Silent Showers
Alisdragon911
Bobo Del Rey
de riva
Veilsight
Cuervo
Score1
Qia
Jamesyco
StandardKangarooA mildly sarcastic story of a shadow of Power Girl being let go from the Justice League because of automation but is offered a job by his old tutor. Shoutout to Seriousfic for inspiring this. I'm happy to play both sexes here.
I'm a novella writer who appreciates colorful, verbose styles of writing. I don't care what gender my partner is. Additional details will be discussed with people who're interested. I go by Kaithe and write upwards of 4-5 paragraphs a post barring dialogue-heavy scenes and/or action. I'm partial to Discord for OC and Google Documents for actual writing. Writing sample below.
docs.google.com/document/d/1JKv6Uy-3L…
Who’d ever heard of someone from the Justice League collecting unemployment?
Sylvan had been a member of the team, no matter what anyone said. People always told them they were just one of the lab geeks and technicians, the people they needed to keep the station from falling out of orbit, except even worse. They didn’t even take care of that. From a backroom they managed the pay for all of those techies, all the cooks and janitors. Of a million different powers they could’ve been born with, they'd landed the superpower of a bookkeep. Maybe they could have a career in running horse racing bets, or work for Jeff Bezos or something- if they didn’t all think they’d use their powers to hide their money from them as it made its way into Sylvan's pockets.
They would. They absolutely would.
“Fucking AI,” Sylvan mutters grimly to themselves, the cold night air of the city clinging to their face like a freezer, settling beneath their horrible unprepared clothes they'd worn for their social care agent. They tried their best, bless them, but all they could think to hook Sylvan up with was as an assistant to a supervillain. She hadn’t said that, but the fact that she handed them a business card for the Legion of Doom with a conspiring finger against her lips to hush them wasn’t exactly subtle. Nor, exactly, did they have any other options.
Minutes into looking up the dental plan for Lex Corps, an actual, honest to God limo slipped in front of Sylvan, coming to a cruising stop at a stereotypically perfect spot for its occupant to push open the door, revealing a familiar woman. Their thick, powerful muscles might've looked odd on anybody that didn't have their outstanding height.
“Sylvan,” she beckons. "Get in."
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s me. Seriously?”
Sylvan gave her a blank, uncomprehending stare as their finger danced over their phone screen, adding light to their dark face in addition to the lamppost that towered over the recently rained-in sidewalk.
I'm a novella writer who appreciates colorful, verbose styles of writing. I don't care what gender my partner is. Additional details will be discussed with people who're interested. I go by Kaithe and write upwards of 4-5 paragraphs a post barring dialogue-heavy scenes and/or action. I'm partial to Discord for OC and Google Documents for actual writing. Writing sample below.
docs.google.com/document/d/1JKv6Uy-3L…
Who’d ever heard of someone from the Justice League collecting unemployment?
Sylvan had been a member of the team, no matter what anyone said. People always told them they were just one of the lab geeks and technicians, the people they needed to keep the station from falling out of orbit, except even worse. They didn’t even take care of that. From a backroom they managed the pay for all of those techies, all the cooks and janitors. Of a million different powers they could’ve been born with, they'd landed the superpower of a bookkeep. Maybe they could have a career in running horse racing bets, or work for Jeff Bezos or something- if they didn’t all think they’d use their powers to hide their money from them as it made its way into Sylvan's pockets.
They would. They absolutely would.
“Fucking AI,” Sylvan mutters grimly to themselves, the cold night air of the city clinging to their face like a freezer, settling beneath their horrible unprepared clothes they'd worn for their social care agent. They tried their best, bless them, but all they could think to hook Sylvan up with was as an assistant to a supervillain. She hadn’t said that, but the fact that she handed them a business card for the Legion of Doom with a conspiring finger against her lips to hush them wasn’t exactly subtle. Nor, exactly, did they have any other options.
Minutes into looking up the dental plan for Lex Corps, an actual, honest to God limo slipped in front of Sylvan, coming to a cruising stop at a stereotypically perfect spot for its occupant to push open the door, revealing a familiar woman. Their thick, powerful muscles might've looked odd on anybody that didn't have their outstanding height.
“Sylvan,” she beckons. "Get in."
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s me. Seriously?”
Sylvan gave her a blank, uncomprehending stare as their finger danced over their phone screen, adding light to their dark face in addition to the lamppost that towered over the recently rained-in sidewalk.