I'm guessing insane asylum, padded room, lots of sedatives. Probably until Leviathan comes.EarthScorpion said:
An Imago of Rust and Crimson (Worm crossover)
- Thread starter EarthScorpion
- Start date
FunkyEntropy
Occasionally insightful, possibly grumpy
- Location
- Los Angeles
Whelp. I've figured it out. This isn't a crossover in the strict sense of taking Worm and crossing it with another, existing franchise. This is a crossover of Worm and the intellectual concept of Traumatic with a dash of mythology and symbolism thrown in for good measure.
Seriously, might want to add a trigger warning to the first couple of posts. This stuff is pretty rough and while I don't have any problems with it there are people that do and they deserve fair warning.
Seriously, might want to add a trigger warning to the first couple of posts. This stuff is pretty rough and while I don't have any problems with it there are people that do and they deserve fair warning.
Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
Dude, you'd have to be a third-generation cape at least to trigger from reading fanfic. If you can prove you got superpowers off reading this story, maybe EarthScorpion will add the appropriate warnings.FunkyEntropy said:
The Sandman
So Zetta Slowpoke
- Location
- Wherever I am, which isn't where I'm not
I started reading this and when I looked up ten minutes were gone, despite it feeling like only one or two. Obviously, I now have the power to control the flow of time in my vicinity. Do you think that's worth a warning?Revlid said:
yes i am joking why do i even need to explain this
That can lead to fun times when she takes a look at the endbringers. Or Scion.
Mage is a game all about consequences. Even a chargen Mage can do horrific stunts, but that won't make them a good idea. The things you do have consequences. Big ones.
Mage is a game all about consequences. Even a chargen Mage can do horrific stunts, but that won't make them a good idea. The things you do have consequences. Big ones.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
You do know what a trigger warning is right?Revlid said:
http://geekfeminism.wikia.com/wiki/Trigger_warning
One of? Easily the most potent.Chronic said:
Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
You'll have to speak up - I can't hear you over the whistling noise the joke made as it sailed right over your head.Satori said:
That said, you do have a point. Reading this latest chapter, I myself suffered a violent flashback to the time I was thrown in an impromptu iron maiden by a three-headed demon and then eaten alive by carnivorous caterpillars, escaping only through extensive self-mutilation.
EarthScorpion really should have some consideration for people who've been through this shit.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
It's the internet. You can never be sure. Unless you nuke it from orbit.Mutton said:
FunkyEntropy
Occasionally insightful, possibly grumpy
- Location
- Los Angeles
Worm does, sure, but I've seen enough, "Worm, what's that?" posts in Worm fanfic threads on SB to know that there are people who will read fanfics without being familiar with the original properties. So when we have a fic like this, which takes the Worm premise that trigger events are traumatic and cranks it up to 11, I think that even a simple throwaway line at the top of the page like, "Warning: shit be super dark, yo" serves a legitimate purpose.illhousen said:
Think about it: we have a bullied girl locked in a confined space willfully stabbing herself with rusty nails to kill flesh eating insects writhing inside her body. That's...pretty fucking dark.
"Trigger warning" is not a call for censorship. As an analogy: it's listing the ingredients of a food item or dish so that people with allergies can avoid consumption if it would make them sick.Mutton said:
Seconding the call for more use of the word "headspace." Wildbow seems fond of the word as both Taylor and Lisa (possibly others as well) use it throughout the series.
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah, tell me about it.Ixenathier said:
ES is just all horror, all the time.
Non-stop nightmare city, dude.
(Seriously, I'm not sure where that reputation comes from. Of his stories, only ANE, AEE, two or three oneshots and now this really deserve the title of horror. There are horror elements in a few more - 6A1C, maybe AGSITV if you stretch the definition - but it's in the minority of his work by storycount, and I'm inclined to say by wordcount as well.)
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
I've found his work to be less Cosmic Horror and more mind screw. I have often finished one of his chapters/snips, then stopped for a moment thinking 'OK what the hell did I just read? It was good/funny butIxenathier said:
.'Anyone else remember when the internet was just fucked up, and we didn't apologize for it?
Jiopaba
Eat Lightning; Crap Success.
Do you know better? Cuz' I haven't seen any particular contra-indications. Has it been explicitly stated by the author what's going on?Finbar said:
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
Nope. Has lots of Imagery for the Iron Tower, and we know he likes Awakening, so that's why it's one of the more popular guesses, but we won't know for certain until she (doesn't) write her name on a tower.Jiopaba said:
1.03
An Imago of Rust and Crimson
Chapter 1.03
I was called back to consciousness by a slow, methodical bleeping. The light was too bright when I opened my eyes, and I felt my eyes water. When my vision had somewhat cleared, all I could see was an unfamiliar ceiling. Letting my head fall to the right, I saw pale pinkish walls. It felt like too much effort to check the other side.
I was also feeling good. No, as in, really good. The kind of good you never normally feel. Like all the stresses in the world had just rolled off me.
"She's awake!" I heard. After a moment of thought I realised it was my dad, though he sounded slightly off. He moved into my range of vision, dragging a chair, and sat down. His clothes were rumpled, and he mostly looked relieved.
"Hey, dad," I managed weakly, smiling fuzzily. My voice sounded croaky. Groggily, I realised he'd been crying. His eyes were reddened. "I…" I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't sure of very much at all.
He glanced at someone else, with a hint of nervousness, and then forced himself to smile. "Hey, kiddo," he said. "Nice to have you back with us."
"I don't think I went anywhere," I said.
"Awake, then," he said, his mouth twitching.
I blinked owlishly. "I think. Uh, I might still be asleep," I said. "It's all warm. Oh. Am I, uh, late for school?" I swallowed. "I don't want to go," I said weakly. "It was all… strange."
He chewed on his lip nervously, running a hand through his hair. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Does… does it hurt?"
I smiled. "No. I feel… good," I said, with some thought.
"Your wrists don't hurt?" he asked, leaning forwards.
"Hurt? No. Why would they?"
My dad looked miserable. "They found you in a locker," he said. "Did you try to k- you'd clawed at the locker door, and. And." He gulped. "And at yourself," he said weakly. "Please, Taylor, please, if… I mean, it must have been… bad in there, but please tell me that you're fine now. That you don't want to- that you want to keep on living."
Keep on living? What was he talking about? Ah. "Oh, no," I said. "I just… I had to. To get the insects out. Stop them. Eating me. Stop them with the nails on the walls." I sighed happily. "Left them skewered."
His brows furrowed. "Taylor, what are you talking about?"
"Lots of. Caterpillars. The ones from… the island place. In the Pacific. They were trying to eat me, when. I was seeing things. Bad things. But I managed to get them all."
"Mr Hebert," said the nurse, his worried eyes narrowed, "please, stay calm. She's on a lot of painkillers at the moment, so she's not entirely lucid. And remember what we talked about earlier?"
Ah. So something like morphine was the reason I was so fuzzy and warm and happy. That made a lot of sense. Wow. No wonder people get addicted to this stuff. I'm – as many people could tell you – not usually a fuzzy person, but this was great. I just felt like smiling at everyone and everything. I could get used to this.
My arms felt like plaster blocks, but I managed to lift one and rest it on my dad's. "Sorry if you were worried," I managed. "Didn't mean to get locked. Inside the locker. But probably. No one apart from them. Saw it. And they're not going to talk." I giggled. "Three heads are worse than one," I said, which was hilariously funny.
I felt his fists bunch into balls. "You're okay now, Taylor," he said. "The school is… well, they're paying for this, and… listen, the hospital can get me if you need to talk to me, but there are some people I need to talk to… though I can wait if you want to talk about anything. Anything at all. Or want anything else."
I yawned. "I think I want to sleep again," I said.
And with that, I was drifting back off into warm soft sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night. The clock on the unfamiliar bedside table flashed a green 03:17 at me. My bandaged hands were aching, and my throat was dry and sore. And all the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end.
Oh well. The painkillers had been nice while they lasted.
My throat felt like it was on fire. There was a sports bottle on the table beside my bed. I vaguely recalled that someone had said something about how that was there for me. I lifted my arms, feeling like they were made of lead, and stared at my hands. Well, I certainly wouldn't be holding a pen for a while. The bandages made me look like I was wearing mittens. My wrists really hurt whenever I tried to move my hands. And I didn't think that my fingernails were in a very good state. My fingers felt hot and tight, which meant they were probably infected.
That wasn't surprising, considering what I'd been putting my hands in.
With both hands, fighting the weariness which filled me, I managed to pick up the sports bottle with both hands. Whoever had put it there was a lifesaver, I thought, when I managed to get it to my mouth, pulling open the sports cap with my teeth. Maybe a third of the bottle later, I felt sufficiently human to try talking.
"Ow," I croaked.
Hmm. That was expressive of my feelings, but not too useful. Maybe I shouldn't try talking. I could remember a lot of screaming, so I probably didn't have much of a voice left. And…
… and I'd told my dad I'd tried to get the insects out with nails, I realised with dawning horror, as my mind mercilessly picked through what I'd said when I was in the warm happy place from the painkillers. Oh shit.
Part of my horror was an instinctual reaction. What had happened in there somehow felt intensely private. Telling someone about it, even my dad, felt like I'd just been seen naked. Most of it – pretty much all of it, really – was because I'd just told my dad that I'd been trying to kill insects under my skin and from the way he'd reacted… oh boy. And I'd started laughing at my own pathetic joke, in a not-very-sane way. And I was in hospital and everything hurt and I was sure I'd been impaling myself on nails. And oh, please, please, please let him not think I'd actually seen a demon-monster thing. Had I said anything which might make him think I had? I wasn't sure.
He was going to think that I was crazy. And the nurse had been there too. So the hospital might think it, too.
A wave of nausea passed through me. I trembled from the cold shivers.
Maybe they would just think I'd been babbling while on the drugs. I really hoped that was true.
For all I knew, I had gone crazy. Anyone might have, when they were in that kind of place. I might have just already been having a small nervous breakdown when going back to school, and then that had happened. It would have been enough to push anyone over the edge.
I shuffled myself into an upright position, body aching and complaining. At least I wasn't tied to the bed or anything else which young adult novels had told me indicated I was a suicide risk. There was the glint of a camera in one corner of the room, but maybe that was normal. I hadn't exactly been in hospital much.
Did I feel suicidal? I checked, and decided that no, I certainly didn't want to die. That was reassuring. I did want more of those drugs, but that was because my everything was aching. Or sometimes hurting. And maybe I shouldn't have any more, if I couldn't control what I said when I was under their influence. I didn't feel crazy, and the world around me looked normal, but I didn't want other people to find out.
What would Emma, Madison and Sophia do if they knew? There was a girl in my year who'd tried to kill herself, and people who sort of knew her treated her differently.
Again, the nausea came. I wanted some fresh air. There was a window to my left, the curtains closed. It might have some small bit which could be slid open. I wormed my way out from under the covers of my bed, and swung my legs out.
My shins poked out from under the hospital gown I was wearing. There were several long blue plasters running along them, but they looked – and felt – better than my hands. I couldn't see or feel the bit where I was sure I'd torn out a chunk of flesh from my calves on a nail. Maybe that meant I wasn't as hurt as I thought I was. My legs still felt weak and useless.
When I got out of hospital, I was going to get into better shape. I promised myself that. If I'd been stronger, if I'd been fitter I would have been able to stand longer. And maybe I'd have been able to run from the three-faced monster which had worn the faces of my tormenters. Or maybe just from the three of them, if I was already having a nervous breakdown at the time.
The floor was cool under my feet as I staggered to the window, and I nearly fell. I forced myself to shuffle along, arms waving as I tried to keep my balance despite the pain. Eventually, I managed to cross the few metres of floor, and tug aside the curtains.
There was a moth on the windowpane. That was strange. It was January, and I could see frost everywhere. It was probably just very cold, trying to warm itself on the heat from the window. I sagged forward, resting my brow on the cold glass.
Now that I was upright I could feel how chilly it must be outside, and reconsidered whether it would be a good idea to open the window. Even if I wanted to face the cold, one problem was how useless my arms felt. Given the clumsiness of my bandaged hands, even if I could get it open I'd have problems closing it. Another was that the window seemed to be locked, and I couldn't see a key.
No fresh air for me, then. Well, at least the cold glass against my forehead was nice. And right now it seemed like a lot of effort to walk – okay, totter – back to my bed. I'd just rest up for a while before trying it.
What the hell had happened to me? I looked down at my bandaged hands and wrists. I… I had wanted to die in that locker, yes. But I didn't think I'd tried to kill myself. I nudged down my sleeves, checking for the nail punctures which should be covering my forearms. No sign of them there either. And - at least before today - I wouldn't have said that those three would have tried to kill me. They probably wouldn't have gone to the effort of covering the inside of a locker with nails.
Maybe I had just been seeing things? If I had gashed myself on one of the brackets on the inside of the locker, I could have just panicked.
Maybe – and here I barely dared to hope – it was a trigger event? I'd read up on them at some point – the moment when a cape gained their powers, hero or villain. They were supposed to be moments of great personal stress, and I had been more than stressed back then. Did I have powers? How could I even tell?
I thought really hard about flying. I didn't fly. Thinking very hard about energy beams, feeling strong, and controlling the electricity in the clock had similarly little effect. Any hope that I had a super-regeneration power was thwarted when concentrating on my hands only made them hurt more.
Guess I wasn't going to be the next Alexandria, then.
It was just a silly dream. That kind of thing didn't happen to people you knew in real life. I leant my forehead back against the window, staring out into the dark. Sodium street lights lit up the cold, playing over my face. I shivered, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. At the edge of one light, I could see a gang of youths, swaddled up in heavy clothing, spray-painting something on one of the empty shops over the street. Another gang, with nothing better to do than make a mess. Sad.
What was going to happen to me now? I was clearly going to be in hospital for a while. After that, would I go back to school? What was going to happen to my life?
If I dreamed that night, I didn't remember it.
Chapter 1.03
I was called back to consciousness by a slow, methodical bleeping. The light was too bright when I opened my eyes, and I felt my eyes water. When my vision had somewhat cleared, all I could see was an unfamiliar ceiling. Letting my head fall to the right, I saw pale pinkish walls. It felt like too much effort to check the other side.
I was also feeling good. No, as in, really good. The kind of good you never normally feel. Like all the stresses in the world had just rolled off me.
"She's awake!" I heard. After a moment of thought I realised it was my dad, though he sounded slightly off. He moved into my range of vision, dragging a chair, and sat down. His clothes were rumpled, and he mostly looked relieved.
"Hey, dad," I managed weakly, smiling fuzzily. My voice sounded croaky. Groggily, I realised he'd been crying. His eyes were reddened. "I…" I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't sure of very much at all.
He glanced at someone else, with a hint of nervousness, and then forced himself to smile. "Hey, kiddo," he said. "Nice to have you back with us."
"I don't think I went anywhere," I said.
"Awake, then," he said, his mouth twitching.
I blinked owlishly. "I think. Uh, I might still be asleep," I said. "It's all warm. Oh. Am I, uh, late for school?" I swallowed. "I don't want to go," I said weakly. "It was all… strange."
He chewed on his lip nervously, running a hand through his hair. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Does… does it hurt?"
I smiled. "No. I feel… good," I said, with some thought.
"Your wrists don't hurt?" he asked, leaning forwards.
"Hurt? No. Why would they?"
My dad looked miserable. "They found you in a locker," he said. "Did you try to k- you'd clawed at the locker door, and. And." He gulped. "And at yourself," he said weakly. "Please, Taylor, please, if… I mean, it must have been… bad in there, but please tell me that you're fine now. That you don't want to- that you want to keep on living."
Keep on living? What was he talking about? Ah. "Oh, no," I said. "I just… I had to. To get the insects out. Stop them. Eating me. Stop them with the nails on the walls." I sighed happily. "Left them skewered."
His brows furrowed. "Taylor, what are you talking about?"
"Lots of. Caterpillars. The ones from… the island place. In the Pacific. They were trying to eat me, when. I was seeing things. Bad things. But I managed to get them all."
"Mr Hebert," said the nurse, his worried eyes narrowed, "please, stay calm. She's on a lot of painkillers at the moment, so she's not entirely lucid. And remember what we talked about earlier?"
Ah. So something like morphine was the reason I was so fuzzy and warm and happy. That made a lot of sense. Wow. No wonder people get addicted to this stuff. I'm – as many people could tell you – not usually a fuzzy person, but this was great. I just felt like smiling at everyone and everything. I could get used to this.
My arms felt like plaster blocks, but I managed to lift one and rest it on my dad's. "Sorry if you were worried," I managed. "Didn't mean to get locked. Inside the locker. But probably. No one apart from them. Saw it. And they're not going to talk." I giggled. "Three heads are worse than one," I said, which was hilariously funny.
I felt his fists bunch into balls. "You're okay now, Taylor," he said. "The school is… well, they're paying for this, and… listen, the hospital can get me if you need to talk to me, but there are some people I need to talk to… though I can wait if you want to talk about anything. Anything at all. Or want anything else."
I yawned. "I think I want to sleep again," I said.
And with that, I was drifting back off into warm soft sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night. The clock on the unfamiliar bedside table flashed a green 03:17 at me. My bandaged hands were aching, and my throat was dry and sore. And all the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end.
Oh well. The painkillers had been nice while they lasted.
My throat felt like it was on fire. There was a sports bottle on the table beside my bed. I vaguely recalled that someone had said something about how that was there for me. I lifted my arms, feeling like they were made of lead, and stared at my hands. Well, I certainly wouldn't be holding a pen for a while. The bandages made me look like I was wearing mittens. My wrists really hurt whenever I tried to move my hands. And I didn't think that my fingernails were in a very good state. My fingers felt hot and tight, which meant they were probably infected.
That wasn't surprising, considering what I'd been putting my hands in.
With both hands, fighting the weariness which filled me, I managed to pick up the sports bottle with both hands. Whoever had put it there was a lifesaver, I thought, when I managed to get it to my mouth, pulling open the sports cap with my teeth. Maybe a third of the bottle later, I felt sufficiently human to try talking.
"Ow," I croaked.
Hmm. That was expressive of my feelings, but not too useful. Maybe I shouldn't try talking. I could remember a lot of screaming, so I probably didn't have much of a voice left. And…
… and I'd told my dad I'd tried to get the insects out with nails, I realised with dawning horror, as my mind mercilessly picked through what I'd said when I was in the warm happy place from the painkillers. Oh shit.
Part of my horror was an instinctual reaction. What had happened in there somehow felt intensely private. Telling someone about it, even my dad, felt like I'd just been seen naked. Most of it – pretty much all of it, really – was because I'd just told my dad that I'd been trying to kill insects under my skin and from the way he'd reacted… oh boy. And I'd started laughing at my own pathetic joke, in a not-very-sane way. And I was in hospital and everything hurt and I was sure I'd been impaling myself on nails. And oh, please, please, please let him not think I'd actually seen a demon-monster thing. Had I said anything which might make him think I had? I wasn't sure.
He was going to think that I was crazy. And the nurse had been there too. So the hospital might think it, too.
A wave of nausea passed through me. I trembled from the cold shivers.
Maybe they would just think I'd been babbling while on the drugs. I really hoped that was true.
For all I knew, I had gone crazy. Anyone might have, when they were in that kind of place. I might have just already been having a small nervous breakdown when going back to school, and then that had happened. It would have been enough to push anyone over the edge.
I shuffled myself into an upright position, body aching and complaining. At least I wasn't tied to the bed or anything else which young adult novels had told me indicated I was a suicide risk. There was the glint of a camera in one corner of the room, but maybe that was normal. I hadn't exactly been in hospital much.
Did I feel suicidal? I checked, and decided that no, I certainly didn't want to die. That was reassuring. I did want more of those drugs, but that was because my everything was aching. Or sometimes hurting. And maybe I shouldn't have any more, if I couldn't control what I said when I was under their influence. I didn't feel crazy, and the world around me looked normal, but I didn't want other people to find out.
What would Emma, Madison and Sophia do if they knew? There was a girl in my year who'd tried to kill herself, and people who sort of knew her treated her differently.
Again, the nausea came. I wanted some fresh air. There was a window to my left, the curtains closed. It might have some small bit which could be slid open. I wormed my way out from under the covers of my bed, and swung my legs out.
My shins poked out from under the hospital gown I was wearing. There were several long blue plasters running along them, but they looked – and felt – better than my hands. I couldn't see or feel the bit where I was sure I'd torn out a chunk of flesh from my calves on a nail. Maybe that meant I wasn't as hurt as I thought I was. My legs still felt weak and useless.
When I got out of hospital, I was going to get into better shape. I promised myself that. If I'd been stronger, if I'd been fitter I would have been able to stand longer. And maybe I'd have been able to run from the three-faced monster which had worn the faces of my tormenters. Or maybe just from the three of them, if I was already having a nervous breakdown at the time.
The floor was cool under my feet as I staggered to the window, and I nearly fell. I forced myself to shuffle along, arms waving as I tried to keep my balance despite the pain. Eventually, I managed to cross the few metres of floor, and tug aside the curtains.
There was a moth on the windowpane. That was strange. It was January, and I could see frost everywhere. It was probably just very cold, trying to warm itself on the heat from the window. I sagged forward, resting my brow on the cold glass.
Now that I was upright I could feel how chilly it must be outside, and reconsidered whether it would be a good idea to open the window. Even if I wanted to face the cold, one problem was how useless my arms felt. Given the clumsiness of my bandaged hands, even if I could get it open I'd have problems closing it. Another was that the window seemed to be locked, and I couldn't see a key.
No fresh air for me, then. Well, at least the cold glass against my forehead was nice. And right now it seemed like a lot of effort to walk – okay, totter – back to my bed. I'd just rest up for a while before trying it.
What the hell had happened to me? I looked down at my bandaged hands and wrists. I… I had wanted to die in that locker, yes. But I didn't think I'd tried to kill myself. I nudged down my sleeves, checking for the nail punctures which should be covering my forearms. No sign of them there either. And - at least before today - I wouldn't have said that those three would have tried to kill me. They probably wouldn't have gone to the effort of covering the inside of a locker with nails.
Maybe I had just been seeing things? If I had gashed myself on one of the brackets on the inside of the locker, I could have just panicked.
Maybe – and here I barely dared to hope – it was a trigger event? I'd read up on them at some point – the moment when a cape gained their powers, hero or villain. They were supposed to be moments of great personal stress, and I had been more than stressed back then. Did I have powers? How could I even tell?
I thought really hard about flying. I didn't fly. Thinking very hard about energy beams, feeling strong, and controlling the electricity in the clock had similarly little effect. Any hope that I had a super-regeneration power was thwarted when concentrating on my hands only made them hurt more.
Guess I wasn't going to be the next Alexandria, then.
It was just a silly dream. That kind of thing didn't happen to people you knew in real life. I leant my forehead back against the window, staring out into the dark. Sodium street lights lit up the cold, playing over my face. I shivered, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. At the edge of one light, I could see a gang of youths, swaddled up in heavy clothing, spray-painting something on one of the empty shops over the street. Another gang, with nothing better to do than make a mess. Sad.
What was going to happen to me now? I was clearly going to be in hospital for a while. After that, would I go back to school? What was going to happen to my life?
If I dreamed that night, I didn't remember it.
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Given the events leading to a potential awakening (near death experience), I'd have put her as Moros (Death/Matter). Newly awakened though, she'd have what, Matter 1 Death 1? That's enough for sensing related phenomena, but not much more. Certainly not enough for the controlling aspect. So that's not ruled out yet either.WyldCard4 said:
Still just WMG anyhow though. But I do like the idea of her having fun breaking Tinkers minds with the Jury Rig rote (or, well, not rote since she doesn't have a convenient Order.)
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
She seems to be in a much healthier state of mind then she was supposed to be at this time, but that's to be expected - even if I'm wrong about the specifics, she still did some kind of dream-quest and ripped her personal demons out with her own two hands (and a couple rusty nails).
I'm guessing that was Glory Girl she saw, as "brutal-looking beating" seems more her then her mother, though Taylor making the opposite assumption makes sense. Photon Mom has been a cape a lot longer, and is probobly much more famous. Panacea has probobly eclipsed her (adopted) mom in fame, but I don't think Glory Girls has manged that yet.
I'm guessing that was Glory Girl she saw, as "brutal-looking beating" seems more her then her mother, though Taylor making the opposite assumption makes sense. Photon Mom has been a cape a lot longer, and is probobly much more famous. Panacea has probobly eclipsed her (adopted) mom in fame, but I don't think Glory Girls has manged that yet.
Undead-Spaceman
Skeleton Supreme
- Location
- Somewhere in Orbit
Glory Girl doesn't have lasers, that, and the blindingly bright glow suggests Purity. She was beating the hell out of ABB members before rejoining E88 too.TheLastOne said:
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
I'm pretty sure she has a light power (everyone but Panacea did) - Glory girls was a glowing forcefield, and anyone who saw the light feel awe towards her, which reassured her friends and frightened her enemies. Brandish gets called Photon Mom for a reason, though I can't remember her exact power set anymore.
Though you're probobly right, Purity flashier then any of them.
Edit: I need to reread some of the earlier chapters, I'm getting that family tree confused.
I wonder if Purity, Lady Photon and Brandish all share a parent shard - they're powers are all within spitting distance of each other.
Though you're probobly right, Purity flashier then any of them.
Edit: I need to reread some of the earlier chapters, I'm getting that family tree confused.
I wonder if Purity, Lady Photon and Brandish all share a parent shard - they're powers are all within spitting distance of each other.