decadeslate: (kara05)
[personal profile] decadeslate
[The battle is won. Brainiac is dead and gone, and the world can finally return to order. It is the order that is the truest silence, the contentment from absolute power overseeing all. The Regime has only just begun to re-establish itself, but with the Batman tethered to Superman's will, the outlook is positively rosy.

Still, Superman is not without sentiment. The matter of his cousin is delicate, and her staunch rejection difficult. The easiest solution is simply to force her will. It had been harder to tame a kryptonian, of course, given the variance in her physiology. But the rest sun prison kept her weak enough for several safe attempts while the deed was done. Testing was extensive, but the results positive. It was finally time to let the little lost girl find her way home again.

Superman asked Damian to lead the team escorting her on her release day. They didn't expect problems, but Damian would handle himself best in the event of surprises. What they'll find, initially is darkness. The red sun lamps have been turned off, and Kara sits in silence, lit by nothing but the faint glow of the headpiece fitted against her skin.

According to the reports, she won't move without being told. It should be safe to approach.]
hypoxic: (I don't have patience)
[personal profile] hypoxic
[There's nothing particularly flashy about the process. The doctor doesn't believe in adding unnecessary bells and whistles to increase the mystique of his work. He believes in function, in efficiency. And so when it happens, it's abrupt. Peggy Carter will be out and about, going about her life as always, and then she simply won't be. All at once, she'll be seated before a row of impassive faces as one Scottish gentleman stands off to the side narrating.]

... And that is exactly how we will venture into the past and solidify our hold on the present. The others will sort themselves out accordingly.

[He adjusts a sleeve, and then turns his attention to Peggy.]

And you, Miss Carter? Surely you must be feeling a bit dehydrated from your journey. Shall I have someone fetch you a beverage?

&meta;

May. 11th, 2018 11:29 pm
stereotypicaljock: (with our own strength)
[personal profile] stereotypicaljock
[It's all just a game, in the end.

There's a script, and a story. It all moves in a linear line. Until a player gets bored enough. Until the game ends.

Game over leads to this room. There's not much to it, but there's not much to anything. It's just a manifestation of what would otherwise be raw binary.

The last Jason knew of it, he'd been in Wonderland. He'd been training in his bedroom, instead of... whatever this is. It's a relief to see a familiar face, at the very least.]


Monika? Are we expecting an event so soon after the last one?

[At least he finally gets to see the inside of her room, he reasons.]

a nexus

Feb. 24th, 2017 07:33 pm
risingtide084: (Default)
[personal profile] risingtide084


Portals, right? Those sure have been happening with increased frequency. But where that one portal brought passengers to a distant world, these lead to alternative ones. For many of them, the "what if"s are small indeed. What if the heroes were the criminals? What if the superpowers were supernatural? But one twist can have enormous consequences. How odd it must seem when worlds collide.
risingtide084: (Default)
[personal profile] risingtide084


Just get in here and play with me. :|
finewithhalf: (demure for once)
[personal profile] finewithhalf
It's not much, but it's theirs. The group of them is small right now, but it's been growing exponentially. Mindbroken humans, some deliberately driven mad and others who seemed to be half-there on their own, prostrating themselves and praying out loud to the Fog God.

Maya thinks it sounds like music. But perhaps the years haven't been very kind to her either. She's gone a bit feral, perhaps, and the blood doesn't completely wash out of her fur in some places where it's stained. But that's just life on the peninsula. And it's a life they're trying to make better every day.

She snuggles up beside Vanitas, purring into the wispy part where his ear ought to be.

"There's more today. I think some of them are starting to bring friends."
seesbetter: (Default)
[personal profile] seesbetter
[He'd been sent here to kill her. It was a simple snipe job. In and out before the ruskies know what's been snatched from their possession.

He could've done it, too. It would've been easy to grab her in a state of rest. But when she'd thought she was alone, she hadn't behaved like a monster. She'd gone soft, gone tired. She consulted her orders with pain, not with pleasure. She wasn't doing this because she was evil. She was doing this because they'd been starving her.

So he made a different call.

One bloodbag shot in, attached to the arrow that sails through an open window. There's a note on it, in Russian, but it's the kind of Russian that would earn an F- in high school.]


more where this came from
ur handlers = bad guys
c u soon
u attack me = u lose ur shot
eat now talk l8r
themoralcompass: (fret)
[personal profile] themoralcompass
It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. A guy was supposed to be able to go somewhere new and start over. This was America. The American dream insisted that a person could be anyone he wanted to be.

Apparently that dreaming American didn't have a temper problem.

The worst part was that he didn't feel particularly badly about what happened. He'd done what needed to be done to help a friend. Those jerks would think twice before messing with his little nerdy buddy again. He'd accepted what was done, and the punishment that would surely follow.

But right now, there's just the waiting. A small plastic chair outside of the principal's office, waiting for people to finish having conversations about what to do with him. Avoiding eye contact with the occasional hallway traffic.

Lucas hunches over, elbows resting on his knees as his back settles into a full slouch. His eyes linger on the floor tiles below. He tried, New York. He really did. It's possible that a leopard can't change its spots after all.
risingtide084: (uplook)
[personal profile] risingtide084
Things were supposed to be better when they won. When evil is dispatched, isn't the good guy supposed to come home to parades and confetti and other people buying drinks for at least two days? Maybe it's because of the way things happened. Maybe there's just been too much collateral damage.

Maybe she's just found her family in time to watch it slip through her fingers, cracked and reverting into the sand that used to hold together so well.

She forces a smile when she lets herself into Coulson's office. To hear the stories, he had an adventure of his own. He probably needs all the positivity she can drag together. She'll lead with a joke. He always appreciates those.

"So do we need to look into getting you a hook for that thing?"

There. Levity. Levity's totally the same as free beer and parades.
shomonkai: (Default)
[personal profile] shomonkai
There was once a time when Amane Kuzuryu existed. She'd been a terribly sheltered girl, but one who was learning to be a person independent of faith. As the lockdown progressed, she'd sought out more than what should have been her lot, expressing regrets that she hadn't been better socialized before. She'd started learning how to live.

The life she had was shortlived. It wasn't long after meeting Kazuya Minegishi that her budding independence was smothered and suffocated under the essences of warring supernatural creatures. It was difficult to see any flecks of Amane left in the husk presently housing the archangel Remiel. She settled now within the heart of the Shomonkai facility, seated crosslegged atop a dais encrusted with hundreds of ancient runes.

The pews were empty now, as was much of Tokyo. It was to be expected; Ground Zero of an assault on mankind was not without its casualties. And yet, it still presented a reliable landmark when luring the Messiah-to-be into the clutches of his rightful heritage.

And so, she waited, silently watching the door for a sign of motion. When it came ajar, she flexed her wrist, yanking on a glittering gold leash that chained the pet at her feet. She'd been sure to dress the creature for the occasion, as evidenced by the supernaturally soft robe draped against his thin shoulders. It cascaded along his body as silk might, catching light with every nuance of his movement. It was accessorized with a series of gold shackling his throat, wrists, and ankles. Each manacle bore a trio of bells on it, creating a cheerful melody from even the tiniest of movements. And as the robe was left open, it was clear that her pet was allowed no further clothes, animal that it was.

"Kazuya Minegishi," she began in a loud, clear voice, "the time has arrived for you to cease this pointless struggling. Today, you will come home."
galofsteel: (busted)
[personal profile] galofsteel
"Fortress of Solitude" was such a dumb name. It might as well be called "Lord of the Ringforest" or "I'll never get to touch a girl before I die." But even so, there was some appeal to the idea of having a place to go where nothing could reach. And after a day like today, Kara figured she deserved to see what all the fuss was about.

It was stupid school drama, that she knew shouldn't have been bothersome. And yet... When Mr. Tall, Tanned, and Country decided that he'd rather go out with some willowy brunette who couldn't defend himself, things twisted and ground together in a spectacularly unpleasant arrangement. Kara wasn't even sure why she'd bothered caring in the first place.

But still, it was an incredibly isolating experience. She was too strong to be attractive. Too different to fit in. Too... alien. So maybe she belonged where aliens went when they were stressed out. It was still midday, barely after lunch. Clark would still be at work. He wouldn't notice a trespasser, probably.

Kara just needed to curl up a little bit, to cry while surrounded by the ghosts of things that reminded her of home.
dickbats: (bat: bloody)
[personal profile] dickbats
He knew he was sick because they told him that he was. He knew distantly that this skin was not his skin, and that he was being kept from mirrors for a reason. He knew that he'd recently done things, said things, and that none of them could be taken back. The throbbing sensation in his right hand told him that there was a raw, open wound beneath the bandaged exterior. Bones, the delicate little ones that gave a hand purpose, were probably broken. At least three, but no more than seven.

He knew it wasn't his fault, that somehow something was done. Done... To break his hand? That was the fuzzy part. But it would probably resolve itself sooner or later. He knew people were working to undo whatever it was that bothered them in the first place. He was supposed to just sit here and wait for it to happen.

... But wouldn't it be funny if he didn't wait? If his hand was already broken, it wasn't a big deal to dislocate his thumb and slide out of the restraint keeping him in bed. There were just a few moments between the shift in company (why was there someone always hanging around his bedroom anyway?), but those moments were really all he needed.

There was a lot of gasoline down in the cave, he abruptly recalled. a firework show would be a great way to stave off boredom tonight.

He'd have to make sure he evacuated first. He thought. Maybe. If he could remember to do it that far into the future.

He couldn't hold in the laughter that came then, a giggle that grew until it was a deep guffaw. He tried to be subtle about it. Hopefully it wouldn't attract too much attention.
ghostwhispers: (hunter)
[personal profile] ghostwhispers
There was nothing important left in the world. That was the curse of the Gilberts. Dead parents. Dead relatives. Dead sisters. Dead girlfriends. Everyone who ever held importance was gone forever, with no lingering hope remaining. And with them, so went Jeremy. What was the purpose in living for the dead? Jeremy dealt with it by not dealing at all. He woke in the mid-afternoon, when the sun was bright enough to remind him how much everything hurt. It was probably a hangover, or maybe it was the broken pieces shifting around his chest, stabbing him from within. Or maybe it was just something else to bury.

He lay sideways on the couch today, dead-eyed as he stared at his game of CoD. He wasn't winning, but that didn't appear to upset him in the least. Judging by the mountain of empty cans surrounding him, there were rather few things he found worthy of his attention right now.

He lost once more and let the controller slip through unresisting fingers, instead watching the game over sequence repeat itself. Whatever. Nothing mattered about it anyway.
dickbats: (bloody)
[personal profile] dickbats
[So this happened and then:]

[It wasn't even someone who'd made a name for himself. The group of strung-out druggies they'd been chasing was larger than they'd thought. They'd overwhelmed the pair by sheer numbers, but hadn't been smart enough to take advantage of the defeat of Batman and Robin.

Damian would find Batman at ground level, splayed over the edge of a parked car after what was presumably a fall from the rooftop. The cowl masked most of the damage, but blood colored most of the visible pieces of his face.

He doesn't answer when Robin summons him.]
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