#( don't feel obligated to match length )
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@darkkssiren
Jane had been in Gotham for almost two weeks, after spending nearly a year tracking down HYDRA agents across the globe. She’d dealt with the high profile targets in Gotham months ago, when she had been free of HYDRA’s control for only a few weeks, but as she’d traveled to other cities and collected more information, she’d learned the identities of more agents whom she’d missed the first time around. Now she was back to mop up those people who were left.
It might seem counterintuitive, given the number of potential witness in a crowd, but Jane had always found it easier to go unnoticed in the city. She’d grown her hair out since escaping from D.C., and she wore it loose under her hat so that it fell forward and helped hide her face. Really, her biggest problem was the temperature; it was May now, and the weather was warming up. But despite the heat Jane had to keep her jacket and her gloves on, to hide her prosthesis. There was no way she could blend into a crowd with that on display.
With her head tipped downward and her hands in her pockets, she ambled through the streets. They were dark, but hardly empty; Gotham had a vibrant nightlife, and there were often clusters of people on the sidewalks in front of the restaurants and bars. To them, Jane was just another passerby, an anonymous shape not worth paying any notice to.
That was exactly what she wanted.
After a few blocks, she turned left and then left again, heading into the shadows between two office buildings. Both were dark – no one was working late today – but that suited Jane’s purposes just fine. It meant that there was no one there to see her as she scaled the side of one, climbing up until she could swing herself onto the fire escape.
She continued her way upwards, stopping on the seventh floor. From here, with the help of her scope -- no rifle, just the scope -- she could see across the street and straight through the windows of Kelly Phillips’ apartment.
If the records Jane had found in the base under that warehouse in Boston were correct, Kelly Phillips was the financial manager of Gotham’s biggest HYDRA cell. And Jane had every intention of killing her eventually, but first she wanted to collect as much information as she could. She’d need to search the apartment, and for that, she needed to know Phillips’ habits and routines.
Did she live alone, or did she have roommates? Did she perhaps have a family? Did she have any pets? What time did she leave for work? What time did she get home from work? What time did she go to bed? How often did she go out? Was her apartment alarmed? Staking the apartment out would answer some of those questions.
The Winter Soldier had been a professional. And Jane might not be the Winter Soldier anymore, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to use the skills that she’d spent seventy years honing.
#darkkssiren#c: bridget wayne#c: bruce wayne#v; revenge road trip#don't feel obligated to match length
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jokethur asked: ❝ that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. ❞
one might argue that the way barton huffed through his nostrils in a wry sense of disbelief at what he heard come out of the other's mouth, rather than at the terrible thing that was just said through his own lips without an ounce of shame, told you everything you needed to know about him; that he was a brutal and very unfeeling person. but honestly, even if those things were the least bit true, barton thought... he was only saying what everyone would be thinking in their heads if they knew what was really going on behind the scenes. they just wouldn't want to say it aloud for one reason or another, whether that was due to the fear of being ostracized by their peers, or frowned down upon by society as a whole. kind of like how he was currently by the man standing beside him.
barton took a long drag out of his cigarette and averted his gaze from one of the big, bright displays that decorated the skyline to meet the others eyes. the displays were showcasing what looked like the latest news: and that was what barton seemingly was making a comment on, as the death of a cop that was rather infamous for being a ' pinnacle of kindness and care to their community ' was the main headline for that day. except that man was everything but in reality. it was just so rich to be seeing him regarded as some fantastic guy, when barton knew for a fact that he was a sleazeball who he had seen hanging around his old boss, as he was secretly in their pocket and doing their dirty work. and if there was one person that barton held contempt for more than anything... it was the man who used to treat him like he was something less than human. or, less than dirt, actually.
but of course, barton would never tell the gcpd of his corruption because he knew that rainer (you have to put a face to the name for these people) would realize that it was him who'd sold him out. and besides... since when did he have faith in the gcpd, or even like the police? they were all a bunch of pigs to him. so, barton let him continue on with his little game of playing the role of the well-beloved police officer while he was helping people get killed on the side. he rolled his eyes then, ❝ well, if i had known that you were such a big fan of the police, then i likely wouldn't have said anything. but i rest my case: a lot of people do deserve to die, stranger, and he was one of them. so i don't feel sorry for him or his family at all. ❞
barton stated this all in a very matter-of-fact manner, blowing smoke out through his nose from his cigarette before he continued, ❝ i mean, where was this guy if he was so good whenever the city got flooded? i didn't see him among the people who were helping other's whenever everything went to shit. in fact, i bet he was probably sitting in some place really safe and warm whenever it happened, because i knew the real kind of person that he was. a total prick who certainly wasn't the golden boy that the news is trying to make him out to be, ❞ he flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smushed it underneath his boot, successfully putting out the fire on its other end. barton turned to face arthur completely with an unamused look in his eyes.
❝ now, are you done preaching to me about how wrong it is that i said that? you don't really know the first thing about the pig after all. but i do. though you didn't hear that from me, alright? ❞
#jokethur#i think... i might've gone a little overboard with this one LOL i'm sorry this is so longgg but please do not-#feel obligated to match the length at all if you don't want to! buttt yes. idk why but i just suddenly got this very clear picture-#of the messed up thing barton said being related to people deserving to die WHICH is a very controversial statement for-#obvious reasons ('': BUTTT barton is pretty bold and will just say whatever is on his mind at the moment so. he is kind of...#an outcast bc of that besides the fact that he is a literal serial killer jsjsj anyhow though i hope you liked my reply to this one!!#i have to say that your account really intrigued me and still does so i'm VERY excited to interact with you :D
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Closed Starter for @mayarparker
Setting: The Morning After
*****
This is not his phone.
It's the realization seeping far too slowly through his hungover, mildly dehydrated brain as he sits upright on the sofa where he'd passed out after getting home from yet another eventful night out a few hours ago. Asher blinks the groggy sleep from his eyes, head pounding as he turns the device over in his hand and tries to focus on the details. It's the same model as his phone; similar case, too. But this is not his phone. This is not his phone.
It buzzes again. Asher sits up a little more, pushing the tousled hair from his face as he tries to recall what drunken shenanigans last night might have led to such a predicament. He'd gone to that dive bar a few streets over after work. Not unusual. Shots were 2-for-1 on Thursdays. There was a woman partaking of the same, who had joked she could drink him under the table. That was how it started. Isn't it always? Somehow they had ended up in the bathroom together, and--Oh. His eyes go wide.
Oh...
"Fuck." Asher breathes, wincing as a flush of heat rises to his cheeks. Now he remembers. "Fuckin' Hell..." He feels the telltale churning in his stomach and reaches for the small garbage can he keeps beside the sofa, worried he's about to hurl. He's certain the nausea isn't only from the alcohol; this is not good. What if--were either of them sober enough to consider precautions? He doubts it. Fucking a stranger in a filthy bar bathroom is one thing. It happens. Potentially infecting an innocent woman with lycanthropy is entirely another. He doesn't even know her name. Panic sets in full-force, and Asher doubles over to retch into the garbage bin. There's a moment of clarity in the wake of it. They'd been in such a hurry as they scrambled to grab their things and go; the phones must have gotten mixed up...which means if he has her phone, then she has his.
Asher snatches the woman's phone off the cushion beside him and dials his own number. It rings, and rings, and rings, until finally he hears the receiver pick up the line.
"Hello?? Please don't hang up..."
#[greywood rp :: thread :: asher baudelaire]#[asher f2f :: maya parker :: 001]#//Please don't feel obligated to match length#//This is mostly just setup!#tw alcohol
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{Closed starter for @pleinsdemuses.}
Warmth.
That was the first thing he noticed as he was thrust out of the portal leading to a spot somewhere outside the podunk town of Puente Antiguo. It was a strange thing to notice first, made stranger still by the fact that it contrasted so wholly with the frigid temperatures of that Between place that always consumed him between jump points. Portal-hopping was fairly high on the list of things he despised but, as a warning voice in the back of his mind reminded him, it was necessary. He had a mission, after all, and nothing could get in the way of it.
Looking down at himself, the god of mischief realized he was woefully overdressed for his intentions. Cloth tunic, leather pants and armor, a billowing cloak, golden horns. He'd arrived on Earth with all the splendor of an Asgardian Prince and while it was what made him most comfortable and felt the most natural, it was likely to draw too much attention. Then again...
Perhaps that was his way in.
The woman he sought-- that bright spot in the universe for his mad, fool brother, Thor-- would likely be drawn in by someone claiming to be Asgardian and dressed in the finery of that culture. The horns were a bit much, he supposed. He didn't want to frighten the mortal away, after all. So, it was the first to go, squirreled away into that place where all things go that were Hidden and Kept.
Bending to one knee, he spat into his palm and scooped a bit of the red earth beneath him into his moistened palm and mixed the two elements together. He took the first two fingers of his other hand and smeared the substance across his forehead, his right cheek, and down the right side of his neck. With just a touch of magic, the thin layer of mud turned redder until it appeared as blood. Satisfied that this disguise was passable enough for his purposes, he straightened and marched his way towards the little town.
It took less than hour for the first outcropping of buildings to rise against the horizon and less time than that for him to find himself just outside the view of the local diner. As he neared the establishment, he began dragging one leg in the dirt as though limping, stumbling his way through the front door. He looked around in a panic, breathing heavily as he dragged his way to the counter where a shocked server stared at him in confusion.
"Please..." He started, coloring his voice with pain and desperation. "I have to... find Jane." Collapsing onto his knees, he gripped an empty stool at the counter for dear life as one of the patrons ran to his aid. "Jane Foster... tell her..." He groaned weakly, stretching a pathetic hand out toward the server. "Tell her... Thor..." And with that, he collapsed entirely to the floor, eyes rolling into the back of his skull.
#There are no men like me. || Avengers Loki#I apologize for how long this took to get to you.#Please don't feel obligated to match my length.#pleinsdemuses
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@starlighttrain from here:
The silence is telling. It seems the question had been for their own sake after all. And their response tells him the rest. Why else would those who cannot drown fear it so in their sleep? But what suffocates Connor? What threatens to wash him away from his own body? Do some androids also have memories not their own? Or is the detective keeping something else at bay? He won't pry. If Connor ever wants to speak about the source of their sea Dan Heng will listen. But he won't ask.
A surprised blink at the question. Has he been outed or are they merely suspicious? Hm. He could lie but he'd prefer to keep the detective's trust. There's no shame in his species, Blade has stopped for now. It should be safe. Can he drown? Softly, ❝No.❞ Only in his nightmares is the call of the sea something to fear. Only there is water's embrace a death sentence rather than home. ❝Only when I sleep.❞ It seems they sadly have that in common.
"We have that in common." Out loud acknowledgement. Statement of fact. Sometimes Connor's conversations had a sense of sort of exchanging information, giving and taking like a bartering system, sharing things about himself because there was, suddenly, enough space to share it, when a moment ago there had been no way to do so at all. He let the information sit between them.
The question of Dan Heng's identity - 'species' - was something Connor had set aside a while after meeting them: so far as he could tell they were not human, but they weren't a threat, either. They were, in fact, quite nice; the two of them had had limited interactions, maybe, but Connor thought he rather liked them. He would pose for a sketch a second time, if they ever asked.
The LED at his temple cycled for a moment. Thoughtful, calm, light blue, twisting through a myriad of things. This was the first time he'd had such solid confirmation of his suspicions (nonhuman). Connor was still thinking, rather mildly, about drowning. The ghost of a memory of it. Not quite something he could remember doing, nor even properly imagine: when he thought about it while awake it seemed like it would be a sort of hot sensation, because access to the air was a part of his thermoregulation, but in the dreams it was always cold. Like ice.
He supposed he could probably pick where the ice-cold feeling had come from, if he thought of it in the context of suffocating.
This had been a productive conversation, and more productive than he'd fully anticipated: Connor had asked Dan Heng really on a whim.
"I think you're right," he said, with his eyes on the horizon. For what that was worth. But anyway, "How long do you sleep?"
#ic#starlighttrain#skdfjlskj don't feel obliged to match length! he has a lot of thoughts and also some of this is just me commenting on him lkdsjflksj#but here we are#having so much fun here. they're sooooo. you were so right about them#they DO get on#also. connor here just. politely asking the questions that come to his mind. dan heng can always turn him away#but imagining them sitting there and exchanging one-for-one questions that are just lksjflkdsj flat curiosity about each other#and sb walks in. 'how did you get onto This topic?' / 'drowning. do androids eat food and if so-'#one day connor is going to ask their pronouns and then he will knowwwwwwwwwwwwww them
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@someotherdog // soap x ingrid // original ( x )
It could be our destruction too, though.
And it very well could be.
We could still back out.
And they very well could.
But the expanse behind him was emptying, and it would be empty soon. The little food supply they had in their quadrant wouldn't last them more than a week, maybe two, if they rationed to the extreme. The power was practically limitless when put in the context of the duration of their survival. In other words, the lights and the bits and the electronic hums would definitely outlive them. If he could only tell her what he saw when he woke up and surveyed the area—the emptied, not empty cot—then maybe she would want to move forward, move away, as much as he did.
Soap decided to only nod, eyes flitting to the panel. Its interface of lines thrummed delicately, anticipating Ingrid's next movement.
When she did place her hand on it, the interface faded to white, now reading 'AUTHORIZING...' and blinking every so often. He half-wondered what would have happened if he did this when he first woke up. Would the entrance bot even recognize the map of his palm?
There was a hiss.
Then, that same artificial voice: "Access granted. Have a nice day, Ms. Sergeant."
The gargantuan white doors leading into the main bay groaned, as if they were a giant waking up after a long slumber. After a moment, they slid to one side, unveiling a dark chasm. There was no telling yet whether the main bay was empty, or emptied.
In a regular instance the main bay would be teeming with life, ship crew members moving about each quadrant checking on sleeping passengers. In the past there wouldn't be many members up, but that was before space travel was perfected and big wigs found out a way to bend time. To no longer need to put everyone in cryosleep for the length of the trip because they'd be there in a couple of weeks' time. Passengers were only under because for them, it was less about the journey and more about the destination. Ingrid and Soap didn't need to be awake, so they had the luxury of sleeping.
In his line of sight there was, first, a source of light coming from the left. He wasn't sure what it was, but it reflected on the dark steel interiors of the main bay, from the grates to the panels to the hard seating closer to the center of the bay. They must have opted for the opposite of the quadrants' stark white appearance because of the second source of light coming from above. Soap didn't stick his head in yet, but he just knew: There was a large, round window overhead that gave the main bay a glimpse of the space that surrounded them.
From experience, Soap also knew: When they were near a star, it felt like daytime. When they were traveling in nothingness, it felt like nighttime, and that's when the entire ship went to sleep. When they were near a moon, it was an in-between; a transitory part of day when all was quiet on the ship but no one was resting, except for the passengers.
Stepping out into nothing, Soap held his rifle firmly. It was the same thing as moving out with the squad on any other mission, except this time he was alone and he was the leader, not lingering behind. The weight of being at the front felt like a rock in his throat, but he wasn't scared. He just bore the responsibility.
He tried to map out, in his mind, just how big the main bay was. After days of sleep that memory of his was cloudy. It frustrated him. They had crossed enough of the bay, Soap silent, to see the source of light he'd noticed earlier on the left. It was a large, thick, snake-like cord dangling from the ceiling. Maybe at one point it was wiggling with life and electricity but now, it hung lifeless. It was cut in half, its fraying ends drooping onto the floor, a puddle of grease forming underneath it. Its ends dripped, perhaps once every five seconds like a leaky faucet, into the puddle. Every now and then it zapped with light as if a moth or fly had flown into it and became its prey.
"Don't touch it."
Suddenly a gurgling sound—as if someone was choking on something—came from behind them, interrupting the silence. Soap snapped around, holding his rifle up to the sound, which grew louder and louder as the seconds passed. And eventually, it sounded as if this something was choking on something thick, maybe their own blood, a material that could elicit a warbled gurgling. It wasn't hollow like the sound of someone choking on water or maybe being choked by an arm.
Its footsteps were equally wet. Slow and yet, purposeful. Walking towards them. Soap's grip on his gun and finger on the trigger were ready. The light from the sagging cord flashed. Then darkness. A flash. Then darkness.
A moment later the light gave way to a horrific vision: a human-like body with bones that seemed to outgrow its own shape. Mangled toes stuck out of its legs where its shins would be and in place of its feet were talon-shaped branches of bloated flesh. Then darkness. A flash. Its arms were no longer arms but instead resembled scythes, pointed right at Soap and Ingrid. They were covered in blood. Then darkness. A flash. Its face, was shifted where its right shoulder should be, leaving a headless neck bone fragmented and sprouting out of a 7-foot torso.
It seemed to have seen them. That was when its footsteps grew faster and, in place of its gurgling, it let out a shriek. A wretched screech that, at the same time, felt strained. At once it sounded like someone calling for help and someone wanting to rip them to pieces. Soap didn't want to wait to find out.
"Stay behind me!" he hollered to Ingrid as he fired a round into the creature's torso. When that didn't seem to stop it or even make it stumble in the slightest, Soap started walking backwards, not daring to take his eyes off it. He shot at the creature's feet, and there, the mutated tissue and weak cartilage blew off. The creature fell on its stomach on the floor and crawled at them, slowing down. They were almost backed into a corner now, but at this distance Soap had a clear view of the creature's head. He shot at its face, its blood splattering all over the floor. It slowed down almost completely, and from it came this rancid smell of rotten, rotting flesh.
Not wanting to waste another bullet, Soap dared to take a step closer. If only to see this thing up close. He brought his boot down roughly on the creature's skull and it squished under his sole. Its spine, exposed where its head was supposed to be, twitched ever so slightly.
Then it died.
#someotherdog#c. soap#soap x ingrid#v. in space no one can hear you scream#this got long your honor#please don't feel obligated to match length!!!
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surprise starter for @greedbent because Baizhu saw my other muses bothering his "secret" crush and refused to be left out 😤
"I have a prediction. Would you like to hear it?" Changsheng's voice floated into the front room of the pharmacy from somewhere up in the rafters. She hadn't shown herself once since he'd begun work that morning; Baizhu had assumed she'd been with Qiqi or Gui.
"Well, don't leave me in suspense," the doctor replied airily. Faced with a break in patients for the afternoon, Baizhu had begun filling prescriptions. Even while conversing, practiced hands moved of their own accord: one adding leaves and petals from the trays of mint and qingxin beside him to a large medicinal cauldron, while the other worked the milky substance within beneath a starsilver pestle.
Naturally though, Changsheng did exactly that. He'd nearly forgotten she'd said anything by the time she divulged her 'prediction.' "Sssomething tellsss me that today isss about to get interesssting."
Baizhu hummed, attention fixed on his work. "Oh? What makes you say that?"
Her answering snicker came from directly above him. He paused as Changsheng dropped onto his shoulders so he wouldn't spill anything. "You'll sssee sssoon enough," was all she said as she adjusted her coils, and the doctor shook his head fondly. With her affinity for the vague and riddled, sometimes Baizhu wondered if his companion wasn't some long-lost adeptus in disguise.
Minutes passed with only the scrape of the pestle along the cauldron's base to fill the silence. Then footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up to the pharmacy—but there was something...unique about them. Not just a rhythmic tap-tap of shoes on pavement, but with an additional tone layered in unison. Metal on stone. Tap-tapclink.
That could only mean...
Ah. Well, in all fairness, Changsheng was rarely wrong about these things.
Baizhu didn't look up until the steps arrived in the entryway. To anyone else, the sight of a man clad in all black, gazing into their shop with such intent, sharp eyes may be cause for alarm. But Baizhu simply smiled, hands pausing to give his newfound visitor his undivided attention.
"Why, Kaz, what a pleasant surprise. How nice to see you." Likely not a sentiment heard often, but it was entirely sincere. He pointedly ignored Changsheng's muttered 'I told you' that tickled his ear. "Is there something I can do for you? Oh—unless you're here for your 'prescription'?"
The code word was second-nature despite there being no one else in the pharmacy to overhear. With a grin so pleasant adorning his features, the doctor certainly appeared to be speaking of a legitimately prescribed medication, rather than the special-ordered poison that currently sat fermenting on his kitchen counter. "It's nearly finished, but I'm afraid it needs another hour or so to infuse for maximum...potency." There was a dark edge to the chuckle that rolled in his chest. "We must be sure it's strong enough to take care of the problem, mustn't we?"
#greedbent#《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: mortally coiled (baizhu) 》#asfjdfdf surprise dear! I hope you don't mind! ;w;/ ❤️#kaeya and childe: (bothering kaz)#baizhu: (gay hand on chest) eXCUSE ME GET IN LINE#KAZ WILL NEVER BE SAFE FROM ANY OF MY MENACES AND I APOLOGIZE FOR ALL OF THEM 😂#but ahhhhHHHH I love these two beautiful shady boys so much B)))#I hope this set-up works okay!#I didn't want to leave it all up to you to figure out why kaz is there ofc#so I figured maybe he could be picking up something shady 👀#BUT I also wanted to leave it open for you to do whatever you wanted so!#if you'd rather give kaz a different reason to be there feel free! >3</#I gotta come up with a tag for these two still (steeples fingers)#also sorry this got so long aslfksdj AS IF YOU'RE NOT USED TO THAT BY NOW 8')))#plz don't feel obligated to match length ofc!! ❤️
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@candlexxofxxlife plotted starter!
Mismatched irises flutter open as her head craned slightly back to peer at the towering, armor clad figure standing directly before her. At first, she mistook the silhouette for nothing more than an iron giant about to pounce while her allies closed in on her from either side.
Unfortunately, these people were not her trusted guardians. The rough handling of her delicate body, hoisting her up in a violent tug drew a pained noise from the summoner. Confused, angry chatter suddenly bursts in the hall, as oddly appearing leather wrapped men pointed and shouted, claiming Yuna had been a spy sent to assassinate this 'Zenos'.
Yuna was tired, weak, exhausted from the previous battle she endured prior to happening on this realm. She couldn't hope to defend herself, if not physically or verbally. Nevertheless, she registered everything they were saying, but her body wanted rest. She silently prayed they would escort her into her assigned cell and allow her proper sleep until she could figure out how to reunite with her guardians again.
In fact, how in the world did she come across this…temple? No. Prison? Not likely…
Wait. Where…was she?
Realizing she could not recognize her surroundings, Yuna forced her eyes to remain open, focusing on the long haired blond, fixing her attention on every feature of his face to put together a semblance of familiarity.
Alas, she did not recognize him.
Who was he?
Where were Wakka and Lulu? Kimahri? Rikku? Tidus, Sir Auron? Where was anybody?
Were they captured by the Bevelle warrior monks? Were these people in association with the temple? Was this some sort of underground prison they had all been escorted to face their punishment?
That would mean her guardians were somewhere in the building.
Right?
"…Where….where… am I?" Yuna's fragile, and very dazed voice finally speaks beneath the loud yammering between guardsmen and soldiers, her body finally shaking off her sleep-deprived state due to the unrecognizable atmosphere. Everything here…was all wrong.
Where were Yevons scriptures? The commandments of the fayth? The cloister of trials safety precautions? More importantly, where in Spira were her guardians?
#candlexxofxxlife#v: crossover#//hope this is ok! lmk if I need to change anything!#//and don't feel obligated to match length#//had to set the scene somehow xP
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The tension from the chase still haven't left xyr shaken body, even though they are in a safe space together for the past few minutes. Back in Father Lucas' home, Micah closely analyzes the being who calls themself the Doctor. Their existence seems to be beyond Human or Supernatural─ ancient and celestial, a significant speck that holds the endless storms and stars of time and space. Micah is fascinated by them, though, finding that xe isn't the first Antigod that they have met, xe can't help but be cautious. Antigods is a covert species. Most beings don't just know. "Who were the first two Antigods that you met?" Micah softly inquires the Doctor, sipping xyr mug of hot chocolate that Father Lucas offered before leaving them alone, a seeking in comfort.
"Again, I deeply apologize about the trouble." The 3D sentient shadows that ran after both the Doctor and xemself before they've stumbled upon each other, Micah soon slaughtering them with xyr swords. Xe notices a quiver of xyr hand in anxiety and sets the mug on the kitchen table, takes a chocolate piece from the tray. The offer still stands for the Doctor if they wish to eat some sweets. "There's been a several months worth of ongoing incident in some countries where these shadows and reflections became sentient and engaged in invasive behaviours to their sources." Since the Doctor isn't a Human, xe can explain these confidential details to them. Xe isn't working with Break Beyond Force anymore, so xe can't always hide anymore.
"Then they became more malicious over time. It's... how that chase happened." Despite the fact that there's so much that xe can do in times like this, guilt bleeds into xyr voice, everywhere. Micah flinches at the burning in xyr eyes and wipes the tears. Xyr Awareness has been blocked so xe wouldn't know their origin out of respect. Yet, now, if the Doctor can sense what xe is, Micah can at least ask @tenfoldrage this.
"If I may ask, Doctor, what are you, exactly?"
#TENFOLDRAGE#///#//#/#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ IC . ›#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ V : MAIN / ACT I.VI. . ›#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ MICAH . ›#[ DENISE!!! :3333 GRABS YOU AND THE DOCTOR AND SQUEEZES LIKE SQUEAKY TOYS!!!!!!! >>>>:3333 ]#[ PLEASE LEMME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANY CHANGES / ADDITIONS ]#[ and do not feel obligated to match length ; just wanna give some specific details for you to cover over <3 <3 <3 ]#( also in case you don't remember since we plotted this a while back ; Doctor met Angelparadox and then Detective Strange :3 ]#[ gosh I'm soooo excited for thisbhgksdgb LET'S GOOO ]
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[@emerald-might | Plotted a starter!]
"...there are a lot of things I don't share with the general public, kid..." Yagi exhaled. His hand trailed away from the tea-maker, watching it without raising his gaze. Young Midoriya had already surprised him a few times...so he supposed it was only fair he surprise the kid in turn- but this...would definitely be out there.
"I didn't just drag you back here to enjoy lunch- though that would help." A calm atmosphere. That was all he could employ to aid in this minor discovery. Like many things about All Might, for years there had been speculations...that his power had once been weaker than it was now. Not in the normal sense- in a sense that had him tugging subconsciously at his suit's sleeve.
He'd left his phone on the coffee table- face-up so he could read any notifications that might come through. It was...strange, with young Midoriya. He had shared an integral secret of his life- something so few knew, that he kept hidden for so long...and now here he was, offering another one to the kid- though the precise 'why' was beyond him. Maybe- he just liked not having to keep things hidden, anymore. Not having to keep every secret wrapped up in a tight ball in his throat, refusing to let him breathe.
He gently moved a cup under the tea-maker's spout, letting the concoction fill the cup below- before holding it out to the teen. An offer that the youth could accept or refuse, if he wanted.
"....I'm sure you've heard the story," He did seem like a pretty big fanboy, after all- but still. "--about how the world-famous 'All Might' didn't have a soulmate, yes?" It was too dangerous...the universe had painted a target on their back- as he had painted a target on young Midoriya, by giving him One for All.
#emeraldmight#Through many battles/I have been tested/I’ve never failed/Never have been bested | Toshinori Yagi#i won’t compromise/you must be out of your mind | closed starter#//lemme know if you want anything changed!#//away I yeet!#//and of course don't feel obligated to match length or anything#//I tiptap#But I’m still on a mission/And I can’t let nobody stop me now | Thread Start
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╰ * open starter ┊ @revolutionstart .
it should have been a weekend like any other. should have being the key, here — but when silas had awoken this morning to a very demanding feline perched on his chest, noisily demanding breakfast yet disinterestedly sniffing at what was later placed in front of her, he knew he had to stop by the pet supply store. it was time to buy treasure that one brand, again; the one she heavily favours for a few days and then won’t deign to touch anymore until months down the line.
and so, dressed in a baggy sweater with hair tousled and the sleep only half-rubbed out of his eyes, silas realises shopping is to be his first point of order, this morning.
he’s hovering near the shelves by the storefront when something catches his attention: a familiar face on the street outside, looking over just in time for his eyes to meet theirs across the glass. wordlessly, he raises a hand, offering a small, clumsy wave and a polite smile that errs on the side of a grimace. silas has an image he likes to project at work, and looking dishevelled while fussing over whether to buy cans of tuna whitemeat with or without chicken for his cat was a far cry from it.
#╰ * 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ┊ chat.#╰ * 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ┊ silas.#if we haven't plotted feel free to hmu or assume connections#also don't feel obligated to match length!!#revolution.starter
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Logical X-Tremes
@emmatriarchy
It had been - quite a time at the Mansion, to be intensely diplomatic.
Genosha. The U-Men. Cassandra Nova. Fantomex. The riot (oh, god, the riot). Whatever in the second, fifth and ninth circles of Hell was going on between Scott, Jean and Emma. And now . . . hmm.
Was this to be the greatest challenge of them all?
A fellow mutant that stood at five foot seven, weighed one hundred and thirty five pounds?
"Sage."
Piece 56371. A section of the pancreas. Quite essential, Emma would end up missing it rather badly if she . . . Hank put down the chunk of diamond flesh with the exact care of a jeweller, his broad shoulders doing their best to settle into the kind of mountain range that could bear the weight of the incoming conversation. He was doing quite an excellent job of hiding it, or so he liked to think, but there was an inhuman glow to his new eyes that would betray the intensity of his - feelings.
"I suppose I should welcome you back to the Mansion. We haven't had a chance to speak since Valencia." Had she run, knowing that he was going to be transcendent with rage, when he woke up with his old teeth swimming in his throat and none of his bones where he had left them the night before? Had she even thought about what it would do to him? Oh, it was well meaning, to be certain, but . . .
. . . Manners, Henry. You can think about wringing her neck all you like so long as you're polite while you do it.
"You've been well, I hope."
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LOCATION — Their parent's home in Claret Park.
WHO — Elijah & Cynthia ( @cynthiafalvey ).
The (hopefully) permanent relocation of their youngest son to Providence Peak meant one simple thing for Erica and Rodney Falvey: they could finally try their hand at proper family dinners again. With all of their kids traveling in different directions around the globe — never slowing down, hardly taking a second to breathe — it was easy for Falvey get-togethers to land on the back burner of priorities over the years, save for big holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas that they’d never dare to miss. Elijah could tell that their mother had been ecstatic about it at first, too, busting out truly unnecessary dishware and cutlery that he was surprised had made it to see the year 2024; their father was ecstatic in his own muted way, spending afternoons in the kitchen making sure that all the food was prepared perfectly for the newfound occasion.
In recent weeks, it turned into a much more casual affair. The shininess of weekly dinners wore off — sometimes, the term looser than usual as it meant pizza and a movie in the living room, where maybe one or two siblings were missing from the equation — and they were allowed to use plastic dishware and cutlery again, but it was still just as rewarding.
This week in particular, Elijah had been the first to arrive with Rhiannon in tow. He’d gotten her settled down for a quick nap in his old bedroom (that they turned into a nursery for her now, funnily enough) before he tried to join his parents in the kitchen, except he’d been shoo’d away by Dad who insisted he wasn’t of any help just standing there. After that, he wandered out to the garden, fiending for a cigarette to pass the time with until one of his other siblings happened to show up — or, well, realistically, Nikolas or Cynthia (he couldn’t count on Reggie to not be last, unless a miracle struck).
Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. He’d only been out there for maybe two minutes, tops, until he heard the latch of the gate unhook and he saw his sister pushing through the other side. “Took you long enough!” he chastised teasingly from where he stood on the porch, shaking his head in disapproval like he’d been there forever without company. “Woah, woah, woah — pause.” He sidestepped in front of the screen door, blocking her entrance. “First of all, Dad’s in a mood about the food again, so . . . you know, proceed with caution. He pushed me out of the kitchen for asking him if he put the salt in, which —” He held up both of his hands, as if to say ‘whatever’. “Second of all, have you heard from Reg at all? Do we know if he’s even coming? I brought Rhia as his replacement, just in case.”
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@dementedspeedster cont.
Alright, a pinky promise is a pinky promise. You can't break that. Thad won't laugh at her or think she's dumb. She plopped down to join him, sheepishly showing her left hand. Two fingers had been splinted together with bright pink medical wrap.
"Okay, so I was playing in the Tower cause everyone was on call..." Boredom remained her biggest enemy more than any Jump City Villain. "And, I might have gone into Raven's room at some point to borrow one of her capes. And I know I'm not supposed to do that, because there's dangerous things in her room- but her cape is so much cooler than mine! It's swooshier," she spread her arms to demonstrate her arm twirling for maximum swooshinees.
"I thought I had more time before they came back. I guess I was having too much fun. So I was standing on the edge of the table to be super tall, wearing Raven's cape, fighting my pretend bad guys like 'POW' 'WOOSH'" she mock punched the air, "and then the door opened and it scared me.... I fell off the table on my butt. And a little on my finger." Hence her sad new accessory. Letting out a big sigh she shook her head, softly adding,
"I wish I hurt it doing something cool like actually punching a bad guy."
#//this has been storytime with melvin#tune in next week for more shennanigans#also dove u don't have to respond i just wanted to give a silly#DONT FEEL OBLIGATED TO MATCH LENGTH#smol is a rambler#dementedspeedster
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@thebadtimewolf has stumbled upon the Lost Doctor...
It was quiet. Eerily quiet. The sort of quiet that rolled through a community with delicate fingers, making note of every crevice, every soul tucked safely away for the night, only to return with biting teeth with little to no warning. That was usually how the story went, he thought to himself, looking out onto the city below. Always when we least expect it.
His dominant hand, the right, fell to the hilt of his sword: one among them would not rest easy tonight, and he had chosen that mantle when he'd decided to guide these primitive people so many centuries ago (How many had passed since that day? He used to know that.)
They'd come far over the years: graduating from shelter in hollowed mountains to brick-and-mortar civilization. Still working on electricity and vaccines, but what was evolution without trial and error? Wasn't that what the Greats all said in that regard? Maybe...but something's wrong. Something he couldn't place.
The old doors and pathways rooting around his head had grown murky and dark, but he remembered basic history and this society he'd nurtured wasn't growing in the right direction. The jagged, angular buildings jutting up into the sky, the blueish-green fire lighting their homes--the language they spoke that didn't quite land as he remembered and the smoky sky swirling above in shades of midnight grey, and that was without listing off the way they'd physically evolved. He'd never met a gallifreyan whose eyes glowed in the dark.
A thin, hard line pressed into his mouth. He mumbled something in his native--sorry, in their native language, climbing down his perch. He dropped to the dusty roads on silent feet, the light armor he wore clacking together like wind chimes after a storm. That's a word for it, he thought bitterly, beginning the trek back to his own quarters. Ah well, he thought, trying as he always did to brush away his concerns. Every great planet underwent a period of hardship, did it not? Maybe he'd just...missed that history lesson.
It was when he'd gotten a couple of yards from his home (new home, current home, it would never be Home) that he stopped; instincts gathered from a life too long settling in. His own eyes scanned his surroundings now, sharp and keen despite the limited light--and then he saw it. A lone figure in the distance. His hand again fell to his hilt, but he didn't draw the blade, not yet. Not until he knew who (or what) he was up against. After all, he may not be the only one out for a stroll this evening (although hadn't he set up a curfew specifically to keep them all safe?)
"Halt," he said cautiously, the word framed in the echo of a northern accent. His step slowed, and a sliver of moonlight passed over him, illuminating his ghostly complexion: hollowed cheeks and dark circles under his eyes…eyes that glowed in the dark, though he'd be the first to deny it. “State your name and business."
#verse: eye of the storm#idk if you still wanted a starter for this era of Mal/Nine's journey#but I had fun writing this either way lol#thebadtimewolf#please don't feel obligated to match me in length if you do decide to reply! I just really like to write and world build
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` CLOSED ▸ reuven / @ofherbalisms .
lingering behind a double storm door, she's had her open palm pressed to the resilient metal for five, ten minutes, doing nothing more than anticipating. the cat. the man. and always in that order, if they should come at all. it had been only this in the beginning — a perchance noticing man and beast wandered past the short stretch of her living room window. almost always around the same dusky edge of the evening. it was a short jump from scheduled curiosity to positioning herself in the four-by-six square of wild penstemon and yarrow. a selfish waiting. tending to her garden. to the cat, the harbinger of man — reuven, the name knotted in her throat, tangled in his unexpected gentleness. so like her father.
the cat, a disheveled, mottled thing, leaps onto the red brick garden wall that frames danielle's front door on either side. she catches the anticipation in her throat and pushes through the door, to the short wall — a half-finished project, begun and abandoned by a long-dead survivor. still, the cement binder, now solid, seems to ooze from beneath the last laid brick. danielle drums her fingertips on common burnt clay, enticing the stray to ram it's head beneath her attentive hand. " hello, darling. " it purrs, a quiet hum of a reward for routine feeding and care. feeding, she supposes, does much of the heavy lifting — to that end, the seamstress unfolds a square of cloth, scraps sewn together into a patchwork, to reveal today's picnic: scraps of meat and the crumbled yellow yolk of a hard boiled egg.
it eats voraciously. she gives an exhale of a laugh, stroking its coarse fur from nape to tail. how precious this small, half-feral life had become to her. and when she finally hears the crunch of boots on gravel — " i was wondering where you'd gone off to, " danielle lifts her chin toward him, followed by her gaze finally drawn from the docile beast. her smile softens, enthusiasm tempered by the nervous comfort that so often accompanies his appearance. " it's not like him to wander this way without you. mm? " the cat has settled, the egg half devoured, purrs replaced by the gnashing of canines on muscle. danielle cautiously withdraws her hand and folds both arms over her chest, skin prickling in the evening chill. now, observing him properly, her brows knit slightly. " was it a ... difficult day? "
#` 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 ▸ thread .#` 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 ▸ thread ﹢ 𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑒𝑛 .#i hope this works!!#and don't feel obliged to match length <33
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