Not today Justin
Janaina Medeiros
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Jules of Nature
art blog(derogatory)
oozey mess
trying on a metaphor
Keni
pixel skylines
Cosimo Galluzzi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Game of Thrones Daily
Andulka
wallacepolsom
🪼
titsay
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
blake kathryn
No title available
PR's Tumblrdome
seen from Belgium
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Switzerland
seen from Italy
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Italy
@solarsoaring
☀️ superman
sunny disposition
believes in the good of humanity
believes radio pop is real punk music
will fall for ragebait and then cry
breakfast enthusiast
texts with too many emojis ☀️🤓✈️📰💙❤️
will go out of his way to catch a spider and take it outside
Rules. // App. // Stats. // OOC.
The man seems certain, and that's some good moxie, there. That isn't just denial, that was certainty that it isn't hell, isn't some kind of annoying afterlife. Badou can appreciate that, too, and his mouth quirks into a smile.
"You got that right! We still gotta pay bills." His afterlife wouldn't come anywhere near those.
"Home is home. A big city, falling apart, just living to work and working to live."
“There are bills here? So, this is hell!” He tried to stop himself from panicking, but it was almost impossible. He never asked to be here, and not only did he have to pay bills, but he also didn’t know how he was going to even pay for the basics like food.
Wait, did he need to eat? Yes, he was already starving. That wasn’t good.
“That sounds like home to me.” He agreed with a sigh. That sounded like a pessimistic view of Earth. He took another look at the new phone. “No music, no pictures—no food apps!”
「𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤!」- It was a welcomed distraction and change of pace to have someone join him, even if he was still a bit nervous about being out and about. Still concerned that everything might come popping out again. The cafe was small and there wasn't too terribly much for seating so he was happy to open up his table to anyone who needed it.
The feathers had died down enough that they were easily hidden by the wide rim of his duster, even if the duster didn't provide too much warmth in the rapidly cooling weather. It was still more meant for the heat of the desert than full winter. ...At least he felt like he could leave the house like this. He still was staying with Badou, creeping awkwardly into his own villa from time to time to get things or clean. The place was still a mess after everything that had gone on nearly a month prior.
Although he hadn't expected the guy to start pacing and rattling off everything in his mind. Talking about things Vash could barely fathom but still understood at least vaguely. - He had reassured a waitress that everything was all right with a smile and he did interject when he could, but the guy... really was talking a whole lot. Still, Vash smiled, slowly nursing his own mug of coffee and toast, just listening.
His eyes kept flickering to the goofy glasses hanging around the guy's neck - they reminded him of the ones that Rem had donned for his and Knives' birthday. Some relic of human life and culture that neither of the boys had been able to understand.
He was about to try and get the guy to sit down again when he seemed to get over the caffeine high somewhat on his own -- and the guy looked like he was about to cry or something!
"Hey... hey... it'll be fine and I'm enjoyin' listenin' anyways.. but I think yer worryin' the staff a little..." He made a gesture for the man to take a seat again.
Once the other man was sat back down the smile faded slightly. A far away look came to his eye, somber. The exposed fingers of his free hand ran gently over the warm mug in front of him. "I mean, honestly... I don't really understand it still, but it's not like there's no chance that you'll ever see them again. I've been here for a couple of years and even though I haven't been able to get back home, it's always possible that the people you care about might end up coming here somehow. It's happened a couple of times for some of us and even if those people who come end up leaving... it's always possible that they'll come back some day..."
His voice grew soft and wistful. They just hadn't really been the people he wanted... Now it was just him. Fingers tightened on the mug just a bit. He knew he was saying too much.
Clark glanced back towards the counter. Yes, the staff was staring at him like he was the strangest thing they’d ever seen. He wasn’t used to getting that look when not in his cape.
He knew he needed to calm down, panicking wasn’t going to help anything, and the last thing he needed was to get kicked out, or draw any more attention to himself.
His best bet for the time being was to act human, even if his new companion was some sort of Metahuman—Clark thought he saw feathers—it was still safest to appear non-threatening, boring and ordinary, the way he tried to act at home.
Well, he could mostly act that way when Steve wasn’t on his nerves.
Work drama suddenly faded so far from his mind at his companion’s words.
“Years!?” He slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the cups. “No—no, dude, I cannot live here for multiple years! What about home? Who’s going to make sure the city doesn’t get destroyed? Green Lantern!? Ha—That’s a freaking laugh!”
No, he shouldn’t say that about Guy. He wasn’t all bad, and if Clark really was stuck here, then Guy was his only hope.
“But I don’t want them to come here! I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy—” Oh God. The thought of his worst enemy being here seemed to make his stupid weakened metabolism suddenly aware that he’d just drank a giant coffee on an empty stomach. “Dude, I am about to throw up.” He whispered. “How have you dealt with this crap for so long?”
It’s always you in my big dreams.
@dragonchixf
He didn’t know why he insisted on carrying his briefcase around. It wasn’t as if anything in there was much use here—it was the same stuff he’d had since he found himself here on the way to work.
But among the random papers and dog-eared books, there was also room to hide secret and important things. He just hoped the eyes from that mysterious creature did not mean they planned on seeing how well he could defend himself, and the important things in his bag.
No, those weren’t the evil eyes of some interdimensional creature, they were the hungry eyes of a pet. He’d know them anywhere, despite being used to seeing them on Krypto rather than a dragon.
Well, he was pretty sure this was a dragon. He glanced down into his bag, digging around to see what it was that the dragon seemed so interested in.
“Ah—salami—” He took the wrapped sandwich out of his bag. How long has that been in here? Before or after he’d gotten yanked between dimensions? Hopefully after.
“Is this what you want?” He asked, holding it up so the creature could see. He knew better than to feed someone’s pet without permission, so he quickly called over to the guy he assumed was the dragon’s owner. “Can he have some of this? It’s salami, and what I hope is mustard and not old mayo—”
@epilvgue
“And he says to me, he says that doesn’t fit his brand—” Clark scoffed, still pacing back and forth in front of the table. “Like—okay, sorry, I didn’t realize having a stupid moustache was a brand—”
He’d just wanted to get to know the neighborhood, and taking a stroll through the Seaside Province area seemed like an interesting assignment, especially when he came across a cafe at the corner.
He was still getting used to having a human metabolism, meaning eating and drinking on a normal schedule. He’d forgotten to factor in the way he could no longer drink giant coffees without feeling a thing, because now he was very much feeling something as he paced back and forth in front of this poor guy’s table, yapping as the caffeine coursed through his veins.
“I was just trying to be nice, you know, lending my expertise—because, hello, I don’t remember the last time his stupid mustache was on the front page—meanwhile, I’ve been on the front page five times this year—I mean, not me—"
He meant Superman had been on the front page. Not him. Or whatever. He was still unsure exactly how to keep everything under wraps in this place when they'd taken his hypno-glasses and given him those stupid goofy disguise glasses instead.
He was not going to wear them, secret identity or not. He just left them hanging from his shirt collar by habit.
"Lois says to let it go, that I shouldn't let Steve get under my skin, but that's easy for her to say—" He paused, taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm his racing heart.
He glanced at the person at the table, they were still looking at him, their expression unreadable.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to drag you into my coworker drama." He took another breath. "I shouldn't even be annoyed, right? Shouldn't I be sad, because if I'm stuck here, then there's a chance I might never seen any of them ever again, right?"
His voice broke slightly, as if he might laugh or cry—or both.
smudged
Houses of Faith may be vastly different across worlds, but there were often some similarities between them-- after all, though beliefs themselves may be different, devotion was a rather universal concept, and often came with a sense of solemnity. The temple here was no different.
Perhaps the prayers that Sunday spoke were not those of "faith," but simply a habit of recitation. How many long hours had he spent learning them? How many times in his life has he murmured the same words in his heart? And more than that... how many times had they been sincere?
He was uncertain if he could count it even if he tried.
No... indeed, Sunday would be called a "heretic," and despite his pious appearance, he still could not say he had faith in the words he recited. So why was he here to begin with, yet again?
Perhaps he still sought "truth" amid all he had known before.
Or perhaps it was because there was nothing else to do, and the temple offered a quiet escape.
Either way, he was far from being caught up in intense meditation. The sound of the Harmony had filled his mind once more. He had just begun to get used to its silence, but it was relieving when the world opened itself before him once more, even if he could not yet perform Tuning.
This, at least, allowed him to feel the ripple of another's attention turning his way, and the faint sense of awkwardness that lay beneath it. Golden eyes flickered open, and Sunday turned toward the other. "The natives of this world pray to Ivurie and Ebenos. The guests might join them, or entreat each their own gods," he said. His voice was soft-- above a whisper, yet blending effortlessly within the space as though it was made for it. "The words you should say, thus, depend on the entreaties you wish to make."
Ah... but what weight did a mortal's prayer hold in the eyes of a god? And would the ones who brought them here truly hear the plight of those who longed for what they had taken?
He reached out and took a small booklet from the card holder, then offered it to the other. "This book contains a few of this world's prayers-- but whether faith alone can create a miracle... that remains to be seen."
“Ivurie and Ebenos.” He repeated, a sense of familiarity in the names. Yes, he had learned as much just from the few days here. He wasn’t sure exactly what each one stood for or represented, but he could guess that they were meant to represent two equal forces of harmony, where one couldn’t exist without the other.
That wasn’t exactly a new idea, lots of religions had two sides to represent two forces; good and evil, yin and yang, the light and the dark.
“Would you judge me greatly if I said my entreaty was that I want to go home?” He didn’t care if they did, it wasn’t like that was going to stop him.
He wasn’t going to cry about it, but if he did, at least church seemed like the most appropriate place to do so.
No—don’t think about home. Or maybe he should. Maybe getting choked up was just the earnestness he needed to show these gods how much he disliked being here.
He glanced away, fighting what threatened to well up in his chest before looking back and taking the book. He flipped through slowly, but as his eyes scanned the pages, it all looked like word salad.
He instinctively reached for the glasses hanging off his collar, before he remembered that his real glasses had been replaced by the silly disguise ones.
“What are you praying for?” He asked, glancing away again. “Sorry—that’s too personal to ask. It’s to go home, though, isn’t it?”
Wait until he finds out Clark is a reporter, he's going to give him hell for how long it took him to figure it out.
Quicker than most, though.
But Badou waits, still, slowly smoking, watching for the reality to sink in before he nods.
"That's right, man. We can't call home. We don't really even know where this is-- in our universe? Another one? We dead?"
He was choosing to ignore the smoking for now, despite the fact that it seemed like his lungs could no longer filter out smoke the way they used to.
But there were much more pressing matters.
“We are not dead!” He said it like a fact, even though he had no real way of knowing that. “If we were dead—this is a very crappy afterlife. If we were in hell—” Well, if this was hell, then where the hell were certain people. In fact, if this was any afterlife, then should he have seen some of his own kind by now?
He wasn’t even sure now how he’d be able to tell they were his own kind, so maybe he already had.
“What do you remember about home?” He tried to tread carefully at the question, trying to decipher if this person was human or not.
❄️— Akaza paused for a moment when he locked eyes with a man who stood awkwardly off to the side. The guy was tall and broad - obviously strong physically, so why was he being so meek and sitting off to the side like that? It confused Akaza (irritated him slightly, even), the way the guy turned away and grew flustered.
Brows twitched though he tried hard not look too pissed off.
'Spotting'? What the hell was that? Watching him?
"I don't need 'spotting' - whatever that is." A flurry of punches battered the heavy bag and --
The chain snapped. The bag fell on the ground. Oh... He'd been too hard on it, it seemed... Akaza stared down at it for a moment before hoisting it over his shoulder and quite casually brought it over to the wall to prop it there.
He looked up at the man who stood not far away now. The guy was a good head taller than himself - "Do you need help with something...? What are you standing like that for?"
It was maybe too blunt.
“Right, of course you don’t need someone to watch you—”
He was only momentarily taken aback by their bluntness. It was easy to breeze past that and choose instead to remain positive, no matter how much part of him wanted to wallow in the same anger.
That wasn’t going to get him anywhere, certainly not home. Clark could tell this guy didn’t know about how to leave this place any more than he did, but maybe he did have some other information.
“I sort of have a question. What are we training for, anyway? Is there anything dangerous that I should be aware of?”
He didn’t know what he would do with that information. If there was danger, then there was no way he’d let his weakened form prevent him from at least getting in shape enough to help.
He watched the bag fall to the floor, trying to not at all feel jealous of their strength.“Or, is this just for fun?” He gave them his best cheesy grin, sort of hoping they’d return with a smile, or at least say yes.
Superman
❄️— The hit rang out, sending the heavy bag swinging back and forth in a wide arc, creaking on its chain. The punch was followed quickly by a set of rapid fire kicks.
He had never been inside of a gym before, but the access to training equipment was certainly nice. It was easy to ignore the other people there as he pounded away relentlessly on the training dummies and heavy bags.
Akaza could feel his muscles starting to ache, sweat forming - a workout like this wasn't something that he'd had in a long while, though it was starting to garner stares from other patrons.
@solarsoaring || starter call
He used to avoid places like this—lying to Steve that he had asthma to avoid running on the treadmill and an astigmatism to avoid having to spot him on the weight bench.
It was just easier than the torture of pulling his punches. He preferred secret workouts on his own, where he could juggle trains and break the sound barrier just for fun.
But despite the strange fake sun here rendering him just as powerful as a human, he still couldn’t bring himself to approach any of the gym equipment.
Maybe he was just in denial about how weak he really was. Could the other people here tell? Obviously, the guy lingering on the sidelines was doing it for a reason.
He jumped slightly when someone’s eyes locked with his. He quickly turned away, staring at the wall, his face red.
“Don’t mind me—” He chuckled. “I’m just spotting you—not that you need it—”
Oh- at the voice, he turns, his single eye taking Clark in. That's a new face, and he's a biggun, too.
"They didn't give you one?" He's genuinely curious what he thinks would be different about Badou's phone versus his own.
The guy doesn't look panicked, either, so another good sign.
It isn't a no, it's more of a let's see what you're thinking.
“They did—but it doesn’t really work—and they deleted all my music!” He paused, reminding himself what was actually important here.
No matter that he purchased all of that music completely legally. Well, it was easier to be angry about that than sad over the fact that they also deleted his pictures.
“When I try to call anyone, it’s like it doesn’t ring—” He took a breath, slowly realizing what was going on here. “We’re not allowed to call home, are we?”
@charmonyfell
He only had one tape in his recorder, so he was trying to be conservative about the oral notes he took. (Maybe his phone also had capabilities? He wasn’t that good at figuring out the fancy new features on these things)
Still, he had the basic gist recorded of how to get to his dwelling and how to buy food, but there was more to this place than just survival.
Obviously, there was more. It was like its own world, and the people who put them here wanted them to make use of it—but how to make use of a temple like this, he wasn’t sure.
It was calming in the way most holy places were, but he felt like a stranger, an outsider. His last foray into religion was Christmas Day service at the church in Smallville—something Ma still dragged him to every year.
At least he knew more or less how that worked. There was one other person in this temple, and the way they seemed in deep thought, maybe they were praying? He waited for a few moments—whispering in church still felt wrong, even at his age.
“What exactly am I supposed to say? To pray?”
He wasn’t sure if any Gods were real, here or back home, but any good journalist didn’t dismiss things without digging up the details.
And maybe if he prayed hard enough, he’d get to go home.
@dragonhcrt
Clark was a good roommate, the kind that went out and replaced all of the food he just ate, even if his money situation in this dimension was a little tight.
But he drops the bags right onto the ground, ignoring the telltale crack of the fresh eggs in favor of running after someone he swore he just saw flying—because how does that work? Maybe there was a trick to getting his powers back, and getting them back meant getting the heck out of here.
“Excuse me!” He scrambles for something to take notes on, this could be very important. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about flying?”
The door clicked open. A measured footstep followed, deliberate and unhurried. As a tall man entered sharp-eyed, composed, with the faintest curl of disdain at the corner of his mouth as he took in the scene.
Dr. Ratio paused in the doorway, hand still on the handle. His gaze swept the kitchen: the half-empty egg carton, the sizzling pan, and finally, the stack of golden-brown toast that looked far too excessive for one person. “Hmm.” He exhaled, almost like a sigh, but it carried a hint of amusement. “Considering the state my companion left the kitchen sometime prior. This breakfast isn't the worst thing to stumble upon as I open the door.”
He crossed the room slowly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he approached. “Though I must admit, your choice of activity is… unexpected. You appear far more at peace than someone stranded in an unfamiliar dimension.”
Ratio’s eyes flicked to Clark’s face, analytic as always. “Is this what you do when faced with an existential anomaly? Cook?” Then, after a brief pause, his tone softened just enough to betray curiosity. “…And, yes…” he added, glancing at the French toast tower, “I suppose I accompany you this time. Dr Veritas Ratio.” He'll end after introducing himself.
The lesson of cleaning as you go never stuck in his mind, he was more of the type to let everything clutter until the usual post-breakfast energy boost had him cleaning everything at top speed—lifting the fridge and sweeping underneath.
Well, he unfortunately was in no position to do that now, but he could make sure to wash the dishes like any self-respecting roommate.
There was a slight break of relief when his roommate didn’t seem too enraged to have found Clark working his way through all the groceries.
Cooking did always help cool his jets, give him something to focus on. But now the weight of his current situation was crushing down on him.
“Yes—to answer your question.” He said, flipping the knob to turn off the eye of the stove. “When you’re following a recipe, it’s just focusing on the steps and what comes next— but now the toast is done and I’m freaking out, a little!”
Truthfully, he hadn’t been sure who to trust. Just finding the address inscribed on his key had been hard enough, having to go by foot, and everyone he spoke to seemed more interested in commenting on the goofy disguise glasses that he still had hanging from the collar of his shirt.
“I mean, I’ve been trapped in another dimension before—but it wasn’t anything like this. If you’re a doctor, then you must kind of know what’s going on here, right?”
@omniveri
Clark was exhausted, and he was starving—two feelings that proved more than anything how strange this place was. But it was hard to think straight about how to get out or how to fix his phone when he was this hungry.
Luckily, the key they gave him worked, and the house he found himself in had a fully equipped kitchen. It was calming, the act of cooking.
Crack the eggs, mix, dip the bread. Pan. Fry. Flip. Over and over until the stack of French toast was towering, the loaf of bread and over half the eggs gone.
He was in the zone when he heard the door open. Whoever he was supposed to share this place with had just gotten home.
“I hope you’re hungry!”
