liquorstoredaughter: (pic#10809277)
[personal profile] liquorstoredaughter
Character{s}: Saki Konishi, Open
Setting: Farmlands [Asgard]
Content: Worksafe
Summary: You can take the girl out of the countryside, but even in the afterlife she finds her way back.
Status: In progress
Read more... )
thebestfirstimpression: (Default)
[personal profile] thebestfirstimpression
Character(s): Guzma and Janrha
Setting: The Eastern Border of Emptiness
Content: Worksafe.
Summary: Continued from Guzma and Janrha are getting stuck in. It is not going to go well for him. Or anyone, really.

Guzma may have been a blusterer, a jackass, and about as reckless as they come, but he was no fool. What's more, he had that street rat instinct that told him when shit was about to go south. That inner alarm had blared like a foghorn playing through a megaphone when Janrha had borne down on him like a freight train made of the word "kill." Someone like that wasn't aiming to play, and certainly wasn't aiming to play fair.

So, he'd responded in kind. As Janrha's fluid movement easily evaded the arthropod's assault, the skull boss stood motionless while the arrow traveled toward him. He might've been able to dodge an arrow from a less lethal combatant, but fortunately such a maneuver was unneeded. As the cold-laden bolt neared Guzma's surprisingly aged face, it suddenly ceased, as if the air itself had plucked it out of its trajectory. A crooked smirk crossed the tracksuit tyrant as a wisp in the air sheared the arrow in two.

It came into a full view for just a moment, a dull gilded sharpness that shimmered before it entered a spectral haze again.

"Ya boy Guzma ain't no moron, chickadee." He sighed in faux exasperation, running his hands through the dirty marshmallow of his hair, the bags under his eyes growing as he closed them. Then, his face reoriented itself, the smirk coming back double.
"You ain't gonna hit shit with my boys backin' me up. Best get with it."

Then, he snapped his fingers, the surprisingly loud crackle sounding throughout the choked silence of the empty cityscape all around. As he did, a torpedo of black and blue seared down from the sky, bearing down on Janrha as Golisopod prepared for another round.

"BEAT DOWN, GUZZY JR!"

"TEAR HER ASS APART!"
cauterization: (Default)
[personal profile] cauterization
Character(s): Kyousuke Munakata, Ryoga Hibiki, Yosuke Hanumura.
Setting: Asgard Gardens.
Content: Worksafe but bloody.
Summary: In continuation of this thread. After taking flight in with a dying Ryoga in his arms, Munakata takes the martial artist to Ziggy in hopes of not losing one of their members in the first rung of the fight.

Before Yosuke could share any biological assessments about the spasming, furious eyeball in his hands, hard, even footfalls disrupted his thoughts, causing him to start and make for the kunai shoved into his belt.

The instinctual gesture was quickly stalled when he saw the silver-haired administrator, breathless, burst into the scene with concern knit into his lined brow. The windcaster knew Munakata was likely thirties or so, but before this moment the man had never truly looked it. The fact that Munakata's blade was dribbling red did not escape the younger man, either. When he beheld that picture, combined with the grievously wounded boy in the administrator's care, he made the right call and simply sidestepped out of Munakata's path.

The man with the scorpion on his tie strode with silent desperation towards Ziggy, laying gently the dying martial artist at the angel's feet. The boy had given up the spasms that had predicated Munakata's journey, and now lay still, color beginning to seep from his features.

"Can you do anything?" The question was even, but grave.
gorgutzeadunter: (Default)
[personal profile] gorgutzeadunter
Characters: Gorgutz, Uncle Gearface, and [1-2 others]
Setting: Uncle Gearface's Workshop
Summary: Gorgutz needs his armor fixed

The warlord kept his power klaw at his gut, not letting any of his blood escape his body without a fight. He could smell diesel fuel and hot metal on the wind ever since he got near the Grey Manor. He instinctively knew there was a mek boy around here somewhere and the giant pile of scrap with a big flashy sign was the best bet.

The burst through the wooden door that was barely hinged to the frame and yelled out,
"ALL ROIGHT YOU SNIVLIN GIT! WHERE ARE YOU?"

He then paused waiting to see if the traditional ork call to business worked.
crookedcop: (Default)
[personal profile] crookedcop
Characters: Adachi and Zed
Setting: Emptiness
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: Drawn to the place, Tohru Adachi visits the empty city once more.
Status: In Progress

Read more... )
necroalchemist: (Devious)
[personal profile] necroalchemist
Characters: Lezard and literally anyone, OPEN to all, have at you - one at a time, though.  Otherwise, an introductory drabble.
Setting: Random Cliffside A
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: A dramatic alchemist slash necromancer dramatically dramatizes upon an imposing clifftop, possibly contemplating his situation.
Status: In Progress

Read more... )
isuckatbaseball: (Default)
[personal profile] isuckatbaseball
Characters: Gohan and [1-2 slots, Asgard only]
Setting: The "Saiyans Only" Gym Room
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: When your best isn't enough, where do you turn?
Status: In Progress

It was a near-mirror to a room he was familiar with. A feeling of home in such a strange land. Yet still, something about being in this room sickened him. This wasn't Gohan's providence, this was a space that should've been claimed by the arrogant, prideful Prince. Somewhere that blows were traded, somewhere that sweat and blood washed off them in waves. The thunderous claps of their blows reverberating throughout these hallowed halls.

Now all that echoed through the hall was a sense of futility.

His hands were balled into fists, the nails digging into his palm. He paid the sensation no mind, even as small crimson threads trickled around the curvature of his hand, slowly dripping onto the floor beneath him. He threw his hand out to the side, slamming it against the curved, metallic wall. The cool sensation of the structure jolted him out of his stupor. If Metatron had failed, Gohan would only need to become that much better to save his friend, to save his family.

He strode over to the console and began toying with the controls. He needed to push himself, to find that wall and to smash through it. If he couldn't, there would be no chance of him saving Vegeta, no chance of him protecting the others from the rampage of the Saiyan Prince. Three hundred... Three hundred and fifty... The number climbed higher and higher until the readout displayed "500 G. Warning: Max Output." With grim determination, he slammed his hand on the button that commanded the console to engage his training regimen. From holes that opened in the floor and ceiling came spheres that hovered lazily about the room before abruptly halting.

All too soon, the force acting on Gohan's body became more than he'd ever felt. His bones screamed in protest, and he collapsed onto the floor from the sudden unexpected change. Hissing in pain, he pushed off the ground, sweat already beginning to bead on his forehead and roll down his cheeks. The spheres watched unblinkingly as his plight continued, and as one foot finally found purchase on the floor properly, they whirled around with an intensity that was familiar to Gohan, and yet he couldn't help but dread what he knew came next.

Bolts of energy erupted forth from the devices, tearing through his clothing and skin alike, and pain shot through his body in a jolt. The internal screaming of his bones became the external screaming of his voice, and his mind was moving a mile a minute. What was happening? 500 times gravity was something he could do easily, and he'd made sure that the standard force of gravity in this chamber was also nine-point-eight meters per second squared, just like Earth. So why was he so weak? Why was this conquering him instead of warming him up?

His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, clothing full of tears and a small amount of blood pooling beneath him. The display on the door changed from "Now Under 500x Earth's Gravity" to "Simulation Complete" as the door to the chamber unlocked.
livedforyoursins: (007)
[personal profile] livedforyoursins
Characters: Minato and Akira
Setting: Asgard's Grounds
Content: Worksafe
Summary: Deciding to verify what his limits are in this new world, one of the new residents is forced to acknowledge the change in his abilities.

Despite what his 'rescuer' may have assumed, the narcoleptic had not been one before entering this world. Though he'd always been a sleepy individual, Minato Arisato had never been one to collapse into unconsciousness the way he had when he'd first entered the world. Earlier, when no one else was awake, the boy had gone to the gym. Working up a sweat, the boy had passed out once again for several hours.
Read more... )
gorgutzeadunter: (Default)
[personal profile] gorgutzeadunter
Characters: Gorgutz and the Velvet Twins
Setting: Grey Manor basement
Content: Worksafe but violent
Summary: Gorgutz fights the Twins

The warlord had somehow walked by everyone in the Grey Manor undetected, despite the Gorgutz sized holes he made getting in. Possibly because the master of the estate was interested in what would happen in this conflict or just pure dumb luck on the part of the greenskin. Without any hesitation he kicked down the door that he thought his targets where hiding behind and wildly fired several rounds into the ceiling screaming,

"IZ COME FER YOU GITZ!!! COME ON OUT AN FOIGHT!"

Luckily for the greenskins pride he didn't have to do this twice.

[001] Rage

Jun. 16th, 2017 10:40 pm
thestrongstandabove: (Default)
[personal profile] thestrongstandabove
Characters: Vegeta and an about-to-be-fucked-up mountain and [2 slots, Any house. Asgard preferred, one at a time.]
Setting: One of the craggy rocks bordering Niflheim.
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: A Saiyan Warrior's venting is a sight to behold.
Status: In progress.

Vegeta's rage was a map that oft guided him with efficacy, a compass perpetually pointing one direction - forward.

The gravity-defying warrior seared through the sky, his manifested fury searing blisters in the jagged kingdom of the earth beneath. Though hovering through the horizon like a rage-fueled ballistic missile was incredibly nonviable, maintaining flight while under "duress" was something Vegeta had ample practice in. "Second-nature" didn't even quite cut it. The meld of scalding yellow that was his Ki was bulging like a burst sprocket, arcing and screeching like an all-percussion thunderstorm.

He could barely see, not that there was much to behold in the sand-blasted wastes bordering the castle of the deep.

When he was satisfied his channeling was an ideal spot such that it would cause devastation but also not so much that it'd attract unwanted visitors, the spiky-haired man halted his velocity, righting himself for a moment.

Then came the explosion. The harsh, beating rays of the unfamiliar sun above seemed to dim for a moment, though perhaps that was simply the prince half-blinding himself with the rapid expansion of his own energy.

After many hours, the concentrated fissure that was the saiyan Vegeta finally quieted, and all that remained of his tirades were a somehow-even-more blasted, barren, ruinous desert.

The prince had dealt with his emotions. Now, he'd see to his duty.

The foul, belly-crawling craven had known where to strike. The cries of his son and wife, feigned though they were, had been too much to shoulder.

It was his own folly to be blamed, and his own fallibility of heart. He'd make no others suffer for it.

Instead, he'd do as he had always done - adhere to what he believed. The respect of the brat was...an unfortunate casualty.

Nothing more.
innardsadism: (no smile)
[personal profile] innardsadism
Character(s): Dito and Dio
Setting: Near Niflheim
Content: Worksafe
Summary: After deciding to prove a point to those overly eager to pick a fight, a successful but injured Dito attempts to reach Niflheim.
Status: In Progress.

The youthful sadist staggered forward, step by step struggling towards the impressive monument that was the obsidian of Niflheim. He should have been more careful, regenerative abilities or not. But he'd been so irritated by the hypocrisy, so irritated by those smug, back-patting lies that he'd encouraged the others' stupidity. Either way, he had left a solid sign of how dangerous Niflheim could be to anyone who wasn't careful. Those idiots would probably limit their movements even more, now.

Read more... )
renegadedown: (Default)
[personal profile] renegadedown
Characters: Nic and [Open to All, Limit 2 (tentatively).]
Setting: Path from Grey Manor to Emptiness
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: Exploration.
Status: In progress.

Footsteps sloshed into the wet ground, caking the bottom of black boots in mud.  The sword strapped to his side bumped its weight against him; a reminder that no thief had attempted to examine it yet.  Unsure of what he'd encounter, he had a gun holster strapped to the other side of his waist and another to his side.  These were the immediately obvious weapons: sword, shotgun, handgun of some kind--hard to tell as an observer from the shape of the handle alone.
Read more... )

magnusthered: (Default)
[personal profile] magnusthered
Characters: Magnus the Red and [OBSERVING Characters from Any House]
Setting: Outside the Asgard Barrier
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: A demonstration, a warning, a threat, and a promise.
Status: In progress.

Wayward breezes cast about the grass, weaving through the blades and foliage like hares startled by a predator. The very atmosphere seemed unsettled, as if something fell was on the wind.

Magnus the Red stepped out from the canopy of trees, the low, thunderous rumbling of his soles against the foliage sounding percussion to the sizzle of energy following the telltale residue of warp travel.

The cyclops primarch stood resplendent against the gathering dusk, a spire of maroon red, towering above the scarlet-tinged treeptops.

Ingenuity, Magnus. We prosper because we invent miracles.

A peculiar tone sounded in Magnus's head as he approached the pristine bubble. Not Tzeentch's backwards cackling like a possessed 80's sound byte played backwards through a bike horn, as he was expecting. But that of the father, smiling at him in between the gilded crystalline pillars on what was now the ashen heap of Prospero, a bitter irony made manifest. Anger bathed his mind in the fires of his home, and for a moment he thought he'd obliterate the forest along with his desired target.

Anger is not productive, Magnus. We prosper because we are mild.

But he was no Leman Russ. Impotent rage was an unfortunate but sometimes unavoidable hazard, not a friend.

Instead, he simply took a deep, pointless breath, and raised a single red hand. The unseen shield was held together by a weave of the soul, he could surmise that from its composition. A competent enough barrier. Magnus had no doubt that his handiwork's direct impact would not last, but that was scarcely detrimental to the intent. However brief it shown, the psyker's might would be amply demonstrated.

The ground beneath him took a breath as the wind caught in its throat.

Fear is an ally, Magnus. Our fear gives us purpose.

The blight cresting around the towering psyker blackened the sky. The fauna let loose a single cry.

Our fear makes us prosper.

The translucent guardian heaved and buckled as pressure as myriad as the density of a thousand broken stars began to crush it like the grip of the horizon itself.

As the barrier shattered like glass under a boot heel, no satisfaction could be found on the fallen Son of the Emperor.

Nothing could be found at all.
brightestlights: (Default)
[personal profile] brightestlights
Characters: Lucifer and [OPEN to All, 2 Slots (One at a Time)]
Setting: Near Galahad's Bridge
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: Curiosity Cocktail: One part fallen angel, and...
Status: In progress.

One thin, leathery tail coiled around the lamp post lighting the cobblestone path leading towards Asgard. It was the very first lamp post within the forest near Galahad's Bridge and the white castle beyond. If he sat and waited for a curious wanderer, who knew what would happen?  Perhaps something amusing, perhaps something not.  Either way, there he sat with a grin, a bottle of wine floating beside him.  Two glasses floated near as well - one he took with his hand and sipped the liquid within.  The other he left alone, for now, as he breathed in the air and leaned back slightly.



His wings weren't out - at least not for now, and his body had calmed enough to cease morphing for the moment.  Probably.  Would he luck out and find amusement, or continued boredom?

tacticiangrandmaster: (Default)
[personal profile] tacticiangrandmaster
Characters: Robin, [OPEN: Asgard Only]
Setting: Deep within the Asgardian library
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: Robin has made it a ritual to spend at least several hours a day pouring over books in the library. Today, something strange happens.
Status: In progress.

Robin sat alone in the Asgardian library, lost in thought as she typically was, albeit her current quandary more personal and than logistical.

There were certainly many new things to both marvel at and ponder in her temporary new home. Once she found the library of Asgard, she could barely contain her excitement at the tremendous knowledge surely packed into even the tiniest booklet. The room containing these tomes was so massive that she knew she could barely scratch the surface if she dared to try and read them all. She, of course, made this impossible goal her own irregardless.

As she sat and turned the pages during today's personal journey, the royal crest on the immaculate wedding ring around her finger was a constant, aching reminder of the family she had left behind in her sacrifice for the greater good. She missed them terribly, every glance at the lustrous jewel making her feelings crawl closer to the surface, but she couldn't force herself to take it off for even the briefest moment. Chrom... her husband. Dedicated, strong and kind. Her darling daughter Lucina, who was so earnest, and always tried so hard to do her best. Morgan and his incredible, impenetrable cheer. Each member of her personal army - her extended family, every last one of which she cared for so deeply that she would never let them be harmed in even the direst of circumstances.

Her love for books, even the most fascinating, impossible recollection of non-fiction beyond her wildest imagination on worlds unknown, only did do so much to suppress these feelings. Robin, even with her extensive experience with war and loss, would sometimes reach the emotional breaking point.

This was one of those times.

Her head buried in some chartaceous treasure, she found that, despite desperately trying to immerse herself, she couldn't hold back her grieving any longer.

She slowly closed the book and put it in the stack next to her as the tears began rolling down her face, slowly, but unabated. It took a second more of quivering breath before she completely lost control and began weeping, head in her arms on the table.

Her sobs were deep and sorrowful and went on far longer than she had intended.
priestofperdition: (Default)
[personal profile] priestofperdition
Characters: Kotomine Kirei and [Open to Niflheim. 1-2 Slots.]
Setting: Niflheim Chapel
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: Kotomine Kirei is alive. He resumes his work.
Status: In Progress

A house of God being defiled meant little to Kirei. A wayward creature like him had little business criticizing the blasphemies of others, after all. Though what did hold some interest to the executor was the method upon which aforementioned heresy had been perpetrated. The upturned pews and befouled Eucharist gave the impression of someone with some petty ire or with intentions to provoke, but the room had been repurposed since the vandalism. Their imperious host had given the impression of utter control, yet this destruction seemed...haphazard. Perhaps he had less control than he gave the impression of, though over himself or over them remained to be seen.

With some effort, the priest was able to bring it to a standard where it could be passably described as a chapel. He'd righted the benches, replaced the pissed-on communion wafers, and taken what crosses could be salvaged and placed them on display, though not overtly. A shoddy job befitting a dog like himself. Kirei did not desire any quarrel with his benefactor, of course. By his grace and by that of God had he been given leave to walk this plane again, his myriad sins notwithstanding. How lamentable; it seems some interests did still see him fit to roam among the living. He'd often reflected upon fortune's bizarre infatuation with him; twice now had death had regurgitated him like a dissatisfied tabby cat. Was it truly his purpose to experience the saccharine pleasure of the despair of others? Or was he simply an engine, a tool upon which fate tested the pure? Perhaps the King of Heroes would have some insight, but Kirei had reemerged alone.

These desecrated halls now had a priest fit for seeing to them.

Now he needed only a congregation to shepherd.
rohandsome: (Default)
[personal profile] rohandsome
Characters: Rohan Kishibe and [Two open slots. Asgard only.]
Setting: Asgard Kitchens
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: In which Rohan gets excited to see if anybody else anywhere close to that interesting is about.
Status: In Progress

Now having gravitated into the kitchen, Rohan Kishibe awaits with no mean excitement for the subject of his next stroke of genius.

Being appraised by the greatest King of britain had whipped his casual interest into the saucy mojo of a creative frenzy.

Though he doubts anyone will be able to top the literal legend that he had met prior, such an encounter certainly piqued his curiosity as to what will wander into his artistic field of view today.

His writing arm quivers with anticipation as he idly sits opposite his easel, pen poised and strokes clean.
britainslight: (Default)
[personal profile] britainslight
Characters: Saber and [One open slot.]
Setting: Galahad's Bridge
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: A king stands before an audience of none, content, and contemplates what must be done. Prior to the meeting with Rohan.
Status: In Progress
Read more... )
crookedcop: (004)
[personal profile] crookedcop
Characters: Tohru Adachi and [Open, maybe? One open slot.]
Setting: Emptiness
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: And now we know where Adachi's been since the night before Shinji Matou arrived.
Status: Completed
Read more... )
rohandsome: (Default)
[personal profile] rohandsome
Characters: Rohan Kishibe and Arturia Pendragon
Setting: The Center of The Hedge Maze
Content: Safe For Work
Summary: In which Rohan's beloved work is appraised by the King of Knights. He is pleased.
Status: In Progress

Rohan Kishibe infrequently sketched out of doors. His work overall, however, often compelled him out within the quietly desperate rapids of commuters, salarymen, and working stiffs shambling from there and to, to observe, to immerse, to comprehend the mindsets of those mired in the greasy swamp of corporate mediocrity. It was utterly imperative he understand the concept of struggle to its finest, most insignificant point. The artist often called it the essence of his craft, the conflict and tribulations that varied from an average everyman to an epochal hero sung through the ages. And, more importantly, to translate that comprehension into a visual medium that would keep people turning his pages with sweaty fingers and wide eyes.

The thought of his avid reader's jaw-slackened expression bid a self-satisfied grin onto Rohan's face as his brush moved idly in tempo with the falling leaves from the shrubbery's sighs all around. The hedge maze's bizarre growth bore resemblances to the happenings he'd encountered within his peculiarity-ridden hometown. The life cycle metaphor the hedge implied was a bit thematically grim for the pristine, almost insufferably sweet atmosphere.

The soft yet intensive scrawling sound of pen on paper resounded dimly on the air. Rohan had set up a blank easel in conjunction with a small oak table upon which to position a notepad and a series of intricate art supplies, pen caps set up in a row like an immaculately posed family portrait. The artist sported a sour cream two-piece shirt and baggy pants combo with dark suspenders and a bare midriff, worn because who wouldn't want to gaze upon the chiseled abs of Rohan Kishibe?

Yet, something compelled him to pause and gaze out at the plethora of entrances leading to the agricultural sanctum. Arranging his notepad appropriately, the green auteur awaited the dignified footfalls to finish their approach to his present retreat.

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Chaos Unraveled: Third Edition

July 2017

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