#siprompt

Tagging: Emma Frost and Warren Worthington III; mentions of Sharon Smith, Rachel Summers, and [NPCs] Anne and Rebecca, and Astrid Bloom.

Timeframe: June 2-3, 2015

Location: SHIELD Institute for the Highly Capable; Emma’s dorm; Warren’s dorm

Comments: SHIELD Institute dorm prompt

Charles gently allowed the door behind him to close, rolling himself further into his room where he was met with nearly complete silence. Just as he passed by the light switch, he flicked it on for the overhead light to illuminate the room. He directed a glance to the old analog clock he had sitting on the far wall across from the doorway. A hand led up to his neck and rubbed along his spine at the back --- oddly sore from the way he’d slept the previous night. Scott may have been a well enough teaching assistant, but he still had much to do before his classes were completely in order to his liking. Moving over to the dresser, he pulled himself in front of the mirror and ran a hand down the length of the blue tie around his neck before moving his fingers to the knot. He untied it and loosely rolled it around his hand as he pulled open the drawer on the left side of his dresser. Among an array of specifically organized belts and ties, he placed it in one of the two empty places there.

This room was still strange to him, subtle differences had brought it all back to him that it indeed wasn’t his room back at the X-Mansion. He missed it all, honestly---but he at least had some of the students, along with a slew of additional ones that may or may not think fondly of him. The golden tan and brown sheets on the bed were reminiscent of those he had in the past, but had a strange branching swirl pattern that told him they were in fact different. The nightstand on each side had reddish wooden bases that matched the duvet with a darker brown stained on the tables themselves. A ‘old fashion’ alarm clock sat on the righthand side, set to wake him up at six in the morning though he usually found himself awake nearly an hour beforehand. He moved his chair to the armoire situated near the wall, pulling it open to find the hanger where he could place his jacket.

Even if this place was stranger than his previous home, it still took him only a few minutes to get ready for bed and put everything away for the day. Switching the overhead light off, he took his reading book from the drawer on the ride side of his bed. He pulled the string on the small lamp, placing the book on the nightstand. He smoothed out the blanket sitting on his bed, folding it back so he could climb in. With a hand placed there to get in, the moment was given some thought before his motions paused. He still felt oddly lost in this new place, even if he did have his students to comfort him with their presence. The telepath knew he was here to do good, just like he’d tried to do back at his previous home. It was all still too foreign to him, however. He yearned for many things--head stuck in the past with his dreams pushing him to the future. He exhaled in a sigh and backed away from the sheets, rolling himself to the bookshelf sitting near his writing desk. A hand reached up and brushed his fingers on one of the books, though it was heavier than he remembered --- leather-bound, stained with the years its seen, and stuffed full of written memories and photographs.

Taking his place near his writing desk and turning on the light, he unfastened the clasp holding it shut and carefully laid it out on the surface. As soon as he opened it up, several pictured threatened to fall out before his hand grazed against them to keep them in place. He took one up and rested his cheek in his other hand with a long sigh, remembering the large staircase in the immediate entrance to the X-Mansion and nearly the exact moment this photo was taken -- many years ago when his original students were just learning to control their powers. The smile on his own face within the printed photo brought a smaller version onto his current expression. It was a simpler time, even if it was under a decade ago.

PROMPT I —

       the dorm room             heimili

           Despite Loki’s heritage, Asgard will always be thought of as home.

since his fall into the Void, it has become absolutely UNSETTLING for Loki to step inside his old chambers from when he was once known as an ‘Óðinnson,’ for it had felt as if trespassing withing the belongings of a dead man. however it is of little concern to him seeing that as King of Asgard he could now occupy the living quarters of the passed All-Father. but with both previous occupants deceased and memories wishing to be forgotten, the interior has been completely redesigned to fit the personality of the usurper.

            gold was the only color that remained within the house, but it was overwhelmed by the deep malachite accents or its darker shades. the size of the chamber is that of a small Midgardian house in comparison. a dustless and pure kitchenette served no purpose other than a storage room for delicacies such as wine and mead. Loki couldn’t cook and Frigga preferred the larger kitchens used by the servants, and so its use remained untouched other than his consecutive glasses of wine as he came and went. there was a table set for four, not quite large but comfortable for evening tea, which could also be partaken within the large seating area that was merely a step or two down from the kitchenette. there were two large sofas, both filled with a few too many pillows, as well as chairs all facing towards the most elegant of fireplaces decked in gilded gold. up above towards the balcony resided a bed that was fit for far more than a little king. it was always left untouched but its comfort was prominent and beckoned by anyone who passed by. oh yes, there were far too many pillows there as well. to the side was a small open room, it was meant to be used as a nursery for future princes and princesses to be created by the king and queen, but such a use was unnecessary and so Loki used it as a private library. there were only two sets of large doors within the king’s chambers, the largest were the ones that opened into the hall and the others welcomed its occupants into the wash room. a large bath that would remain far too big for one man sat as its centerpiece, its marble engraved into the floor. a smaller bath resided beside a private chamber for one to stand under a facet, leaving multiple options for one to cleanse themselves, surely the washroom would have been much to extravagant for any other being who had not lived within the universe’s most highest of wealth. the wardrobe resided behind a door within the washroom which held more space than was most likely necessary. however, if one lived for thousands of years, surely a man could accumulate quite the array of choices, and even more so for a lady.

all of this, was NEW, to Loki. everything within his new arrangements had never belonged to the Loki that had once roamed this room in awe. despite the furniture and necessities it was bare of his own touch of personal belongings, from which he out right REFUSED to remove from his old rooms. the doors had been locked and sealed shut, hoping that the dust would erase the memories of the years of lies.

but perhaps-- that could change. since his stay on earth had brought him into a rather strange predicament of sorts. his infatuation in Jane Foster has led him to prolong his stay and leaving her behind just might feel... wrong. if there was a chance he could coax her into returning with him one day, it just might make his stay within the new chambers more... comfortable. 

Before she died, Gwen had never been too concerned with personal belongings. Her room had always been organized and tidy. There were the standard photos and decorations, but it was mostly whatever decorations her mother had carefully picked from her magazines. All of that had changed once she had come back. Her Observation cell had been dismal. It had never been more than a cot pushed against one wall and a few things that she had managed to collect. Once she had gotten her own room she had somehow managed to become a bit of a hoarder.

Everything was still organized, mind you, because there was no way that Gwen Stacy could handle living like a slob. There was just stuff though. It lined her dresser and covered her walls. Peter was the photographer, he had always been taking pictures. Before she had kept them stacked in a box, but now they turned her wall into a mosaic of memories. There were ones with her and her brothers, school photos, photos from school events and everyone one that she could find that had her father in it. Captain George Stacy had never been one to take a lot of photographs, but now every single one of them had become like gold to Gwen, right down to the stiff family photos she had been forced to take. Peter also made many appearances on her wall, whether it was one of their ridiculous selfies or an actual photo that she had somehow managed to get Peter to take.

All in all, the room was almost a shrine to a life that she had lost. On bad nights Gwen felt tempted to take it all down and throw it away. It was over, why keep it around? But then she saw her fathers face or Peter’s smile and she stopped herself from getting rid of it. There was nothing wrong with remembering. She may have been different, but that didn’t mean that her old life was gone. She liked to remember, just to reflect on the fact that that Gwen Stacy had once lived. Her mother was glad to see her whenever she stopped home to pick things up, and it gave her a chance to get out. She collected everything she could, whether it was a broken pair of Peter’s glasses or the t-shirt that her father had worn when he was off duty. They had become far more important than her trophies and medals.

          They died in the multiverse, so they are

                                                      EVERYWHERE.

         I was born a supersoldier to           a world of universal peace.

How then should I feel about war?

                                           My name was Ensign                                           Noh-Varr, of the Marvel,                                           18th Diplomatic Gestalt                                          of the Stellar Kree Empire.

                                         Other than myself I can be                                           found without ship, crew,                                           family, or any marker of                                           the universe I came from.

                                 With what I know now...

Flash sits upright, screaming from a nightmare, his dreams pulling him from the heavy slumber he’d been under. Sweat clings to his body, his pea-green Army shirt stuck to him like spaghetti and a cupboard door. He looks around frantically, checking the corners of the small dorm room he found himself in. He’d been sleeping on the floor, finding comfort in it rather than a bed after what he’d experienced on missions; for some reason a soft bed was the hardest thing to handle. It sat neat, blanket tucked in, the pillow being the only thing missing as he had it on the floor with him.

In the darkness it was difficult to make out the rest of his room, but he knew his desk chair was somewhere behind him, to the left of his bed, and the wardrobe directly across from it along the wall; it’s contents consisting of basic clothing, not much in the way of civilian attire.