happened to be passing by transformed into werewolves or zombies.

marvel_girl:

Rachel was not, to put it bluntly, in a good mood.  She was practically fuming, as a matter of fact.  She stomped down the halls of the mansion, muttering to herself under her breath.

As she did, objects around her would fall of the shelves they were on, as though pulled by invisible hands, all the while golden-yellow energy danced around her eyes.  Picture frames would tilt, tables would slide, all kinds of small phenomena.

"Gaaah...." she muttered, as she reached the bottom of the stairs.  "He makes me so crazy sometimes..."