squad goals

x gonna give it to ya

[superheroxlanding]

thencxtgvns‌:

      It hadn’t been long since Mercer had been evicted from the back seat of Ajay’s car where she’d been having a well-deserved nap. Something about him needing the space for a party booking for a tour of the cities nightlife that she didn’t care about found her being literally kicked out onto the curb and her blanket following her. And so here she was, seething, dragging her favourite blanky behind her as she stalked the streets in search of someone to take out her annoyance on, perhaps double that up as a snack as she was absolutely starving.     A prime candidate presented itself in a feverish looking young man who clambered towards her crying for help, she stopped in her tracks as he neared eyes widening as he grasped ahold of the arm that was also clinging onto her blanket. The phone screen held up to her face bought with it, the scent emanating from his wrist. He smelled earthy, warm, and most importantly: like a dog. Her other hand flew up to her mouth, catching the retch that followed the smell of his skin. She tried to shake free of his grip, unsuccessfully, he was pretty strong for a skinny looking dude.      There were two things she could immediately ascertain about this guy: he was most likely on some kind of drug that was causing him to act like this, and she hated everything about him. “Honestly I don’t know what you want me to do dude” she said, her annoyed tone muffled by the fingers clasped across her mouth “what are you on?! You’re pretty wacked out” she continued to struggle against his grip, which only tightened on her forearm irritatingly.

The phone buzzed, screen lighting green with the nineteenth call from Joon that night. “How do I answer this?” he asked. A gust of crisp, autumn wind whistled through the trees and grey clouds obscured the moonlight overhead. Temporarily spared from that silver light hitting his skin, he shuddered and broke further out of his daze. He went quiet. They were cloaked in silence apart from the wind, his labored breathing, and the dull buzz of his phone. 

And then, he smelled something awful. It was musty like mothballs, but with the sweetly sour staleness of dead flowers rotting in a vase. Something was dead, yet wrongly preserved. His first terrible instinct was to lean closer and sniff the girl, as if he couldn’t believe she was the source. The smell hit him again, sharper this time. 

He doubled over, grip slipping from her arm to the blanket itself, and gagged. Of course, he wasn’t going to point out the woman’s odor -- oh no, his aunt had raised a gentleman. “I don’t know what you mean by that,” he said, weakly. He’d tried not to breathe too much of the woman’s scent, but it was difficult to do while talking. “Please, could you show me how to work this machine? I’d like to go home soon -- I’m, I’m a little under the weather.”

The clouds broke apart and he shuddered. Direct moonlight struck his skin, casting him under a sickly glow and making his platinum blonde strands of hair ghostly. The dizziness -- combined with that unnatural smell  -- had him doubling over, vomiting at the woman’s feet. 

[superheroxlanding]

Moonlight Sonata: An OPEN STARTER to Next Gen

Struck by feverish delirium, a rose petal-tinted blush spread over his cheeks while he shivered. Wallace was dressed in a russet brown, heavy-knit sweater and woolen pants there were overkill for early October, yet the steel bench still chilled him to his bones. He couldn’t move; too frozen by the cold, too ensnared by moonlight.

He’d made a mistake exploring this new realm at dusk. The moon was five days shy of fullness and although its song was different than the moons of his homeland, it held power over him all the same. Wally hadn’t noticed his gradual descent into disorientation. If moonlight was boiling water, werewolves were the lobsters never realizing they’re being cooked alive.

Wally coughed, his throat hoarse. The feeling pried him away from the night’s enchantment long enough to realize his phone had been ringing. His lock screen read seventeen missed calls from Joon and that number would hit eighteen if he didn’t answer immediately. How many hours had it been? His last, hazy memory was of Joon at their temporary shelter, vomiting into empty coffee ground containers like he’d come down with a nasty flu. 

With a lost, perplexed look, he stood and staggered towards the first person closest to the bench. He flashed the phone screen at them. It had stopped ringing and now had a notification reading eighteen missed calls. “Help me,” he said. “Please, help me.” Wally swayed and without meaning to, tried grabbing onto the stranger for balance. 

[superheroxlanding]

thencxtgvns‌:

open to all || I am the weirdo, mister || {{  Mercerx?? }}

     Still getting used to the city and its layout, Mercer had once again found herself lost. Wandering the darkening streets of downtown wasn’t particularly intimidating for her, she was stronger and faster than a large proportion of these mortals, and if they could overpower her she could feel the weight of many dead bodies hidden away that she could call upon for aid if necessary. The unmistakeable sounds of a drunken laughter and talking came from nearby ahead, interest piqued, she followed them to round on a small dingy bar. Shrugging, she made her way inside.      It was clear this place wasn’t used to strangers entering, dozens of eyes fell on her as the walked across the (strangely sticky?) carpet towards the bar where she hoisted herself onto a stool and grinned toothily at the grumpy old bartender. “I’ll take… uhhh, a bottle of beer please” she requested, leaning up onto the (also strangely sticky) bartop to peer into the refrigerators behind to see if there was one she particularly liked “Bud will do” she nodded, pointing to the familiar red-labeled bottle.      Settling back down onto her stool, she accepted the bottle with a bright thanks before turning her eyes round to scan the room lazily. She was kind of hungry, she hadn’t eaten in a few days and any of these patrons would be easy pickings for her, a curious set of eyes piqued her attention and she met them with her own. Offering the stranger a blinding smile, she tipped her bottle politely before resuming her scan of the room as she sipped the not-very-cold beer in her hand.

“Come on, why would someone like you settle for Budweiser?” he asked. Openers like that were used by both playboys and gentlemen alike, as well as young hustlers stealing from both their playbooks. Ajay was that hustler -- an entrepreneur, he insisted. He helps himself onto a stool and while he smiles, its a practiced expression no more pleasant to look at than the too-tight, plastic grin of a car salesman. He was still an undoubtedly handsome man, but desperation wasn’t a good look on him. 

Nobody was scheduling him for work and nobody, not even Heather, was answering his calls. After the second week left in the dark, bills forced him to smash his piggy bank of business school funds and prematurely unveil his latest entrepreneurial venture. “You’re here in our lovable city of freaks, and you can’t get your hands on a decent beer. Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried craft beer from fermentation manipulators!” he said. He pulls a stack of business cards bound by a rubber band, slides one out with his thumb, and held it out. It trembles in his grasp, the expresso shots he’d chugged earlier catching up to him. Apparently, serenity manipulation was no match from the literal anxiety juice coursing through his veins.  

“Ajay Chaudhari: Tour Guide, Travel Blogger, Emergency Getaway Driver -- the works!” he said. “So, how about you and I ditch this sad sack’s bar? We can enjoy a night you’ll never forget at an affordable, yet competitive price point.” That was the end of his sixty second elevator pitch, and he wasn’t sure how it went. Maybe he’d been watching too much Shark Tank. Maybe he going to make a fool of himself. There were a long list of maybes that always threatened to hold him back, but he didn’t want to be stuck behind a cab his entire life. Complacency, he believed, was a one-way ticket to becoming exactly like his father. Dopinder was a man who waited for permission to seize his dreams, a man who accounted for unlimited tomorrows to put off what he could do today. Ajay hated that. Even if the tour guide business didn’t pan out, at least he could hold his head high knowing he’d tried striking out on his own.

“Or, you know...you could just follow me on Instagram?” he said. “Hashtag like for like?”  

[superheroxlanding]

Operation: Mama Said Knock You Out || Serena, Liya, and The Sewer Soldier @rcinbcws ​

“Dad, can we talk? It’s about my body.”

Reptilian physiology has its own host of problems. From accidentally unhinging one’s jaw during a dentist appointment to clogging the shower drain with shed scales, living with these mutants aren’t for the faint of heart. In fact, Serena Warren could only think of one thing that unsettled men more than her midnight cravings for live mice: teenage girls. The young mutant had a feeling her father would sooner swallow a mouse than talk to her about puberty. She didn’t have numerical data to substantiate her claims, but she did have a father whose face seemed to instantly drain of color.

“I know this is typically a thing between me and mom,” she said. Serena took a few, hesitant steps into the kitchen and looked down. She fiddled with the image-inducer on her wrist. The device was designed to look like a watch, but when opened had a touch screen for her to make on-the-fly adjustments. While she preferred to look natural as possible -- minus the scales, of course -- it wasn’t unusual for her to have the hologram change the appearance of her wigs. She’d gone for volume today, curly tresses obscuring a face flushed with embarrassment.  

“I’m just having a hard time,” she said, biting her lip. “Mom says it’s because I’m going through all these changes, and I’m no stranger to all the research surrounding hormone fluctuations in my age bracket. But...well, it’s about my breasts.”

“Is that seriously the best you could come up with?” she said. “You should’ve gone with my idea and told him you were preggers. It’s not unbelievable -- like, Killer Croc would totally tap that.” 

Liya stood no taller than a newborn’s fingernail. Hidden behind her sister’s ear, she could see nothing beyond the forest of synthetic, auburn curls and their holographic extensions. She clung onto a strand of hair for support, huffing and puffing into her comms device. “I’m like, so grateful for the rope climbing test in gym? My arms would’ve literally fallen off by now if I didn’t have practice climbing that stupid thing for a grade,” she said. 

Dangling by a polyester thread like the Indiana Jones of lace fronts wasn’t her favorite part of the plan. No, her favorite part of the plan involved the cast-iron frying pan that’s handle stuck out from her backpack. “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda worried we might accidentally kill him,” she said. “I’m still pissed about the peanut butter jar thing, but not enough to commit, like, dad-slaughter.”

Serena “readjusted” the hair tucked behind her ear, giving it a small flick that gave Liya whiplash. Liya squealed, although to anyone without a communications device linked to her’s, she was practically inaudible to the human ear. “Am I distracting you? Sorry, I’ll shut up so you can tell our dad all about your boobs,” she said, gritting her teeth. “All I wanted to know is if you crunched the numbers on this...or drew a parabola or...or whatever it is you brainiacs do before giving someone head trauma!” 

[superheroxlanding]

clownpool‌:

–––––– MAX LA TORRE ; ( & Scout ): Francis 2.0

he couldn’t feel his face– or what was left of it. the skin felt raw and the bruising was tender each time he pressed his temple against that metal cage around him, he hissed at the pain as if it were a surprise to know that it would hurt. he’d spent the first couple of hours, at least, he assumed they were hours though where ever they were had no real concept of time. he was knocked out cold. then he was awake. then he began purging the nervousness from his stomach– he felt sick, shaky and for once (EACH AND EVERY SIGHT OF TYRA ASIDE) fucking scared.

his cellmate, however, the sight of her face, and the familiar voice of hers brought him a sense of comfort. knowing he wasn’t alone–knowing he had his best friend there beside him– made him felt so much better. he groaned as he emptied the contents of his stomach– really just stomach acid– just at the corner edge of that cell they shared. his breathing was shaky, and retching had echoed against the room and it sounded terrible, weak, and uncharacteristic as a wavering chuckle fell from his lips.

“Remind me to cut back on the Angel Dust and Silver Patròn next time. We can’t party like you’re in college anymore, Scouty-Poo.” 

using the balls of his bare feet, he pushed himself away from those metal bars and pressed his back flesh against that wall. as the memories failed to resurface that pounding head of his.

“Whichever county prison this is, I have to say it’s the fucking worst, there’s not even a toilet in here.” he sighed as hands traveled up to the collar on his neck– this revelation causing even more concern and panic. he soon tried to remove it

“What the fuck is this thing?” after tugging at that leather strap, he felt a shock spread through his body, as if he’d recoiled a trigger. “JESUS. WHAT ARE WE ANIMALS?” the sickness started to spread all over again as he banged his head against that wall. that’s when footsteps approached.

“ 𝙼𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚘 𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝙻𝚊 𝚃𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚞𝚜.”

the doctor’s voice replaced the echoing sounds of his vomiting… the fear began to spread even more across his body. he shot his eyes back at Scout, “Did you fucking tell him my whole ass name?”

“How many times did you practice that one in the mirror, Doc?” she said, settling into a crouch. Blood seeped from scrapes and into the unraveled threads of her jeans, torn from when she was dragged across asphalt. The piercing look she gave the scientist dissolved into disinterest, and she calmly picked out the dirt, gravel, and stray strings of torn skin from her knees. She knew that conserving their energy was their best course of action, but that was damn near impossible when sharing a cell with Max.

“What dastardly deeds is he going to do with a name, huh?” she said. “Add you on Facebook? Send you junk mail?” Scout flicked gravel at her cellmate, aiming for the angry vein on his temple. Her marksmanship wasn’t the best; she’d unfocused her vision in an attempt to see as little detail in Max’s vomit as possible. “While you enjoyed your beauty sleep, I got an ass-cheek injection that looked like blue gatorade and was probably just as unhealthy.”

Scout huffed.  And she instantly regretted it.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she tried to hold in her lunch. “Why’d you have to eat so much damn cheese at the rink?” she heaved. She crawled towards the bars, hoping to puke outside their cell as much as she could. But the smell of Max’s vomit -- which he’d spewed everywhere, not even limiting himself to a designated Puke Corner like a civilized man --  had her hunched over and hurling in record time. 

“This is just great," she said. “We’ve got no powers, no allies, and no weapons. It’s just you, me, and about four fucking puddles of vomit.” Tremors shake her shoulders, but she feels her stomach settle once there’s nothing more to purge except bile. “If you don’t stop touching your collar, I’m gonna start calling you Uncle Upchuck.” Scout swipes her shirt sleeve across her lips and grows very still, keeping her head down as though expecting another round. But instead, she scoops her half-dissolved lunch into her palm and slings it Francis. "Hope that coat isn’t dry clean only, Doc.” 

[superheroxlanding]

clownpool‌:

–––––– 니모 ; ( @superheroxlanding ) : step into dr. clean’s office

while Nemo had to admit, he wasn’t yet in the higher ranks of the Bunch, he knew that his time there was spent wisely. besides, he was still a younger member, he was still earning his way up to gaining solo missions and group missions as well. and while he knew and trusted that their leader, Heather, knew what she was doing with their abilities, he couldn’t at all disagree to the job she’d thrust upon him. it was perfect. and he loved his job, honestly. the shelf of bandaids were perfectly organized by color, and animated faces. the plethora of medicine bottles were alphabetized as well. he was proud of his work space, despite how little it was used. the colorful bandaids were, of course, the main use of the nurse’s office. 

and it was a quiet day at the office.

he shuffled through that DND book on his designated Nurses’ desk and began to scan the new information that Renjae had previously spoken about. he flipped page after page as he tried to find a solution to the problem. he was reading about animal companions for druids, and he was certain there was a way for Patricia to have her animal friends. he wouldn’t give up. he just had to find a way around the rules, and make it fair. he was neck deep in that research until he heard a knock on that door frame.

the door, propped open, he peaked his head over the stack of books to greet his new patient, Tyra–Lady Thor. “Oh, h-hello! Come in! What seems to be the problem today?”

Even while exiled, she felt compelled to uphold herself to Odin’s impossibly high standards. “I assume you know how to treat lacerations such as these,” she said. Tyra spoke as if she were at her father’s right-hand during a diplomatic session: with a stern expression carved from marble, and a voice just as cold. She refused to show any weakness before the healer -- after all, did father raise a champion or a delicate, little maiden whose knees trembled at the sight of a mere needle?

She removed her plates of body armor. They dropped by the door with rumbling, metallic clangs and piled like gnarled heaps of scrap metal. But, the pitiful state of her armor was nothing compared to the state of her tunic. If it were allowed to properly dry, she believed that even the royal seamstress would assume it had been dyed red and not stained that way. “Minor as they may be, they’re still ruining the carpet upstairs.”

She presses forward with caution, as though infiltrating enemy territory. All tinctures and tonics made her nervous, and the hooked instruments healer’s prodded her with at home made her squeamish. Nemo’s occupation alone was enough for her to act like he could meet face-to-face with Mjölnir at any moment. 

“Heather’s informed me that you are a competent healer,” she said. Her gaze rests upon the rows of bandages, and she cocks her head in thought. “And these colorful bandages -- little healer boy, which ointment is in the pink ones?” she asked. She gestured with her arms and the movement caused the wounds to split, further soaking her tunic in a darker shade of red. “They don’t -- er, they don’t sting terribly, do they?”

[superheroxlanding]

emittingauras‌:

@superheroxlanding

Although Renjae was never one for parties, he couldn’t not go to prom. The idea did cross his mind, but at least he knew his mom was a phone call away. She could easily whisk both himself and Edith into the night, far away from the loud music and other strangers in attendance.

“Oh, uh, before I forget, here’s your corsage,” Renjae said as he offered Edith the small collection of flowers.

Renjae was glad they were going as friends. He wouldn’t have to deal with trying to interpret gestures, words, or the beat from his own hart. The night would be easy. He and Edith would share a meal, maybe a few dances, and they’d have to take plenty of pictures to share with their families before the end of it.

“Do you want to get something to eat first?” He asked after they stepped into the decorated ballroom. “Or…do you want to make some rounds and talk to people first. I think your brother beat us here…we could see what he’s up to? I would say we could go find Nemo…but I’m sure he’s too busy making heart eyes at Patricia…Bryan might be around here somewhere instead, though.”

Her skin’s glow shone through all the pigments and powders. Two hours of primping at her aunt’s massive vanity table had gone down the drain: Edith still felt like a lampshade. How naive of her, she thought, to think glass pots of creams, sable-haired brushes, and powder compacts with their overpowering peaches and baby powder aroma could ever work a fairy godmother level of magic. 

Edie accepted the corsage with a shy smile. She lowered her head a little too quickly, springing loose tiny, blond curls from the up-do her mom had braided for her. “You even matched all the little flowers to my dress!” she said. “I’ll keep them away from Frederick. Anything in the color yellow makes him hungry -- oh, there’s buttercups and summer squash and a whole bunch of flowers.”

Her fingertips pressed together in a wobbling steeple as she prattled on, voice warbling with nerves. “Well, maybe we could sneak a peek at the food?” she said. She’d be more prepared, memorizing preset phrases and talking points, to recite when they inevitably bumped into their friends and family. Like Renjae, she wasn’t much of a party person; if they hadn’t gone together as friends, she was certain she’d have spent the night a wallflower by the vending machines.

“And it’s too bad we couldn’t have all gone together,” she said. “You know, arriving in one big clump. Are we all clumping together later tonight or...or at prom, are you not supposed to do that?” 

[superheroxlanding]

thencxtgvns‌:

     Yves hadn’t been present at the academy when the accident occurred, but her family had been one of the top donators towards the re-building and hospital fees of those affected. Hot pink tailored suit fitted to her curves as she sashayed along the corridor, she’d taken a half day off work to come and console her, probably sulking, best friend in hospital. Knocking on the door, she didn’t wait to be called in and simply opened it to stride inside to greet Scout with a wide smile.      Dropping a tote bag onto a vacant space on the bed, she unbuttoned her jacket and draped it on the back of the chair before dropping into it herself and taking a good look at her woeful childhood companion. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you look like shit” she offered, lifting a shoulder in a light shrug. She winked and reached into the bag, pulling out a fruit by the foot and opening it with her teeth “what are friends for, eh?” she asked, spitting the torn wrapper into the waste basket and tucking in to the snack. “I bought you all your favourites, all fruit flavoured, but not a sniff of any real fruit to be found. Don’t say I never treat you.” A pause, as she chewed and stared at her friend in silence “so” she began, her voice softer now “how are ya holding up?”

“By a thread,” she said. A short-lived laugh heavy with tiredness and cynicism escaped from her, and then she shrugged. “I think I finally understand why you hate fast fashion: you pull one loose thread and before you know it, all you’ve got is a pile of yarn.”

Hours ago, she’d watched the flesh unravel from her fingers like rosy, curled ribbons. Connected to those dangling strips had been red-as-raw-meat muscle and a crescent of silver bone, flashing as quickly as a shy smile. It was the last thing she saw before waking at the hospital, sore and swollen around every stitch of the hospital’s patchwork job. After such an unnerving experience, she was glad to see a familiar face. Yves had a way of making her feel more like a human being and less like the hospital’s resident craft project. 

Scout plunged her hands into the bag, rifling through its contents with all the giddiness of a child sorting their trick-or-treating spoils. The crinkling of candy wrappers were a welcome disruption to her weekend of clinical, beeping machines and squeaky hospital gurneys rolling down the hall. “Real fruit is for people who actually have to worry about their health,” she scoffed. “What’s with the Pity Rose voice, anyway? I know I’m looking rough all stapled together and shit, but you’ve seen worse.”

Scout ripped open a packet of fruit gummies and picked through the flavors. “You’re acting like you’ve never iced my arms into freeze pops and smashed them before. I’ve got a wonky fifth grade yearbook photo because of you.”

[superheroxlanding]

SCOUT X TP [ tickle ] your muse tickling mine. 

She’d long since been separated from the plucky idealism of her youth. It pained her, like the dread of an overboard sailor watching his boat vanish into faraway fog. The more she fought for survival and kept her head above water, the more she realized that her perseverance was futile. Scout had lost what it meant to be a hero – what it meant to be good, and that made it hard to lay besides Megan.

Scout’s chest grew heavy and the bleak, darkness of the bedroom was suffocating. From outside, the headlight of a passing car sent stripes of light cascading across the walls and her stiff expression. What she wanted, in that moment, was to rest her head against Megan’s bare shoulders. They looked so tranquil and porcelain, as if a sculptor carved her from a block of solid moonlight. But instead, she peeled back the covers and dangled her legs over the mattress’ edge. 

“Why do you always do this?” 

Scout responded with silence. The headlights seeping through the window blinds had past, leaving both women in crumpled sheets and darkness. She could hear the mattress creak as Megan inched closer, and she felt two slender arms looping around her neck. With the other woman leaning, heavy with sleepiness, against her back, their breathing slowly united into one. 

“I like you,” whispered Megan. “I like your body.” Her hands explored Scout’s chest, but after their night together there was no uncharted territory left to explore. But what their physical familiarity couldn’t overcome was the fact that emotionally, they were still very much strangers. “Don’t you like me?” she said, tracing a lazy fingertip over where the short-haired girl’s heart pounded. 

Scout was quick to reply, tripping over her words as she brought her own hand atop of Megan’s and squeezed. “I like you,” she said. “Of course I like you.”

“Then why do you always leave me?” 

“I don’t like the person I’m giving you,” said Scout. And she was surprised at how smoothly those words, having been pent up in her mind for weeks, finally made their way into the open. It was the relief she was looking for – the life jacket finally tossed, so she could stop surviving for a moment and simply float. Scout closed her eyes as her body flushed from nerves, hot in contrast to Megan’s calm and cool touch. 

If Megan was surprised by the other’s vulnerability, she didn’t show it. Instead, she merely rested her chin on Scout’s shoulders. Strands of dark hair brushed against Scout’s skin. “You’re hard on yourself, you know that?” she said. Megan heard Scout laugh, and it was light and girlish in way she never would’ve expected coming from her. The other was so emotionally guarded, it was hard to catch her laughing from joy. 

But, Megan liked the sound.She liked the sound of that laugh and she liked the person it came from. 

“What?” said Megan.

“Megan, it’s your hair!” said Scout. “It’s tickling my neck!”   

[superheroxlanding]

$ ACCIDENTAL TEXT FROM GIL TO WAD

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.

Gil: babe u know jeff caught us in the copy room last time. :(       [Sent 1:30PM] Gil: it was so hot. let’s do it on his desk. i break in 15.  [Sent 1:32PM] Gil: i threw his knick-knacks to make room for that sexy bubble butt. [Sent 1:40PM]Gil: sit on me pookie [ Sent 1:45PM]

Gil: oh hey wad how’s the family [ Sent 4:55PM]Gil: just getting off work :) [Sent 5:15PM]

[rpmememaker]

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

[superheroxlanding]

emittingauras‌:

@superheroxlanding

Renjae only sat awkwardly on the couch in the Gladstone home because he was waiting for Kyle. Technically, they had an after school club they were supposed to be at together right now, except for the unfortunate fact that Kyle had wound up in detention. Again. Robotics club wasn’t quite the same without him. What was Renjae supposed to do without a literal electrician at his side? As much as he did enjoy Robotics club on his own, he didn’t want to go without Kyle.

Which is how he wound up at Uncle Gil’s doorstep and came inside while he waited for his friend to return.

“He got in trouble with Mother Moon. Again,” Renjae explained. “I don’t know what it was that he did…but it could be something sandwich related,” He continued after recalling how sandwiches that were supposed to be at Mother Moon’s Academy had mysteriously disappeared. Where they had wound up, or whoever took them, Renjae didn’t really know – though he had the feeling it had something to do with Kyle himself.

It was then that Renjae fully realized he was sitting in Kyle’s father’s house, and how some things had a bad habit of going missing while Uncle Gil was around. With that in mind…Renjae opted to keep his backpack pressed against his legs where his eyes could keep an eye on it as well as a hand safely tucked into the pocket of his pants. Though, even then, Renjae wouldn’t be surprised to learn if Uncle Gil had other ways of swiping things from people, even if they had a close eye on it. Gil may not be Kyle’s biological father, but he had to learn the trade of swiping things from someone.

“Hey, Uncle Gil? Can I ask you something?” He began once he felt more secure that none of his belongings would get swiped, at least not right away. “I mean other than what I just asked. “You knew my dad, right? Before he went to prison?”

“Sandwich related, huh? My friends in college used to call me the Grocery Goblin, so maybe he’s out there keeping up with tradition,” he said.  

This was what became of the master thief: a family man at the government’s beck-and-call, like an obedient dog they unleashed when in need of something with a little more bite. He claimed that nothing made him happier: he had three loving children, a cozy backyard garden with a picket fence, and stable work lenient with his criminal past. There was such a sincere, warm twinkle in his eyes whenever he claimed that this life was all he ever wanted that he’d conned his own children into believing him.

He’d conned himself, too. 

Deep down, Gilbert desired a challenge. He missed those cat-and-mouse games with young, plucky detectives and scrambling law enforcement teams. And while being a security consultant for the FBI should’ve quelled that desire, they rarely came to him for the big cases in fear he’d be called back to his old ways. He was tired of paperwork, of apprehending mere low-level forgeries, of museum directors who scoffed at his advice, of colleagues that marveled at the fact a former supervillain did more coffee runs than art theft cases.

“Your father?” he said, pausing in thought. “Well, I’d say that we were acquainted.” 

Simon. The thought of an old teammate -- and, dare he say old friend -- excited him in an innocent sort of way, like a giddy child squirming under their covers on Christmas Eve. 

Gilbert frowned. He didn’t need to be Tux to be happy. No, he was happy being Mr. Gladstone, reheating leftover pizza and folding laundry while his phone buzzed with ‘work’. It was a phone that he accidentally left on the coffee table, buzzing away while he folded linens into big, sharp squares. “Yeah, just ignore that,” he said, waving a hand. “It’s boring work stuff and I only listen to my voicemails when I want to fall asleep.” 

He folded the last of the laundry, stacked it inside the wooden wicker basket, and raised his eyebrows at the bag on the floor. “You sure you don’t want me to hang up that backpack of yours on the coat-rack or something?” he asked. “How much homework is that headmaster giving you two? Sometimes it looks like Kyle’s coming home with a bag full of rocks. Anyway, you could say I was a colleague of your Dad’s back when the world wasn’t so muti--I mean, mutant friendly.”

He circled a leather armchair like a vulture and sat himself on one of its armrests. “Caramel?” he offered, nodding at the coffee table. “Help yourself -- the individually wrapped ones, inside the 19th century music box.”

His phone buzzed again. He smiled.

[superheroxlanding]

clownpool‌:

–––––– MAX LA TORRE ; ( @scout ) : it. aint. that. deep. if. scout. dies… righT?

he was banned from mother moon’s school for young mutants (or whatever the hell it was called, he couldn’t remember, or rather didn’t care to remember what it was called) a long time ago. he’d managed to slither past the befallen teen dance, though it hadn’t stopped him from poking his nose around in the rubble. his girls were, unfortunately, a part of the wipeout. Patricia being one of his prized pupils, had caused the incident. and while he was TREMENDOUSLY proud of her (no, really she managed to wipeout nearly half of the dance!! ATTA GIRL!!!), he couldn’t help but to feel slightly worried over the people he (ACTUALLY) cared about, Patricia, and Clown Chamber Girls included. the wal-mart deadpool in front of him was also included but SH, we’re getting there.  

it was troubling to think that not only half of his team was in that hospital, but the cockroach for which they were banded together had also fallen victim to such a mass. if the Chamber hadn’t an enemy to fight, what was the Chamber? and wasn’t he too, tethered to that friend of his, should Heather not exist, what would happen to Captain Clown. was it that deep? 

after making his rounds in that hospital, he’d finally decided to peak his head in that room of hers. hoping she was sleeping, he was met with quips, though he was, in fact, distracted by oogling that busted up mug of hers. “Crickey Mate, they sure did a number on ya!” 

the failed steve irwin impression, made even himself cringe. his face twisting with wrinkles he shook his head. though those wrinkles on his face were not just of the distaste in the sound of his voice, but the sympathy he’d felt for that old friend of his. a frown pulled at his mouth, as he continued to scan those injuries of hers. it was funny how sick to his stomach it made him. given the change of circumstance, knowing he, himself, had inflicted those wounds would have brought a twisted smile to his face. knowing she’d, instead, used her powers, (rather stupidly in his humble opinion) to save others, caused a flicker of commiseration.

 “You’re right. I didn’t bring the admission fee, I should leave,” he nodded. knowing he wasn’t honest enough to be in that room anyways, he began to slowly back away. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t in a body bag, no big deal.” He threw his hands up in surrender, though the tone in his voice was laced with… sadness?

“Hold your horses, Napoleon. If it makes you feel better, I think at least one of these bruises are yours,” she said, voice hoarse. Tubes clacked against the hospital bed railing as she lifted her arm. Scout inspected her skin, pretending that she could tell the mass of mottled purples and greens apart and pointed to a small, pitiful splotch of color near her elbow. She smirked, a feat made impossible by the sheer swelling an hour ago. It hadn’t been pretty; she knew she was in a rough shape when the nurse recommended not sneaking a peek in the mirror. 

Scout mimicked his accent and it was absolutely terrible. “Good on ya, ankle-biter! Remember this from last time we were out back havin’ a brawl?” she said. She didn’t know what to expect from Max -- if he was there to taunt her, to check on her, to try and kill her while vulnerable. A long time ago, she knew his visits meant laughter and delighted shrieking and playing pretend in a playground sandbox. But, now they didn’t dare approach each other without daggers hidden up their sleeves and back-up on standby.

She crossed her arms and with an involuntary, sharp intake of breath, leaned back against her pillows. Babe had broken her banishment to retrieve otherworldly pillows for her, which felt suspiciously comparable to a MyPillow in Scout’s opinion. But, then she’d disappeared again saying she’d be back and there’d been no sign of her all night. Scout didn’t know what the other was planning, but she had a hunch that it was rife with stupid. But with Babe occupied elsewhere, maybe it meant Max wouldn’t immediately hightail it in the other direction.

And maybe they could talk like they used to. Back when things were fun and easy, and they never thought twice about a hug. Because back then, neither of them would’ve ever dreamed of backstabbing each other.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be modeling a skimpy, little body bag number for you any time soon,” she said. “You must be disappointed, but I’m just as crushed as you. Really thought all of that was gonna finally do me in, but I’m starting to regenerate again.” She pointed to a chair on the other side of the room, rather than the one next to her bedside. “You can...stay for awhile, if you want?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not very cinematic right now ‘cause of how slow I’m regenerating. It’s pretty much the fleshy equivalent to watching grass grow. But...blimey, I know how much you love to see me suffah!”  

[superheroxlanding]

clownpool‌:

–––––– Erasmus Caine ; ( @Tyra ): her booming voice snatched him from his pitiful sorrows, as he sat up straight in that coffee bar stool. his arms, which were stretched across that bar in woeful laziness, folded over his chest as he placed his now empty coffee cup to the side. a hint of a threat in her tone caused the expected response of a homebred secret weapon, though he tried his best to not display how on edge he was. he turned his head to the lady, blinking back a response at first. her advice wasn’t terrible. “She’ll be reminded of how her love for me withered away and died.” there was a solemn fist clench at his side to the thought. “You’re right” 

a slow nod of agreement only added to his defeat. “Forging a blade of steel? A gladiatorial contest? Now, you’re speaking my language.” he chuckled, it wasn’t entirely a bad idea at all. winning the heart by fighting another? and wielding a powerful weapon? it was genius. “No time to forge everlasting steel…” he rubbed at his chin for a second, “What would be the proper recipe for that, asking for a friend…”

Strong features scrunched in confusion at the mortal’s request for a recipe. Did she really give off the impression of a blacksmith who spent a life forging on the burning outskirts of dying stars? Her hands lowered to her sides, arms brushing against the belt securing her weapon of choice in place. And then, it clicked. “Mortal, my weapon must have mislead you,” she said. Tyra shook her head and laughed at her own naivety. Valdir had always reassured her that for a potentially fatal fault, it had it’s charms; she’d always marveled at her dearest sister’s endless wisdom.

“The hammer is not of my design, and I am not familiar with the ways of forge,” she said. She unhooked the hammer’s looped, leather lanyard from her belt, a brown, medieval-styled article of clothing that clearly didn’t match the rest of her fast fashion outfit. “But, it is a great testament to dwarven craftsmanship!” she said. “This hammer is one of a kind, but any dwarf with spare Uru metal would be happy to make you a weapon almost as great as this!”

Tyra held out the hammer for him to admire, and probably wouldn’t have objected to letting him try to hold it. Perhaps it was mischievous of her -- or, perhaps a small love of pranks was something she shared with her beloved sister -- but, she was always amused at people’s desperate attempts to lift the hammer. All would’ve went well if Scout hadn’t sent her a text. 

The phone on the counter both pinged and buzzed at the same time, effectively startling the otherworldly heiress. She spun the hammer and with a crackling of lightning, brought it down on the phone so hard it left a small crater in the coffee shop. Tyra looked around. “False alarm,” she said. Awkwardly, she shifted her stance and lowered her voice so that only Erasmus could hear. “I do not like phones,” she said. “Ahem, their sounds...startle me.” 

[superheroxlanding]

rcinbcws‌:

“No, I didn’t want to waste money on a balloon, you know there’s a helium shortage, right? We really need to be thoughtful on that, dude.” Andres begins as he takes a seat in the small recliner next to Scouts bed, curling his legs up under him and setting his hands gently in his lap, “I mean, your face is pretty busted up, but I’m not putting that on my insta story…I just wanted to visit you and…I don’t know, talk, I guess? Maybe this is too weird.” 

Things weren’t getting better after prom. Every night that passed, guilt and fear continued burrowing itself deep in the back of Andres’ head and the few hours of sleep he did get in a night were filled with nothing but flashes of the building going down and all of the people he wasn’t able to get to and help in time. He drops his head, eye contact now seemingly harder than it had ever been before, he picks at the ripped up skin around the nail of his thumb. Seeing his best friends body get crushed beneath the foundation of the falling school was hard enough, but the haunting realization that everything could be over in a simple second was all too much weight for the eighteen year old to bare. 

He opens his mouth to begin to speak, his voice only breaking on the second word. 

“I feel like it’s all my fault.” he mumbles, hot tears beginning to run down his cheeks, “I wasn’t able to help everyone, I wasn’t fast enough. If I had just pushed a little more, maybe you wouldn’t be here, maybe no one would-” his words are cut off with a sob, hands coming up to cover his face in shame. 

“If I’d just stopped being stupid for one second and paid attention, maybe I could have stopped it.”

“That’s a little narcissistic, don’t you think?” she said. The beginnings of a lopsided smirk made its way onto her face, but she was far too bruised and swollen to hold it for long. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the only player that matters. It’s a big world -- lots of moving parts at play, lots of decisions being made every split second -- and you’d need a massive ego to think any of this happened because of you. Or that you alone were the only person in the world who could’ve stopped it. But what I can say is that you helped a lot of people and we would’ve been worse off without you.” 

With a wince and a sharp hiss, she propped herself up to grab the box of tissues on the bedside table. Scout chucked it in a lazy, haphazard toss towards Andres’ general direction. “Saying we’re anything more than what we are is a disservice to the public,” she said. “Being a hero isn’t about saving everyone. I’ve been doing this spandex nonsense for years, and I still call days like those miracles. It’s about being brave enough to try, getting hurt when we fail, and showing up the next day for more like a bunch of masochists. Sound awful? It’s because it is. But it turns out, the world’s a lot better place even with only a handful of people trying.” 

Scout had always been the first to admit, usually as she regenerated from bullet wounds in front of brand new recruits and handcuffed an unconscious villain to sign posts, that she wasn’t the most qualified person to lead a team of heroes. She didn’t spew fairy tales about not letting a single person die on her watch -- oh no, she was quite honest when she thought there was a good chance for her team to be completely eviscerated by the threat of the week. She didn’t ease the public’s anxieties about worse case scenarios, she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep, and she certainly wasn’t on the right side of the law one-hundred percent of the time. Maybe that made her unpopular with the non-mutant public as the new face of their city’s saviors, but she stuck to her instincts.

Heroes like the ones in blockbuster movies, who wrapped up all their loose ends and ensured a happy ending for everyone, just didn’t exist. Or if they did exist, she hadn’t met them yet.  But she’d seen first hand what happens when people knew the risks, knew the likely outcomes, knew what they were sacrificing, and showed up anyway. That attitude made people like Gilbert Gladstone. That attitude made legends like Margot Dayal. That attitude redeemed people like herself. So while her pep-talk wouldn’t put her in the running for Miss America any time soon, at least she could sleep at night without feeling like she was spoon-feeding the newest generation of mutants a heaping serving of lies.

That’s what had happened to her, a long time ago. When they took her parents. When they killed them. 

And when no masked superheroes in long, billowing capes came to reunite her with mommy and daddy, those lies burned a void into her heart. She’d come close to believing the only way to fill it -- to seal off that unstable anger -- was with revenge, destruction, and death. Sometimes she wondered what path she would’ve taken if Gilbert had never intervened. She hoped to do the same thing for Andres, so that he would look back at the hypothetical instead of a long, bloody list of sins.

“But living your life from one would’ve-could’ve-should’ve to the next will destroy you, got it?” she said, growing serious. “Torment yourself with it long enough and pretty soon, you won’t know which way is up.”

She looked at the ceiling panels above. 

“Trust me on that.”  

[superheroxlanding]

emittingauras‌:

@superheroxlanding​

Val did not enjoy Earth. Not in the slightest. Why should she, with the overcrowding, general mess, and customs that genuinely seemed to make no sense? No, Val much preferred her own world to this cluttered, stinky planet. But her love of seeing the results of her own handiwork overpowered her distaste for the realm. As much as Val disliked the planet and such customs that came with it, she knew she would enjoy seeing her sister struggling to adapt to such a place even more.

“Sister. Hello,” Val purred. She’d been sitting in wait on the bench of a park that she learned Tyra sometimes frequented. Val expected to see her sister exhausted, annoyed, and frustrated in her attempts to adjust to this new realm. Needless to say, Tyra’s grin only caused Val’s own smile to nearly twitch into a frown.

Except she wouldn’t stoop so low as to show off such a minor weakness so easily.

Despite her initial annoyance at Tyra’s mundane appearance, Val continued onward. “I know I’m not really supposed to be speaking with you here, but I couldn’t help but take a little trip to see how you’re faring,” Val pouted. “You know, we all miss you back home. But Father…he is still very firm in his decision. I am sorry, sister. Truly. But it seems like there’s nothing I can do to help.”

Tyra devoured their heads and discarded the bodies by throwing them over her shoulder. She felt lucky to have the Immortal Mortal’s knowledge on local customs in order to blend in with her surroundings. And although it felt cruel at first, she was quickly growing fond of all the customary rituals involved when ones consumes a “gummy bear”.

Upon hearing her sister’s kind words, she tossed a final gummy bear over her shoulder and bounded to her feet in delight. The only way -- well, the only proper way -- to greet her sister had always been pulling her into an absolute bone-crushing hug. She squeezed her elder sibling in greeting, accidentally lifting her an inch off the ground in the process. 

“Sister, you risked everything to see me?” she asked, laughing in disbelief. “What lucky star was I born under to have the fortune of calling you my sibling?” 

Tyra released her sister from the hug, but nevertheless kept her hands clasped on Val’s shoulders. Behind them, the celestial hammer was unattended on the park bench and rested on its side. With its short handle and plain, metal head, it didn’t seem impressive. Certainly, a dinky little weapon like that wasn’t impressive enough to warrant the automatic transferring of throne rights to whomever lifts it. But as a few, curious park attendees had discovered that day, the hammer was much heavier than it looked. 

“Dearest sister, do not fret over my absence,” she said. “Father’s heart is soft and merciful, and I’m certain that he’ll see the error of his judgement. Technically, I haven’t broken his rules.” An aura of smugness seeped into her smile; it wouldn’t be the first time -- nor, the last time -- her banishment was overturned based on a technicality. “If he’d only allow me to bring her before him, he would see with his own eye that she is no mere mortal!” she insisted. “Oh, but I do not wish to break your heart any further! Let us talk of something else, shall we? Would you like to try a mortal gummy bear?” 

[superheroxlanding]

emittingauras‌:

@superheroxlanding

“–Edith!” Annmarie whispered. She stuck her head out from one of the doors within the Clown Chamber HQ. Specifically, the room that Max had essentially set up for her: an indoor skatepark. And Annmarie had to admit, having shoots and slopes all to herself for practicing kickflips and half cabs. With her ability to make herself go slower, she could really focus on getting those tricks just right. And, no one could see her cry in frustration after falling on her butt for the twentieth time in a row.

Annmarie was more than grateful to have the space to herself, but she doubted Max would be happy with her if he learned that she’d broken everything. Well, maybe not everything, but it may as well have been everything in her eyes. Which is why she called for the one person in the Chamber she liked best: Edith. Edie, at least, would understand that it was just an accident. Or they could combine their minds and figure out some sort of solution together.

“Edith! Could you come in here?” Annmarie called again, then motioned for Edith to follow her into the small, indoor skatepark. “Be careful, there’s shattered glass on the floor,” She warned. Against one of the walls where  Annmarie had hung a few of her own skateboards was the remnants of what used to be a glowing neon light. 

“I was trying to do this flip, so I slowed myself down, you know, but…I accidentally sped back up to quickly and my skateboard hit the light and broke it. Do you – do you think Max’ll be mad?” Annmarie asked. “If I replace it quickly enough, do you think he’ll notice?”

                                                       Lady Light? Too cliche.                                                      The Dazzling Dame? Lame.                                                  Doctor Daylight? Required a PhD.

Nervous, jittery hands quickly held the notepad of crossed-out aliases behind her back. Edie worried that anyone with common sense would be able to identify her. What good would a silly, little mask with elastic string do to conceal her identity if she was the only young lady in the world whose body glowed twenty-four hours a day? She’d scoured internet forums, mutant databases, and even a desperate keyword search attempt on WebMD only to determine that she was alone in her condition. 

Nevertheless, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep a secret identity on the back-burner. Not only would she be ready to throw herself headfirst into the fray should her mutation ever come under control, but it would finally put her writing scholarship skills to good use. Still holding the notebook behind her back, she used her other free hand to brush a strand of glowing, golden hair forward to obscure her face.

Edie was always hiding behind a curtain of hair. She didn’t know why it made her feel better -- after all, her hair was bursting with the same, bright energy as the rest of her -- but, it made it easier to talk to her fellow mutants in Clown Chamber. She followed Annmarie, stepping over shattered glass in her scuffed up sneakers. “Wouldn’t he expect this kind of damage?” she asked, softly. “Um, I wouldn’t give mutants an indoor skatepark unless...unless I was ready for all the property damage.”

It then occurred to her that Max wasn’t the most rational team leader. 

“Maybe...maybe we can just clean up the mess together, and go from there!” she said. “He might not even notice, especially if we keep him occupied. Not that I’m suggesting we do that! But, um, maybe if my sister got an anonymous tip about where he’s at...he won’t really be thinking of neon lights when he gets home, maybe? Oh, and we’ll just keep distracting him! For a month or two, until he notices! And then we’ll say it’s always been like that. Or...is that stupid?”