#and mutant crocodile but don’t worry about that

[winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts]

Day three (Falloutober): Distant Glow!

Definitely nothing to worry about-

@falloutober

[lasanya539]

tuck your head under the covers

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @remedyturtles)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: Insomniac Leo - visiting various brothers when unable to sleep, or managing to fall asleep and his brothers doing anything to PRESERVE that sleep Word Count: 4635

Posted on AO3!

---

The first time it happens, Mikey doesn’t make a big deal out of it. 

It’s four in the morning on a Monday, and he’s thirsty, so he gets up from his train car and walks to the kitchen. Only to find Leo sitting at the table, with a lollipop in his mouth and a Jupiter Jim comic in his hands, legs rested on the surface, humming a tune under his breath.

“Leo?” Mikey mumbles drowsily, rubbing at his eyes. “Bro, what are you doing?”

Leo startles in surprise, and sits up, shooting him a guilty look. “Mikes!” He exclaims, voice pitched low. “Shit, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no.” He flaps his hand, grabbing a glass. “I was thirsty, wanted water. Why are you awake right now?”

“Eh, you know, same old, same old. Couldn’t sleep.”

Mikey hums, taking a languid sip. His tired eyes catch a giant mug on the table, black as tar coffee peeking from the bottom, a pack of pink Starbursts with wrappers, and what looks like the crumbled remains of the pecan pie April’s mom had lovingly gifted them. If he was a little more awake, he’d be a lot more pissed about that, but for now he just sighs and stretches. 

“Did you at least try to sleep?” He asks, knowing the answer. 

“Yeah, of course.” Leo replies easily enough, turning away to flip another page. “But that’s the problem with insomnia, my friend, it kinda makes the ‘fall asleep’ thing not happen.”

Hm, not good enough. Mikey waddles over closer, physically pushing his brother’s head up so he can study him. Leo’s eyes are just barely bloodshot, cheeks hollower than he’d like to see on him.

“Can I help you?” He asks, bemused. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Somewhere in the evening, I got a cat nap in. Don’t worry, Mikey, you’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep.” He retorts around a yawn. He plops down in a chair next to him, picking up an uneaten Starburst and chomping on it. Leo tsks at that, but he ignores him, folding his arms and resting his head comfortably. 

“You just brushed your teeth and are supposed to be asleep, why are you still here?”

“Moral support.” 

“Moral support from what? I – okay,” Leo stands up, all big brother voice. “C’mon, up.”

Mikey whines, not having enough energy to fight as Leo physically picks him up and throws him over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Grk–?” He chokes out in surprise, when the hell did he get so strong?

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it. This is what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

Leo plants him on the bathroom floor, and pointedly stares at him as Mikey brushes, having to actually count each stroke on the rows of teeth under the scrutiny instead of a quick wash. As soon as he rinses his mouth, Leo picks him up again.

“You realize I have feet.” He said, flopping his limbs in defeat and letting himself be carried lifelessly.

“You think I don’t know you were planning on dragging more ass by suggesting a movie night or something? I’ve taught you all my tricks, I know how your brain works.”

Mikey tries to keep in his smile at how well his brother can read him, and gasps dramatically. “Language! I’ll tell on you to Raphie.”

“If you make it to morning asleep like a good turtle, I’ll tell Raphie, how about that?”

Mikey gets tossed on his bed, the springs creaking under his weight. His favorite quilt is thrown over him, and his stuffed crocodile is tucked in between his shoulder and neck, just how he likes it. The warmth immediately makes him even drowsier, but he blinks up at Leo and invitingly opens his arms.

“Sleep?” He suggests, making the motion of scooting over to make room for him.

A few seconds, but Leo eventually sighs, far too susceptible to the prospect of little brother cuddles. He sticks his freezing feet into the tangle of limbs, making him hiss, but settles in comfortably on his pillow. Arms wind around him and squeeze affectionately.

“Better?” Mikey asks. 

Leo hums on top of his head. “Yep, thanks Angelo. You can pass out now.”

It doesn’t take very long for him to do so. Unfortunately for him, when he does wake up to his 9 A.M. alarm, the side of the bed is cold and the corner of the pillow undented. Outside, he sees Leo casually do the crossword puzzle with Dad with a newly filled mug of coffee in his hand, looking like sleep never graced him at all. Mikey sighs, but sets to making breakfast.

–

The second time it happens, Donnie is pulled out of his whirlwind of thoughts by a single hand on his shoulder. 

Naturally, he jumps, not having expected that contact when he’s working in his lab alone, smack-dab in the middle of the night. He’s too scientific and logic-driven to ever assume the existence of ghosts (which are different from spirits, thank you very much Michael), but the sudden touch makes him doubt that fact for a second.

Leo backs up with his hands up apologetically, and Donnie realizes with some amount of mortification he actually hissed at him. The mortification lasts for all of two seconds before he scowls at his twin with all the irritation in the world as he turns off his loud music. 

“What the hell do you want?” He groans at Leo, rubbing his sore eyes. 

“Just checking in.” Leo says, sounding normal enough, though Donnie picks up a strange note in his voice. He peeks at him between his fingers and catches his eyes look up from his torso just in time.

Looking down, he sees his other hand gripped into a fist, sharp claws extended, held right to the middle of his chest. Shit, he was scratching at his plastron again, the dull ache finally registering in his brain. 

It’s a nasty habit he’s had since he was very young, all the complicated feelings of the big, bad world too much for him to handle. His family has been trying for years to help him work through his emotions instead of immediately resorting to this, but apparently all the effort goes to shit the second it gets to debugging, the devil’s favorite method of torture. Donnie turns away, embarrassed but not willing to admit it. 

Leo thankfully doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and flops onto the back of his chair, resting his head at the top. “What are you working on?”

“Setting up face identification in the scanners in the Hidden City.” Donnie replies tiredly. “The mystic orbs they use as cameras are advanced enough to pick up magical signatures, but somehow not enough to track facial features of their various species of mutants and Yōkai. So, I’m doing it for them.”

Leo snorts. “Wow, how altruistic of you.” He leans in further, presumably to try to read the strange symbols that make up their programming language, before Donnie swats at his face. 

“Stop, you’re ruining my concentration.” 

“Shut up.” He swats back. Annoying

Donnie’s eyes flick over to the corner of the monitor, looking at the time. Wonderful, it’s another night of no sleep for his insomniac twin brother. 

He sighs. “I’m assuming getting bored to death from Papa’s speech on the various opera singers of the 20th century somehow didn’t lure you to sleep?”

“What, are you telling me you don’t care about the 1950s Maria Callas and Renata Tebaldi drama about their different vocal techniques? It’s the hottest tea from that side of the century, Don-Don, I’m disappointed in you.” He dodges the swat from him this time.

Donnie turns up to look at him, noticing his brother’s heavy eyelids blinking over his sharp eyes, far too awake for someone who hasn’t slept in Gaga knows how long. He’s wearing his soft blue hoodie, the big one that he makes sure is always washed with the rose scent beads for the comforting smell. 

“Is there anything specific that is keeping you up?” He asks, worried. 

“Nah, not really. Unless you count my dumb brain as a whole, nope.”

“Don’t call yourself dumb.” Donnie says, practiced. He stands up and stretches, hearing some impressive cracks from his neck that Leo whistles at.

“Is there anything I can say that will make you try to sleep again?” 

“Probably not, if I’m being honest.”

“Okay, then.” He doesn’t argue. If there’s one thing he knows about his twin is that badgering him about his sleep intake, no matter how worrying, is the best way to get completely shut out by him. And as annoying as he finds Leo on a day-to-day basis, he’s rather fond of the time he gets to spend with him in the middle of the night when it's just the two of them, the disaster twins. “Do you wanna play some Mario Kart instead?”

Leo brightens up. “Snacks?”

“Of course we’ll have snacks. I may be crazy, but I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, you’re a civilized demon-possessed genius, right?”

“Exactly right, my dear brother.”

The twins grab enough popcorn and candy from the pantry to send a tiny child into a coma, but as soon as Leo’s hand moves to the coffee machine, Donnie whacks it with a box of Nerds. “Dude, ow?”

“No more caffeine.” He says sternly.

“Oho, that is rich coming from you—”

“Yeah, well, deal with it. Otherwise I’m switching the kitchen permanently to decaf and making myself a secret password protected machine with the good coffee, the extra dark-roasted one.” That shuts Leo up fast. 

They play and bicker loudly in the soundproof lab, up until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, Donnie falls asleep with the controller in his hand, only to wake up in the afternoon and find himself resting on the cot with his favorite blanket, battle shell and mask off. His sleepless twin nowhere to be found. 

–

The third time it happens, Raph is having a nightmare about the Krang. 

It’s par for the course, really. In the morning, he happens to overhear one of Mikey’s favorite YouTubers talk about their grief over their late friend who was lost to the bubblegum aliens, so he spends the most of the day in a haze, keeping to himself in the dojo, training, and eating his dinner alone while reading news articles about the reconstruction in New York to repair the damage from their fight. 

One trigger after another. So it’s no surprise that his dreams are filled with sick pink flesh and yellow eyes, tentacles worming over his body, digging into his brain, sadistic voices of the hive mind overpowering his screams, the feel of a lithe figure in his clutch, nails scratching onto his hand as he tightens his grip on his victim, his brother—

The part that’s surprising, however, is the other presence in his room, comforting, safe. Soft words spoken over his whimpers, warm hands smoothing over his shell as he regains consciousness. “Deep breaths, big bro, you’re okay, you’re safe, I promise you. Try to breathe, please.”

He breathes, turning away from the damp pillow, lifting his head up by his elbows to blink the sleep away. Blood pools back into his body, bones creaking in protest. All four limbs, whole, green, normal. 

Raph takes in one deep breath, and lets it out with meditative precision. His vision finally clears. Leo is sitting on the corner of his bed, hands anxiously rubbing together but giving him space to get up on his own. Worried eyes ticking over his face before latching onto his, relieved. 

“Hiya, Raphie.” He says with remarkable poise. “Okay?”

Raph slowly scoots up to sit properly, picking up one of his stuffed bears and hugging him. Embarrassment keeps him from meeting Leo’s eyes, burying his face in the soft fake fur. “Mhm.”

A hand gently strokes his leg, a comforting, involuntary motion. “Long day?”

“...You could say that.” He agrees. He clears his throat. “What time is it?”

“Just after 2.” Leo squeezes his knee. “Do you want me to wake Dad?”

Raph scoffs. “What is Dad going to do in the middle of the night? Let him sleep.” 

“Okay, how about the other guys? We could turtle pile.”

He shakes his head before Leo finishes. “No, no, it’s not important, Leo. Let them all sleep.”

“It is important.” He replies sharply, and Raph blinks up at him. Leo’s sporting his own version of a Raph Chasm, eye-ridges pulled together in a gut-wrenching frown, lips turned down. “You are important.”

A lump rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. He’s had enough of Leo stubbornly insisting that he stop dismissing his own emotions over the years, so he says nothing, instead lifting up an arm. Leo immediately snuggles in next to him, shell fitting perfectly under his arm. 

The tension falls off his frame as his little brother wiggles to get comfortable. Raph sighs, the dregs of his nightmare-fueled dread seeping away with Leo right next to him, the scent of roses in his nose. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers. 

“Pizza Supreme, no.” Raph snorts, making Leo huff. 

“Okay.” He agrees easily. Then, “Oh, I almost forgot!”

From the pocket of his hoodie he pulls out his phone, tapping at it for a couple of seconds before holding out the camera. “Snap streak.”

Raph snorts again but obliges his younger brother, putting on some version of a smile as he takes the picture, adding a bunch of unicorn emojis in the corner before showing it to him for approval. 

He takes the phone, but immediately frowns, zooming in to study Leo’s face. Even though he’s grinning, the exhaustion is practically radiating off him. The red stripes under his eyes are marred with purple bags, eyes squinting with the effort of staying up. He looks like he’s about to pass out almost any second.

Raph sends off the streak, and starts arranging the pillows and stuffed animals around him to make space for two sleeping turtles. He pulls his blanket over Leo’s head, which he, of course, shoves back. “What are you doing?”

“Tucking you in.” He informs him, dragging him down. “We’re going to sleep for a very long time.”

“Sure, Raphie, whatever you say.” Leo says too easily, and he immediately calls bullshit. 

“No, we’re really going to sleep. No more pretending.” He glares at him with one eye open. “Promise?”

Leo hesitates, but then forcibly relaxes himself, nuzzling closer. “I’ll try, promise.”

As good as he’s going to get, Raph thinks. He squeezes his brother tight enough for him to wheeze and laugh, wishing him goodnight and eventually falling asleep, nightmares far away. When he wakes up, Leo is on the floor next to the bed, face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen, playing a game of chess. The eye bags seem heavier than ever. 

–

The fourth time it happens, April is trying to catch up on physics homework. 

It’s actually ridiculous how she, a journalism major, has to study physics at all, even as a gen-ed. She’s a sophomore now, for god’s sake, she’s supposed to be interning at CNN and MSNBC, or at least spearheading some kind of journaling initiative with a bunch of her classmates. But no, Eastlaird is forcing her to calculate angular momentum and torque for a homework that is apparently not due on Monday, but in the morning on Friday, which is tomorrow. Or more accurately, today, she thinks, warily eyeing the clock on the table that reads 3:35 A.M.

She has maybe one more problem left before she can finally get some sleep, and hopefully get to stay over at the lair for the weekend. She hasn’t seen her boys and her Pops in over a month, and the joy of destroying Donnie in the Just Dance competition of their lives is the only motivation getting her through this. 

April sighs and stretches, cracking her back, before she hears a notification from her phone. Picking it up she sees, ‘nardo💙 sent an Instagram reel.’

She sits up in surprise. Why the hell is this idiot awake? And why is he sending her Instagram reels of all things?

‘awake???’ she texts back, worried. ‘why??’

Seen immediately, typing. ‘YOU awake why??’

‘homework’

‘yuck get away from me’

April picks at her bottom lip, watching the clock on her desk tick. If Leo’s awake at four in the morning, he hasn’t slept all night. She considers texting one of her other brothers to force him to sleep, but hopefully they would all be in bed by now, Donnie included. 

‘how much coffee did you have in the evening’

‘...’

‘Leo.’

‘okok four cups’

‘nardo you gotta be kidding me’. April rubs at her face, sighing. Leo knows better than to lie to his big sister, so he’s definitely telling her the truth, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Four whole cups of coffee?

‘did you try melatonin? helps me sleep a lot better nowadays’

‘apes do u even know me, obv melatonin doesn’t work on us’

‘damn’ 

‘ur taking it tho?? don’t take too much, not good for u’

‘yeah dum-dum, no sleep is not good for YOU have you thought about that?’

No response. Two minutes later, a funny reel. 

She huffs frustratedly, thinking, before finally deciding to call him on FaceTime, setting the phone against a textbook.

The face that greets her is so fucking worrying that April gapes, not responding to Leo’s raspy greeting. His eyes are completely bloodshot, face gaunt, red stripes practically completely purple now. 

“You look like shit.” She says, uncharacteristically blunt. Maybe the lack of sleep and physics is getting to her. How the hell does Donnie do this all the time?

Leo scowls, putting the phone down so all she sees is the dark ceiling of the kitchen. “If you just called me to insult me, I’m hanging up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She raises a hand in surrender, pulling her notebook closer and picking up her pencil. “Science is turning my brain to soup, I lost my speaking filter. You’re still very pretty.”

A second, and Leo’s face comes back into view. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” She nods, smiling as Leo grins, as brightly as he can with fatigue coming off him in waves. “What are you up to?”

“This guy on YouTube is reviewing the older JJ movies, it’s a four hour long video. And I have Sour Patch Kids, so I’m happy.”

April bites back the hundreds of worried comments she comes up with, deciding to think a little more tactically. She doesn’t want to piss him off again, so telling him to sleep or pointing out his eye-bags is off the table. 

“You wanna hear about my homework? It’s so difficult and horrible, I hate it.”

“I respect your degree, I do, Apes, but how hard can journalism homework even be?”

“It’s physics, man, that’s the thing. I’m going to jump out of my window.” She groans, equations swimming behind her eyelids. “I’m like ninety percent sure if I tried explaining this to you I could bore you to sleep.”

Leo chuckles, but there’s something tired and morose in it. “I wouldn’t take that bet.”

She blinks at the bitter tone of his voice, but doesn’t call him out on it. There’s a lost look in his eyes as he stares off to the side, chewing slowly on his candy. Her big sister instinct rears its head immediately at that.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” April assures him, deciding fuck it, opening up Chegg to find the answer to this last question so she can finish this as fast as possible. “I’ll be done in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you tell me what this random guy has to say about Pluto Vacation IV, and I’ll tell you how valid that is.”

By the time the sun rises, and Leo hangs up to go help Mikey make breakfast, April has turned in not only physics, but has finished all of the rest of her homework. She starts to pack, a plan ready in her mind.

–

They don’t let it happen a fifth time. 

Leo sighs, letting his head fall onto his bed, hiding his eyes from the fairy lights in his room. Normally, they look so pretty and aesthetic, but ever since this new bout of insomnia hit him, a lot of things have been bothering him more than usual. And he’s currently too exhausted to get up and turn it off on his own. 

He groans, reaching for his phone, because what else is he going to do? His brain is too tired for anything other than mindless scrolling, and if Raph asks him to train today he might just burst into tears. The time reads 12 P.M., a very productive time of day for the majority of planet Earth. The minority includes him apparently, as he pulls up one of his old blankets over his head, and settles in for an afternoon of TikTok.

The door to his train car opens quietly. Leo blinks, emerging from his nest to look up. 

Mikey stands at the doorway, sunshine smile on display. He sees his eyes scan his face, and the sunshine dims a bit, but he still says excitedly, “Hi, Lee! April just got back, we’re doing a sleepover!”

“Oh – oh yay!” His delayed response throws his act off a little. Don’t get him wrong, he is so happy his sister is back, it’s just he’d really rather not do a sleepover tonight where he has to spend another eight hours pretending to be asleep next to his peacefully resting siblings. “That’s great, I’ll be right there.”

Mikey nods but doesn’t leave, so Leo has to go through the excruciating process of forcing himself up and out of the room with a performative smile painted on his face. Mikey hooks his elbow with his, walking in step with him to the living room. 

He finds Raph and April talking, a bag carelessly dropped next to her feet. She catches sight of him and grins immediately, raising her arms. Leo can see the conscious effort it takes for her to not linger on his eye bags, he’s been needing a lot of that too lately.

“Hi, Apes.” He mumbles into her shoulder as she tightly squeezes him.

“Hi, Leo.” She replies warmly. “Missed you so much.”

A large hand rests on his shell, and he looks up to see Raph smile down at him. “Wanna join in on the hug fest, Raphie?”

“Ha, don’t worry, there’s gonna be plenty to go around in the sleepover soon.” He chuckles. 

“Soon?” Leo asks, and Raph points a thumb to the entrance. Leo turns around to see Donnie and Mikey walk in with a bunch of blankets and pillows in their arms. One of the spider limbs in Donnie’s battle shell is holding Raph’s largest teddy bear, the other holding his blue hoodie he couldn’t find in the morning. 

“We’re doing a sleepover now? It’s literally noon.”

“We’ve hit critical condition.” Donnie informs him primly, dropping the blankets in the middle of the floor. “You’ve been awake for too long.”

His mood sours immediately. He knows, okay? He’s aware that not sleeping for days at a time isn’t healthy, and he knows he looks like shit, but people don’t have to keep commenting on it. 

“Don’t pout.” Mikey wheedles into his side, giving him another squeeze. “We’re gonna help, I promise.”

“Right.” Leo says, disbelief clear in his voice, before something rose-scented smacks him in the face. “Hey!”

“You’re welcome.” Donnie responds, starting to move the furniture to make enough room for the blanket fort. “Your favorite hoodie, freshly washed with softener and your scent beads.”

Leo pulls it over his head, the familiar comforting smell easing some of his tension, the soft texture making him feel like he’s being swallowed whole. “Thanks.” He says quietly, hoping they can’t hear the croak in his voice. 

Donnie pauses in his ministrations for a millisecond before getting back to work with more gusto, him and Mikey setting up an impressive fort that could withstand five siblings. While Leo watches them, Raph taps him on his shoulder, and he’s offered a cup of freshly made chamomile and lavender tea, steam curling on top. The thoughtfulness almost makes him cry as he gives him a wobbly smile in return, taking a sip. It’s the perfect temperature, splash of milk and sweetened with honey, just how he likes it. 

He feels April at his back, gently untying the knot of his mask, carefully folding it and walking to his room to put it away. She comes back with his fuzzy Christmas socks.

“You guys.” Leo tries, feeling emotionally wrung out and sore. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up.” Three turtles reply in unison, breaking out into chuckles. Raph guides him to the center of the fort, making him sit down and rest on the biggest pillow. He finishes his tea as Mikey puts the teddy bear under his other arm and April puts the socks on him, brain too fuzzy to protest. 

He jolts out of his fog when he feels something pressing down on him. He looks up to see Donnie tuck him in under his purple weighted blanket, the one he uses on his bad days. He’s awash with the clean scent of roses, as tears fill up in Leo’s eyes unbidden. He tries to blink them back. “Don…”

“Hush.” Donnie replies, quietly, and Leo sees the lights in the room have been dimmed, his other siblings wearing their pajamas and getting ready to pile. “Stop using your brain. It’s sleeping time now.”

“Wow, I never thought there’d be a day when Hamato Donatello would actually tell me to ‘stop using my brain’.” He croaks out.

Leo prepares for the obligatory joke about him not having a brain in the first place, but Donnie just gives him an amused look in return, speaking softly but matter-of-factly, “Your brain is hurting my twin. So stop using it.”

A ball of emotion lodges in his throat that keeps him from speaking out loud, so he just nods. He gets a head pat for his troubles that he’s too emotional to block away.

Eventually, Donnie lies down next to him, their arms pressed together. Mikey nestles into a ball on his other side, snuggling close. Raph settles behind their heads, turning to his side and curling around them all protectively. April throws her feet over their legs, playfully kicking him in the shin. 

Leo chokes on a laugh, tears soundlessly rolling onto the pillow. This has been one of the longest weeks of his life, hours in the middle of the night spent staring mindlessly at the ceiling, into the middle distance, into the New York skyline. The darkness seeping into his body, harsh, cold. A high pitched hum in his ears, heaviness in his eyes.

Right now though, he feels warm and loved and exhausted beyond belief. But not alone. Never alone. 

“Thanks, guys.” He finally whispers. 

Donnie gently bonks his head with his own, affection clear in the action. Mikey presses a loud kiss onto his bicep. “You’re welcome, big bro.”

Raph strokes his head. “Sleep, Leo.”

“We love you, Nardo.” April says, nudging his foot. “We got you.”

Leo smiles. He trusts them, they got him. He closes his eyes and pulls on his night mask. The demons of the night don’t stand a chance against the warm glow of his family. He finally falls asleep. 

[rosesgonerogue]

How to be a Dad 101

Chapter 2 - Villain Attack

Jasonette July Day 3

Masterlist

Marinette had thought that her years of being Rena Rogue would have improved Alya’s need for documenting dangerous situations, or at the very least her impulse control. As much as she loved her best friend, she was beginning to sincerely regret being cajoled into going to Gotham, of all places. A part of her couldn’t help but speculate whether of not Alya had been hoping that they’d end up in Crime Alley.

Jason was an unexpected bonus to their trip, though. None of them were quite sure what to think of the native Gothamite, but he did make an excellent tour guide. He was attentive, and surprisingly knowledgeable about the city’s history. Although he initially came off as angry and intimidating, he was also witty and attentive, especially to Marinette.

Okay, he was also hot. Like, absurdly hot. While Adrien was attractive, Jason was… Marinette didn’t know what words she could possibly use to describe just how broad his shoulders were, or how defined those muscles seemed. At one point he hugged her into his (very firm) chest so an inattentive biker didn’t hit her while they were crossing the street. She was grateful that he took the time to cuss them out, or he would have seen her face as red as her Ladybug suit. At another point when he took off his jacket and she saw his arms, she nearly choked on her spit.

She was dangerously close to relapsing into the Marinette of her teenage years, and that was the singularly worst outcome she could picture. Something about Jason made her feel… safe, protected.

The first day of their acquaintance with Jason was blessedly uneventful. Marinette was a little sad to bid him goodbye for good, but when he dropped them off at their hotel, he asked, “So what time should I be here tomorrow?”

A blush crept up Marinette’s face. “You don’t have to do that, really. We don’t want to bore you–“

He met her eyes, his own piercing. He was evaluating her, and based on his smirk, he liked what he saw. “I’ll be here at ten.” Jason raised a massive, strong hand to brush an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “Gotham would eat you up, and we can’t have that.”

When he stepped away, Marinette almost collapsed on the spot. She knew her face was flaming red, but she managed to stammer, “W-Well, we’re going to have breakfast at the bakery just down the block at seven, but we’ll definitely be back by ten.”

“I guess that’s safe enough,” Jason said with that same smirk. “But no more wandering around Gotham, you got it?”

“S-Sure.”

Even though he had just vacated her personal space just a second ago, he leaned in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “Sleep well, sweetcheeks.”

He left them standing in the hotel lobby, Marinette completely frozen. Before the boys could do or say anything, Alya grabbed her hand in an iron grip and hauled her up two flights of stairs to the room the two of them were sharing.

“What was that?” Alya demanded, closing the door with a bang.

Still dazed, Marinette collapsed onto the bed. “What was that?”

“Do you suddenly have a thing for bad boys now? I just… and how did we bump into him? He’s like the buffest man on the planet.”

“He called me sweetcheeks. Is that a good thing?” Marinette mumbled.

“Marinette, focus,” Alya said, shaking her best friend. “I’m worried.”

Finally Marinette made eye contact. “But he’s safe. He protected us.”

Emerging from her purse, Tikki settled on Alya’s head. “Marinette, I don’t think that’s what Alya is talking about.”

Sitting up, infinitely more level-headed than moments earlier, Marinette smiled softly, eyes holding a depth of sadness that should have been unfair for a twenty-year-old. “I know that nothing will happen between the two of us, we fly back to Paris in five days. But I just… I just want to be a normal girl for a week. I was fine with coming to Gotham because it meant I had a week to just be Marinette, not Ladybug, not MDC. For once I just want to let myself get caught up in my emotions – and if I end up hurt, that’s fine, because it means I’m allowed to feel again.”

Tikki and Alya shared glances with each other before Tikki spoke. “I guess I can understand that. But are you sure you can handle whatever happens, Marinette?”

“I’m a big girl, Tikki.”

“Besides, did you see those biceps? That alone almost makes up for anything he might do,” Alya said, fanning herself.

********

When morning rolled around, Marinette was the only one awake. Even Tikki was worn out from staying up entirely too late giggling about Jason and embarrassing Marinette with Alya’s help. Used to helping in the bakery every morning since she’d graduated, the lack of sleep was nothing to Marinette when she rolled out of bed and tied her hair up as per usual.

She was a little nervous about walking around Gotham alone, but Jason had dubbed this a safe part of town, and it was just at the end of the block. Her phone and her wallet were safely secured to her person, so she couldn’t be pick-pocketed either. Besides, even if something did happen, she had been Ladybug for years. Even without being transformed, Marinette had developed a number of self-defense skills on her own. It would be fine.

Getting to the bakery was no problem because, as previously stated, it was only a block away. The streets were fairly empty, and the weather was pleasant. She’d heard that Gotham was almost always storming, but she had yet to see any of that.

The bread was still warm in the bakery. Marinette was mostly curious about the differences between French and American bakeries, and she knew her parents were expecting a full report of any special items.

It didn’t seem like there was anything too different about the bakery except the various vigilante inspired pastries, and Marinette refused to bring that up – she didn’t need to see Ladybug bread everywhere she went. They actually had a far smaller selection than she was used to, but she’d heard that that was to be expected in America.

She ordered a bit of everything, and after deliberating a bit, she ordered a few extra Red Hood donuts. They were vaguely gun-shaped and filled with raspberry jelly. It seemed like the sort of thing that Jason would find amusing, and if not, there were plenty of other things for him to choose from and Adrien and Nino wouldn’t complain.

Piled high with pastries and breads, Marinette left the bakery humming to herself. Bags swung f rom her arms as she skipped a few feet until she froze, an ominous feeling creeping up her spine.

Crouching in a nearby alley, Marinette looked out at the street for a sign of what had her on edge like this. Sure enough, only seconds later a roar shook the streets, and a villain she recognized as Killer Croc barrelled his way through, jaws snapping.

Marinette’s eyes widened when she noticed he was clearly heading straight for the alley she’d ducked into. Too late she noticed the open manhole cover just a few feet behind her. The telltale sound of vigilantes pursuing the mutant were enough to spur her into action.

Unwilling to put down the food, Marinette kicked the manhole cover back in place – it would slow Croc down for a few seconds. He was still about fifty meters away, causing mass panic on the street. Desperately hoping that the wheels were unlocked – and surprisingly gratified, Marinette body checked the nearby dumpster, shoving it right on top of the manhole. Without her Ladybug suit, this was the most she could safely do. Bolting to the nearest building’s fire escape, Marinette hauled herself up the ladder as quickly as she could without smashing the bags of food.

Killer Croc wasn’t far behind her, and when he saw the covered manhole, he bellowed. Marinette started moving more haphazardly as she clambered up, desperate to reach safety. It was only a metal ladder within a foot of most windows, and it was only anchored by a handful of bolts every few feet of the ladder.

Her hand slipped when Killer Croc roared beneath her, catching sight of her handiwork. A neatly wrapped pastry fell out of one of the violently swinging bags, bopping the reptile on the head.

“This was you!” he growled. “If the Bats are going to catch me then I may as well take you with me.”

Scaled hands grasped one of the bottom rungs. Marinette did all she could to haul herself up the ladder faster, but it was a thirteen-story building – making it to the top was sounding less likely by the minute. She would have leapt into one of the nearby windows if she weren’t convinced that it would end in a paranoid Gothamite taking her out before Killer Croc could do the job.

Metal groaned as the reptilian man wrenched the bolts out of the very brick they’d been anchored in. The ladder shook, and Marinette screamed as the section she clung to was ripped from the wall, leaving her stuck between a structurally questionable ladder, and a very pissed off crocodile.

“Going so soon? Our playdate was just getting fun.”

Marinette could have sobbed when she saw Nightwing enter the alleyway, flanked by Red Robin and Red Hood. In a deep voice, Red Hood said, “You two take down Croc, I’ve got the girl.”

The other two looked surprised, but conceded easily enough. While Killer Croc was distracted by the vigilantes, Marinette moved even faster up the ladder – she only had three flights to go before she was at the roof, but the ladder was shaking like it would fall at any second, and she really didn’t want to find out what that would do to her and the pastries.

She vaguely registered that Red Hood was demanding someone’s something hook, but Marinette’s sheer panic was lessening her grasp on the English language by the second. With his loudest growl yet, Killer Croc wrenched the ladder free of the building. Marinette screamed, her stomach clenching with dread as she released the ladder, trying to curl her body in a way that she hopefully wouldn’t break anything upon impact.

Something whistled through the air, and before Marinette could hit the ground she collided with something – a man, who wrapped an arm around her. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but Marinette opened them to find herself face-to-face with the abomination that was Red Hood’s mask, but for the moment she could forgive the fashion crime.

He kicked off of the brick wall, giving them some distance from the ladder before it fell with a glorious clang. Marinette’s heart finally started beating, hammering in her chest as the vigilante slowly lowered them down to the ground.

When she finally forced herself to look, the other two had Killer Croc pinned and trussed up like a pig. Nightwing waved, smiling brighter than Marinette thought was allowed from someone who lived in Gotham. “The manhole cover and the dumpster? Brilliant move, we never would have caught him if he’d been able to get into the sewers. You made some risky moves, but I can tell they were calculated. Nicely done!”

Safely on the ground, Red Hood was examining her for any injuries. Clearly irked, he growled, “Since when are we encouraging civilians to jump into the middle of this sh-“

“Hood, she would have been involved one way or another just because of where she was standing,” Nightwing interrupted. “She saw us coming, and she just did a few things to slow him down while doing her best to keep herself safe. What’s up with you? Normally you’d be high-fiving a civilian for something like that.”

“Whatever,” Red Hood mumbled. “I’m escorting her to make sure she gets to wherever she’s going safely. Make sure the lizard doesn’t get away.”

Taglist:

@jasonette-july-2k20 @ira-sairain @myazael @pawsitivelymiraculous @nik-nak-3

Note:

I got a couple questions about this being a Mominette fic - it is, just not yet. This one is going to be a lot different from I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face and I am stoked to see how you guys like it! If you want to be tagged in future chapters, just leave a comment, and once again, blow up Jasonette July! I’m super excited to see what everyone else has to say and write! 

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

“What was the thought process?!”

“I don’t know any more than you do, Shaw!  The Quiet Council put this mission together!”  Somehow, even when they should have been commiserating, Sebastian managed to make his complaints sound like accusations. Well, absolutely no damn part of this was Pyro’s fault.

“Of course, that pack of simpletons can’t be bothered to do things properly.  It wouldn’t matter if it was just you, but I will not be treated like a cheap lackey.”  

“Will you kindly shut the fuck up for five minutes, Shaw?”  Pyro demanded, looking at the map.  Sebastian, for all his complaints, had not deigned to take charge of it since they’d come through the gate 30 minutes ago.  “There’s the mountain.  Our contact should be somewhere around here.”

The mountain loomed dark and ominous over the grassland, with an actual black cloud obscuring its peak, like something out of a cartoon.  There was obviously something nasty up there that needed to be dealt with.  Strange dark tendrils curled down the rocky cliffs, and there were reports of eerie wailing at night.  It wouldn’t be Krakoa’s problem, except there was a mutant living nearby who refused to relocate to the safety of the island.  So they either had to deal with the problem, or convince the mutant to move out of harm’s way.

Except the mutant in question was nowhere to be found.  Just peaceful grassland as far as the eye could see, with the mountain swelling up from the landscape like an ugly blackhead.  Off in the distance, Pyro could see a group of horses grazing contentedly.  

“Our contact couldn’t be bothered to meet us at the gate.  We should have just turned around and gone home.  I don’t know why Krakoa should lift a finger for a mutant that refuses to come to us.  He chooses to remain on the outside, he should accept the responsibilities of – “

“Hey, fellas!”  A shout interrupted Shaw’s rant.

Striding up to them was the most heart-breakingly beautiful young man that Pyro had ever seen. White-blond hair, perfectly formed features, and obvious muscles bulging under his flannel shirt, he looked like he’d strode right off the cover of one of Pyro’s own novels.  Usually Pyro preferred his men a little more rugged-looking, like Dominic’s wonderfully rough features, but he was suddenly fantasizing about this young man emerging from a lake in a see-through white shirt.

Oh shit, what if he was a telepath?  What if he was yet another Frost sibling?  Pyro shoved the image out of his mind, and thought very hard about a Youtube video he’d seen earlier of a penguin falling over.

“I suppose you’re the contact?”  Sebastian demanded.  He was walking right up to Eros-given-mortal-form while Pyro stood transfixed, and it was like watching an ogre charge an elf.  Pyro had to fight the urge to leap between them and drive the beast back with a flaming sword.  He ran a hand through his hair, trying to inconspicuously smooth it down.

Fucking hell, Allerdyce, get ahold of yourself.  Shaw will never let you live it down.

“That’s right,” said the cup-bearer Ganymede, who would surely be carried off by Zeus soon.  Even his voice was beautiful, his Southern accent giving his words a musical lilt.  “Sorry I wasn’t right there at that big funny-lookin’ gate, I got worried about the herd.  Whatever’s up there is bad news.  I’d check it out myself, but I don’t want to leave the horses.  Who’d take care of them if something happened to me?”

“Yes, yes, of course you have a noble reason for cowardice,” Sebastian said, waving a hand dismissively.

“And anyway, it’s our job, that’s why we’re here,” said Pyro, stepping forward.  He realized that he had put himself just slightly between Shaw and Paris of Troy.  “We’ll get it all sorted out for ya,” he added, giving the young man a friendly smack on the shoulder.

“Well, that’s a doozy of an accent, isn’t it?  Where you from, England?”  Thankfully Prince Charming had missed, or chosen to ignore Sebastian’s completely unecessary dig.

“Australia, actually,” Sebastian interjected before Pyro could speak.  “And I imagine you’ve greatly offended Allerdyce’s national pride by mixing the two up.”

“Shucks, I’m sorry – “

“Oh, no!” Pyro exclaimed. “Not at all.  Very similar accents, easy to mistake.”  

“You’re the ones who say g’day, right?  Like Crocodile Dundee!”

“Yes, exactly!” Pyro beamed. He’d started bar fights over being called Crocodile Dundee.  Or being called British.  Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him.  

“I’m Pyro, by the way, and Oscar the Grouch over there is Sebastian Shaw.  You don’t have to be nice to him.”  He shook the young man’s hand.    

“Anyway, I’m your ride,” the Adonis said,with a shy smile.  “I can get you up to the top of that mountain, lickety-split.”

“Oh, teleporter, are ya? That’s right handy,” Pyro said.

“Or he could be a speedster, let’s not jump to conclusions, Allerdyce,” Sebastian put in.

“No, it’s something a bit different than that,” said the divine creature carved from marble and bathed in Apollo’s fire.  He shifted suddenly, his torso stretching and changing in a way that reminded Pyro of Mystique.  And then there was a winged centaur standing in front of them, and Pyro wondered if he’d fallen into Narnia.  Or maybe that one book, with the kids and the Tesseract.    

“My mutant name is Eques, but you can call me Danny if you like.”  Pyro tried not to gape.  Somehow, the winged horse form had made the other mutant even more attractive, and Pyro wasn’t even into horses…but he was starting to understand the teenage girl obsession with them.  “Danny’s” clothing had disappeared as he shifted (one of the X-Men’s unstable molecule suits, no doubt), and now he was….basically naked.  Horse form meant all the important bits were hidden, but still.  Pyro pinched the inside of his wrist very hard and tried to think about cricket.

“Oh, shape-shifting,” Sebastian said, sounding mildly bored.  “I suppose that’ll do.  But surely there are more practical…and larger things that you can change into.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Danny, biting his lip and pawing with one hoof on  the ground in a way that was positively adorable.  “It’s a very specific mutation.  I can turn into this and only this.  But don’t worry, I’m strong enough to carry you both.  We can fly up.”  He flapped his wings for emphasis.  

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“Really?  Have we crossed over into some children’s cartoon?”  

“C’mon Shaw, he’s here to help us.  Of course, you can walk up the mountain if you prefer,” Pyro said.  

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare leave you alone with him,” Sebastian said, smirking at Pyro, who scowled back.  “Who knows what you two would get up to?  Besides, it’s better than the hike.  Marginally.  Let’s get this over with.”  

Before Pyro could protest, Sebastian had lifted him up by the shoulders and plopped him unceremoniously on Danny’s back, then climbed on behind him.  

“Sure we aren’t too heavy for ya?  I know Shaw here must weigh a ton.”  Pyro leaned in to speak in Danny’s ear, and tried not to notice how centaur’s thick, shimmering hair, radiant in the sunlight and making Pyro’s own golden locks seem like tarnished brass, smelled faintly of eucalyptus.

Should I compliment his hair?  Maybe ask what shampoo he uses, pretend like I want advice?  God damn it, St. John, snap out of it and act normal!

“Not all, fellas!”  Danny exclaimed, with a bright, guilless smile.  “I’m strong as a horse, too, this is nothing.  But you’d better hold on as I take off, wouldn’t want you to fall.”  

“Where should we, uh….” Pyro faltered.  Much as he wanted to slip his hands over Danny’s muscular chest (for safety!) he didn’t want to be a creep.  Also, if he wasn’t careful, his….interest…would start to become noticeable in the most humiliating way possible.

“Oh, anywhere’s fine, just hang onto me as best you can,” Danny drawled.  Before Pyro could lift his hands, Sebastian reached forward, wrapping his arms around the centaur’s waist and squishing Pyro between them.  

“Get off me, Shaw!”  Pyro squirmed, pressed against Danny’s back, with Shaw’s massive, unyielding bulk behind him.  God damn it, he was now dangerously close to being caught between a rock and a….hard place.

“Stop whining, Allerdyce, this is the best way to ensure we both stay on.  I certainly don’t trust you to hang on with those weak arms of yours.  We are secure, Eques.  Proceed.”

“Why’d you even take the back, then?”  Pyro demanded, but his question was answered as Danny leaped into the air, flapping violently.  The wings beat hardest around Pyro’s head, powerful back muscles twitching uncomfortably against him.  Well, at least having Sebastian Shaw’s gross, sweaty body pressed up against him, smelling faintly of fuck-you Rich People Cologne, was enough to kill his would-be boner quite dead.  Especially with Sebastian’s no-doubt obscenely hairy crotch up against his rear, with –

Wait a minute.  What was that?!

“Shaw, what the hell?” Pyro turned slightly, but Sebastian gripped Danny tighter, pushing him back forward.  The hard object pressing against his ass shifted.

“It’s my cell phone, Allerdyce, for God’s sake.  No need to jump to conclusions just because you’re all hot and bothered.”  

Pyro wondered whether it was possible to set Sebastian on fire without hurting Danny.  Just a little bit on fire.  And then if he fell, it wouldn’t be Pyro’s fault, right?

“Gosh, this is kinda fun, fellas!”  Danny yelled above the roar of the wind.  “I’m always out here with the horses, and that’s just how I like it, but it does get kinda lonely.  I don’t get to see other mutants very often.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d get a warm welcome if you ever came to join us on Krakoa,” Sebastian said.  Pyro slammed an elbow back against him, but Sebastian just gripped tighter.

“Don’t even think about it, Allerdyce,” he said in Pyro’s ear.  “I’ll take you down with me, make no mistake of that.”  

“Say, Eques,” Sebastian called up in a louder voice.  “Have you ever met Emma Frost?  Let me tell you all about her, I’m sure you’d have a great deal to…discuss.”

Pyro fumed quietly, and fantasized about Sebastian smashing into the jagged rocks below for the rest of the trip.  

(OOC: I don’t know what Eques should sound like, but I saw he was from Texas and wound up writing him like Cannonball.  Since he’s always so isolated with his horses, I could imagine him being very naïve, but also very friendly.  

Pyro is intensely thirsty, and failing to play it cool, but can you really blame him?

I have no idea what’s on top of that mountain. Let’s just assume that Pyro, Sebastian and Danny are going up to Midnight Castle to fight Tirac with the Rainbow of Light, and if you understand that reference you win a million 80’s nostalgia points.)          

[dognamedsubaru]

Meet the oc in my fanfic!

Do not steal!! AND DO NOT REBLOG!!!!

Primrose is designed by @/bearmqsh on IG and Tumblr.

Name: Primrose Andrews

Age: 31

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

Height: 5’11”

Species: Mutant Crocodile

Back story: Primrose was a science experiment. She wasn’t born with the with marks you see decorated onto her body, a scientist made her that way. Her hair is blonde because she dyed it that color, it’s really white. Which makes it easier to keep the blonde color that she has. She hated being a lab rat to people who only wanted to learn and understand more things about reptiles. By the time her 20th birthday arrived, she broke free and ran for her life. Primrose hated being confined and also became claustrophobic due to having to be in a lab for so many years. Primrose took up thieving and stealing, making it her only way of living well and being able to afford food. This led her to being a part of multiple gangs (all ending in good terms thankfully) and just being solo for a majority of her heists.

Extra info: Primrose is very spunky in personality, she can be spontaneous and charismatic but she can also be reserved at times too. It just depends on the person that she is around, but don’t worry if she seems stand-offish, she’ll warm up to you eventually.

This girl also has night terrors, they’re usually about her being back in the lab and having needles being injected into her and checking her blood and all that other scary stuff.

Primrose is very protective of herself and tends to have a wall up so that no one can really get to know her, she’ll give the person just enough information to think they know her and that’s it, she also has commitment issues if in a relationship.

She introduces herself as Primrose, never stating her last name due to it being the crazy scientist’s last name who did the most experiments on her. Never wanting to relate to the one who gave her the most injuries.

And finally, Primrose often sees herself as a monster and refuses to go out in public, if so she will simply go by herself, not wanting to draw anymore attraction to herself than she would be if with a gang or anyone in her ‘friend group’ it terrifies her enough that she was a lab experiment and now roaming cities where people aren’t use to anthros.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

My First Story

So everyone is sharing their artistic progress through the year right now, and while I’m not much of an artist, I am a writer. And luckily enough, I’m also a sort of a packrat, so I just so happen to have the very first “book” I ever wrote from way back in 2010 or 2011 so you guys can see how far my writing has progressed in the last decade. This isn’t so much of a “Look at me and how good I am!” I hope it’ll be encouraging to all my little word nerds out there!

So, it’s called “Atomics: Chemical Disaster” which is just about as melodramatic as it sounds. It’s about a bunch of teenagers that get turned into mutants by evil scientists, and they run away from society and live in a water tower(??). It’s basically a mash-up of Teen Titans and Maximum Ride, which I was watching/reading at the time.

And this is a trip, I’m telling you. It is handwritten entirely in a single composition notebook from when I was in--I think--seventh grade. And since it’s quite long, I’ll just give you a few of the sweet, juicy highlights I’ve found:

“As I stepped down the stairs I fell on purpose. When I fell I knocked down three people behind me (including Andy) and two people in front of me. It was the perfect distraction! I then cryed my best fake crocodile tears to draw in every last bit of attention I could get, but don’t worry this is all part of the plan!” The main character A.J. is so obviously just me it’s painful, but also, I can’t spell “cryed” but I can spell “distraction” and “crocodile.”

“I ran towards the building and pulled off my black clothes revealing normal fifteen year-old clothes. I popped in two blue contacts and slipped on my wig. I ran inside the building. By the time I got inside though there was no door (don’t know what the heck that means). I made sure to cause plenty of terror as I set fire to everything in my path.” I’m sorry, I’m still in tears over “I pulled off my black clothes revealing normal fifteen year-old clothes.” I can’t. Also this girl has fire and ice powers because I was obsessed with that, apparently.

In the same page that I spell the word “nauseated” perfectly I misspell sandwich as “samwhich” three times.

Okay, this one is long, but you just have to get the full picture okay? “I turned swiftly around and I’m sure I looked like a demon sent straight from hell (Tiny Caroline! Language!) because those two huge buff guys ran screaming. Tacks ran in along with Andy in their disgises. Tacks lifted up a computer with his mind and smashed it against the wall. Andy picked up two filing cabinets at once and kept banging them together making papers fly everywhere. I set  fire to all the papers in the air. I added a chilly effect by making the room get really cold. Tyler ran in and whipped up all the burning papers. He stopped and stood next to me. Scarlet transformed into a wolf and jumped over our heads and at the two scientists. She transformed into a massive snake in mid air which had the effect that we had intended it to. “Hell has come for a visit,” I said.” I just-- Nothing I’ve ever written in my entire life can top this scene. The drama. The imagery. The dialogue. Just *chef’s kiss* I peaked at age twelve, guys.

Okay, okay, one more. “One of the things I remember reading about these Atomics was that they only had infra-red vision. That meant when I was mad I was a glowing yellow beaken in their eyes. Then an idea donned on me. Ice! My other power... I concentrated and felt myself cooling down. Eventually I turned into ice. I crumpled down into a ball trying to look as bush-like as possible.” I too crumple down and pretend to be a bush to avoid my problems.

But all joking aside, this is when I first really got into writing. This was my first real attempt at creating a longer story that was about something that I loved, something that I wanted to read. And at the time, I thought this was just as good as any book I’d ever read. I didn’t know how to spell, how to vary sentence structure, how to break up paragraphs and dialogue. I just knew that I loved it.

Ten years later, and I’m still learning! And I hope I continue learning because one day I’ll probably look back on what I’m writing now and poke fun at it. But never be ashamed of what you create because you don’t think you’re good enough, because everyone starts somewhere. Everyone has their first attempts. The idea is to create and keep going.

[skylanders-after-the-end]

Revenge

Déjà Vu opened her eyes. She was laying on a hard surface with a soft touch. The Skylander slowly lifted her head to find herself inside a small circular room surrounded by bookshelves. In the center she saw the backs of Spyro, Enigma and… herself? The timelord stood up and finally recognized the place. It was the house to which they travelled shortly to find the Book of Destiny. Seeing herself right in front of her made Déjà Vu realize that this must be another one of her time tricks. However, when she stepped closer to the trio of the past, she phased right through them, as if they weren’t even there. The Magic Skylander didn’t think much of it as the book attracted her attention instead. The pages were turning at such a fast pace that Déjà Vu couldn’t make out anything. Finally, it stopped. It was the same page and the same cluster of words scribbled onto it, just like the first time. Only this time something was different. She could read the words ‘An alliance destined to destroy’ once again, but soon another word was added to the sentence - ‘itself.’.

Déjà Vu opened her eyes. She quickly observed her surroundings. This time she was in bed inside a room of the Academy Hospital, which made far more sense. Nevertheless, the dream she just witnessed revealed something that none of them thought of. The complete sentence was ‘An alliance destined to destroy itself.’. The Skylanders figured out that the alliance was between Hex and Malefor, but they weren’t destined to destroy everything, they were destined to destroy each other.

Far away from the Academy, Spyro soared through the grey skies. His look going straight ahead as the wind rushed by. He occasionally had to flap his wings to keep himself airborne. Next to him appeared an airship which could barely keep up. Smolderdash was on top of it amongst other Skylanders. “Spyro, what are you doing!? We have to work together to-”

“I’m not following that plan!” The leader immediately denied.

Meanwhile Sprocket and Roller Brawl were inside the cockpit. The vampire struggled to steer the ship, but her time with the Superchargers didn’t leave her completely clueless. Sprocket was busy building the power-absorbing device from some of the parts from the destroyed Core of Light. It was a metallic spherical capsule, not much bigger than the engineer’s head, but it should be able to contain all of Hex’ immense powers.

The Skylanders originally wanted to use that to put an end to the witch’s undead reign, but Spyro had other plans. “They’ve gone too far they don’t deserve mercy! I will take care of them!”

Smolderdash was worried to hear such bitter and ruthless words from the dragon. He didn’t sound like himself. “Spyro please, you don’t want to do this!”

“I know exactly what I want to do!” The Magic Skylander constantly fought back the tears forming in his eyes. Cynder’s death broke something inside of him and the dragon was fueled by his overflowing emotions. He dived down and left his allies, going his own way. Down to the underworld.

Many years ago, when Eon just founded his heroic group of Skylanders, the leader first met the infamous witch Hex. She has been an undead for centuries and when Eon heard the stories of her battle with Malefor, he knew that he had to find her. Hex never stopped doing good and helping people, despite all the fear and distrust she received. Eon however was able to see through her gloomy appearance and frightening powers. He recognized her as the hero she was.

Eon recruited Hex and soon invited her to the Academy which was almost done with construction. The present Skylanders were quite wary, some even scared, but they trusted their master. The dark sorceress was just as cautious as everyone else, she learned to not trust anyone, even heroes. She was surrounded by suspicious looks, but she didn’t bother to appeal to any of them.

While Eon introduced the witch, Spyro was the only one to step forward and properly welcome her. “Hello! I’m Spyro, the first Skylander Eon recruited and kinda the leader here.” His cocky grin and wide eyes surprised Hex, but not enough for her to return a smile.

Eon then retreated to his office and left Hex alone in front of the crowd. While all eyes were set on her, she just asked one simple question. “Where do I reside?”

Spyro called Chop Chop over who would guide the fellow undead to her room. She didn’t speak to him nor anyone else on her way there.

The other Skylanders stayed at the center of the Academy and immediately began gossiping about their latest member. “Where did Master Eon find that one?” Stealth Elf was anything but thrilled with the new face. “I avoid judging a book by its cover, but I can’t help it if it’s locked with black leather belts.”

“Go easy on her Elf. I’ve heard the stories too, how she joined Malefor and cursed her village, but if Eon trusts her then we should too.” Spyro looked across the Academy and spotted Cynder talking to some fellow Skylanders. Lost in thoughts, he only kept his eyes on her. “Things are not always as simple as they seem.”

In present day, amid a raging blizzard was a singular air balloon struggling to stay on its course. Enigma did his best to stay inside the aircraft and prevent the countless snowflakes and sharp winds from tearing through the balloon. The Trap Master received a message from his Traptanium sigil, and it led him to this area. His fear of heights had already vanished, all he wanted was to make it through the storm alive.

When the sorcerer finally spotted an island covered in snow, he used it to land the balloon and get out. He spoke a quick spell that engulfed the air balloon with an aura which kept it in place so it wouldn’t get swept away. The Skylander’s cape was flowing in the wind and he had to remain balanced to not get blown away himself. He couldn’t give up now, he felt that this was important. Enigma kept following the glowing light of his sigil which became brighter with each step he took in the right direction. The Trap Master had to jump from island to island until he eventually reached a larger one. His staff glowed brighter than ever before. That’s when Enigma knew it, he found what he was looking for.

The Magic Skylander saw a familiar body dressed in white in the freezing snow, it was almost invisible. Upon closer inspection however, the sorcerer gasped in shock. It was Knight Light, but in the place of his wings was a large red stain which colored the snow underneath as well. Enigma fell onto his knees and carefully touched the fallen Skylander. He couldn’t bear the wind blowing against his hood anymore, so after many years of anonymity, he took it off. He revealed his blue skinned face and pearly white hair which followed the raging winds. His white eyes stared at the unconscious angel with worry. He didn’t know what happened, but he knew that he had to get him back to the Academy as quickly as possible.

The bars between Dr. Krankcase and Boom Bloom were lowered. The Doom Raider was back inside his cell despite all his efforts to help the Skylanders.

“Are you sure I have to go back here?” The mad scientist didn’t expect much, but he did hope that his actions would change something. “I mean, didn’t I redeem myself now?”

Boom Bloom sighed. Even though she had a better understanding of her creator and decided to bury the hatchet, she remained wary. “One good deed cannot erase all your bad ones. I’m sorry.”

As the plant mutant was about to walk away, she felt something grabbing her hand. She turned her head to see Krankcase with an awkward yet somewhat calming smile on his face. “Hey, I’m… sorry about your friend.”

The Life Sensei appreciated the gesture and gripped his hand in return. “Thanks.”

The Skylander left while Krankcase looked after her longingly. It was still a long way to redemption but having a genuine connection to his most beloved creation was enough to satisfy the scientist for now.

Meanwhile at the prison cafeteria, a few Skylanders struggled to keep a bunch of villains at bay. They all had to move there due to the lack of cells for the cursed Skylanders, so now they were all free and eager to escape.

Snap Shot was sitting on a bench with his arms crossed and smirked upon the sight of the excited villains while Bushwhack and Head Rush tried their best to restrain them. “You think they’ll manage?”

Wolfgang, who was sitting on top of the table next to the reptile, tilted his head slightly. “Hard to tell, maybe if they served tacos they could calm them down for a while.”

The two laughed and continued to joke around. Head Rush desperately scanned the room until she laid her eyes on the duo. She approached them, making their smiles fade more with each step. “Snap Shot, we need your help!”

Snap Shot gave her a baffled look and thought he wasn’t hearing correctly. “You need my help? For what?”

The Trap Master hated to admit it, and since Snap Shot was a prisoner this was a very unprofessional decision, but after thinking it through once more, this was really the only solution she could come up with on the spot. “You need to calm the villains down. You used to be our leader you have to do something now! Please!”

Wolfgang started to cackle immediately, but Snap Shot didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile. He looked at Head Rush and then stared at the countless villains swarming through the cafeteria like headless flies. Wolfgang’s laughter ceased when he saw that the crocodile was actually thinking about it. What else was there to lose?

Snap Shot finally stood up and stepped into the crowd. He hopped onto a table and unleashed a high-pitched whistle. All the villains halted and stared at the blue reptile, who admittedly didn’t know what to say now. “Hey everyone!” Snap Shot didn’t sound very convincing, but after throwing the equally clueless Wolfgang a look, he had a moment to think of something. “So, I know that today is very exciting for all of us.”

“Who let the Ex-lander talk!?” A voice yelled before the crowd giggled.

Snap Shot ignored the comment and moved on. “I know you have no reason to listen to me-”

“Then why are you trying?” Another insult that lead to a wave of laughter.

“Because I know what you want.” Snap Shot silenced the crowd with a sharp response. “You want to get out, and now seems like the perfect time since half of the Skylanders are locked up and you’re here.” Snap Shot took a breath before continuing. Surprisingly, no one interrupted him this time. “But take it from the guy who locked each one of you up at least once, this is not your way out. The Skylanders will always find you, it may not be fair, but it is what it is. You’re all here for a reason and the fastest and easiest way for you to get out is if you stay patient and prove that you’re worthy of your freedom. And wouldn’t it feel so much better knowing that you’ve earned it? Finally being able to live without the constant fear of being imprisoned?”

The crowd was silent and even the Skylanders and Wolfgang were impressed by Snap Shot’s speech.

Before he went on however, Snap Shot cleared his throat and decided to finish. “So, what do you say, will you choose the path of reformation?”

There was a moment of looming silence. The villains blankly stared at the reptile and his eager eyes. In a split second everyone went back to running amok and forgot every word Snap Shot just said.

Wolfgang and Snap Shot made their way to the cafeteria entrance and rushed outside, locking the doors behind them. They looked at each other briefly before bursting into laughter.

“Ya really thought that would do anything?” Wolfgang grabbed his stomach as he spoke through his laughter.

“Nah, but it was worth a shot.” Snap Shot calmed down for a second before starting to cackle again.

Wolfgang opened his eyes and looked at the amused reptile just for his own laughter to cease. It wasn’t often that he saw him like this. Ever since they met, Snap Shot was either mad, frustrated or sad. But now the werewolf saw something he had never seen before. Happiness.

As Snap Shot’s laughter toned down as well and he looked at the mesmerized wolf, they both just stared into each other’s eyes. One pair of striking yellow eyes with the typical slit pupils and a pair of dark brown eyes with deep black pupils. Wolfgang suddenly moved his head forward and pressed his lips against Snap Shot’s. It was a brief, surprising kiss and the werewolf pulled away almost immediately.

The two stared at each other once more and Wolfgang was anticipating a reaction, but nothing happened. He became insecure and thought that he had made a mistake. “I- I shouldn’t have done that. You must hate me-”

Before the musician could say another word, Snap Shot pulled his head closer and returned a longer, more passionate kiss. Their lips parted after a few moments and they looked into each other’s eyes again. There was no tension, no insecurities, just a warm feeling which the two of them could feel throughout their entire bodies.

While Spyro and the other Skylanders headed off to look for Hex, Tidepool used the opportunity to look for Wild Storm instead. The Water Skylander followed the footsteps that he left behind while sprinting off in his beast form. All she wanted was to help him, yet she felt terrible. The Sensei disregarded his feelings and let her emotions get the better of her. She thought the knight was the one drifting away, but it was actually her all along.

Tidepool soon found the rogue Wild Storm on a small abandoned island. She noticed that he was struggling. Struggling for control, or perhaps to transform back? She didn’t know why his beast form was taking over, but she wanted to be by his side. “Wild Storm!”

The beast swung his large head around and stared at the Quickshot with his glowing white eyes on top of his mask. He then turned back around before starting to shake and flinch. Tidepool saw that he was slowly shrinking, but moments later he grew right back to the beast’s size.

“I know you’re in there! You don’t have to run away from me, we can do this together!” Tidepool looked for the right words to calm him down, but the beast only responded with an agonizing roar. “Please Wild Storm, I’ve lost you once, I can’t lose you again! Come back to me, please!” Tidepool’s eyes teared up as she moved closer to her friend step by step.

Wild Storm kept on flinching and fighting with himself, but the Sensei didn’t back off. She carefully reached out to him and was about to touch his back, when suddenly Wild Storm erupted in a tremendous roar. Tidepool fell back on her rear and watched as he slowly transformed back, falling face front to the ground.

“Wild Storm!” Tidepool rushed towards her companion and fell onto her knees before grabbing his arms. She turned him around to see that his eyes were closed. He was unconscious. She looked down and spotted a dart stuck inside his leg. She pulled it out and inspected it. There was a symbol inscribed into it, a symbol that caused Tidepool to gasp and drop the dart. She quickly turned her head, anxiously looking into every direction.

There was fear in the Skylander’s eyes as she was shaking the knight. “Wild Storm wake up! We have to go, please wake up!” Tidepool kept looking around herself in distress. Something wasn’t right. She continued to shake Wild Storm until he finally opened his eyes. “Thank the ancients! We have to go, now!”

Tidepool placed the Air Skylander’s arm around her shoulders and lifted him up. Wild Storm was quite big and thus heavy to carry, but he soon regained his senses and used his own feet to get back up. While Tidepool still had to assist him, he could walk on his own. The Water Skylander didn’t stop observing their surroundings, all the way until they’ve reached the Academy. Only once they entered the collection of buildings and towers she exhaled with relief and helped Wild Storm get to the hospital.

Once Wild Storm was taken care of, Tidepool exited his room and wandered through the hospital halls. She held the dart which the knight got shot with in her hand and kept staring at it while turning it with her fingers. She peeked through a window to look back at the vast area outside where the Air Skylander was mysteriously assaulted. A haunting feeling overcame the Sensei. She was frozen in place and just thought about that moment, that dart. Tidepool quickly shook it off and continued walking, she couldn’t concern herself with that now.

In another room, Whirlwind and Buckshot were standing next to a silver iron table. There was a white cloth covering a figure on top of it. The dragoness couldn’t hold back a tear from running down her cheek while the faun looked down in devastation. They knew what it was, but neither one could bring themselves to say it.

The quiet somber moment was disturbed by the sound of doors being slammed open and hasty footsteps. The Skylanders turned around to see Enigma, surprisingly without his hood, carrying a blood-soaked Knight Light in his arms. “Someone, please help!”

“Enigma!?” Whirlwind was perplexed by the sight of the Trap Master’s striking white hair and pale blue face. No one has seen him like that before. The dragon then directed her attention to the unconscious angel instead. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. He probably fought his former Guardian companion and she took his wings.” Enigma was out of breath, he explained everything as quickly as possible so they could move on to saving Knight Light. The Magic Skylander placed his friend onto a hospital bed and blankly stared at his motionless body. “He’s lost so much blood, I don’t know if it’s too late.”

Buckshot pressed his fingers against the patient’s neck. “He has a pulse! We can still save him!” Whirlwind hurried to grab her medical instruments and potions and immediately called for backup.

Buckshot didn’t work at the hospital, he just followed Whirlwind to support her after the tragedy. Enigma observed as the hybrid and many helpers consisting of mabu, foxes and even Skylanders surrounding Knight Light. The sorcerer had to move a strand of hair out of his face and back into his loose backwards hairstyle. He then turned his head to see many more Skylanders laying in bed with injuries, and finally the table covered with the cloth. “What happened here? Did you stop Hex?”

“No, they are looking for her and Malefor as we speak. The corrupted Skylanders are all locked up. But…” Buckshot slightly turned his head to see the haunting cloth out of the corner of his eye. “We’ve had losses.”

Enigma set his white eyes on Knight Light again. Seeing him there all butchered and on the verge of life and death, it made the Trap Master feel terrible. He was the last Skylander to see him, he knew that Angelica had it out for him, yet he ran away. Not this time. He couldn’t run away this time. “I have to go.”

Enigma swiftly walked out of the hospital and left the Academy behind once again. He used the same air balloon as before to fly off. His fear of heights was always there, looming over him like a dark cloud, but his determination was stronger. Enigma wasn’t sure where he’s headed, but he knew what he was looking for and why. He would make it up to his friend.

Back when Hex first joined the Skylanders, it didn’t take her long to earn the role of the loner. She never talked to anyone unless it was necessary, she disappeared as soon as she returned from a mission and no one dared to get close to her due to her immense and terrifying powers. One day, Cynder decided to change that.

The dragoness knocked onto a dark wooden door inside the Academy. Back then, the Skylanders didn’t have their Elemental Realms to reside in yet. Nevertheless, Hex isolated herself by choosing a room which was located in the most abandoned corner of the Academy. Cynder did that too at first, but she moved closer to the center when she became more comfortable being around the Skylanders.

“Hex?” Cynder slowly moved her head through the door to see Hex with her back turned towards her. She was standing in front of a large black cauldron with a glowing green substance inside.

Cynder was about to leave, but the sound of the witch’s gloomy voice stopped her. “Come in.” Cynder did as she was told and closed the door behind her.

The room was simple. It had a dark stone floor and walls, just like the rest of the Academy. Hex put some furniture inside as well, all made of dark wood with gothic accents. As an undead, she didn’t really need any basic things that mortal beings did, such as a bed to sleep in or a table to eat at, but nevertheless those objects were there. Cynder stepped towards the sorceress and her cauldron in the middle of the room and peaked inside to see the color of the substance shift from toxic green to a warm orange.

“Why are you here?” Hex kept circling her hands above the cauldron to stir the liquid while speaking to Cynder without looking at her.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but I just want to… talk.” Cynder abruptly moved out of the way when a lid zoomed past her and landed on top of the cauldron.

“Talk about what?” Hex finally directed her sight to Cynder just to show her cold neutral expression. Not a hint of emotions in her eyes.

“About you.” Cynder gulped as Hex floated towards a chair next to the table. “You’ve been here for some time now and you’ve barely talked to anyone. I mean, you don’t have to, I get it really.” Cynder remembered how she also refused to communicate and bond with the Skylanders when she first arrived. “I just want you to know that we’re your friends and you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid.” Hex stopped in front of the dark table and turned her head. “But you are. Everyone is.”

Cynder didn’t expect to hear that. “I’m not afraid of you, nor are the others! They’re just-”

“Suspicious because of the stories.” Hex finished the sentence. “Fear and hate, those are the only two things I’ve been met with for the last centuries. I didn’t expect it to be any different here.”

“But why?” Cynder was confused. “Eon trusts you and you’re doing good things, I’ve seen you on your missions. Why is everyone afraid of you?”

“I wish I knew.” Hex sighed as she pulled out a chair and lowered herself onto it.

Cynder thought for a moment. She heard the other Skylanders talk. Talk about the stories of Hex and how she joined the undead just for the sake of power. Yet she’s here, as a Skylander. Cynder just couldn’t see her being evil. “What about those stories everyone keeps talking about?” The dragon hesitated to continue, but after taking a breath she finally asked what’s been on her mind all along. “What about Malefor?”

Hex looked at Cynder, she saw the eagerness in her eyes. She didn’t just want to know the truth, she wanted to know about Malefor. “Do you want to hear my story?”

Cynder nodded and got closer before lying down in front of the witch.

“Ever since my transformation, rumors about me joining Malefor to gain more power spread like wildfire. The people of my village accused me of cursing them, making their crops decay and children fall ill. I can’t say for sure if it truly was due to my powers or an average plague, all I can say is that I didn’t do it on purpose. I was unfamiliar with my undead powers at that time.” Hex thought back to the day where her once closest friends who she considered family dragged her out of her house and attempted to burn her alive. “After I was cast out, I spent many years alone, mastering my newfound witchcraft. I could not reverse the transformation, so instead of fearing it, I controlled it. That only made everyone more afraid. They forgot who I used to be and only saw a frightening witch casting dark magic, they didn’t feel safe. Nevertheless, I remained loyal to my oath to protect the innocent people of Skylands, whether they like it or not.”

Cynder saw Hex in a completely different light. She was misunderstood and did everything she could to prove that she wasn’t evil. It reminded the dragoness so much of herself. “And what about Malefor?”

“Malefor was the reason for all this.” Hex looked down at her ashy blue hands and dark robes. “But not in the way everyone thinks. He found out about my great amount of power when I was still a mortal and tried to hunt me down. Many people were hurt and lost their lives because of that, until one day I’ve decided to put an end to it.” The sorceress remembered that day like it was yesterday. The day where everything changed. “I descended into the underworld and gathered all my strength to face him. We fought for hours, I lost the hope of making it out alive, but somehow I did.” Hex looked Cynder right into her anticipating eyes. “I defeated Malefor.”

“It was you.” Cynder exclaimed with awe in a whispering tone. She was the one who defeated her tormentor, she was the one who freed her from his influence. Hex helped Cynder become who she was today. “Then what happened?”

“Due to the raw undead magic of the underworld and Malefor I was changed. I became an undead myself and my powers got corrupted. When I returned, I told everyone that I’ve defeated Malefor just like I said I would, but they didn’t believe me. They thought I joined him because of my appearance and increased powers. That’s when it all came crashing down.” Hex arose from her chair just for Cynder to follow her. “And that’s the true story.”

“I can’t believe it.” Cynder was in shock. “All this time you’ve been accused of joining Malefor when you’ve actually freed me- everyone from him!” The Undead Skylander looked emptily through the room and got an idea. “We have to spread that story!”

“It’s no use.” Hex stopped the dragoness from running outside and fulfilling her idea. “I told many people this story, you are the first one to believe me. And besides, this has nothing to do with Malefor anymore. They believe I’m evil on my own accord.” Hex looked down to the ground. “I’ve learned to live with it. It doesn’t matter what they believe, all that matters is the truth.”

Cynder was disappointed, but also understanding. She knew best how hard it can be to convince others that you’ve changed, no matter how hard you try. She nodded and smiled and gave Hex one last look before leaving her room. “Thank you, Hex. For everything.”

This was the first time anyone’s thanked her in centuries. Hex couldn’t help but feel somewhat warm inside. A feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time and which she’s dearly missed. Perhaps she wasn’t completely alone after all. Perhaps there was still hope left.

After many hours of flight Spyro finally reached the underworld. The airship with the remaining Skylanders and the power sphere followed, but they couldn’t catch up to him. The dragon flapped his wings rapidly, almost manically. So many thoughts rushed through his head. He was sad, angry, disappointed, frustrated, but there was no time to waste on that. He couldn’t grief his friend, not yet. He had to find Hex and put an end to her and Malefor’s wicked scheme.

The Magic Skylander passed many places throughout the haunting realm. Some familiar, some not. All until he finally reached the one he was looking for – the Creepy Citadel.

Hex was still in the throne room of the citadel. Neither Malefor nor any Skylanders have arrived. She was all alone, thinking. Was this truly what she wanted? Would she be the Skyland’s greatest villain? Hex thought she was certain about her decisions, but she was beginning to doubt herself. During that quiet moment, there was a crashing sound above her, and the witch immediately looked upwards. Spyro flew through a newly created hole in the ceiling as he charged towards Hex with flames in his mouth.

The witch easily blocked the attack with her magic. Spyro soon landed on the cold ground and continued to furiously shoot fireballs. Hex already created a bone wall in front of her and cast a spell to deflect the projectiles. The purple dragon spread his wings and was about to rush towards the villain until a giant claw abruptly pinned him down from above.

Malefor arrived just in time to stop the Skylander from going after the sorceress any further. “My, my, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry.” He grinned as the small dragon squirmed and clenched his teeth trying to break free.

“Of course he is, his friends have been turned into mindless monsters.” Hex stayed calm as usual in the presence of others. She couldn’t reveal the thoughts and feelings going through her head. “And he’s here to take us down, isn’t he?”

Spyro grunted before finally giving up trying to break free from Malefor’s grasp and stayed put, still as furious as ever. “What do you want!? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“Nothing will ever compensate for all the suffering I had to endure!” Hex made her point clear. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me, and if you dare to try, I will repeat the curse once more until there’s none of you left.”

During the confrontation, Smolderdash, Sprocket and Roller Brawl quietly landed their ship at the very back of the citadel and carefully made their way to the heart of the building where the throne room was. Sprocket carried the power sphere which could absorb Hex’ powers. This was their only chance.

“What will you do now, huh!?” Spyro’s eyes were filled with rage, they lit up like flames. “Are you the new Undead Queen? Will you turn the Skylands into a barren wasteland? Tell me!”

Hearing the Skylander refer to the witch as the Undead Queen didn’t sit right with Malefor, but he held himself back. Hex clenched her fist as she floated towards the dragons. “I will make sure that you suffer like I did for all those centuries. I always had to take things as they came, I had no choice. Now neither do you.”

“Was it your choice for Cynder to die!?” Spyro couldn’t hold his tears anymore and shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice breaking in the process followed by a stuttering breath.

Hex’ eyes widened. Spyro’s devastated look was enough for her to know that he was telling the truth. “What?” For the first time she was caught completely off guard. This was not part of the plan. “She can’t be dead, that’s-” The witch suddenly stopped. There was only one reason why that could’ve happened, and Hex moved her head up to look into its spiteful eyes. “You…”

Malefor returned a blank stare followed by a sick smile. “Guilty.”

Hex began to move backwards. She thought she had everything under control, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. “I told you to not kill any of them! You were supposed to scare them, nothing more! And out of all you chose Cynder-”

“Did you actually believe I would listen to you?” As the dragon was talking to the distraught witch, the trio of Skylanders that carried the power sphere have reached the throne room and hid behind the crumbling dark walls. “You may be more powerful than me, but even you cannot stop me this time!”

Sprocket held the sphere tightly in her hands and carefully peeked through a hole in the wall, followed by Smolderdash and Roller Brawl. They were told to use the weapon when Hex is distracted, so they were ready to strike at any moment.

“You never had any control over me, Hex!” The dark sorceress’ sight went from Malefor’s triumphant visage to the ground. She didn’t know what to do. “In fact, I have been controlling you the entire time! You were too blinded by vengeance and hatred to realize. This is what I was striving for all along, for you to break and turn against everyone until eventually your rage wears off and I finish what you started. You were only the means to an end, you always have been.”

Tears were streaming down Spyro’s face as he was still trapped under the giant dragon’s steel claw in a fury of anger and sadness. He then noticed that his companions were present and visible behind the wall. Malefor’s eyes spotted them too and the three quickly ducked down, but he already saw them. Instead of attacking however, he continued to speak down on Hex. “And I’m sure you all wonder how Hex got through the shield at the Academy. The Skylanders did remove her page from the book, but that didn’t matter. It’s because deep down she still believes she’s a Skylander. She wants to believe. No matter how wicked or cruel she may be, at the end of the day all she wants is to be a hero.” The Undead King kept his eyes on Hex, and it seemed like he was able to see right into her soul.

The witch moved her head back up with a death stare. She glared at Malefor as he was teasingly smiling to her face. In his silver armor plates, Hex saw the reflection of Sprocket who slowly approached her from behind. The sorceress turned around and reached for the Tech Skylander to grab the sphere she was holding with her magic. Sprocket fell with shock as Hex’ dark magic engulfed the device in mid-air. Roller Brawl and Smolderdash revealed themselves too and huddled around the engineer, watching their last chance at victory hover in front of their eyes.

“Destroy it Hex! This is their last shot!” Malefor lost his attitude upon seeing the sphere. He knew exactly what it would do to Hex, and even worse to him, if the Skylanders get to use it.

“Go ahead, Hex. You’ve won.” Spyro spoke words no one ever hoped to hear. “You did it, you’ve defeated the Skylanders. There’s nothing standing in the way of your revenge now.” He has never sounded this defeated, he just embraced his fate.

Hex only focused on the sphere. The Skylanders’ terrified expressions and Spyro’s hopeless look surrounded her while Malefor’s sinister eyes were looming over her. She had to decide. The witch then proceeded to raise her other arm and suddenly unleash a powerful beam of magic at the device.

Malefor’s first eager smile curved into a frown when he realized what was happening. “No!”

Spyro, Sprocket, Smolderdash and Roller Brawl observed the bright beam which enlightened everything around Hex alongside a mighty gust of wind.

Hex remained steady and kept emitting more and more undead magic towards the power sphere. She wasn’t destroying it, she was using it.

Malefor raised his claw and freed Spyro from his grip. The smaller dragon stayed in place and just watched in awe while the wind blew the tears out of his eyes. “Stop it, you foolish witch! You will destroy us both!” The dragon attempted to get closer, but the force of Hex’ powers was so strong that he couldn’t move an inch.

While she kept on feeding the device with her magic, the witch slowly turned her head and looked Malefor dead in the eye one last time before turning back towards the sphere.

Malefor eyes widened in horror before he looked behind himself. His long sharp tail suddenly started to deteriorate and turn into dust which was immediately blown away by the wind. “No!” The dragon screamed in agony as more and more of his body decomposed and he soon fell to the ground after losing his legs to hold himself up. The Undead King roared horrendously as his entire body, up to the final tip of his horn, turned to dust and the dragon ceased out of existence.

The undead magic exiting Hex with ghastly and frightening sounds began to change her as well. Her dress shifted from the raven black colors to a pale blue and the horns of her headdress turned into black strands of hair. She blinked and instead of the white glowing eyes she had blue irises surrounded by a minty green skin. Finally, all the magic has left Hex’ body and was stored inside the sphere. The metallic orb fell down with a clang as it was radiating undead energy. Hex slowly sank to the ground as well before falling onto her knees. She was back in her mortal state. No powers. No curse. “It’s over.”

While the Skylanders stared at the witch and were paralyzed, a sparkling purple flame engulfed the villain before making her disappear into thin air. Spyro was in his awakened form and used his teleportation ability to send her right to Cloudcracker Prison, just like the Doom Raiders the first time. His transformation didn’t last long and with a bright light he changed back, huffing and breathing heavily. “It is.”

The Skylanders cautiously approached the sphere which was already shifting into a darker shade due to the immense undead powers it absorbed. Sprocket used her energy glove to create a containment capsule around it. “This should keep it safe.” The engineer grabbed it before looking at her allies with relief.

Spyro inhaled. Malefor was gone, Hex was defeated, and her powers were concealed. It was over. One more time the leader thought about the phrase he read in the Book of Destiny. Now he realized that it was never complete, there was always a part missing. “An alliance destined to destroy itself.”

At Cloudcracker Prison, all the imprisoned Skylanders who have been affected by Hex’ magic started to transform back. One after the other lost the lifeless black eyes and came back to their senses, confused as to why they were behind bars. The Skylanders on guard happily released them and the entire facility was filled with relieved hugs and worried chatter.

The villains that were currently in the cafeteria willingly returned to their cells after seeing the dozens of Skylanders surrounding them. Snap Shot and Wolfgang, who have found a private place to spend time together, kissed each other goodbye and returned to their cells as well.

All the other people throughout Skylands that Hex cursed were freed as well. Many awoke with glee and joy to see their families and friends again, others were faced with the gruesome sight of a loved one killed at their hands. No matter how good or bad it ended, everyone was glad that it was finally over.

When Spyro, Sprocket, Smolderdash and Roller Brawl returned, they were greeted with mixed reactions. Some cheered because of their victory over Hex, yet the ones who weren’t cursed remained quiet. The word spread fast and Stealth Elf heard what happened before they arrived. When Spyro stepped off the airship, the elf pulled her mask down and embraced her friend. She whispered words only the two of them could hear which made the leader break down in tears again.

The rest of the day was spent mourning the loss of a beloved Skylander. Someone who was struggling to become the best version of herself her entire life and when she finally did and gained the courage to stand up to her fears, she was taken from them. She believed that there was more than meets the eye, because she knew from experience that there always was. The Skylanders grieved their fallen ally and friend Cynder.

A shrine to honor the dragoness was put up in the center of the Academy. Every Skylander and anyone who could come to the Academy at the time was there. Silence loomed over the heroes like a curse. No one said a word, everyone barely moved. They all took their time to remember Cynder and what change she truly made in the Skylands. After a while, one Skylander after the other left, paying their last respects before returning home to rest. Eventually everyone was gone except for Spyro. He sat right in front of the shrine for the entire day. Hours passed, the dragon didn’t move. He kept gazing at the portrait of his deceased friend and the dark flowers surrounding it.

Cynder has always been more than a friend to him, they had a connection. As much as he despised him, Spyro remembered Malefor’s words about how the three of them were connected. Now he knew that it was true. Spyro was the only dragon left and he felt that something was missing. This driving force that always empowered and motivated him to become better, to treat others better and to give second chances. None of that would have been there without Cynder. She was taken too soon, Spyro was certain of that, but nevertheless the time she had she used to its fullest. When she was once this insecure and sometimes cruel companion who he had countless arguments with and each one seemed to drive her further away, she finally managed to become something extraordinary. She grew beyond herself, jumped over her own shadow and confronted her demons. Cynder was more than a Skylander, she was an inspiration.

On the next day, the first thing Spyro did was to visit Eon’s office. He shared his report about the recent mission and they discussed the fate of Hex and the Skylands after the effects of her curse. A knock on the door interrupted the conversation before Sprocket slowly entered.

“I’m really sorry to disturb, but there’s something I have to show you.” The technician wore a black sweater accompanied by equally dark pants. She never dressed herself in many dark things, even back when her mother forced her to wear certain clothes, but in memoriam of Cynder she was willing to wear the funeral attire for a while. “I know we all have a lot on our minds right now… and we need some time to process everything.” The Tech Skylander felt terribly uncomfortable bringing this up during this time of grief, but she felt like she had to inform the leaders of the Skylanders as soon as possible. “When I confronted the Golden Queen and destroyed the palace she hid in, I found something very peculiar.”

Eon and Spyro stared at the engineer patiently as she pulled out the containment capsule holding the glowing brown orb which she found in the debris of Golden Queen’s palace. “This orb was the only thing that survived the collapse. It was right in the middle of the ruins and some rocks orbited it. I’m not sure if it’s what I think it is, but-”

“The Earth Orb! You found it!” Eon exclaimed with awe and relief before grabbing the relict. “We have been looking for it for years but never managed to find it. We thought we lost it forever!”

Eon already showed Spyro the Light Orb which was in his possession and he told him about all the Elemental Orbs which were scattered across the Skylands. It wasn’t their main priority, but the spirit advised that they should keep an eye out for them. “What does that mean? Is it like a new Eternal Earth Source?” The dragon was riddled.

“Not exactly. The orbs are not as powerful as the sources, but if all of them were to be found and brought together, it could create a new Core of Light!” Eon finally recognized a spark of hope during these dark times.

Sprocket was hearing about this for the first time and she was getting quite overwhelmed by the number of new things she’s learned in the last few days. “That’s great! Then why aren’t we looking for the other ones?”

“It’s not that simple. Those orbs have been lost centuries ago. We now have the Light and Earth Orbs, but the remaining ones could be at the farthest corners of the Skylands. It could take years to retrieve them all.” Eon was always a motivator and tried encouraging the Skylanders to go beyond their limits, but after all those years he found this quest to be hopeless.

“Well, if we were able to find the Eternal Sources, then we can also find the orbs!” Spyro looked at Sprocket who nodded in agreement. “I promise you master, we will find the remaining orbs and create a new core, one which will keep all enemies at bay!”

Eon chuckled. Even during this time Spyro managed to keep his hopes up and follow his heart. “I’m sure you will, but you deserve to take a break first.” The dragon’s smile faded as he was reminded of the current situation. “I know how hard this is for you, please don’t overstrain yourself.”

Sprocket put her hand onto the Magic Skylander’s shoulder as a sign of comfort and partnership. Spyro took a deep breath and let it out again. The sorcerer was right, as usual. “Thank you, Eon.”

The spirit nodded as the two Skylanders left his office and went on with their day. He then looked down to the Earth Orb in his hand and formed a fist to make it vanish. He put it somewhere safe, somewhere not a soul could find it.

As Spyro was about to return to his room, Stealth Elf suddenly appeared in front of him in distress. “Spyro, I hate to tell you this right now but something bad happened!”

Spyro didn’t believe it could get any worse than it already was, but he was proven wrong once more. They rushed to a secured room inside the Academy where many Skylanders gathered around and looked down in horror. After Spyro managed to get through the crowd, he understood what it was all about. “Oh no.”

There was a single broken jar on the ground. It didn’t seem that terrible at first sight, but considering the room they were in and what was inside that jar, no one could hide their concern. “Kaos is free.” Everyone just stood there in shock and without a clue what to do now. Just when they solved one problem, another one was already arising.

The free villain and his henchman Glumshanks were able to escape during the chaos of Hex’ attack. One of the corrupted Skylanders knocked the jar they were in down and while they were still shrunk, the two sneaked out and left the Academy. Over time they grew back to their regular sizes and made it to Kaos’ fortress.

“Ah, home sweet home!” Kaos exclaimed, followed by an echo that sounded through the large entrance hall inside of his residence. “Now that we’re finally free again, we can begin plotting our ultimate plan to take over the Skylands!”

“You mean like the last twenty ultimate plans to take over the Skylands?” Glumshanks has lost hope years ago, and there was no reason to gain any now.

“It will be better this time!” Kaos was determined. “The Doom Raiders are out of the way and that witch has weakened them! This time we will do exactly what she did and take the Skylanders out one after the other!”

Glumshanks watched as the small tyrant went on about his plan when he noticed a mysterious purple glow at the back of the hall. He stared at it with surprise and saw a cloud of smoke appear as well. “Um, master…”

“Don’t interrupt me, Glumshanks! You should have already written everything I just told you down!” Kaos kept facing the troll and was completely unaware the ominous occurrence.

Glumshanks pointed his trembling finger at the light which now spawned a slim figure inside the smoke. “You should really see this.”

With an irritated expression, Kaos turned around only to gasp in shock upon the sight at the end of the hall. As soon as the smoke faded, they saw a large shattered mirror on the ground as a dark heel stepped onto one of the shards. Kaos’ and Glumshank’s heads slowly went up to see Kaos’ mother Kaossandra standing on top of the mirror she’s been trapped in for years, surrounded by purple lights and smoke.

The woman smiled sinisterly as she looked down on her son and his henchman. “Hello darling, did you miss me?”

[bigskydreaming]

Dropping off another commission which means okay NOW I only have one to finish. This one is a throwback to that time I was talking Marvel/DC crossover ships, and I said okay but what about Dick/Wanda because yeah, like two of the only Rom heroes in anywhere being a thing would be pretty cool, but also like.

Batfam + Magnetfam holiday dinner gatherings.

Someone agreed, and asked for more along those lines and asked that I not worry about the crack potential but feel free to embrace it instead, citing that Batboys adopted by Zatanna AU I wrote as a tone they’d enjoyed. Their only other requests were they wanted to see if I could include Luna and Crystal in any ways, and that I give Stephanie some time in the spotlight. I warned them that my usual take on Stephanie is ADHD as hell, but that apparently was not a problem, so uh...hang on when it gets to Steph or be prepared for her to leave you in the dust. She doesn’t slow down for stragglers.

There were a ton of characters to juggle in this so not everyone gets the same degree of focus, but I did my best to work everyone relevant to the scenario in as best I could. Also, I don’t actually know where a couple of these particular takes came from - I’ve never ever written Lorna anything remotely like this in my life, but I kinda just let the crack do what it wanted to do. *Shrugs* I have no defense, only oops.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you 15K, yes you heard that right, 15K of crossover crack that puts the Batfamily and the Magnetfamily at the same dinner table, lights the match and then runs for cover.

************************

We enter unobtrusively through the dining room’s lone doorway. Our awkward approach is that of the mockumentary style; our hushed atmosphere is that of taking ourselves very seriously, because if we don’t, who will? 

Said dining room’s doorway is perfectly situated so as to allow only one point of entrance and exit. Also: maximum drama while doing so. The architecture of Wayne Manor was designed with a clear set of priorities in mind. We invite you to picture the airs of Downtown Abbey, but  as if skewing less towards the egalitarian passive aggressive stylings associated with British High Drama, and more towards the rather more direct passive aggressive stylings of American High Drama. 

As an example...where a British soap opera might depict someone dramatically gasping “Why, I never!” and clutching symbolically at their heart in order to convey they’re mere insults away from having a myocardial infarction, an American soap opera might instead depict someone dramatically yelling “Bleep you!” and then vaulting across the table to punch someone in the face in order to convey they’re really quite angry and the only way to fully express that is by starting a feud that will last 72 episodes and only end when one of them is murdered and replaced by their evil twin.

That sort of thing. 

We return to unobtrusively entering through the doorway whose very singular purpose in the narrative is as a conveyance that this is the House That Drama Built. 

It should be added as an afterthought that only just occurred to us but is no less important because of its poor punctuality: the House That Drama Built also exists as a kind of metaphysical Drama vampire that cultivates an atmosphere of Drama whilst simultaneously feasting on the Drama it creates just to harvest as its crop of choice.

Quite nasty and shiver-inducing, to be sure, but let it serve as a good rule of thumb: Don’t trust centuries old rich people houses. There’s always something messed up about those places. Seriously. You know its true.

Proceeding onward, and despite having explicitly mapped out why its impossible to do so, we nevertheless manage to sidle into prime vantage points without being noticed. Look, we can do stuff like that because we’re magic, okay? Also fictional, and really just a tonal framing device introduced as a thin coat of varnish overlaying everything with the glistening sheen of crack fiction. Now shush and pretend we’re not here, which should be easy because we’re not.

The two family patriarchs, Erik Lehnsherr and Bruce Wayne, each sit at opposing heads of the excessively long dining room table that is almost certainly an indication one of Bruce’s direct ancestors felt a clear and urgent need to overcompensate for something.

Locked in an epic battle of wills that looks remarkably similar to the staring contest perfected by kindergartners everywhere, though that’s undoubtedly just a coincidence,the two titans of temperament face off in a face-off for the ages. 

Both steel-faced and with backs so straight the sight would make any right angle weak in the knees, these bastions of brooding are equally infamous for their rigidity and refusal to bend, even when they probably should - because sometimes its a battle over the fate of the world and a fight for the very heart and soul of humanity, yes, absolutely true, but other times their children just asked if they could have pizza tonight instead of meatloaf and it really didn’t need to escalate that quickly, but oh well.

Heedless of the judgment of fictional narrators as well as every person to ever suggest to them that their sphincters might actually benefit from the occasional attempt to unclench, the Master of Magnetism is an irresistible force while channeling the unleashed totality of his willpower through his steady gaze, as fixed and unwavering as the North Star itself. At the same time, his counterpart is an equally immovable object while planted firm and steady in his convictions, the imposing edifice of his impassive expression not likely to be eroded by the mere disdain of another mortal. Not when the Man of Bats has stubbornly stared down gods. 

Admittedly, the last one used the opportunity to blast him through time and space instead, but that’s the kind of risk one takes when matching an ageless deity ego for ego. It should not be viewed as an indication as to whom among these two mighty mortals might appear the victor when engaged in similar combat. Especially as neither is in possession of magic eye beams which technically should count as cheating, if you really think about it.

They match each other fractional eye squint for fractional eye squint. Both lost in the intensity of each other’s gaze in a way that regardless of tropes is less enemies to lovers and more enemies to psych, we’re still enemies and if our kids do tie the knot, I’m totally going to insist on hosting the wedding at my big-ass mansion and you can call that a power move if you want because it totally is, what about it?

In response to the challenge that’s conveyed with crystal clarity thanks to the power of crack, Erik’s own gaze narrows fractionally further as he reaches down with his mutant abilities until they chance upon a vein of iron miles deep. He then proceeds to push and pull on it in such a way as to make the earth shift beneath their feet.

He is not subtle about being the cause. That sort of thing isn’t really in his wheelhouse.

However, in the name of defending Erik from his children’s exasperated glares, it should be pointed out here that Bruce did in fact ask, what about it, and Erik did in his own fashion simply indicate what about it indeed.

Well. Sorta.

The initial clash of wills meeting wills subsides and assures both men that their opponent will be no easy pushover. With that, the concrete aspiring contenders retreat once more to their far sides. They proceed to keep eyes locked and faces solemn and still, neither taking their gaze off the other even while eating or responding to some conversation piece directed at them by another denizen of the dining room.

“This is quite the meal, Mr. Pennyworth. You are to be commended,” Erik says sincerely. His face is still as smooth as Lake Placid, with nary a Syfy Original killer crocodile lurking dangerously beneath the surface.

“Yes, truly some of your best work, Alfred, thank you,” Bruce adds completely deadpan, not to be outdone.

Eternally placing his professionalism above all else, Alfred waits until he’s out of the room and halfway to the kitchen before venting an exasperated exhalation of his own.

Of course, Wayne Manor does have excellent acoustics.

Elsewhere along the table’s lengths, Pietro and Damian also keep their stares deadlocked from across each other, never deviating throughout the entirety of their meal. Their detente, however, is more accurately termed an ‘arrogance-off,’ with each refusing to give way before a lesser opponent. If Pietro is remotely bothered that he’s deeply invested in establishing his superiority over a twelve year old, it doesn’t show.

Look, if he starts making allowances for age, where would it end? With him letting toddlers walk all over him simply because they managed not to blink first? Don’t be absurd.

On the other side of Pietro, Jason is gleefully lobbing conversational grenades down the length of the table. Seizing advantage of even the slightest lull, he packs every sparse moment of silence full of yet another philosophical hot take he’s strategically brainstormed to cause maximum conscience carnage. 

Each carelessly uttered but carefully aimed moral dilemma-turned-mortar fire is tactically engineered towards setting each and every highly opinionated diner to warring over the higher ground. There are always holdouts of course, those who instead hunker deeper down in their trenches in an attempt to wait out the bombardment without engaging. Persistence has never been something Jay lacks, however, so even the few duds that fail to properly detonate only end up followed by a rapid-fire encore the first chance he has to reload.

Meanwhile, Lorna downs a glass of wine like its a shot of tequila and she’s a veteran of the collegiate drinking experience. Then again, she actually is, even if most tend to forget that. It doesn’t quite lend the same weight to her resume as actual freaking superhero, you’re welcome for the planet’s continued state of existence does, so she doesn’t tend to lead with it. 

But that doesn’t mean that even this dubiously termed ‘skill’ lacks a time to shine. One does what one has to in order to make it through family gatherings when the family in question is hers, the mistress of magnetism maintains. Be sure to note both lower case m’s in the script of her full title, because sharing a powerset with her father doesn’t mean she actually has to indulge in silly shows of power with the sole purpose of establishing one’s right to self-brand with fully capitalized letters. 

She finds such things exhaustively tedious, as dull as they are droll, and as much as she loves her father, she could really stand to see him embarrass himself less in public, with his ridiculous insistence on those farces.

In his defense, the enemies that flee in terror upon such displays, wetting themselves all the while...well, clearly they’re suitably impressed. But that doesn’t mean Lorna can’t still be embarrassed for him. Honestly, would it really kill him to act his actual age of....

Oh hell. She’s not nearly drunk enough yet to try and make sense of her father’s age. 

Full disclosure, and also full awareness that her brother will never fail to bring up her own recorded instances of ridiculous grandstanding whenever its remotely relevant, and most other opportunities as well - yes, those happened, yes, she agrees they were ridiculous and necessary, but she also requests it be on the record that in all such instances she was either very young, very possessed, or very both.

Probably.

Look, the possessed thing happens often enough its not like even she can keep track of it. If she wants to squeeze a few perks out of that particular trend towards things that are obnoxious and unnecessary for five hundred, Alex, she’s damn well entitled.

And why, in the name of all the gods she hasn’t been teammates with and seen drunkenly stumbling around in their underwear at some point, is she picturing her ex Alex’s face when whimsically thinking of the Jeopardy host? Better question, why is she still not drunk enough to not give a shit if she does?

Ugh, if this leads to her having to admit Betsy was right and she’s begun indulging in her family’s tendency towards being excessive about anything and everything that keeps their minds off boringly pedestrian events like a break-up, well. That would really suck. 

Mostly because Betsy is unbearable when she’s right about anything.

Driven to extreme measures by the fact that her thoughts are being rude and contentious and mean to her, Lorna trades introspection for the potential hazards of engaging directly with her dinner companions. Risky as that may be. They could be more unbearable than Betsy, for all she knows. And bad things tend to happen when she gives strangers the benefit of the doubt. She usually ends up disappointed, or bored.

Also, possessed.

Girding herself with jaded detachment, Lorna resigns herself to the mortifying ordeal of having to know other people - people who when taking into account her sister’s track record with such matters, could easily turn out to be serial killers or even worse, annoying robots. 

Shuddering at the memory of the Pencil Sharpener That Walks Like A Man, she surveys the chaos she’d mistaken for white noise when still busy being her own entertainment. Its slightly livelier than she’d assumed it would be.

Lorna’s never lacked her father’s eye for tactical analysis and strategic scheming, to be clear. Its more that she’s absent his desire to see her molded into any kind of mini-me that could potentially carry on where he leaves off when he dies, as if no interruption has taken place.

But never mind her issues with her father, that she steadfastly refuses to refer to as Daddy issues. Coolly assessing the commotion around her, she decides the only role worth adopting here is that of the official fanner of flames. The only side worth taking is of course the only side ever worth taking: hers, obviously.

She wades in without any warning beyond a green-lipped smile that toes the line between bearing just enough menace to act as a threat, but never so much as to warn people to take sufficient precautions when facing her.

It’s been said that the difference between her and her father is that Magneto causes natural disasters.

Lorna is one.

Wasting no time before establishing herself as an enemy to all and a friend to none, as if she needs any, she sets up shop as a random sequencer with no allegiance or agenda other than making everyone regret insisting on her attendance. 

She deftly diverts Jason’s verbal volleys off their intended course with dry, sardonic wit and she wields sly insinuations like a racket with which she redirects grenades of great ethical weight at whomever strikes her fancy. She is whimsy: watch her do whatever the hell she wants. Object, and catch hellfire.

Rather than take offense at her interference, Jason tips his head to her in appreciation of her craft. Like calls to like, after all. Lorna decides in a burst of decisiveness that she likes this one, at least. 

She tilts her glass to him with a smirk and refills, topping off Kate Kane’s glass as well when the older woman holds hers out with a look that leapfrogs right over seduction and practically all the way to the morning after. She decides then and there that she likes this one as well. Two for two, look at that. And people say she’s anti-social. Distinctly recalling she’d taken a second look at Kate’s legs before sitting down, and adding in those eyelashes....

Well. Lorna’s never seriously considered taking another woman up on one of these looks before, but it wouldn’t wholly be accurate to claim she’s never thought of sending one to say...Ororo or Betsy a time or two herself. 

Or even a little accurate, actually, but that is neither here nor there.

Lorna thinks, though, that if she were to take up this particular woman up on this particular offer on this particular night - there might at some point be explosions. 

This is not a dealbreaker.

Look, she didn’t get her degree in geology because she held any particular interest in literally dull as dirt sandstone. Pyroclastic igneous rock formations, on the other hand...now that’s a different matter entirely. Fire pretty. Batwoman pretty. 

Okay, she might be a little tipsy at this point. She looks at her wine glass accusingly; she shouldn’t have to find these things out on her own. It neither confirms nor denies. 

Bitch.

Still further down the table, Dick's usual charming composure has been knocked out and left tied up in a coat closet somewhere. With the anthropomorphic embodiment of the emotion Frazzled then stepping in to take his place, and not at all very obviously acting out of sorts, if the amused but completely unhelpful smirks of his siblings are anything to go by. 

The Dick-shaped entity seated in his place makes occasional token attempts to direct the flow of conversation like the maestro he’s usually known to be in such settings. In this particular setting and time, however, he mostly just manages to exist as a sentient display of the condition or state of being I Have Regrets. 

His attention flits from one person to the next as he periodically tries to distract everybody from plotting the murders of everyone else at the table. Or covering up the murder of someone else, as committed by one of their family members. Or from plotting to frame someone else at the table for murder. Or from broadcasting that they’d absolutely get to the bottom of any frame job and prove their relative’s innocence and see the real culprit behind bars. 

Also, he may or may not have to every so often stop and distract himself from plotting murders of his own.

Dick lands briefly on Jason every now and again with an “I know what you’re doing and would greatly appreciate it if you’d stop” glare. 

Its met each time by his little brother’s “I have no idea what you’re talking about, this is just how I partake in family gatherings, isn’t that what you want or should I just go home” mask of blatantly transparent faux-innocence. 

Jay’s expressions are practically close captioned, that’s how far he is from even attempting to bother with the whole thing.

Dick returns fire with a narrowing of the eyebrows that screams: “I’ll get you for this, and your little dog too.” 

Jason’s lip only upticks at one corner, his otherwise studied indifference sending back his crystal clear response: “Bitch, I died. What’re you gonna to do, threaten to go a week without trying to ambush me with hugs?” 

Dick’s jaw shifts like a tectonic plate movement, teeth grinding as he holds the glare. “You’re the worst.” 

Jason beams and tilts his head, eyes drifting upwards in silent contemplation, as if to say, “Well, we all aspire to great heights in our own unique ways.” 

“Allow me to congratulate you on your successful achievements then.” Dick’s now puckered expression fires barbs from a blowgun.

“If you really cared, you’d show me with a trophy. What’s a guy gotta do to get his brother to try and buy his love and affection,” said little brother lofts at him by way of an obnoxiously exaggerated batting of his eyelashes.

Next to Dick, Wanda has her elbow on the table, propping up her head in one hand as she lazily pokes at her food with her fork. She’s not even trying to hide how much she regrets every decision that led to this. She likes Dick, quite a lot, but clearly, neither of their families are fit for conjoined festivities. Lesson learned. 

Duke is shoving dinner roll after dinner roll into his mouth, as if afraid to risk missing out on anything by attempting more focus-intensive food handling than that. His eyes are feverishly bright as they dart from one length of the table to the other and back again. This is the best day ever. 

Tim and Cass are seated side by side and occasionally dip their heads together in hushed conversation. At other times they flick their fingers at each other in sign language just below the surface of the table. 

Periodically, Tim will then wade into one conversation or another, never staying focused for long on any one single conversation partner before moving on. 

If one were to view this whole....event...as an exercise in conversational warfare, one might be tempted to view Tim’s patterns of discussion as somewhat akin to guerilla warfare. Brief engagements not aimed at achieving any kind of victory so much as feeling out the oppositions’ defenses and tactics before withdrawing to form more firmed out plans based off the gathered intel. 

Dick closes his eyes and sighs as he sees Tim and Cass dip their heads together again. Right after Cass’ eagle-eyed gaze spent a few moments lingering on the wake of Tim’s latest ‘tactical retreat,’ which was plenty of time for their sister to soak in a fair amount of everyone's reactions and responses.

Dick coughs into his hand. When Tim looks his way and meets Dick’s stern gaze with an inquiring eyebrow, Dick reaches a hand to the side of his head as if to smooth back a lock of hair. Instead he then signs with grimly dancing fingers, “Please tell me you and Cass aren’t using a holiday dinner together as a chance to develop contingency plans for taking down members of my girlfriend’s family.”

Tim cocks his head slightly and frowns. The only indication that his fingers are once again busy at work beneath the table is the slight ripple of movement along his upper arms. A few moments later, Dick’s phone vibrates with a notification. He slides it into his lap and reads Tim’s text.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you just said. I don’t speak ASL.”

Dick tilts his own head and fires an unimpressed look across the table. “Seriously?”

Cassandra pokes Tim in the side, sending him an inquiring look of her own. No doubt curious what he’d texted Dick to elicit such a response. Tim grins and answers her in swift, practiced gestures the little twerp makes no attempt to hide this time. Blatant ASL, just one of the several different sign languages they were all fluent in. Cass raises a hand to her face and hides her giggle behind the back of it, just as Tim finishes. Dick darts his sour face at her, texting her phone in turn.

“Et tu, Cass?”

She glances down at her own phone and then just shrugs at him, utterly unrepentant. Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. Okay then.

Pietro’s daughter Luna had long since retreated to one of the Wayne family dens to watch movies, citing a headache. No one doubted that the precocious young empath was just entirely uninterested in being in the vicinity of all their entangled and extremely loud emotions. 

Her father had briefly attempted to impress upon her the importance of being present with the rest of them for at least some of the dinner. His daughter had simply met his token effort at imparting politeness protocols with a pointed look first at him and then at Damian, who was at most two years older than her. 

Pietro had grimaced. In an ideal world, caving to her demands would not be easier than him just conducting himself like a mature adult for the duration of a single dinner gathering. But then, none of them came from an ideal world, and he suffered no illusions about being an ideal parent. And more importantly, in the grand scheme of things it was hardly like this was one of the really important battles, the ones that needed to be picked carefully. 

That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. And thus Luna had been excused to entertain herself with the Waynes’ vast video library.

Wanda’s twin sons thus far seem content to keep themselves busy with their own back-and-forth in the private ‘twin language’ they’d crafted over the years - more due to cheating than the existence of some preternatural twin understanding of each other. Neither boy pretends to have a clue how the other’s mind works. 

Essentially, Tommy just talks to his brother at full superspeed, while Billy has a spell in place that allows him to keep up and understand his twin no matter what speed his ramblings take. No one seems entirely sure what mechanism they have for Billy to speak back to Tommy in a way no one else ever picks up on, or even if such a mechanism exists at all. It's entirely possible that due to the nature of their dynamic, they’d never found creating one to be at all necessary. 

That isn’t to suggest that Billy is a follower in temperament or by nature. Its more just that when dealing with Tommy, one either follows (or tries to play catch up slash does damage control) or else one waits until Tommy races off to do what he wants, for however long it takes for him to eventually figure out that nobody has followed or is even going to. Then finally racing back and submitting to following someone else’s lead, sulking all the while about how nobody ever listens to him about anything. 

Basically, letting Tommy take the lead in the more low-stakes engagements is just being efficient, in Billy’s opinion. The alternative takes way too long and his twin is a pain to deal with when in a heightened state of Sulk.

However, as to just how low-stakes or not this dinner actually is, well, that seems to be a matter of some debate between the twins, and not something Billy himself has even settled his opinion on. 

Frequent high-pitched squeaks occasionally sound out from their corner of the table, most too quick to even register for anyone other than their uncle Pietro, who currently is still preoccupied with his extended staring contest against his diminutive rival in all things pertaining to ego and attempted sovereignty

If anyone else were even to register their existence or frequency, the combination of squeaks and Tommy’s repeated glares at his brother might lead to the conclusion that Billy is repeatedly poking or jabbing his twin in order to rein Tommy in from leaping into some fray or another and escalating the already existing tension to biblical proportions. As is his wont. 

And Billy, at least, is enjoying his meal.

Well, he’s trying to, anyway.

But the closer he gets to completely clearing his plate, the more frequent Billy’s longing glances in the direction Luna had vanished become. Clearly, the teen is debating the merits of faking some ailment of his own and following his cousin’s example all the way to blessed, blessed relief from the chore of being the only one capable of saying “Tommy no” and actually producing an end result that isn’t just an accelerated timetable.

It’s not hard to tell when Billy’s inner war of his self-preserving tendencies vs his self-sacrificing tendencies is ultimately decided with a final score of Sanity: 1, Pointless and Unappreciated Gestures of Nobility: 0.

The seventeen year old sighs loudly and slumps back against his chair, his entire demeanor broadcasting an aura of “I give up” on so many clear wavelengths, it interrupts every skirmish currently in progress and results in every adult at the table sending concerned looks towards the twins’ corner of it. 

Billy’s crossed arms and the empty space his gaze is determinedly fixed on combine to clearly convey he has nothing to do with whatever has happened or is about to happen. 

Leading to every scrap of attention thus trekking further down the table to his twin, where Tommy is beaming with the brightness of a thousand supergiant stars about to go supernova and make a mess that will span galaxies and last for ten thousand years. 

His Aunt Lorna’s own penchant for pretty explosions and fireworks has nothing on his, other than seniority.

Tommy’s own family knows that gleam in his eyes well enough to be aware their own immediate reactions should be duck and cover. Unfortunately, the Waynes’ dining room affords few actual defensive positions, all of which are already occupied by members of the Family Batshit. Resigning themselves to the inevitable, the Family Maximumoff Damage brace for impact.

Not being familiar with the gleam in Tommy’s eyes themselves, but more than observant (and paranoid) enough to recognize the braced positions of the other family and adapt accordingly, the members of the Family Batshit are all quick to follow suit.

Wanda meanwhile takes the scant seconds before collision to close her eyes and try to recall why she ever wanted children so desperately she literally wished them into existence.

She’s got nothing. 

Dick uses the same time to gulp and take a deep breath, frantically trying to fortify himself with everything he knows of Wanda’s more....mayhem-inclined child. Hopefully he can use that intel to prepare contingencies for whatever fallout may follow in the next few seconds.

Ever the optimist, that one.

Into a silence stretching longer than a speedster in the spotlight has ever before allowed silence to linger - with Tommy clearly savoring the focused attention and abundant awareness of his Impact™ and reputation - the silver-haired teen grins with teeth bright enough to ignite the ensuing firestorm all on their own. The fateful words he finally utters almost seem overkill. At least until he finishes saying them and everything else ceases to matter, because boom.

Ignition.

“Hey Dick, if you end up marrying our mom, does that mean we can call you Dad?”

The silence that follows that particular detonation is akin to the death-knell of the dinosaurs, in the moments immediately after a giant asteroid wiped out 80% of life on the planet.

Then: anarchy.

“How dare you!” Damian launches himself out of his seat with what would normally be described as a hiss, were it not uttered at a decibel closer to being an actual sonic boom.

Jason looks like he can’t decide if he wants to fall to the ground laughing or fall to the ground tucking and rolling. To avoid having to make a decision, he grabs his until now untouched wine and guzzles it like a man who just found the only oasis in a hundred mile wide desert.

Lorna uncorks another bottle of wine and raises the whole thing like she’s toasting existence itself, on her way out the mortal coil’s exit-marked door. Kate thrusts her glass in front of Lorna for another refill. 

“I know many lesbians can and do have kids in any number of ways, but do you think its okay if I cite this as proof we’re the highest evolved life form and if I was meant to have kids of my own, God wouldn’t have given me such an obvious hint as to the opposite?” 

Kate absently muses to Lorna under her breath and out of the corner of her mouth, both of them still fixed on viewing the various diners turned statue-still by the Medusa like turn of the table’s conversations. 

“It feels like that’s one of those things people tell me I should keep in my head and just gets me in trouble when I decide to share it instead, but honestly, I can never tell.”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Lorna whispers back. “I get possessed by this one psychic ghost enough that one of the few perks is I don’t have to worry about ticking people off anymore. Nowadays if I piss someone off, all I have to do is wait a couple of days and then say I was possessed again at the time. Then I just ask why the hell did nobody notice and dramatically make a lot of noise about that until everybody forgets what the hell they were even ticked at me for in the first place.”

“Ugh. Lucky bitch.” 

Lorna shrugs with the faintest of smirks. “It’s all about just working with what you’ve got.”

Elsewhere at the table, Duke is frozen with his mouth still stuffed so full his cheeks are puffed out like a cartoon chipmunk’s. The only movements coming from his direction at all are the twin orbs that are his eyes, currently imitating tennis balls being rocketed back and forth across the court by pro players who never miss a swing.

Tim and Cass are clutching each others’ forearms, the closest either has come to displaying a panic reaction in literal years. In Cassandra’s case, more like in her entire lifetime.

But the title of ultimate attention draw is for the moment a dubious honor bestowed upon the Wayne patriarch himself. 

Bruce leaps from his seat like an Olympic sprinter off the starting block, managing to catch up to his youngest before Damian plus Damian’s butter knife make it more than a foot towards Tommy. He snatches the twelve year old up by his waist, smoothly disarming his son and spinning around to plant himself between the boy and his target with the practiced and precise moves of the bedlam ballerina that he is.

“Umm,” Dick utters at last. His eyes fly wildly around the room as if seeking permission to land. They settle on making repeated loops of a race track that runs from Tommy’s smile of success to Damian’s enraged expression, and then to his own father’s attempt at a poker face: normally flawless, but now only warranting such acclaim if Bruce’s intention actually was to mimick the poker face of someone steadily ingesting lemons and nothing else throughout the course of a game. 

Its not Dick’s finest work, obviously, but to be fair he’s also quite busy,trying to will himself through the floor. Possibly the Earth’s core while he’s at it. Results are still pending.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the inhabitants of the dining room, Pietro’s ex Crystal has arrived as previously agreed, so she can pick up Luna and their daughter can spend the back half of the holiday with her mother and the latter’s teammates. 

They were on their way to the dining room so Luna could say her goodbyes to her father, aunts, cousins and grandfather, when the current chaos had erupted.

Her own heroic impulses instinctively compelling her to charge in and attempt to help, Crystal’s tugged back by her daughter’s hand in hers. Knowing full well that Luna’s empathy-fueled instincts are superior to just about anyone else’s, Crystal halts and takes in the scene before them again, still with caution but with slightly less urgency.

“I suppose you have some idea what’s going on in there?”

Luna just smiles softly at her mother, as if shyly amused by the situation they’re witnessing.

“Did you hear how just when we were coming down the hall, Tommy said something about calling Wanda’s boyfriend ‘Dad’ if they get married?”

Crystal furrows her brow and nods; she hadn’t been paying that much attention, but one didn’t engage in superheroics (let alone marry and live with a hyper-active speedster) if one had poor situational awareness. Well one did, theoretically, but in such instances, one usually just died before gaining any kind of reputation or relevance.

“Well see, that set off Damian, Mr. Wayne’s youngest son and Dick’s baby brother - he was the one shouting ‘How dare you’ - “

“Don’t tell me this family has some kind of superiority complex about the twins or Wanda not being good enough for one of their own,” Crystal interrupted. The air around them crisped and heated even as a stray wind arose inside the manor and teased the ends of her hair into furious activity. 

She and Pietro might not be together anymore, but her fondness for him and certain other members of his family hadn’t ceased to exist simply because their marriage no longer did. Wanda had been her friend for years before she and Pietro even began to date, and her twins were still Luna’s cousins. All of which made them still family as far as Crystal was concerned. 

And she’d certainly put up with enough of her own family’s nonsense about nobody being good enough for one of them...more than she should have, to be honest, even if that was still ultimately the reason she’d cut ties with them and made her teammates her and her daughter’s true family. Crystal wasn’t about to stand idly by while strangers subjected her daughter’s cousins and aunt to more of that bullshit, even if they were hugely respected heroes of this universe’s Earth.

But Luna just shakes her head swiftly and decisively, and Crystal forces her metaphorical hackles to subside at her daughter’s apparent lack of concern. 

“No, its nothing like that. Well, Damian’s kind of a brat sometimes, but it feels like he only acts out like that when he doesn’t have instincts about how to react to a given situation and he’s embarrassed about that. He had some kind of messed up childhood none of them like to talk about too much. But honestly, he feels more jealous right now than he does anything else. Aunt Wanda gave us all a rundown before we got here, about Dick’s family and things to not ask them about or bring up, and what kind of stuff they’d been told about us for similar reasons. Anyway, she told us Damian didn’t even live with their family until a few years ago, and when he first came to live with them there was a year when Mr. Wayne was missing and most of them thought he was dead....and so Dick was basically Damian’s first real kinda dad even before Mr. Wayne got a chance to be, and even though he’s been the one raising Damian ever since he got back, it sounded like there’s a lot of mixed feelings and confusion and tension between him, Mr. Wayne and Dick ever since.”

“And of course your cousin just couldn’t resist poking the elephant in the room, once he’d been made aware of its existence, if only to see what would happen,” Crystal sighs. That boy....

Not for the first time when around her ex’s family, she finds herself reminded to be grateful for the relationship she and her daughter share, mostly due to her daughter’s willingness to be understanding of others’ flaws, her own included. Crystal makes sure to will forth a wish for fortitude in Wanda’s direction while she’s at it. Couldn’t hurt.

And of course, speaking of Luna’s ability to be understanding....

“Tommy was just trying to have a little fun, he honestly didn’t mean any harm by it,” her daughter defends the cousin in question. “I know he didn’t really have any idea how much of a reaction he’d get, and just how deep and strongly they had about this. And I know it probably sounds like I’m just trying to make excuses for Tommy to keep him out of trouble, but maybe this is a good thing, that he made this happen? Because I can tell they definitely don’t talk a lot about these things or let them out in the open instead of trying to shove them down all the time. So Damian feels jealous, probably because he still has feelings of seeing Dick as a father that he feels he can’t act on because he doesn’t want to upset their actual dad or cause fights between them.”

"And I can feel Mr. Wayne feels jealous too, but of how Damian feels and the fact that he acted on what was so clearly jealousy to everyone else, but also he’s upset at himself, probably because he thinks its not right for him to feel jealous towards his own son and specifically because he and his brother have such a strong relationship and Dick did such a good job taking care of him when Mr. Wayne couldn’t. And then Dick feels guilty but also a little upset at himself as well, maybe because he knows he has nothing to feel guilty for? I’m not sure about that part, I haven’t totally gotten a feel for their usual emotional dynamics. But also he feels jealous too, and of Mr. Wayne, most likely because he gets to be Damian’s father and on some level Dick wishes that was still him occupying that role.”

“Maybe you should be explaining all of this to them instead of me,” Crystal concludes when her daughter finishes her run-through in a rush of hastily accelerated words. Luna is leaning to the side, as if trying to be subtle about craning to look around her at the drama on the other side. 

“I will if they ask me to,” her daughter says, now sounding somewhat defensive of herself. “I don’t think they would have liked it much if I just tried to talk to them about all their feelings that they refuse to acknowledge or act upon, even just with each other in private.”

“Hmm,” Crystal just hums thoughtfully. Luna rushes to present the rest of her case, though Crystal still lacks a clear picture of just what the specific endgame is that her little schemer simply can’t resist trying to nudge things towards.

“Besides, like I said, maybe this was a good thing, Tommy got it out in the open where now they have to talk about it with each other, since its pretty undeniable to everyone. I mean everyone else in their family definitely feels kinda satisfied I think? No, vindicated. That’s it. I think they’ll be fine on their own. They all definitely love each other and if anything, the jealous feelings are all just from loving each other more than they feel they should or have a right to, because they don’t want to make one of their other family question whether they love them too. None of them have done anything bad or wants anything bad, they just need to talk it through.”

“Well that’s all good to hear, but it still sounds to me like there’s no real reason for us not to interrupt, and every possibility it might defuse some tension and give them all a little time to cool down before talking about things.” Crystal crosses her arms and looks down at Luna knowingly. 

She might be the best daughter Crystal could have ever wished for, and light years more mature than anyone else her age, but she’s still only ten and every ten year old has room for more maturing.

Sure enough, her daughter squirms guiltily. 

“I guess. But I still think its better to let things just happen on their own. You’re always telling me that my power isn’t permission to insert myself into the problems of everyone I meet. And that assuming otherwise can be bad for me too.”

“That’s true,” Crystal nods. All the same, her left eyebrow starts to climb. “However, another truth I’ve heard told to you by your father is if you ever feel guilty and are put on the spot for something, have two truths and a lie ready to explain yourself. And always lead with the lie.”

She loves Pietro still, she does, and she's at times even painfully aware of just how much she always will. But their vastly different ideas about parenting were just one of the reasons they hadn’t been able to make things work. She vividly recalls the time she’s referring to...and the argument she and her husband had immediately following it.

Pietro’s stance had always been that children were just little versions of who they’d grow up to be, and didn’t need to be taught dumbed down versions of the advice no one would a problem giving to the grown up versions of them.

“I see nothing inappropriate in teaching her that,” Pietro had said stubbornly at the time. “I do the same thing all the time and I’ve never attempted to pretend otherwise. In fact, I clearly remember explicitly describing that as my life philosophy on one of our earlier dates, and if I recall correctly, you laughed and called me a charming knave at the time. And I am of course remembering it correctly, as I have perfect recall listed among my numerous attributes.”

They never did reach an understanding about that particular bit of parenting. Probably because that argument had ended up seguing into the make-up sex that had kept them married far longer than they probably should have been.

Not that the latter detail is of any relevance at the moment. She coughs awkwardly.

In the here and now, their daughter continues to fidget beneath her mother’s now imperious gaze and newfound resolution to not allow her semi-fond nostalgia to cause her emotions to waver.

“Fine!” Luna groans at last, throwing up her hands in as explosive manner as the usually contemplative girl ever does anything. “I also don’t want to interrupt or go yet because I still have some of the popcorn Mr. Alfred made me and its really good and also if you had to have dinner with some of the most tense and repressed people on two different Earths, and feel everything they were trying to pretend they didn’t feel, you would want to at least get to enjoy the part where they finally stop doing that and get all dramatic and dumb. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Crystal says primly, fighting a smile at her daughter’s rare display of immaturity before remembering who she was talking to and ceasing to bother with the pretense. Besides, its not like she doesn’t have a point.

“But I believe we’ve also talked about people not being your personal entertainment,” she adds. It just feels like the kind of moment where she's supposed to say something along those lines. Even half-heartedly. 

“But is it really my fault if people are being entertaining through no fault of my own, and I just happen to be nearby and have every right to just stay put until being right where I am stops being entertaining?” Her daughter counters.

The glint in her eye and the wry smile that says she knows she’s scented a moment of weakness and has no shame about pouncing on it - those are wholly among Pietro’s contribution to their child, and not anything Crystal can truly fault him for, at the end of the day. He is who he is, and part of that is who their daughter is, just as much as she is part of Crystal. She sighs and relents.

“If one of the Waynes catches us treating their conflict like a reality show and feels the slightest upset about it, it is your responsibility to either justify yourself to them too, or acknowledge responsibility for their upset. Whichever it takes to reverse the negativity you contributed. Understood?”

"Promise,” Luna says, bobbing her head repeatedly as she holds forth her hands, unprompted, to demonstrate that she has no fingers crossed as she did so. A follow up that has been normalized for years, given that crossing fingers behind one’s back is another one of the bits of parental wisdom Pietro had imparted upon their precocious daughter when she was younger.

Crystal just sighs once more and shakes her head fondly as she steps to the side and provides an unobstructed view through the open doorway across the room.

Back in the dining room, heedless of having garnered spectators to their spectacle, as well as equally heedless of the passage of time, the room’s inhabitants exist in a state of suspended animation. 

Everyone knows a reaction to what just happened is required. That the pregnant pause persisting since then demands a clear follow up to the blatant display of certain emotions from certain parties. All of whom are usually quite certain they’d rather witness the end of the world than see those specific feelings slip out into the open where anyone could see them and from that, draw certain conclusions.

Nobody is confused on that front. Not even their guests from an entirely separate universe.

But the unthinkable has happened nevertheless, and as it has been neither preceded nor succeeded by any hint of an apocalypse, there is no alternative. The naked display of previously avoided topics can not in any way be avoided at this point. What was done was done and now things have to be said or done as a result.

The problem lies in the fact that not a single person present has the faintest idea of what those specific things were. And thus no one seems interested in showing any initiative in ending the stalemate that has been forged from the uncommon uncertainty that was their only commonality.

 The rise and fall of chests are the only movements betraying that the tableau they set exists in all three dimensions, rather as a static snapshot someone had taken in commemoration.

And even breathing seems done reluctantly.

If cosmic entities such as Uatu the Watcher were prone to hyperbole, as the only other witnesses to the unprecedented anomaly, they might narrate that for a time it seems as though two of the most powerful and influential families of two different universes are fated to spend the rest of eternity existing in this rare moment. This endless moment where some of the most reckless, impulsive, tactical, analytical, insightful and decisive heroes to ever exist on two separate Earths......are all equally stricken with indecision and uncertainty as to what course of action to take next.

Who could even imagine what kind of consequences that might result in, for two entirely different multiverses? What deviations from intricately plotted grand designs that could cause, what opportunities might be missed, from the most potentially fortunate events that otherwise might stem from these various heroes’ heroics?

How far might the ripple effects of this seemingly innocuous moment in space and time reach? How many worlds might rise and fall, universes live and die, all because this one singular family, this comparatively tiny collection of dissonant souls who regardless of their frequent discord still manage to come together in harmony often enough to chart the course of cosmic events....

These unlikely conductors who at separate times are both the voices of the people, and the music of the spheres themselves? Their choices often doing more to directly affect various celestial bodies than the choices of entire civilizations added up across countless millennia?

Regardless of the degree of potential calamity, that remains a fate both universes will be spared their discovery of. For in this hour of need, where some of the prime movers and shakers of worlds sit motionless whilst hardly daring to breathe, all mutually frozen in their seats, all seemingly powerless to act or speak until someone releases them from this spell that has been cast upon the room and all within it....

Well, unto this unlikely conundrum, there arises an unlikely hero.

Not the hero anyone present deserves, perhaps, but certainly the hero they need.

And so it is that with great daring - and dare we say, even panache - a voice rings out loud and clear. One overflowing with bountiful mirth and a zest and zeal for life. Not to mention one brimming with reckless disregard for any potential consequences, even those not very dissimilar to the kind that have in years past made even the hardiest villains quail in fear...

And all at the same time, all undeniable, all contributing to the sudden spasm that erupts along the fault line that is Bruce Wayne’s entire face - that treacherous, forbidding chasm that exists at the edges of the two tectonic masses that are on one side his disapproval, and on the other side, the muscles that control his expressions...

Into that momentous stillness lands the only response truly appropriate, given the root cause of all of this.

“Awkwaaaaaaard,” Stephanie Brown sings out, half standing out of her chair to stretch across the table in front of Wanda and Duke in order to retrieve the gravy boat. She returns to her seated position and proceeds to slather her mashed potatoes with its contents, blithely paying no attention to the fact that all other faces in the room have swiveled to face her with stunned disbelief. “Seriously, I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since I farted in front of Superman.”

“When did you even get here?” Bruce frowns at her, exasperated enough that Damian is able to use his distraction to slip free of him and slink back to his own seat.

No one else has ever managed to achieve the depths of distraction Stephanie and Stephanie alone can push the usually unflappable Bat to. Or is it heights, and the joys of alliteration might need to be sacrificed upon the altar of accuracy? Whatever.

She pretty much considers it her superpower, though. She's still working out how to weaponize it for use on other targets. Or even better, how to capitalize on it for use when living Whilst Reluctantly Capitalist. Currently, she’s testing market research along the veins of blackmailing Bruce into paying her a monthly allowance in exchange for her keeping her levels of Intentionally Irritating him to below a Level Four on a ten point scale. Its her own custom model in the fashion of the ‘rate the pain with a number from one to ten’ scale, but she’s taken the liberty of specifically tailoring it to Bruce’s condition of Suffering Stephanie the Supreme’s Presence. She's pretty sure she’d ultimately settled on the title: “How much is my chewing gum while I’m supposed to be being sneaky causing you actual physical pain?”

There’s an itty bitty chance she actually picked something totally else on account of how she’d been super drunk at the time and she’s crap at reading her own handwriting so deciphering the notes she’d made while especially inspired were like....seventy percent guesswork.

But close enough, anyway, and also like, shut up and stuff. Wait. But is that really considered blackmail, technically speaking, or is it more like bribery? Not that it really makes a difference, but she does prefer being as precise as possible when listing her crimes slash achievements. It’s like. The principle. Or maybe the aesthetic? Whatever.

Really, though, this is just her and the Big Guy’s thing. Its just what they do. Their dynamo depiction of a duo doing things after their first take on being a Dynamic Duo detonated so disastrously. Yeah, she could never bear to part with her precious alliteration merely for the sake of precision. Its important to have clear priorities after all, and if it for whatever reason that probably will involve fifth dimensional imps, like, some nefarious ne’er-do-well demands she make a choice between alliteration and precision, well, she’s as of right now making an official ruling on which darling she’d kill first. 

Sorry, precision, but you just haven’t done for me lately what alliteration has brought me in joy and also usefulness.

“Wait, my bad,” she realizes suddenly, on account of how everyone is staring at her when all she’s doing currently is stuffing her face like a pro. And as hype as she is on her ability to make anything she does look like a Feat™, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t make it look that good. “What was the question again?”

Bruce faces her fully, arms crossed in an attempt to restore himself and his dominion to some semblance of its usual order, his face schooled back in his usual Mona Lisa smile aka stone cold impassivity. Which nobody here was buying, for the record. Big faker.

“How long have you been here?” Asks Stone Cold Steve Austin, wait no, the Stone Cold Steve Faker. Faker Austin? Ugh, this is gonna bug her.

Also, nobody here is buying his voice as being Forbidding right now so much as just Deeply Embarrassed Because I Had Feelings And They Distracted Me. Honestly, she should start keeping a tally. For what, she’s not sure, but you never know what might come in handy some day. There’s a whole TV show about hoarders to back her up on that supposition. See? Science, suckers.

“I dunno. Since way before dinner even started though. Dude, I’m literally on my thirds.” 

As if making a show of evidence, Steph shovels more meat in her mouth. She’s not entirely sure what they're even having, like it could be veal or lamb or turkey for all she knows - look, she never got around to mastering “How To Solve the Mystery of Mystery Meat” or whatever. She’d been busy learning how to tell the difference in blood spatters, because like, meat may be murder sometimes but murder is always murder and thus takes priority. Soooorry. 

Point is, who knows what the fuck kind of meat it is, but its damn good and just further proof that Alfred is probably secretly God in disguise or maybe just a lower case g kinda one, but whichever, he and his culinary arts are definitely proof she’s too weak to ever walk the Way of the Vegan.

She finishes chewing fully before continuing. Because she’s a proper lady, obvy.

“And way to make with the Rudeness, B. I know I can pull off pretty much any look, but Fly On The Wall is not one of them. How dare you come for my self-esteem like this. I’ll sue you and get all your billions and use them to make a swimming pool of gold coins all Scrooge McDuck style, because its like, the one thing you could never and thus the perfect way to establish my dominance and stuff.”

“Has she seriously been here this whole time?” One of Dick’s girlfriend’s twin kids stage-whispers from the other length of the table. “How did we not notice before? Not exactly flying under the radar there.”

“I’m a goddamn social chameleon, that’s how, Cloud.” Stephanie jabs another meat-laden forkful in his direction for emphasis, on its way to her food hole. Ugh, bliss. “Also, I would be like, a kick-ass spy. But nobody ever gives me the spy jobs because everyone’s always like, you can’t be quiet or still or even serious for longer than five minutes, Stephanie, and I’m always like, umm, just because I choose not to doesn’t mean I can’t, but do they ever listen? Of course not.” 

The kid wrinkles his nose at her. “Why did you call me Cloud?”

“Isn’t that the name of the Final Fantasy guy whose hair you ripped off?”

“Is it? I don’t know, I’ve never played. And maybe he ripped me off, you don’t know,” Not-Cloud says, looking suddenly intrigued, though who knows by which part. 

Stephanie swivels towards Tim for confirmation. He looks back, vaguely irritated. 

“Why does everyone always look at me for stuff like that? I have no idea. When exactly would I have time to be a gamer in the first place? And for the record, back when I had actual hobbies, I used to skateboard.”

“Jeez, sorry, Tony Hawk. I didn’t recogize you cuz I was too busy giving you mad props for that sick wicked half pipe ollie oopsie.” Steph rolls her eyes. Then she cocks her head to scrutinize him more fully and maybe give him a serious answer. She settles for flapping a hand at him vaguely as she says, “And you just have like, a certain Quality about you or whatever. I don’t know what it is.”

“She doesn’t even live here,” Bruce says, almost plaintively. Y’know. If he were someone who does anything plaintively ever.

“She’s our guest,” Cass says, almost primly. Y’know. If she were someone who does anything primly ever. “You’re being rude.”

Steph plasters on her most injured expression, the better to make like Exhibit A when Cass sweeps an arm towards her for demonstration. 

Also though, oh shit, oh shit, look whose internal monologue stumble-stepped into a motif. She’s Emily Dickenson-ing this place up tonight. Finally, someone bringing a little class into the House of Ass. You’re welcome, all the ghosts of Bruce’s equally gloomy ancestors who definitely haunt this place on the regular.

“Yeah, Alfred has always impressed upon us that there are certain protocols for how we’re supposed to treat guests in our home, Bruce,” Tim adds in a tone that was equal parts thoughtful musing and suppressed merriment. 

He slides a smirk down the table to Steph. His own irritation of 7.5 seconds prior has completely evaporated into the ether, because that’s just how they roll. Look at them, making with the maturity like they’re just a couple of motherfucking bosses. She’s seriously so impressed with the both of them on their own behalves.

“If I were a betting man,” Tim continues nonchalantly, “I’d put down money that hanging on to guest privileges is one of the main reasons she turned down that adoption offer we all pretend we don’t know B’s definitely given her at some point.”

“Or maybe that’s just what you tell yourself, being the one whose dating history with Steph makes adopted siblinghood seem weird and icky and stuff,” Duke suggests from further down the table. He smirks, lounging in a way that looks lazy and careless to those uninitiated in the sacred Bat arts of being anal about everything at all times, like literally even when just looking at things. Because B-Man’s secret superpower is how to make anything boring, even things that are literally just using your eyes.

Though in defense of B but also like, the years of their lives they’ve all committed to obsessively training themselves according to his fucking anal doctrines anyway, like a bunch of absolute suckers, there is an upside to all that anal retention. Such as how people who make healthy but boring life choices would look at Duke right now and be like oh shit, that kid’s about two seconds from falling asleep like he’s a cat and that’s a super inconvenient place for him to fall asleep, which everyone knows is basically the same thing as Kitty Nirvana.

But meanwhile, the other teen still clearly shows all the checked boxes that spell out hey this dude could be ready to kick your ass in 2.5 seconds, like just give him a reason punk, he’s ready to go. Or at least, that’s how he registers to those of them with Bat-supersenses that aren’t actually super but really just the end result of lots of boring training exercises that honestly don’t sound anywhere near as cool so just let them have this.

Point is she totally lost track of her point, but then Duke follows up with an accusing pointer finger aimed at Tim, one appropriately dramatic and just like, making her so gosh darn proud of the latest castaway to wash ashore on their weird ass little Island Of Misfit Toys. Kids. They grow up so fast.

“Of course you wanna distract everyone from how you’re a Sister Depriver,” Duke intones, putting some super thematic bass into his boom. That right there, that little something extra...that’s how you make fucking art. Hot damn. “And as a result, poor Cass has to bear the weight of being the only girl in the Wayne clan all by herself. For shame, Timothy.”

“Yeah, Timothy,” Cass echoes smugly. “For shame.”

Tim shoots betrayed eyes at her, but its his own fault for forgetting the Cardinal Rule Of Cass: her allegiances are fickle and prone to shifting in the direction of greatest potential drama. Cass loves drama. Lives for it. Something about how refreshing it is to be able to immerse herself in the movements of people who are actively trying to speak or act in contradiction to what their body really wants to say, instead of just being lying douchebags who necessitate caution when they do anything similar.

The rest of them are split 50/50 as to whether that’s true and heartwrenching, or whether its well-played Cass bullshit aimed at distracting them from what a gossip-loving drama queen she really is.

“Whatever,” Jason says dismissively as he chimes in. He swipes the last few exchanges out of the way like they’re open apps he’s not using at the moment and he’s all uh, you can go now, losers. “The real issue here is that obviously the Old Man has never figured out how to interact with a teenager or young adult he hasn’t adopted or can’t adopt. Middle D over there is proof that even B’s vaunted no meta rule isn’t really a dealbreaker, so betcha the real reason Dickie and Tim’s Titan friends never come over is because their parentals are worried about B trying to snatch them up too. And since B adopts, fosters or otherwise absorbs via osmosis every other kid or teen he comes across, there’s never been a control group for him to practice his non-adoption-intending behavior on other kids. And no practice means no way of being perfect at that, and we all know how not being perfect at something makes B cranky as fuck.”

Duke takes a beat to contort his face into a Rubik’s Cube of half-formed and hastily discarded expressions. Most likely trying to work through whether Middle D counts as a weird-ass endearment for this particular family, or something he’s gonna be endlessly annoyed by if it happens to catch on. Its a process, especially considering it has to be filtered through the Jason to English dictionary first.

Finally he just shrugs in a lazy non-reaction that in Batspeak manages to count as a challenge. Basically a ‘try and guess what I decided if you can, chump.’ 

Jason’s face morphs Terminator style. The later ones, not the Governator model. He ends up displaying a mash-up: the smirk of inevitable victory meets the narrowed eyebrows of intent focus as bestowed upon a worthy foe. 

Then the whole piece makes like an Etch-a-Sketch and is wiped completely away before being replaced with an annoyed jaw clench. 

“Jay’s theory game is strong,” is the route Duke ends up taking though. “And here we thought the reason Bruce always says no about Superboy coming over is to prevent him from being a Brother Defiler. But all along it was just the insidious work of a Brother Depriver, with Superman himself being the culprit who told B hands off, this one’s mine. It all makes sense now! Superboy even fits the standard issue black hair and blue eyed, in store model.”

He tips his head towards the older boy in a gesture of appreciation for Jay’s detective work and connect the dots high score. Jason scowls back. By the standards of the Family Batshit, he’s clearly been caught off guard. With him so readily taking up the implied but not outright stated challenge teased by the younger boy, he’d completely failed to prepare for the compliments Duke then followed up with instead.

His siblings hide snickers behind faked coughs and gratuitous napkin usage. He’s netted himself an undeniable loss, according to the intricate rules and traditions of their family - ironically, many of which had been laid down by Jason himself when first established back in the misty years of yore. That mysterious, little spoken of era of legend and mystery, one that is nevertheless oft whispered of in hushed rumors and hearsay. The time before time, better known to the Bats and Birds as The Age of The First Two Robins.

If it had just been the family present, it might have been a different matter, but the presence of others changed things. Cuz see, in the eyes of anyone who isn’t a member of their observation obsessed and perpetually paranoid family, the relatively minute exchange between the two boys no doubt looked like Jason had been needlessly aggressive while the younger boy was just trying to pay him a compliment.

In a nutshell, Duke goaded Jason with what seemed like a challenge but didn’t technically count, so Jason’s attempt at responding to Duke’s not-challenge actually counted as the first actual sign of aggression, which Duke neatly side-stepped by already being in the process of paying Jay a compliment between the time Jay actually launched his challenge but before it actually landed.

Ergo, Duke wins. 

Look, if its hard to follow, that’s probably for the best. They’re all pretty sure stuff like that isn’t supposed to make as much sense as it does to them.

Jason huffs but then finally heaves a sigh and tosses a tight-lipped and grudging but genuine nod of acknowledgment down the table to Duke. Despite himself, he can’t help but be a little impressed by the kid, having already picked up on even the more minute ins and outs of their family’s complicated interactions. But then, of course the younger boy is as precocious as the rest of them. Their family could single-handedly keep the nature vs nurture debate going for centuries.

Duke beams back before licking the tip of a finger and painting a single stroke in the air in front of him. A clear declaration that this round of the Batkids’ never-ending game goes to him. Jason rolls his eyes but can’t exactly begrudge him his endzone dance. Its not like he’s known for being graceful and gracious in victory either.

Come to think of it, none of them are. Huh. That explains a lot, probably.

Its at this moment that Dick finally regains enough composure to make his presence felt again. 

Its understandable, really, the others acknowledge via conspiratorial looks of sibling solidarity that bounce their way rapidly across the table by way of their patented younger sibling network.

Anyone would have trouble juggling the combined stressors of introducing the girlfriend’s family, mediating their own eternal family mayhem, and on top of all that, seeing shoved into the spotlight his ‘shh, we don’t talk about that, what are you, new,” tendencies towards acting parentally protective and possessive of Damian, even with (and at times especially with) Bruce himself. 

Not to mention the occasional clashes over the parenting strategy, or lack thereof, that Bruce still manages at times to bumble like the perfect dope that he is. Because if anyone has super strong feelings about Bruce’s parenting and no patience whatsoever for watching their father repeatedly fail to learn from his mistakes, well. That’s all Dick’s territory.

So with all of that kept firmly in mind like the efficient little multi-taskers they all know how to be (when they feel like it), they’re all poised to lend Dick a certain amount of leeway in how much amusement they enjoy at his expense today.

In all fairness to them, its not like he makes it easy. They had perhaps overestimated just how well Dick was juggling the various stressors in play today. After all, you can take the acrobat out of the circus, but that doesn’t mean jack shit about whether or not he can juggle because that’s an entirely different skillset, duh.

Hindsight’s not just sometimes a bitch. Its sometimes quite bitchy as well. Ugh, their subconscious minds could be such brats, honestly.

Look, the point is, even as they all patiently watch their eldest brother struggle his way back to a state of coherency and and managing to be present in the actual present, they’re still expecting him to pop out the other side with something at least approaching poise.

Instead, they get an encore.

“Umm,” Dick utters at last. 

Tim buries his face in his hands. Duke tilts his head back and mutters prayers to some higher power. Cass closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly and sorrowfully. Lorna reaches across the table with her wine bottle and refreshes her sister’s glass. Wanda looks like she needs it.

Damian sits with arms crossed over his chest and scowl firmly directed at the table top, Judging Everything. Then again, that is still his default setting and pretty much what he’s been doing all night anyway. Say whatever else you want to about the kid, Steph reflects, but when he commits to a theme, hoo boy. 

Jason, meanwhile, has thrown himself bodily at his brother, clamping a hand over the older man’s mouth and stage-whispering with exaggerated emphasis: “Careful! You could set off the exact same chain of events and we’ll all end up trapped in an eternal time loop we can never break free of! I mean, its practically a guarantee, if you combine my knack for being in the worst place at the worst possible time, Tim’s shitty spleen-phobic luck, Cass’ destined to someday prove ironically prophetic name, and your own lightning rod-esque ability to attract cosmic-level catastrophes to you like you’re catnip and they’re really just a cute little furball named Fluffy McWhiskerson.”

“Must you always insist on going the extra mile when being ridiculous, Todd?” Damian cuts in testily. Also, cuttingly. 

“Shut the fuck up. It’s my coping mechanism for being part of a family that goes that extra ridiculous mile every damn day.” 

“And people wonder what possible reasons I could have for not wanting to be adopted into this family and instead hanging onto a golden parachute option?” 

Steph wonders aloud (and loudly) as she maneuvers the side of her fork around her plate like its a zamboni hard at work on an ice rink. Really, she just refuses to let a single scrape of Alfred’s home-made mashed potatoes go to waste. She’s not some heathen.

“You. You seem pretty smart.” That loaded statement and the finger pointed in her direction come courtesy of the Final Fantasy kid whose name may or may not be Cloud but probably isn’t, which is a shame, because Cloud is a pretty kick-ass name in Steph’s estimation. Not that anyone asks. Typical.

Also, where did they end up landing on the subject of what his name should be? Or is? Whatever? Was there a flowchart passed out at some point and she just missed it while busy being fabulous, or was this an actual oversight on B’s part and thus something they should all bring up as often as possible from now until the end of time?

No doubt spurred by a desire to be absent from whatever follows his twin’s newest train of thought, Billy raises his hand half-heartedly. No one bothers to point out the absurdity of raising his hand like he’s in school. He just seems like its a thing with him. He has that certain Quality, Steph decides.

“Can I be excused?”

Nobody seems sure who he’s asking, so its probably okay that nobody responds to grant permission. Besides, suffering through the awkwardness and drama like the rest of them is probably like, good for building character or something.

After about half a minute, Billy nods to himself as if that’s about what he’d expected. He lowers his hand again and uses it to prop up his head as he slumps over the table and idly sketches patterns atop the antique oak surface.

“I’m a galaxy-brain level intellect, you little Silver Whatever-the-Adorable-Baby version of a Fox is called,” Steph declares at last, jabbing her finger right back at the apparent Greater of Twin Evils. Y’know. To see how much he likes it. But also just because its fun to make like a drama queen in a place like Wayne Manor. Ambiance really is everything. “I even took my SATs and correctly informed the moderator that I was in fact there for the SATs and hadn’t gotten them mixed up with my ACTs.” 

“Hmm,” the twerp says then, not at all appearing to be taught a lesson by her dramatic finger pointing reversal. He sweeps his eyes over her, assessing. Given that she hasn’t decided yet if she even likes the little twerp, let alone what he’s trying to assess and also if she even gives a shit on account of she might not even like the little twerp, Stephanie splits the difference and settles for combining bitch face with her best “How you like me now,” pose. Let him make of it what he will. ‘Snot like she knows what she’s going for there.

Also, its probably rendered slightly less effective due to her forgetting to factor in that she’s sitting and not standing, but whatever, she commits like a champ. Also, she’s still at most 60/40 on the liking of the twerp, so who even cares, honestly.

“I used to be able to count on my own smarts,” Platinum Punk says, seemingly settled on an opinion at last. “But I naively gambled that away in the name of wishing upon a star for family or what the frick ever, and I forgot to set wish parameters for ‘and also please let them all not be completely nuts.’”

“Watch the ableism please, sweetheart,” Wanda says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Sorry, Mom,” he says with an eye roll that nevertheless seems to somehow satisfy her. “But see? I’ll get a lecture about my language, but I skip school with my friends to fight giant robots in Times Square and she doesn’t bat an eye. My family’s priorities are not like your Earth’s priorities.”

“Or my Earth’s priorities,” he adds as an afterthought. “Or any Earth’s, probably. Maybe not some really weird and out there Earth, but they don’t count, probably.”

“Well I don’t like it, certainly, but I don’t want to be a hypocrite,” Wanda says defensively. “When I was your age, I was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list for being a mutant terrorist. All things considered, I have relatively few objections about how you and your brother spend your time.” 

Several members of the Family Batshit direct eyes that are ever so slightly on the wide side. She meets them with an unapologetic shrug.

“I had a complicated childhood. I got over it.”

Lorna snorts into her wineglass. Wanda shoots her sister an annoyed glare, but still amends her statement.

“Mostly, anyway.”

Lorna smirks and waves her glass in some attempt at a meaningful gesture. Who knows what its actually meant to be. She seems to accept the amendment, at least.

“Please excuse our dear little sis her porcine displays of condescension,” Pietro interjects in silky smooth tones that do nothing to hide the sharp edges thinly veiled underneath. “She didn’t grow up with us and our dear, doting daddy, yet has never lacked for opinions on what superior choices she would have made in our positions. The fact that she’s still made plenty terrible choices of her own, is apparently quite irrelevant.”

His green-haired sister opens her eyes artfully wide and projects feigned innocence. “None of those were my fault. I was possessed a lot by a very evil psychic. Who, if you recall, actually called herself Malice. The evil was right there in her name. Advertised. I was innocent. She was evil.”

Pietro swirls his own wineglass, unimpressed. The other set of siblings have clearly been down this road a time or two themselves. 

“I was primarily referring to your romantic history with a Summers. And not even the competent or aesthetically pleasing one, at that,” he drawls.

“She also had terrible taste.”

“Anyway, not to tear focus away from discussion of my dear auntie’s romantic selection process, as she and Uncle Pietro both lack the shame gene and they absolutely can and will traumatize all present via a thorough analysis of each other’s past partners in the most bizarre game of sexual chicken you will ever have the misfortune to witness...”

“Bold of him to make that claim when he’s never seen Dick and Jason do the exact same thing for the exact same reasons,” Tim mutters. Cass and Duke both nod. Jason glares, but seems stuck at the ‘come up with actual proof that he’s actually wrong’ stage of the rebuttal process. Dick has by now returned to the land of the living, but seems to have along the way decided discretion is the better part of valor as best guess is he’s currently preoccupied weighing the pros and cons of potential escape routes.

“Hey, Shiny Pokemon version of Sonic the Hedgehog,” Stephanie snaps her fingers and hopskips the focus back on the speedster in question. She waves her hand at the rest of the sound and fury occupying the table with them, as if to express just how much it all signifies nothing. “Just get to the point already and leave out anything else that these vile miscreants could possibly hijack and turn into tangents. You’ll never make it through a conversation in this house otherwise. Everyone here is expertly trained and practiced in the art of derailing the most obstinate and tunnel-visioned man in history from reaching his point whenever that point is deemed destined to make our day end poorly.”

“Some of us just happen to be better at that than others,” Jason says with smug confidence, twirling his butter knife lazily.

“Ironic, coming from the one trick pony,” Tim says dryly. Jason leans forward and raises his knife-wielding hand and Tim quickly raises his hands in a defensive gesture that’s clearly not meant to indicate he sees an actual threat, more just aimed at beating his brother to the punch with the rest of his punchline. “Sorry, I miscounted. I mean the one and a half trick pony.”

Steph clears her throat pointedly and looks back at Platinum Ken Doll. He just sighs in full gloom and slumps down in eerie symmetry with his twin. He definitely is the superior practitioner of the Sulk.

“Never mind,” he says melodramatically. “It wasn’t even a big deal anyway, just stuff I was trying to be like, snarky about or whatever, but the moment’s passed and it’s just kinda dumb and pointless without feeling like, natural or whatever.”

“Probably,” Stephanie agrees unsympathetically, because hey, when you’re right, you’re right. She doesn’t believe in coddling the youths, especially not the ones who are realistically only two years younger than herself at the most. “But you’ve managed to pique my interest enough that not knowing what you were going to say is randomly gonna bug me at 2 am or something obnoxious like that. Also, you started to praise my intellect and I don’t let things like that go unfinished. It sets a bad precedent. Now c’mon. Speak up. Praise me. Enunciate, so Damian can’t pretend he doesn’t hear you just because he’s trying to set the table on fire with just the searing intensity of his disdain.”

Damian responds with a gesture that he definitely didn’t learn from Dick, but on second thought, he probably did.

“That’s the spirit,” she said. “Keep on keeping on, slugger. If anyone can develop the ability to cause spontaneous combustion with nothing but willpower and spite, its Angst in the key of D Minor himself. I believe in you, kiddo!”

If she weren’t actually being full of shit about that, she might be in trouble from the glare Damian follows that with. Ashes to ashes and all that good stuff. But as rage-vision still refuses to make an appearance, the baby of the family in age and irony only retreats to the support of his high-backed chair. 

Looking more adorable than he’d hopefully ever comprehend, lest he attempt to weaponize that as an addition to his armory, he slouches down and mutters something that makes Jason’s eyebrows climb his skull like they’re trying to set a speed record for making it all the way to the top.

It’d been in one of the languages that Damian knew and that her own circle of languages learned share no overlap with, but she mentally repeats it sound for sound in her head until she locks it in. Anything that can make Jason look that impressed is worth knowing, and translating something phonetically from an unknown language is nothing Google can’t handle.

And by Google she meant Tim, but that’s what ex-boyfriends are for, right? She’s fairly certain she saw that on a T-shirt somewhere, which is basically the same thing as true.

Anyway. Back to the praises that are supposed to be being sung, and yet weirdly, she still hears no singing. Steph boomerangs her focus back down the table to Smugness in Silver, and oozes impatience and expectations out her pores at him like emotions are contagious and she’s a cooties hotspot.

Fumbling from a clear unease with this particular kind of spotlight, and also how it’d admittedly been a weird fucking night for everyone concerned, the younger teen at last manages to self-consciously eke out: “Look, I said it was dumb now. I seriously was just gonna make a joke about you being too smart to get sucked into a weird ass family with endless drama without having an escape clause, and I was just gonna be like, teach me your ways or y’know. Whatever.”

“Wait!” Stephanie stops him right there with a palm outstretched in the universal sign for hold the fucking fuck the fuck up. She leans towards him, and in a voice pitched low and even but vibrating with barely leashed intensity, she asks him the only question that could possibly matter now:

“Was that last bit actually part of the joke you were going to make? The thing you were trying to say from the get go, not just something you said right now because you got confidence diarrhea and stopped using the words good?”

“Uh, yeah?” He says warily.

Stephanie slaps both her hands on the table’s surface, loudly enough to make most everyone jump a little in their seats, and forcefully enough to rattle some dishware and make her inner monologue hiss oww and yell at her for unnecessary roughness. She ignores herself, on account of having much more important things to deal with. 

Launching herself to her feet, she leans into her palms where they press down on the table, giving herself a little bit of Loom to go with the gravity she forces onto her face. Glee is waging a valiant effort at retaking the lost ground, but she’s always insisted that she has excellent self-control, dagnabbit, and Stephanie Brown is many, many things, but she’s no liar.

Well, except for the times she is. But there are always reasons or like, extenuating circumstances for those.

Usually.

“I accept the honor and responsibility of being your Family Drama Sensei, and I shall teach you everything I know and also some stuff I make up just to fuck with you, because I’m not like Other Mentors. I demand and expect some giggles to go with the shits, or what’s even the point, y’know? First lesson: that was rhetorical! I say y’know a lot and when I actually expect an answer I’ll also be like omg hurry up, I aged 84 years waiting for you to say something already. Got it?”

The Twin That Could Have Probably Starred In Twilight blinks dazedly at her. He then turns to look at the rest of the table.

“Is she serious?”

“Deadly,” Steph intones, before one of these naysayers could nay on her say and potentially undercut her authority with her new minion. Uh, she means, like, henchkid. Sorry, sidekick. Shit. Crap - protege! That was what she has, a protege! Hah!

“For real?” He asks, doubtfully. She frowns. Is she stuttering?

“So real I make reality look fake,” she assures him gravely. He blinks some more. He does that a lot, she notes, like a Good Mentor who notices stuff about her mentee.

“Okay, see, because that wasn’t really what I was going for?” He says cautiously. 

She rolls her eyes. C’mon kid, she doesn’t bite, except for like, sexy stuff and eww no, he’s like twelve. Well sixteen probably, but that’s basically the same thing as twelve. Also they had a lot of work to do on the spine-having thing because this sorta bit right here is totally gonna make her look bad in front of all the other mentors, if it doesn’t exit stage right, like post haste. And what not.

She doesn’t say any of that that out loud though. She’s not sure they’re there yet.

“Like, I was aiming more for just....a...I don’t know, a hah-hah?” 

He leans back slightly, adding a little distance as he looks at her like she’s part of the craziness he needs help surviving instead of his sensei in all things suited to surviving the craziness. Ugh, she has so much work to do with this one. Its a good thing she’s always been pretty sure she’d make an excellent mentor, so like, qualifications. She has them. Obvy.

“La la la, I can’t hear you but also no take-backsies. You’re part of a legacy now. Or lineage. Or whatever the word is that’s not actually about dog family trees. Look, the point is by virtue of being my first ever protege and also the first protege of anyone who isn’t Dick or Babs who both don’t even count anyway because Reasons, you are now part of the grand tradition that is being a Bats and Birds person...partner...sidekick...thingie. Look, we don’t have the terminology all worked out yet. Like I said this is basically new territory except for Dick and Babs who don’t count and also Bruce, but he mostly communicates via grunts and scowls anyway, rendering most terminology moot.”

“What’s happening right now?” Her protege asks to no one in particular. Ugh. Unacceptable. She’s taking twenty points from House Twilight whenever she finishes reading those damn books and figures out just how that whole thing works.

“Okay, so the big takeaway from your first lesson here, because fuck that being cryptic noise, mentors who are always like ‘you have to figure out what you’re supposed to be learning here and then also learn it’ like, ugh, no. The worst, seriously.” 

Look, occasionally detours are probably inevitable, but the important part is that she remain strong when doggy-paddling determinedly towards her point, because good mentors can handle occasional detours and don’t treat them like Kryptonite that’s gonna kill them all when they’re literally just sparring in the Cave, like, perspective, have some, y’know? 

And also they don’t need to stop every couple hours into training so they can have temper tantrums because their kids are like, no dad, we can’t hang out today because that’s a thing that kinda happens when little kid people turn into bigger people people, like oh noes, gasp, horror. And then they have to go stomp around and make that everyone else’s problem because no matter how much they insist they’re loners, they actually really suck at being alone. Even though you’d think that mastering that particular skill would logically come first before you get around to training to say shit like “I am the Night, my dude,” with a straight face.

Its faintly occurring to her that she might actually have unresolved issues about Bruce and her brief apprentice-ship thingie with him. And also maybe its not super awesome conclusion and also the follow-up to all that bit of bother, all of which gargled a fair amount of donkey balls.

Ugh. Epiphanies are such losers. Literally who asked.

“Ahem. Anyway. Big takeaway. Teachable moment. Right. So yeah, first big thing is commitment. You start something, you see it through, got it? In this family and otherwise vaguely affiliated network of mentors and mentees, we don’t do take-backsies, okay? Its a matter of pride. Principle. Also, maybe brain damage. Like I said, this all really started with Dick, and he does get hit and shot in the head a whole lot, so admittedly, the rest of us do have some. Y’know. Questions. Now you sit there and absorb all that for a second. Like a sponge. See yourself as a sponge. Be the sponge. Good sponge.” 

Wisdom having been successfully imparted, Steph nods in satisfaction and then spins to take in the rest of the room, hands planted on her hips Wonder Woman style, because power poses are totally gonna be lesson two.

Her eyes find their way to Bruce easily enough, which makes sense seeing as how his scowl takes up half the room. Any room. Okay, at this point she's willing to jot that whole might have issues thing down as okay so maybe she definitely has unresolved issues with Bruce. So what? She also has a protege, albeit one who probably does need some more convincing to fully be on board, but the point remains that like. Whatever. Suck her entire ass.

“Well,” she declares loftily, as if she’s not just talking directly to the B-Man. Plausible deniability, yo. Just because she’s willing to admit to herself that she maybe definitely has issues to still sort through, that doesn’t mean she has to like. Go around admitting that to other people. She’s not some kind of heathen. “I trust that we’ll all remember where we were when it was undeniably revealed that I, Stephanie Brown, do in fact have Wisdom and Experiences to share with the youths of tomorrow. As that is a thing that just happened. Lo!”

“I have witnesses,” Steph declares with the dial set all the way to Peak Drama, because look, if you can’t lean into the drama in Wayne Freaking Manor, life is empty and meaningless and that’s gonna be her supervillain origin story, probably. She throws out an arm towards the rest of the table, encompassing the dual rows of expressions that could best be described as bemused - if she were being generous and also lying out her freaking ass.

Still, she stands firm in the silence that follows her ringing proclamation, allowing not the slightest hint of self-consciousness slip free of her self control, because she’d literally just made a big deal about how it was all about committing, and Stephanie Brown might be many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them.

Well, other than - nope. Not doing that again. Upon reflection and careful examination of what really matters, accuracy also can be invited to suck the proverbial it.

Besides, there’s too much at stake for her to allow any weakness to betray her now. This is a momentous moment. Clash of the Stubbornness kinda stuff. She’s facing down Punky Brucester himself, and on his own turf of all places. Things like principles....and...and being right, all hang in the balance.

And yes, Stephanie is well aware that she has left even Peak Drama in the dust aeons ago, and they’re deep in uncharted waters now, with like, here there be dragons, lurking dramatically. So what if she’s being ridiculous? She maintains that he had started it, she’s like 99% she is being not at all irrational and unreasonable about that, and by God, she will have her vindication or she will have....whatever the tail end of that cliche goes like. Unless its death, because she kinda sorta already did that, and as far as she’s concerned it counted, and either way, she’s way over it and not looking for reruns.

All the while, Bruce stares her down with his face doing that resting I’m Judging You Face thing that nobody can be that oblivious to walking around with all the time, no matter what they may claim in liar-esque fashion. 

Though, for all her various unresolved issues with him or whatever, she can admit to herself that the man is a goddamn master of conveying a bitch could care less. She’d sat on gargoyles that had served more face than Mr. I Could Be Listening To You Right Now or I Could Actually Be Thinking Boring Rich Asshole Stuff Like Whats Up With the Stock Market Today, LOL You’ll Never Know.

She upgrades her ‘Think About Issues’ notification to a maybe consider talking to someone about some of this stuff level.

When Bruce’s carefully placid facade finally breaks, then, it doesn’t break so much as it freaking shatters. Further evidence of this definitely being her superpower, which means time to move on to asking like, ugh why such an obnoxiously specific superpower, tho.

“She doesn’t even live here!” Bruce thunders again. Or some synonym that still means loud and forceful but also being desperate and totes whining. The Big Guy turns to face his children imploringly. He throws an arm in Steph’s direction for accusatory emphasis. Y’know. All dramatic like.

Oh shit. Maybe she did pick up some things from him after all.

Ugh. Okay, never mind, its definitely epiphanies that are gonna be her supervillain origin story. Seriously.

Fuck those guys.

[g-viirus]

~Bad memory~

Through half-open eyes, Leon glanced at the clock again. 3:14. Only ten minutes since he’d last checked. With a grunt, he flipped to the other side, closing his eyes again.

Maybe it was the fact that he was on a couch. Or, of course, maybe he was making excuses. Maybe he really couldn’t sleep, no matter if he was in his own apartment, or Sherry’s. Through a drowsy mind, he vaguely recalled her concern. Words were harder to remember, but the care in her voice had been apparent. She always seemed to worry - even when he felt he didn’t deserve it.

His tired thoughts couldn’t stay connected for long, dragged apart by the dark room and his need for sleep. At an agonizingly slow pace, he could feel night falling upon him, finally pulling him away from reality.

Cold washed over him like a shower of ice. Leon shot up from his position, eyes wide with shock. This wasn’t Sherry’s apartment, but he knew damn well what it was.

A cold, dark hallway was laid out before him, walls and floor spattered with blood and gore. A window was smashed open, shreds of police tape hanging off of the sill and blowing in the wind and rain. He was in the RPD.

So. This was going to be one those dreams. Mentally, he began to prepare himself for the worst, pulling himself to his feet and beginning down the hall. It only took a few seconds for him to realize that there was someone else in the distance, someone very small, watching him intently. Someone he recognized, as he moved closer.

 "Sherry?“ he whispered, peering into the shadows.

It was Sherry, alright. Blonde hair pulled into a now-messy bun, clothes stained with dirt, her face  into an expression of fear. She didn’t recognize him. The girl took a step backwards, as Leon stepped towards her.

 "It’s alright, Sherry, it’s okay, I won’t-”

It was now that Leon realized she was not looking at him, but rather, past him. He checked behind himself, finding a rotting, walking body stumbling down the hall. He turned around fully, reaching for a gun ( it only took a second for him to realize that he didn’t have a weapon ) and readying himself to fight.

 "Sherry, I need you to-“

Once again, he was interrupted, as Sherry seemed to realize that the zombie in front of her was dangerous. The high-pitched scream of a terrified child hit the air, followed by several loud thumps. Leon swerved around again, to find that Sherry had fled. The agent took chase, calling for the girl as he followed her down the hallway. The infected behind him squealed, and began to stumble after the duo.

Like some kind of ungraceful Spiderman, Sherry clambered onto a desk and into a vent. Leon got the sense that the cover had been pulled off by her, perhaps for this very reason. He stopped in front of the opening, only just in time to watch her disappear into another room.

‘Okay. Okay, she’s smart, she’ll be fine,’ his thoughts ended abruptly, as a cold set of hands landed on the nape of his neck, pulling him face to face with–

The scene changed. Leon stood silent in shock, trying to decide where he was. It was a house, a living room of some kind, perhaps. Expensive-looking furnishings adorned the room, although Leon couldn’t help but feel like it looked too much like a museum. He knew this place, too. Simmons’ house.

Instantly, he noticed himself - or, more appropriately, his younger self - knelt down in the center of the room. His hands held the arms of a now-clean-looking Sherry, who’s expression was twisted with  what Leon could only describe as pain. Behind her, leaned against a door-frame, was the bastard man himself. Derek C. Simmons. Leon’s gut sank - he knew exactly what was happening.

 "You said that you’d stay,” Sherry’s voice was choked with sadness, a sort of loss that no child’s tone should ever have to carry.

 "I know, I know, Sherry. But, look- I’ll visit, I promise,“ he watched himself attempt to comfort the girl, who was growing more hysterical by the minute.

 "I don’t want you to visit, I want to stay with you! You said,” Sherry stopped to suppress a sob, crocodile tears flowing down her cheeks, “You said we’d be a family!”

Even now, in a dream, the words cut like a knife. They stabbed at his chest, digging up the feelings of loss that he’d worked so hard to ignore. His former self, still young, was experiencing them for the first time. He watched, moment by moment, as the former cop’s expression went from seriousness, to remorse, to misery in a single second.

 "I’m sorry, Sherry. There isn’t- This is how it has to be.“

His tone was hushed, just barely loud enough for his older self to hear. Sherry buried her head in dream-Leon’s shoulder, howling as she wept. His younger self wrapped his arms around her, mumbling words of comfort as he slowly rocked her back and forth. His eyes closed ( he couldn’t cry in front of Sherry - he remembered thinking that ). Simmons checked his watch, and clapped his hands, causing both older and younger Leon to flinch.

 "Alright, Mr. Kennedy, that’s five minutes. Your time is up.”

Younger Leon sighed, “Look, sir, just let me-”

 "We agreed on five minutes. It’s time you go.“

Sherry managed to quiet herself long enough for Leon to mumble a goodbye, before he stood up and headed for the door. The young girl watched, sniveling and shaking, only allowing herself to begin crying again as the door clicked shut.

 "Now, Ms. Birkin,” Simmons turned Sherry around to face him, “You’ll be living under my roof, which means you abide by my rules. You go to bed at 7:00 PM, sharp. You’ll be punished if you’re caught up after that…”

As much as his voice pissed Leon off, it slowly faded. As did everything else. And, without truly knowing how it happened, Leon found himself elsewhere. A deathly-white room, with a young girl sat atop a hospital bed. He was able to recognize her as Sherry, although older, now. She looked about fifteen, hair cut to just above her shoulders, blue eyes sullen as she stared at the wall. They were alone, it seemed- Just maybe-

 "Sherry, can you hear me?“ he was still reeling from the pain of the last memory, and his voice mirrored that. To his surprise, Sherry reacted, turning to look at him.

 "Leon?”

The door opened, and much to Leon’s confusion, a small team entered the room. All clad in white, with sick masks across their faces and their hair pulled under hair nets. The only one he could place was Simmons, who asked ( quite rudely, in Leon’s opinion ), “Ms. Birkin, who are you talking to?”

 "I, uh-“ Sherry looked back at where Leon stood, but she didn’t seem to notice him this time, "Nothing, Mr. Simmons. Just my head.”

Simmons scoffed, as though to say that he should’ve known. The team dispersed themselves about the room, each fiddling with their own instruments. The headlamp above Sherry was flicked on, and one of the doctors took Sherry’s chin. She began to inspect her eyes, skin, ears - normal doctor’s appointment things, Leon figured.

Simmons had placed himself by the door, scribbling away at a notepad. It was only as the doctor held out Sherry’s arm, that Leon realized something was very wrong.

 "Alright. Ms. Birkin, has the anesthetic set in?“

 "I think so. I can’t feel my arm.”

 "Of course. Genkins, get me the saw. Ms. Birkin, I recommend you close your eyes.“

The metal was pressed firmly against Sherry’s skin, slowly piercing through her flesh, and while she didn’t react, Leon felt every second of it. His good hand wrapped around his wrist, putting pressure on a nonexistent, yet pulsating wound. Quickly, but not cleanly, Sherry’s hand was severed from it’s arm.

Despite the throbbing in his own arm, Leon tried to move towards Sherry, intentions set on pulling her away. Waves of confusion and anger washed over him, only furthering when he found himself unable to move. Sherry made no noise, but her tightly-closed eyes and gritted teeth told Leon everything he didn’t want to know.

The blonde let out a scream, as her hand began to regrow from it’s stump. Bone extended outwards, muscles slowly climbing their way after it. The skin began to grow over it, leaving the hand blue and, in some places, black. At the same time, the pain in his arm disappeared. The old hand had been picked up now, and put in a bag on the counter. The new one had flopped at the base, useless, nerves spasming as it tried to revive itself.

 "Healing time, 53 seconds. Mutations apparent,” the doctor looked away, and at Simmons, “If it’s anything like the last time, her hand should be back to it’s regular appearance and usable by next week.”

There was a nod from Simmons, who continued to write away. God, Leon wanted to punch the bastard. He didn’t know if what he was watching unfold held any semblance of truth, or if it was purely a conjuration of his own thoughts. But that didn’t change how livid he was, or how badly he wanted to go to Sherry, and take her away from the doctors and help her - to protect her.

But he couldn’t.

The agent was held to his spot, forced to watch as a barrage of scenes passed by him. All in the same room, with the same theme. And with every slice of the skin, every amputation, even a gunshot or two, Leon felt the same pain as Sherry did.

He could only catch glimpses, snippets of words and and flashes of pain. He heard Sherry crying; Simmons explaining that she was a mutant, undeserving of the treatment a human might receive; voices belonging to himself and Claire, offering heartfelt goodbyes.

By the end, Leon was left aching and lost.

——-

He woke to Sherry’s face.

 "Leon! Leon, are you okay? You were-“

The blonde was cut off, as Leon pushed himself to a seated position and pulled Sherry into a tight hug. His breath was ragged, eyes unwilling to close, should she be taken from him again. After a moment, the hug was reciprocated, as Sherry wrapped her own arms around him.

 "It’s alright. It was just a dream. You’re safe here, I promise.”

His forehead pressed against her shoulder, finally willing his eyelids to close. He needed to calm down - they were safe - she was safe. Slowly, he pulled away, to look her in the eyes, hands holding her arms once again. The question stuck in his throat - “What happened to you?” - but he couldn’t ask. Either she wouldn’t understand, or he’d only end up scratching at old wounds. Both things that he didn’t want to happen.

 "Are you okay?“ her tone was feathery soft, filled with worry. It took a second, but he nodded.

 "Yeah, I’m- I’m fine, kiddo. Thank you,” he paused for a brief moment, ending with a, “Listen, you, uh… If you ever need to tell me anything, I’m here. I hope you know that.”

A smile broke out on the woman’s face. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me that, but yeah. I know. And you do too, okay?”

 "I know. You’re a good kid, Sherry.“

 "And you’re a good dad, Leon.”

[urwarriorangel]

old friend (klaus mikaelson au)

plot: you and klaus used to be best friends. and then, of course, you fell for him but he fell for caroline and left to new orleans to worry about his hybrid army. after a particularly concerning dream, you decide to see what he’s up to now.

pairing: klaus mikaelson x reader

warnings: language, slight angst (!!!no gifs r mine!!!)

a/n: here is another segment in my dream series! thank you all for being here still even though i don’t deserve you. i really hope you guys enjoy this short klaus piece. there’s a bit of marcel and elijah thrown in for good measure. if you guys want to read any other dream fics, please click anywhere in this sentence to access them <3 please let me know what you think

Klaus has been in New Orleans for five years now, and he’s made no effort to contact you in that time. The two of you were best of friends and for a brief moment, you thought you could be more. But it’s like Klaus sensed your hope and shattered it right before he left town. He hooked up with Caroline and paraded the fact in front of you, leaving Mystic Falls the next day without telling you a thing.

Since then, you’ve heard nothing from him, getting only second hand accounts from friends who’ve run into him at odd times.

You still thought of him, of course you did. But he couldn’t be bothered with you and you’d understood that quickly. You made no effort to contact him, to travel and see him, to hurt him. You just left everything alone, but you don’t think you can do that anymore.

A couple nights ago, you had a terrible nightmare: Klaus was in chains, a dagger in his chest as he screamed out in pain. He screamed your name, as though he was calling out to you. He was crying out your name repeatedly, apologizing, it felt too real to be a dream. When he reached a hand out to grab you, you physically felt it and that’s what woke you up.

Since then, he clouds your every waking thought and you go to sleep hoping to see him again. And when two nights pass with no other sign of Klaus, you grow oddly fearful. Is he okay? Was that actually him trying to reach out to you? Are you thinking too much into this?

Probably. But it’s too late. It’s too late to turn back now. You’re already in New Orleans. You’re not quite sure how to find him, but you figure if you spend a day in the quarter you should run into him or one of his siblings.

And sure enough, you run into Elijah about ten minutes after being in the Quarter. You don’t see him at first. You’re facing the counter of a souvenir shop, laughing at all the crocodile paraphernalia.

“Y/N,” you hear a familiar voice behind you and shivers run down your spine, half in fear and half in relief.

“Lijah,” you turn around to face him, a tentative smile on your face. “It’s been a while.”

“That’s an understatement,” his worries all melt away and a smile makes its way onto his face as soon as you look at him. “Come here.”

You smile and tuck yourself into his arms, sighing softly as you think back to the last time you hugged him: a much more apologetic version of this man, constantly apologizing for his brother’s mistakes.

“How have you been, sunshine?” He pulls away after a moment and tucks your hair behind your ear, waiting to hear about your life the past few years.

“I’ve been okay, Elijah. Still alive. Still human as ever. How are you?”

“How are we? Don’t you mean how is he?” He raises a brow at you and you shake your head.

“Tell me about yourself. We can talk about Klaus some other time.” He looks at you skeptically but gives a slight nod and holds an arm out to lead you out of the shop.

Once you’re out, he tells you about life in New Orleans. He tells you about Marcel, talks about how much Hope has grown, about Kol coming back and dying and coming back, about Rebecca finding comfort in a new body, about his newfound sister, about Aunt Dahlia and his mom, about Davina and Vincent, about Cami. He caught you up on everything and by the time he was done, you were standing in front of a massive mansion.

“What’s this?” You whisper and one look at Elijah’s face had you regretting ever stepping out with him. “Lijah, no. No.”

“Y/N, yes. It’s been too long and you’re here for a reason,” he places his hands on your shoulders in an attempt to calm you. “Klaus could use an old friend right now, you--”

“Get your hand off of me,” you pull your arm out of his and take a step back, angry tears that you’ve been holding back for five years jumping in your eyes.begging to find a way down your cheeks. “You know who else could have used an old friend? Me. I could have used a friend when Klaus paraded Caroline in front of me, when he left Mystic Falls without telling me, when he didn’t bother to call me once: not on my birthday, not after I almost died, not when the heretics tortured me. And I had no one. I was alone, Elijah. So don’t feed me crap about how Klaus needs someone. Klaus always had someone: he always had me. Not anymore. I just needed to know he was alive. Now that I do, I’m going to head back home.”

Elijah opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head and stop him. You wipe your tears and back away, slowly finding your way back to the Quarter. How could you be so foolish as to think Elijah would be on your side?

So here you are at some bar named Rousseau’s with a couple drinks already in you and a couple more on their way. You’re holding off on getting completely black out drunk because there’s a guy standing in the doorway who won’t take his eyes off you.

He’s been staring at you since you walked in and you wish you could say it was the way you wanted him to. He’s beautiful: a full 6 feet of glorious brown skin chiseled by the gods themselves. Based on what Elijah’s filled you in on and the stories Klaus told you some odd years ago, you assume the man is Marcel. And while every fiber in you is screaming, telling you that you should be scared of this man, you ignore them. Maybe getting hurt by a man this beautiful was exactly what you needed. So you get your slightly tipsy ass up and walk over to the man, whose expression remains the same.

“I’m assuming you’re Marcel?” You stop a foot in front of him and he raises a brow at you. “Klaus and Elijah have both managed to fill me in on your… history. Something about you being Klaus’s protege and now his nemesis?”

“Well, sweetheart, nemesis isn’t exactly the right word,” he smirks and this time you raise your brows at him.

“No? Then what is? I’ve heard you’ve caused quite a ruckus down here with the way you rule, witch hangings of some sort or the other?” You whisper the last part and he narrows his eyes at you, causing you to smirk in return. “Hey, I’ve also heard those things are in the past. Now you’re just the most powerful being in New Orleans.”

“Oh, so you’re pretty up to date then, huh?” You shrug in response and he chuckles softly. “You’re Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you, you used to be Klaus’s little play thing didn’t you?”

“I was never his little play thing, never managed to capture his attention,” you give Marcel a pointed look. “If you’re gonna go low, baby, know I can go lower. I’m not scared of you.”

“No? Then why are you shaking?”

“It’s really fucking cold in here,” you shiver and Marcel can’t help but laugh at you. “You folks have no understanding of moderation, it’s either way too hot or way too cold, I mean--” Marcel’s laughing gets louder and you smack his arm, shaking your head. “I’m serious!”

“I know,” his laughing slowly dies down, but the smile remains on his face. “That’s what makes it funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep laughing you mutant,” you playfully glare at him and he returns the gesture.

Just as Marcel opens his mouth to speak, another voice speaks instead, sending chills down your spine for an altogether different reason.

“Getting chummy, I see,” the low voice brings out an anger in you, a fire you were sure could burn down the whole city.

You roll your eyes in response, earning a smile from Marcel.

“Just being as gracious a host as I can be, Klaus,” Marcel raises a brow at his mentor, who in turn growls at him.

“Down boys,” you stand between them, rolling your eyes at their childish behavior. “I’m leaving. You two have fun here.”

You walk out the bar, no longer tipsy. You’re angry again and you hope to avoid Klaus for as long as you can. Of course, seeing as he is a fucking hybrid, that’s not possible for more than three seconds.

“Y/N,” Klaus runs in front of you, grasping your arm to keep you in place.

“Touch me again and I’ll rip that arm off, Klaus,” you glare at him and although he knows he’s stronger than you, a very real fear runs down his spine.

He lets go of you and you keep walking away from him. He physically feels you slipping away and while he knows he should give you some space, a much larger part of him knows that if he lets you go now then he’s never getting you back.

“Y/N, please,” Klaus calls out to you and you falter at the desperation in his voice. “Please just let me talk.”

You stop, steadying your breath before you face him. You know you have to hear him out, you can’t say no to him. You don’t want to say no to him.

“Klaus,” you turn around, whispering softly. “You have five minutes. I owe it to myself to hear you out.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have paraded Caroline in front of your face, knowing that you wanted something more. I shouldn’t have--”

“I’m sorry what?!” Fists form at your side and you glare daggers at Klaus, a newfound anger under your look. “You fucking KNEW that I was into you and you boasted about Caroline every chance you got?”

His eyes go wide and as he opens his mouth to try to explain himself, you reach a hand up and slap him right across the face.

“Don’t ever fucking try to talk to me again,” you grit your teeth and furiously wipe at your cheeks at the angry tears that are running down your face. “I came all the way to New Orleans to see if you were okay. I had a dream, you know, a bad dream where you fucking called out to me and you know what my dumb ass did? I woke up and came here, in real time, to see if you were okay. And not only are you okay, you also haven’t changed for the better. You’re the same selfish prick you were years ago.”

You turn around and walk away, ignoring Klaus’s pleads. What a very alive, very well piece of shit.

[master-sass-blast]

Decisions, Decisions.

Hi. Welcome to angst.

Summary: You join up with part of the X-Force and Frank Castle, alias the Punisher, to rescue a group of mutants being trafficked to Hell’s Kitchen. Things go wrong, however, when you get shot in the leg and wind up having an episode during the mission.

Rating: M for mentions of gun shot injuries/injuries in general, swearing, and angst. Lots of it.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader and Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson.

@marvel-is-perfection

(Side note: Frank Castle is my new hyperfixation. HOLY SHIT HE’S SO HOT. I don’t have any fics for him planned any time soon, but yeah. Jon Bernthal is a snacc.)

“Forgive yourself for not having the foresight to know what seems so obvious in hindsight.” -Judy Belmont.

“--but that was before I back-flipped over the crocodile pit--”

You snort as Wade dives deeper into his latest story about a hit on a zoo manager that had participated in the distribution of child porn, and try --again--to get the band-aid you’ve been fiddling with for the past two minutes to apply to your elbow without sticking to your fingers. “Okay, you’re making this up.”

Wade makes a noise of fake offense and places his hand on his chest. “You dare to suggest that would hyperbolize the latest and greatest tale of my prowess as a mercenary?”

“You hyperbolize burning toast in the morning.”

“Well, see if I share my snacks with you ever again!”

“Oh yeah, I’m so worried about not having access to your shitty fruit snacks --for fuck’s sake!”

“Is everything alright?” Piotr, in his X-Men suit and in full armor, treads into the kitchen with an expression of concern.

“Oh, yeah. I’m just having trouble with this fucking band-aid is all.”

He chuckles and walks over to where you’re positioned at the counter. “Let me, moya lyubov’.”

In that moment, two things happen.

First, Piotr gets the band-aid onto your elbow on his first try. The fucker.

Second, Nate walks through the back door, trailed by--

Wade lets out an excited gasp. “Spank Me Daddy! Fancy seeing you here!”

Frank Castle, alias ‘The Punisher,’ closes his eyes, makes an expression of barely concealed annoyance, and turns on his heel. “Nope. ‘M out.”

“No, you’re not.” Nathan catches Frank by the back of his jacket and yanks him into the kitchen. “I put up with him on a daily basis; you can manage for one job.”

“You’re crazy enough to date ‘im. That’s the difference.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, frowning. You knew that Nathan mentioning a job meant that he was placing another part of his plan to save the world into place, and that he had teamed up with Castle before if a mission happened to put them on the same path, and that if Nathan came to the X-Mansion it was because he needed the X-Men’s help--

But ‘job’ plus Frank Castle --of all people--plus the X-Men?

You couldn’t figure out how it all fit together in his head. Frank’s self-appointed tenure as the Punisher set him at pretty heavy odds with the X-Men’s no killing rule, and you were pretty sure a man like Frank wouldn’t hold any appreciation for the X-Men’s strict adherence to that rule --not all that different from Wade, all things considered.

“There’s a team of human traffickers that have been running between Europe and the States,” Nathan explains. “They’ve a got a shipment of mutants coming in tonight, at one of the docks in Hell’s Kitchen. We’re heading in tonight to make sure they get rescued in good order.”

“Okay,” you say slowly before pointing at Frank. “And you’re joining in because?”

“He owes me a favor,” Nathan says with a smirk.

Frank rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Only way I’d ever get within ten feet of Wilson.”

“Aw, Super Top, I’m hurt!”

You do your best to hide a grin --and fail, if the look that Frank shoots you is any indicator--and nod. “Alright. When do we leave?”

“I am not sure this is good idea,” Piotr says, ever the advocate for caution. “Hell’s Kitchen is entirely different game than most of us are used to working. We would be out of natural element --not to mention that things would likely devolve into senseless violence.”

“You really gonna look me in the eye and tell me that a few traffickers are worth keeping around?” Frank growls.

Yupp. Just like Wade.

“I am concerned about safety of my team. I am well aware of your reputation, Mr. Castle. You have extensive history of high collateral damage.”

“So does Wilson, but you let him live here. You got a point?”

“Domino’s already agreed to join in, as has Wade,” Nathan interjects before a nastier argument can break out. “All we were looking for is for your’s and Y/N’s help.”

Piotr frowns. “Again, I am not sure that is good idea.”

“Don’t want to get your hands dirty by doing some actual fucking work?” Frank asks, brow arched and expression unimpressed.

“They’ll need one of the jets to get everyone evacuated quickly,” you say before Piotr and Frank can start arguing again. “And if you’re there to break open whatever’s being used to carry the trafficking victims, the job’ll get done that much faster, which means less chances of unnecessary deaths. Plus, if I go, I can do some high altitude reconnaissance; that’ll help everyone be that much safer.”

Piotr’s frown doesn’t lift. “Moya lyubov’, I still disagree. Even though you are using good logic and reason, Hell’s Kitchen is entirely different beast. I think it would be best to stay clear.”

“Babe--” you reach out and latch onto one of his hands, steel cool to the touch against your skin “--we’ve done stuff like this before. It’ll be alright. Besides, there are people who need our help, and I can’t look away from that.”

He considers, mouth pressed into a tight line, then relents with a sigh. “Khorosho. But only to make sure you stay safe.”

You squeeze his hand --which isn’t much of a squeeze since he’s armored up, but the sentiment of the gesture remains unchanged. “Everything’s gonna be alright, big guy. You’ll see.”

It’s a --thankfully--warm summer’s night as you fly over the dock in question, high enough that you won’t be seen.

It’s easy enough to see the group of men at the far end of the dock. Just like Nathan said, there’s a crane offloading a few small shipping containers from an unmarked boat, setting them onto semi trailers while men holding assault rifles watch the process and the docks.

On the far end, closest to the city, you can see Nathan, Wade, Piotr, Neena, and Frank working their way through the maze of shipping containers already stacked on the concrete pier.

“How’re things looking?” Neena asks.

“They’ve got three containers offloaded and on the trucks so far. I can see about fifteen different guys, but I don’t know if that’s all of them or not.”

“I guarantee it isn’t,” Frank growls under his breath over the wireless headset system you’re all hooked into. “No way these assholes are leaving the ship empty while they’re offloading.”

You hear Piotr mutter something under his breath in Russian that you know --by now--means he’s lecturing Frank on his language, and smirk. “Yeah, well--” There’s a loud crack, and you yelp as a bullet whizzes past your elbow. “Shit! What the fuck!”

“Myshka? What is it?”

“Fuck, I’ve been spotted. I--” Before you can finish your sentence, something that feels like a fucking school bus hits you in the leg, knocking you back. You can feel air rushing past you, whipping your hair around, then let out a scream when you realize you’re falling. “Shit!”

The air current you whip up keeps you from splattering into a pile of goo, but the landing is still none too gentle.

You groan, gasping as you try to push yourself upright. Your entire right leg is screaming with pain, and you can hear the cacophony of worried voices in one ear as the sound of gunfire hits the other.

“Y/N! Myshka, where are you? Are you alright?”

You push yourself into a sitting position, crying out in pain as you sag against the metal wall of a shipping container. You place your hand on your aching limb, as if that would numb some of the pain, and your stomach churns when your palm comes away wet and warm.

Blood. Dark, dripping, warm--

“I’ve been shot,” you wheeze, hand shaking as the shock starts to set in.

Nathan swears in your ear. “Get to a safe place. Get back to the jet if you can.”

“I got hit in the leg; I can’t fucking move!”

“I’ll get her,” Neena says over the earpiece system.

You can hear the traffickers shouting, footsteps smacking against the concrete as they track you down.

You’re also suddenly aware that the wind is whipping around you, nearing gale forces despite the completely clear skies.

When you look up, there isn’t another graffiti covered container sitting in front of you. Instead, all you can see are thick stands of trees.

“Fuck.” Your head’s spinning from pain, panic, and blood loss. “Guys, I’m--”

“I know, kid,” Nathan grunts. “Try to stay calm. Domino, stick with us. Wade, go get Y/N.”

Memories, the present reality, and black spots all swim in your vision. You’re shaking from head to toe, hissing with pain every time you jostle your leg. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck-

A man carrying a rifle walks around the corner of one of the shipping containers.

You don’t have time to think or call for help. All you have is one insane ‘Hail Mary.’

You close your eyes and let the episode take over.

You come to in a hospital room.

Not one of the clinic rooms in the X-Mansion, but an actual hospital room; white walls, fancy monitoring equipment, special bed, the whole nine yards.

You grimace as you swallow at the dryness in your mouth. Your body feels heavy, like it’s been filled with lead, and your head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton balls.

You manage to loll your head to the side and see Piotr snoozing in the chair next to your bed. You try to say his name, but only manage to make yourself cough.

He wakes up anyway, coming to with a sharp inhalation of breath that’s followed by an adorable snort. He lurches forward, rubbing at his face, then fully comes awake all at once when he sees you peering at him. “Myshka. You’re up.”

The amount of reverence and relief squeezed into those three words nearly makes you cry. You try to shift towards him, reaching for him.

“Nyet, nyet, nyet.” He gets up quickly and sits on the edge of your bed. “You need to stay still. You were very badly injured.”

You swallow on nothing again and grimace. “Can I have some water?” you croak.

“The nurse said you could, but only few sips.” He picks up a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw poked through the lid and holds it for you. “Little sips. No gulps.”

You do as instructed, taking a few baby sips to alleviate your parched mouth and throat. “What--” you cough again “--what am I doing here? How long have I been out?”

“You lost...” His face strains with grief and concern, and it takes him a couple minutes to get his composure back. “You had episode, and lost great deal of blood. We had to bring you here for surgery.”

“But the healers at the mansion--”

“You almost died on the jet,” he says quietly. “Twice. We... we needed experts. Resources beyond what the clinic has. Professor Xavier’s family helped build this hospital; he sent us here.”

Once again, the Xavier fortune opens doors. “How long have I been out?”

“Only about... twenty-seven hours. Once they got you stabilized and sewn up, the doctors said your recovery was likely.”

You nod, then lift your hand to his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He sighs, and takes your hand in his so he can press his lips against your fingers. “I am now.”

Another twelve hours pass --most of which you spend sleeping, thank you painkillers--before anyone else shows up.

You’re watching TV when Piotr walks in, vase of flowers in hand, trailed by Nathan and Wade. “Cable and Deadpool are here.”

You file the use of the merc names away for further review; you’ve known Piotr for a while now, enough to know that he uses formalities as a way of keeping polite distance between himself and people he’s unsure of or uncomfortable with.

Or, as you suspect in this case, keeping a wall between himself and the two people who are most likely taking the brunt of his anger.

You smile up at them anyway, happy to see them and that they’re in one piece.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Nate asks as he sits at the foot of your bed, squeezing your blanket covered foot affectionately.

“All things considered, not too bad. I can’t feel a damn thing because of the painkillers, I get pudding with every meal, and I have de-facto control of the TV remote.”

“Living the high life!” Wade nods his approval. “Can’t say I’m not jealous.”

Piotr opens an envelope holding a small card and hands the card over to you. “From Mr. Castle.”

The inside is mostly blank, save for a few lines of heavy-handed print.

Sorry you got caught so hard in the fray. Glad you’re alright. See you around.

You can’t help but smile a little at the artless courtesy. “Well, that’s nice of him.”

“The world’s most fantastic dom and he understands the basics of social etiquette,” Wade chirps. “What’s not to love?”

You chuckle --and Nathan smirks and rolls his eyes--but you can’t help but notice the line of tension in Piotr’s shoulders.

You can tell he’s holding back the urge to send both men packing, to take control of the situation and protect you from... from whatever it is he thinks you need protecting from.

You make a mental note to commend him for his restraint --and interrogate him about what’s got him so upset. For now, you’re just going to sit back and enjoy Wade’s antics and your painkillers.

You’re released back into the care of Xavier’s a few days later, with very strict instructions for what you can and can’t do, and a rigorous physical therapy list.

You don’t have to wear a cast, fortunately, but you’ve been assigned to a wheel chair until further notice. It’s the middle of summer, and you’re off all training and missions until further notice, which leaves you with an assload of nothing to do.

And, with all your free time, you wind up thinking. A lot.

You haven’t really ever had an opportunity to make yourself into something. Growing up, your parents had controlled every single facet of your life. You hadn’t had hobbies, hadn’t had friends, hadn’t had freedom. You’d barely seen anything outside of your family’s house, save for church on Sundays and your mad dashes for freedom that always ended with someone dragging you back to your prison.

You hadn’t been anyone back then. Just a shadow of existence, trying to survive in a vacuum.

You’re someone now. You work as a teaching assistant during the school year, train with the X-Men, and occasionally help the X-Force with missions. You draw, play video games, cook, and do whatever strikes your fancy or curiosity. You have a family, friends, and a partner that you love from the top of your head to the bottoms of your toes.

But if you can’t get your episodes under control...

No. That’s not the right way to look at it.

The trauma that’s shaped you --and whatever’s happened to your brain that makes your episodes manifest the way they do--is a part of you. It doesn’t define you, and it isn’t you, but it’s still a part of your life. Even if you can get a diagnosis, there isn’t going to be some magical pill that takes everything away.

You’re always going to be at risk of having the episodes; maybe not as much as you are now, definitely not as much as you were before therapy, but it’ll always be there. It’ll always be a variable in your life.

There’s still a lot you can do, but running missions? When you’ll be in the thick of a fight, when you’ll be surrounded by your friends and family, when you won’t have the option of a safe room and careful reintegration to keep you and everyone else safe?

Piotr kisses the top of your head, jolting you out of your reverie. “It’s time for next dose, dorogoy.”

You smile at him in thanks, take the painkillers and eat the protein bar he’s holding out to you, and pat on the deck couch cushion next to yours. “Come sit with me, big guy.”

He does, careful not to jostle you. “How are you feeling?”

“Bored.”

He chuckles and kisses your temple. “It will all be over eventually.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve, uh, actually been doing a lot of thinking. About my future and shit.” You take a deep breath when he makes a noise encouraging you to continue, and spit out what’s been on your mind for the past few days. “I don’t know if I can do missions anymore. Like, not from an injury standpoint, just, like... at all.”

“Why is that?” he asks after a moment of processing, unfailingly calm.

“I kinda realized... the episodes are never gonna go away. I don’t mean that I won’t get better,” you say quickly when he opens his mouth to affirm you and build you up. “But they’ll always be there. A background possibility. I mean, diagnosis or not, there’s not gonna be a magic bullet for it. Even if we can get them to go into remission, there’s still always the chance that something’ll trigger one.”

Piotr nods hesitantly. “You’re... you are not wrong.”

“Well, I mean --I lose total control of my powers. I’m a danger to others and to myself.”

A truth that had been grotesquely, painstakingly illustrated to you in the aftermath of the most recent series of incidents. Not only had you been shot, but you’d nearly destroyed your vocal cords and lungs from the screaming you’d done. The healers had ended coming to the hospital mid-surgery, just to help stabilize you.

Not to mention the trafficker’s you’d disintegrated during it all --and some of the victims that had been accidentally crushed.

Because there were always casualties. Always.

“I’m a liability to others, no matter how well I learn to control my powers or how much therapy I go through. No matter what diagnosis and treatment I do or don’t find. That’s... that’s always gonna be there. And... and it’s pretty clear we can avoid most of... of whatever triggers it here. Or in regular life. And that, with the safe rooms and the fact that I’ve gotten better at recognizing when one’s coming, I can be around people without being a risk to them or myself.”

Piotr nods. “Agreed.”

“But missions... it’s harder to avoid the triggers because I can’t control the environment. There aren’t any safe rooms. I just...” You let out a ghost of a laugh. “It’s not rational, Piotr.”

“That is also very true.”

“But... I like doing missions. I like being the good guy. A hero. I like helping people. I really like kicking ass.” You grin when he chuckles. “And, I mean, isn’t it true that we’re all one step away from snapping? That any of us could lose it, or lose control of our powers? I mean, I’ve made it through missions without episodes, on and off the serum, so does that mean I shouldn’t throw away all of this over one bad mission?”

Piotr stares out at the lawn and puts an arm around your shoulder as he ponders your questions. “I think that is only something you can decide. You are right that any of us could lose control --many trainees do at some point. And you are right to be cautious in regard to the nature of your episodes and the technical --likely--permanence of them.”

“Yeah.” You grimace. “There’s no real easy answer to this, is there?”

“Nyet. I imagine this will take great deal of consideration on your part. But, I believe that whatever you decide will be the right choice.”

You smile, touched, and let your head rest against his shoulder. “Thanks, babe. I love you.”

“And I, you.”

You sigh, contented. “Man, Wade is going to be a pain in the ass while I’m in this wheelchair. He’s already threatened to leave things on high shelves just to torment me.” You frown when you feel Piotr tense and look up at him. “What? What’d I say?”

His mouth quirks to the side as he rubs at the back of his neck. “About that...”

“You’re leaving?”

As it turns out, you haven’t been the only one thinking about big decisions. During your recuperation at the hospital, Wade and Nate had decided to move out of Xavier’s and into a location that better suited their needs as mercenaries --and better support their views on how to handle the world.

Code for the X-Men finally had enough Wade and Nate’s morally gray ethics and gave them the boot, you think as you gawk at the duffel bags and boxes sitting by the front door.

“For once, I’m with her!” Scott says, just as shocked as you --albeit for entirely different reasons. “Nathan, you belong here with us. Not with --with--”

“Where I belong is with my partner,” Nathan growls, emphasizing the word ‘partner.’ “You kick Wade out, you kick me out. End of story.”

“Nathan, you’re not thinking rationally.”

“Yes, I am. As much as I can respect what you do here, it’s not what I stayed behind to do. I have a mission, and if I’m going to succeed I need to be able to work outside a strict set of rules.”

“Look, if this is about the whole gay thing--”

“It’s called bisexual, Scott. I suggest you get used to saying it.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, I just don’t understand why you’d shackle yourself with... with...” Scott gestures to Wade haphazardly. “That!”

Nathan goes deadly stiff, techno-organic eye flaring as he glares at Scott. “‘That’ has a name. I suggest you use it.”

“Ooh,” Wade says when Scott flinches. “Do that again, Nate.”

“But --you!” Scott sputters.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Nathan says, voice heavy with finality. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you left. I need to talk to my kid.”

You tilt your head back to watch Scott go. “Damn. That was impressive.”

“You learn it pretty fast while fighting a war.” Nathan kneels in front of your wheelchair. “You gonna be okay?”

You nod, chest suddenly tight with emotion. “Yeah. I always am --or find a way to be.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a grin. “That’s the spirit.” He hugs you as best he can. “Love you, kid.”

You sniff. “Love you too, Dad.”

Wade groans when Nathan steps back. “I hate good-byes. Do we have to do this?”

You don’t even try to blink back the tears welling up in your eyes as you reach for him. “C’mere.” You wrap your arms around his neck when he bends over, stretching as much as you can without standing. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He squeezes you carefully. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“You better visit.”

“Well, who else am I gonna watch Nailed It with?”

You squeeze him one last time, then let go so he can pick up his duffel.

You and Piotr walk --well Piotr wheels you out, but the sentiment is the same--the two men out to Dopinder’s cab, and watch until the cab pulls away and drives out of sight.

He kisses the top of your head and hugs you when you start crying. “It’ll be alright, myshka.”

And it will be. Despite the pain, you know everything’s gonna work out. You’ve got your friends, your family, Piotr.

You’ve got yourself. You know who you are, what you’re doing, what you’re about.

You’re gonna make it just fine.

[komodo-bros]

((Headcanons for the Komodo Brothers’s thoughts on the Crash Bandicoot cast part 1. This list will have the well-known enemy mutants and mad scientists. I’ll do the rest in later parts.))

((Warnings: Large wall of text and some strong language in a few entries.))

Scientists:

Dr. Nefarious Tropy (N. Tropy)

Joe: Oh boy, the, “master of time”, himself. Joe doesn’t like how pretentious and condescending this member of the Blue Man Group is. During the whole race competition, Joe would grate his teeth hearing Tropy go on about how nobody can beat his time trials. Not to mention, the time puns; by the ancients they’re terrible. They should be burned in a fire pit along with the time lord himself.

Moe: Looks like an alien and acts weird. Probably needs to eat a snickers bar to stop being grumpy.

Dr. Neo Cortex (N. Cortex)

Joe: Wouldn’t trust him within a 1000 km range. He knows about Cortex’s chronic backstabbing and what happens later on after the job is done. It makes working for the big-headed scientist not an ideal situation. 

Moe: Why is his head bigger than his own body?! It could crack open any second now! He must put this guy out of his misery.

Dr. N. Gin

Joe: Isn’t sure if he should feel pity, or want to throw him in the nearest junkyard. Anyone working for Cortex would have to greatly suffer under his bullshit attitude and endless mockery (he knows through Brio). But at the same time, Joe seex how dangerous N. Gin can be with his robots. Plus, the physicist has an overall unpleasant vibe to him. Not a person he would want to hang around with at all.

Moe: A potato sack given sentience through the evolo-ray. Now why would Cortex want a bag of root starches as a henchman is anyone’s guess.

Dr. Nitrus Brio (N. Brio)

Joe: Despite creating the two brothers, Joe doesn’t have great opinions on their former boss. After losing to Crash in the second game, Brio gave a stern lecture to the two with Joe arguing back. He felt it was best to cut ties, and went on to take Moe with him to the outside world. Joe figured Brio would forget about them, and try to make other mutants to get back at Cortex. 

Moe: Feels sorry for him despite what his brother might think. The scientist looked so miserable and tired in his eyes. He wished he could’ve had the chance to talk to him.

Nina Cortex

Joe: Scary as hell for a young kid. He’d hate to ever have an encounter with her, and would rather hide than fight the cyborg. Joe is worried that if she ever gets a hold of Moe, she’ll break him in half and possibly take him back to the lab to be experimented on.

Moe: Thinks Joe is a big chicken for being scared of her. He’ll show this prodigy a thing or two about being tough.

Mutants:

Pinstripe Potoroo

Joe: Absolutely hates his guts. He thinks Pinstripe is this dirt-faced asshole who believes he’s hot shit as this Scarface, wannabe gangster. They had numerous races and poker games together during their off time, with both having used dirty tactics to get ahead of the other to win; often for extremely petty reasons. Whenever Pinstripe makes a snide remark, Joe responds with aggression and goes straight for the potoroo’s throat. It usually ends with the two left with severe markings and shattered egos.

Moe: While he doesn’t understand the rivalry between him and his brother, Moe wouldn’t hesitate to throw a saber at him.  He’s a bully who has made fun of his size and intelligence.

Tiny Tiger

Joe: This extinct marsupial is dumber than his own brother, which is saying a lot. He often cons Tiny into buying cheap, counterfeit trinkets in exchange for anything of value the thylacine carries on him. It’s both satisfying and hilarious at the same time.

Moe: Likes to throw meat snacks at Tiny. He does cool tricks, and will even scream with Moe to let out their anger. Good times.

Dingodile

Joe: He’s ok in his book. Not someone he can call a friend, but isn’t bad to play card games and pool with. Dude also knows how to make a mean BBQ lunch.

Moe: He makes great BBQ food, it’s a sign that he can be trusted.

Ripper Roo

Joe: A weird kangaroo with issues, but is very smart and well educated. Only ever interacted once under Brio, so he doesn’t have much of a solid opinion. He enjoys reading his book, “Through the Eyes of the Vortex: A Study of Rapid Evolution and Its Consequences”. It’s got a bunch of information Joe can sink his teeth into.

Moe: Finds his book boring as beans. He’s more interested in how Roo is blue compared to the other kangaroos. Now that’s a story he would read about.

Koala Kong

Joe: Another dumb muscle to rival Tiny. He’s only ever met the buff koala in a few card games and not much else. But has seen him in the action movies he stars in. After watching them, Joe think they’re brainless, vapid pieces of cinema.

Moe: Loves the movies he’s in. He would want to get his autograph if given the chance.

Bonus:

Viscount

Joe: He will never work for that two-faced, devil bastard of a prick ever again. After helping to get the treasure map back, Viscount only gave 1/10 of what he promised the brothers at the beginning. Joe was so outraged at this sleazy,  millionaire asshat, he wanted him dead on the spot (Along with having his head be fed to a bunch of wild crocodiles). This never happened, and he was kicked out of the mansion along with Moe.

Moe: Hates him the same reason Joe does.

Rusty Walrus

Joe: Not a big fan of his food. Prefers Dingodile’s cooking over the pinniped’s any day.

Moe: Watches his show every week . He wants to try some of his dishes in real life despite not having access to some of the ingredients shown.

Rilla Roo*

(*Note: While the player has the option to fight the brothers as Roo in Crash Bash, I bet most picked the other characters and not this DK crew reject. If the ape was chosen, it’s possible that the two never heard of this dude’s name. In that case, this mysterious primate was given the nickname by Moe as, “Pants Monkey”. Hence why they don’t know of Rilla Roo’s existence.)

Joe: Never’s seen him, and likely will never meet him. For all he knows, this hybrid is some sort of urban legend spoken among the inhabitants of the islands.

Moe: Who?

[maggyme13]

How I became a Monsterhunter- Part 8

Part 7

HIBAMH-Masterlist

Millis P.O.V

There were more insects in the woods, then Lambert had first thought. Their nest went deep inside the forest floor, and it took the Witcher almost the whole day to clear it out and destroy it. He had been able to kill a deer and handed it over to Rina when he returned.

A warm roast was well earned, and the woman was glad to be able to offer something else than soup.

That’s the reason why today, two day later than planned, he would hunt the griffin.

“So, these oils and potions help you kill the griffin?” Milli asked curious.

“Yes.”

“How long do you think you will be gone?” The blue haired woman wanted to know, hoping it wouldn´t be long.

“Miss me already?” Lambert strapped his swords against his back.

“Remember those guys you told me to stay away from? They keep staring at me. Every time I am alone I have the feeling I am watched.” She told him looking in his eyes.

“Two hours. Three at most- keep your dagger at hand and stay where you are not alone.” He told her sternly, but she was sure, there was a glint of worry in his eyes.

“Will do. Can you do me a favour though? Griffins are a huge mixture between lion and eagle, right? That means their feathers are big as well- could you bring one or two back with you? Or maybe a talon?”

“Why do you want a talon? I could understand a feather, I think there are women who use them as a fan. But a talon?” He looked disbelieving at his companion.

“Well. In my world some people make jewellery out of shark or crocodile teeth. And I don´t know. It just, I will never see one of those things up front- and I definitely don’t want to cross path with them alone, but-“ She didn´t know how to explain it to him. “-you could say I am curious.”

“I will think about it.” He didn´t seem to be entirely convinced by her explanation, but let it slip.

“I am finished with the preparations. Do what I told you and remember your dagger. Stay safe”

He was out of the door the next moment.

“You too.”

---------------------------------

Half an hour later, the young woman was enjoying her breakfast in the front room before going back to the smith wanting to retrieve the promised dagger.

When she was on her way back, a movement on her right caught her interest. She thought she had seen a hooded figure walking through the woods at the villages boarders. But when she turned her head, there was nothing to be seen.

I am getting crazy already. Hopefully Lambert is back soon. At least those guys are nowhere to be seen.

Just in that moment, two of the men Milli wanted to avoid turned around a corner and walked straight towards her.

I had to think it. Hope they leave me alone, there is no way I can outrun them. Time to get back to our room.

The moment she wanted to open her room, a hand clasped around her mouth and an arm slithered around her body.

Not able to scream for help, Milli tried to fight for her freedom.

She kicked and threw her head back to tried to get free. Her attacker groaned in pain, when her foot hit his groin. The grip faltered but, when she was able to wiggle free, something hard hit the back of her head and the word went blank.

---------------------------------

Milli didn´t know how long she was unconscious, but when she was able to open her eyes again, the sun was getting down and she was laying on the cold and hard forest floor.

My head. What happened? Where am I?

“That little bitch got me good. Shouldn´t we need her, I would call dips and then kill her. She isn´t worth the trouble of keeping her alive.”

She heard one of the man growl.

“Her hair is strange though, she will bring good coins should we sell her. The witchhunters will be interested in her. And with the Witchers head in our bags, we will be rich.” Another one answered.

What are they talking about? Witchhunters? Lambert, where are you?

“She´s awoken.”

Shit.

A kick to her side made her groan in pain.

“Foolish move woman. You are ours now. Your mutant friend will not stand a chance against us, we are five men and he is alone.” He laughed.

She only stared at that man with a murderous look in her eyes.  

The young woman was afraid, without a doubt, but at the same time she was angry that she was again forced into a situation she didn’t like.

Changing her seating position, she felt the dagger move inside her boots.

Her hands weren’t tied together, and she should be able to reach for her dagger in an unwatched moment.

“Boris I am bored. Why can´t we have fun with her?” Another one of the men asked.

Hold on! There will be no having fun with me!

“Later, first we eat and drink. Her companion went hunting today and we are half a days march away from the village. He shouldn´t be able to catch up to us.”

No way. LAMBERT!

Fear rose inside of her every passing second. What would happen to her. Why do they need her and what about the witchhunters?

Her heartrate went up and up, her breathing hitched and her eyes started to lose focus again.

A deep crackle inside the woods coughed her attention and he eyes began to search for the source of the sound. Hoping she could reach a glimpse on Lamberts armour or swords.

But there was nothing to be seen.

 It must have been an hour later, when there was another cracking sound.

This time her eyes fell onto a known figure. There, in the shadow of a tree stood a big wolf, with almost glowing yellow eyes.

Those were fixed on her in a manner that seemed almost caring and they roamed over her body to check for injuries(?) before he disappeared into the woods again.

I hope you get help buddy.

 Later the same night (2 hours later at most) one of the guys came towards her, a sickening smile on his face.

The moment he stood in front of her, he crouched down and reached to grab her face and pushed her down. Not a second later he straddled her hips and started to push up her shirt and grabbed her right breast.

The moment he squeezed the ground shook and he was ripped off her with full force.

His scream priced the air, while he was ripped into pieces, from a huge creature.

Being in shock, she wasn´t able to move only to survey the scene that unfolded in front of her.

Her captors were getting ripped into shreds by something that looked like a mutated ram with claws and sharp fangs.

What the fuck?

Her head snapped to the right, when a new shadow loomed over her. Her whole body jerked away, and she only dared to release a breath she was holding, when her brain recognised the wolf that stood next to her.

“You.” She whispered.

The wolf licked her face reassuring, trying to check her over and calm her down.

Remembering the creature that was tearing through the camp, Milli looked around, but it was gone.

How. Where did it go?

“Can you bring me back to Lambert?”, She asked the canine in a hushed voice.

 Let me know how you like it :)

Part 9

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@a-sarcasm-dependent-life-form

[champion--select]

((Elise Drabble!!!!!!!

“I see you’re all here on time. Good, good... Noxus doesn’t have time for those who dawdle.” A figure wearing a large, dark, flowing gown with a wide hat and veil entered the room. Scarlet accents on the ornate collar of the dress and sash on the hat seemed to bring out a dangerous red glint in the woman’s eyes as she hugged a rather large and thick shawl around her shoulders and arms. “You’ve been chosen to go on a special mission - consider yourselves lucky. You are all those who have fallen astray from Noxus, who want to do right for your country, and now, you finally have a chance to do so.”

Elise raised her head, the veil doing it’s job and keeping most of her face obscured just enough that they wouldn’t notice the more... unusual qualities. “There is going to be a ship in the harbor in about an hour. The name of it will be named The Seafire. Board it. You do not need to bring weapons or armor. You’re being sent to a Blessed place where you don’t have to worry about armies or wars. You’re being sent to gather information and provide a great service for Noxus. Do you understand?” 

She smiled as they nodded, some a little apprehensive, others eager to make a name for themselves. “Excellent. You have one hour. You’re dismissed.” She stood, her hands delicately folded in front of her as the men and women shuffled out of the spacious room in her home, spilling back onto the quite street and chattering excitedly. As soon as they left, Elise shut the door and sighed. “Idiots.” She muttered, reaching up and snatching the hat off her head. With a practiced flourish, she tossed it onto a hanger near the door and immediately started scrambling for the clasps to undo the annoying large garment she was wearing. 

She wiggled, hissing, pulling her head through the collar and letting the bundle of fabric hit the floor with a quiet thud. The many legs that were secretly folded up against her back unfold and stretch, the joints creaking, each claw on the end of them wiggling and trying to regain proper feeling in them again. She hated hiding who she had become - it was so bothersome. One of the legs reached out and picked up the cover and dropped it on another hook as she walked out of the room. But, well, they were stupid commoners and had no appreciation for beauty. They’d never understand how gorgeous she was, how much stronger she had become since the accidental mutation.. and that was fine. They weren’t worth the time and effort to get them to understand, anyway.

Groaning, Elise stopped near one of the many mirrors in her house and examined her face. The crow’s feet around her eyes were looking rather noticeable today and the elasticity of her skin was disappearing. She was thankful it was so close to another sacrificial visit to the Isles. She couldn’t stand looking like this or starting to feel her age. How the Black Rose always managed to gather up unknowing sacrifices was beyond her but they always came through. And the only price she had to pay? Bringing something back from the Isles that could possibly be interesting. She usually grabbed a book from the giant ruins of an old magical library as a way to come back with something, but every once in a while she struck gold. One time, she found a staff imbued with power that LeBlanc was absolutely thrilled over. Her favor in the Pale Woman’s eyes had increased, though considering their relationship, her favor was already pretty good. 

She looked at the clock and wrinkled her nose. She hated traveling by boat for such an amount of time, but sometimes, things had to be done. At least by the time she got on the boat, she wouldn’t have to be so covered up. What were they going to do? Swim back to Noxus as soon as they got to the Isles? Besides, she usually had a sob story to tell them - how she had become horrific mutant in the name of Noxus while serving and had used her awful disfiguration to her country’s advantage. It’s amazing what a few quivers of her lip and crocodile tears could do, and how blind loyalty to their birth place could make them. 

Carefully, the self-proclaimed Queen laid down upon a chaise lounge, some of the legs extending from her back draping over the back of the seat, the little toes gripping and unclenching and just keeping loose. One of her legs kicked up over the back as well, her position anything but lady-like and she relaxed, watching little spiders skittering across the ceiling, spinning more webs and traveling through the many connections they made through numerous strands. She watched a specific one carefully spinning a web, using the chandelier as a base and smiled. She never wanted kids, but these little things warmed her heart. They kept her home feeling warm and lively, and in a pinch, could come to her aid if she needed. No one tried to rob her mansion anymore, and the few who tried she had found half eaten upon the floor, their mouth open with foam still spilling out of it caused by the venom in her offspring. 

Half an hour left. 

She didn’t want to get up but she had to at least get there on time with everyone else. The captain she had hired was notorious for leaving exactly on the hour when he said he would, and if anyone needed to be aboard that ship, it was definitely her. With a groan, she rolled off her perch, her many legs coming with her, one trying to stay behind as though it were too comfy. Her spiked feet clicked on the floor as she headed to the kitchen before she left, rummaging through the pantry for something quick to eat. A slab of salted, dried meat seemed good enough, along with an apple. Elise meandered back to the foyer, her sharp little teeth working to tear the jerky apart as she tightly pressed her legs back into position and worked the dress back over her head. The hat was placed back where it usually was, the veil a little askew as she finished the meat and started on the fruit. Opening the door, she stepped outside as dawn approached, the sky starting to burn orange with light and chase the darkness of the night away. “Mommy’s leaving.” She called into the house, the usual reply of scuttling and clicks bidding her farewell until she returned home. 

Elise shut the door with a click and locked it behind her, pocketing the key. Half the apple gone, she headed off through the garden and onto the cobbled street of the aristocratic part of Noxus, strolling toward the port nearby. Soon she’d be feeling a little more lively and she looked forward to having spring in her step once more. 

[wristic]

Between Earth and Hades

Pairing: (Teacher) Erik, (Student) Reader

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: Tiny bit of bullying in the beginning

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5- -Part 6-

Nearly old enough to be leaving high school, your mutant abilities have yet to manifest. In a school rebuilt and starting anew, filled with battered mutants, some are very prejudice against humans the way humans are prejudice against them, bagging a relief for their frustrations on you, the most human of them all. Professor Erik Lehnsherr spots the bullying and decided it’s time you found yourself.

Lunch time at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and you were alone on the stone steps of the patio. A deep sigh took you watching the kids play basketball. One was half beast, sandy hair growing all over, too thick for someone so young, claws and pointed teeth, jumping around on all fours. Another teleporting around, another with white eyes predicting with impeccable accuracy where the ball would land, another lifting the ground under her feet to catch the ball.

Your tray of food was suddenly grabbed as a few other students walked by. Kids you’d gotten rather acquainted with since your first month, unfortunately.

“Won't need this will you. Humans are excellent scavengers, right?”

Most liked the idea of humans integrating with them, other preferred the safe space, and then there was you. This mutant that didn't have a power or a deformity. What good was your x-gene if you were as basic as a human? It put you away from both parties, mutants resolving to calling you human, humans cautious to let you close as a mutant, both calling you an impostor.

These bullies had a lot of frustrations toward humans, and since you were no better than one, took those frustrations into humiliating and badgering you. It was hard to keep telling yourself a mansion with a few bullies was better than the streets.

Their words abruptly drifted and you didn't think anything of it, not until it changed to, “W-we were just messing around. We didn't mean it.”

Brow lifted in curiosity, you looked up to see them wide eyed and shocked at something behind you. Turning around you were met with the looming figure of Erik Lehnsherr, one of the schools very founders. He didn't seem too perturbed with them, an amused smirk barely contained. Erik nodded, them finishing their stumbling and running away. The fact he didn't reprimand them, didn't really defend you even after claiming he wasn't hostile to humans anymore, you were bristled for homosapiens everywhere, even if you couldn't show it. “Thanks.” It sounded as sincere as a crying crocodile.

“Are you human?”

You wanted to say no, wanted to find some pride for what was in your veins, to be apart of the people around you, but what was the point, what was the use of denying that it just wasn't enough. Dejectedly you dropped your gaze to the ground. “Yeah. Sure. I’m human.”

“That’s not how I remember it. And the files don’t lie.” Surprisingly he sat down beside you, aftershave strong in the wind. He tilted his head at you with a charming smile, not knowing how hard your heart was beating to see him so close after your one and only encounter. The day Erik and Ororo came to pick you up. Even way back then you wanted to say it was a mistake, but how could you when a dashing older man you had immediately fallen in love with was leading you to a warm car and promising you a home and education. Saying you were special and gifted, a young girl with him to help ease you, pride in her beautiful eyes to have found you and save you from the cold. Honestly you thought he’d forgotten about you. 

You sighed heavy, adjusting because a part of you wanted to run away from your girly little crush for an older man, a teacher. “Well I haven't seen anything that says otherwise.”

“What have you tried?”

Gesturing out into the courtyard, filled with young people and all their abilities and changes, “How hard should I really have to try? Everyone else finds it on their own like it's a walk in the park.”

Erik only gave a knowing smile. “For most it wasn't. Sometimes it takes the right circumstance.”

The chuckle that escaped you was bitter. “Right. Like living on the streets wasn't an optimal chance. Or how about dealing with school bullies? No pressure to find an ability in there.”

“There have been hints.” he chimed, you looked to him hoping he’d seen something and it must have shown, Erik looking away to avoid the sudden disappointment that followed. “There are always hints you try to deny at first. What's the first thing that comes into mind when you think of something that didn't quite fit. That caught your attention but you brushed it off.”

You opened your mouth but quickly closed it, deciding no, that wasn’t significant enough. He leaned over and bumped your shoulder with his. In a huff, you felt so stupid even having it pop in your head. “I don't have any roommates.” You confessed. “Nobody sleeps in my room because they think it's haunted. Apparently shadows move and ghosts walk around there. I’ve had people run out screaming in the middle of the night. Professor Xavier offered me a different room after reassuring me nothing was in there but,” you shrugged, “I’ve never seen anything.” 

Erik only hummed, looking off into the courtyard. Abruptly he stood up, “Keep searching. The answer is in there, it's only a matter of tapping into the right channel.”

Erik's alarm went off, two in the morning, time to argue with Charles about the privacy of students. Grabbing his tired and reluctant friend they both walked the halls, Charles having a hard time keeping his whisper down to not alert the kids. It was the same lecture every night for the past two weeks. He shouldn't be going into students rooms without their permission. Shouldn't do it while they're sleeping. Shouldn't drag him along to make sure you wouldn’t wake.

But if Erik knew anything about being a mutant, it was that denial was strong, denial could hinder the abilities into utter submission on occasion. So he wanted to see this ghost. Chances were you were probably a telepathic whose abilities manifested without the constraints of the waking world.

Slowing his approach, he cut Charles off. “Awake or asleep?” For all his bickering, Charles quelled his temper and concentrated.

“Asleep. She’s in the midst of a nightmare.”

“About what?” His old friend only gave him a terse look, one Erik returned with an amused knowing that Charles would cave.

“Shadows. Shades grabbing and pulling, trying to consume with no real reason.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Almost as interesting as your nightlight that didn't always work. The fact someone your age had one at all was adorable. 

Erik’s footfalls were as light as a feather, only planning to stand in the center while you slept, see if he could feel this ghost. A ghost he was sure it wasn't.

He didn't even get past the door. Both his and Charles’ blood ran cold when they opened it to find a shadow, a pitch black shade in the vague shape of a person looming over you. The moonlight nor the nightlight reflected off it. It was a void, a complete absence of color. Despite its skin crawling appearance, despite Charles giving a warning call, Erik stepped closer. It didn't move. Just staring at you, bent at the shoulders, boring into your sleeping face. You were fitful in your sleep, breathing heavy with the anxiety of a nightmare.

Outstretching a hand, Erik’s fingers tipped into the shade, the tips lightly darkening until they disappeared within its frame. He felt no heat or cold, no sensation of any kind but the soft whip of his fingers on the air.

“Erik!” Xavier's whisper was hard, panic for his safety with the ghostly form slowly turned its faceless head to look at him. There was a pull in it, like it was siphoning something, a consciousness into itself, eating it away into obscurity. Your nightmare faded from his mind, you faded from his mind, yet you were still breathing lively like the vision still tormented you. 

Erik smirked, dropping his hand out of the 'ghost’. In a deep commanding shout he called your name, making you jolt from bed. The shade fizzled away like ink spreading in water before you could see it. Erik didn't wipe off his prideful smirk, not knowing the sheer amount of confusion running through Charles' head. He turned on the light before you could really gather yourself, the sudden shift from night to day squinting your eyes in mild pain. You were cute in your grogginess, the slight crackle in your voice humoring him. “Professor Lehnsherr? What are you doing here?”

“Are you afraid of the dark?” he came to sit on the bed next to you, leaning in so you ignored Charles. He wanted this success to be between you and him. You were lost to Charles among the harder suffering, the mutants that needed control rather than the ones that needed to shine. You glanced over at your nightlight, but couldn't admit the little shame. “I want you to think of the dark. Think of it all around you, surrounding you, pulling at you. Focus on that fear.”

Charles came to him in warning. “I don't know if fear is where it should come from-” but Erik raised a hand to block him.

“Give it form. Make it alive. Put it under an iron fist of your will.” Again Charles felt that was the wrong approach, only able to say so in the worried wrinkle of his brow. You paused in caution, probably finding it off Erik could unsuspectingly allude to the chaos of your dream so perfectly. Taking a heavy sigh you closed your eyes. It was a quiet moment, you digging deep to draw up the fear and look it in the face.

The world around began to dim. Looking to the ceiling it misted in darkness, the light bulb turning a deep yellow behind the shadow as it descended, falling like a thick blindness until the room was almost completely thrust into darkness. Erik reached for you gently, a hand on your shoulder and it suddenly stopped, you distracted by the warmth. “What you're feeling, keep it… and open your eyes. Try not to be frightened, remember, you are the one in command.”

You did as instructed, eyes jumping wide to see the world a shadow, the floor glowing and shifting like a barely lit candle.

“You want the light to come back?” your breath was quick, a small panic Erik would have felt regret to of caused had he not felt excited, honored to release your truest self. “Make the darkness submit.”

The steely look in your eyes was something to be admired. This want to trust him but determined to keep fighting what you thought you knew was true. With a slow breath you looked up to the light, so little of it left it was a shock to see the smallest remnant of the fuse.

The mist began to lift and fade, rising high as it emerged the light it had covered. Him, you, and Charles watched in fascination, the world lift from darkness till it was bright and untouched, all the shadows in their natural places.

Hearing your gasp, the look of shock on you nearly sent him laughing. Instead he smiled, rising. “I hope this puts an end to the ‘human or mutant’ debate.”

You beamed at him, rising from the bed and staring into the light. He watched you, a new bright confidence as you raised your hand and slowly closed it. The closer your fingers edged to a fist, the fuller the darkness became until for the briefest of moments, the moment before you got scared, Erik was almost blind to the world.

I felt a consciousness stretch and disappear inside the apparition.

Erik glanced back to Charles, worry still in his face.

The darkness… it's more than just a shadow. It's a void. Both mental and physical. I felt you two drift from me just a moment ago.

A smirk played again on Erik, That almost sounds like it frightens you.

There are not many ways to hide things from me Erik, be careful what you teach this one.

Erik couldn't help the confusion, tilting his head when Charles gave him no answer, the room darkening once again.

[isakthedragon]

A Dragon Sized Adventure Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Walk Like an Egyptian

*Our heroes enter the Egypt Terrarium. Sand dunes are everywhere of varying heights. Spread out among the dunes are sphinxes and pyramids. The pyramids around are white, with a tip made of gold, so that they are easily seen. Unfortunately, there are things not to be seen because, yuck, Cortex and Eggman's heads are on the sphinxes and pyramids.. The buttons are placed in front of some of the sphinxes.*

Sonic notices one of them. "Ugh, Eggman's head on a sphinx. Now that's ugly."

Crash makes a throw up motion. "Same for the Cortex sphinxes."

Tails: "I think this counts as tampering with the past."

Sonic: "It looks like we got some things to do, huh?"

-----

Level 26: Dusty Oasis

*N Tropy appears.*

Tropy: "Well, haven't we gone far for a fuzzy marsupial. And I see you have a friend."

Sonic: "Ugh, look at the blue ugly over here."

Tropy: "Nice try, but you're gonna have to do better than that. Perhaps I should give you a second to think on that." *He laughs and disappears.*

Sonic: "Oh, he makes time puns. SO funny."

Crates: 124

Time Trial

Sapphire: 1:35.00

Gold: 1:30.00

Platinum: 1:25.00

Crocoviles to Save: 6

Helping Partner: Sonic

Badniks: Flamethrower Lab Assistant Pawns: Sweeps the area in front of him with a flamethrower Mummy Lab Assistant Pawns: Some bounce around in their sarcophagus (which must be destroyed before beating the mummy pawn) while others bounce in spiky half sarcophaguses obviously avoid the spikes).

Beasts: Snakes: Or maybe, Sneks?

Mutants: Crocovile: A crocodile + Cat hybrid. It's all the scaly and sharp teeth of a crocodile with the calm docility of a cat. Or at least would be if Cortex didn't make them so mad. Just watch that gaping maw and help free it from Cortex's control.

♪ DUST! ... Storm! Dusty, dusty wind... Sand in my shoes... ♫ Oh! Sorry about that. Heh, welcome to Egypt, friends. Looks like we're in an oasis, but we can't stay here, we need to find crystals. Off we go, into the desert. Of course, there are plenty of dunes to make you watch what's ahead of you, but then again there are plenty of rings about. Just watch your step and blast away!

Achievement Unlocked: Letting the Dust Settle

-----

Level 27: Sand Village

*Tropy appears.*

Tropy: "Hmm, so you got a crystal, how wonderful. Less work for me. You could say that you saved me some time!" *He laughs and disappears.*

Spyro: "That was terrible."

Crates: 168

Time Trial

Sapphire: 2:00.00

Gold: 1:55.00

Platinum: 1:50.00

Crocoviles to Save: 6

Helping Partner: Spyro

Badniks: Wheel-Working Lab Assistant Pawns: They mostly spin potters wheels in an attempt to make you dizzy. More annoying than painful.

Well, that desert trek lead us into a village. But, ugh, look at the pottery! It's atrocious. I don't think history would mind if you erased it. Destroy it all! Cause enough property damage to open the rear gates out of here. But, if you stay and break even more stuff, you can get a free gem! Wondrous!

Achievement Unlocked: Forces of Nature

-----

Level 28: Wet and Nile-y

Crates: 135

Time Trial

Sapphire: 1:55.00

Gold: 1:50.00

Platinum: 1:45.00

Crocoviles to Save: 7

Helping Partner: Big

Beasts: Crocodiles: *SNAP!*

Did anyone pack swimming trunks? No? Aw well, you still need to take a swim up the Nile River. Perhaps you should 'ask' (read: save and jack) the Crocoviles for help? In any case, you need to make your way up the river. There are some rock walkways here and there to keep your feet dry, but you still need the Crocovile's help to swim up the river (No one will drown in the river, but you will be pushed back from the strong currents unless you ride a Crocovile).

Achievement Unlocked: Living in De-Nile

-----

Level 29: Pyramid Power

*Tropy appears.*

Tropy: "Since this is my time in the spotlight, I shouldn't make this so easy. Let's see if you can handle this!" *He snaps his fingers, making Crash's and Shadow's warp destination in Egypt a little different...*

Crates: 50

Time Trial

Sapphire: 1:20.00

Gold: 1:15.00

Platinum: 1:10.00

Helping Partner: Shadow

*Crash screams when he sees where they are... on top of a huge pyramid with more, progressively shorter pyramids next to each other.*

Shadow: "Hmmm, looks like he messed with the landscape, and possibly time itself. Well, the only way to go is down, Crash. Ready?"

Crash: "Hmmm..." *He goes super with the emeralds, and then also makes Shadow super.* "Now we are!"

Super Shadow: "Why thank you, Crash. Hmm?" *He notices a gleam in Crash's eye.* "Oh, you want a race, huh?"

Super Crash: "Uh-huh!"

Super Shadow: "Well, it does sound fun. Heh. Let's see who's faster."

*Both he and Crash get ready...*

It's Crash vs. Shadow on a race to the end of the pyramids. And for your information, it is a friendly race, so you don't have to win. But winning does earn you a second gem, so there is incentive to try. Since Shadow is your first opponent, he is going to go easy on you. He says he just 'wants to have fun' and he means it. He's not a pushover, mind you; he's just not going to cheat. If you want to win, you will want to collect rings and Wumpa fruit because it will make Crash run even faster. As for the race, you're running down the pyramids and sometimes through them. Nothing too difficult, don't want to anger the player of course.

(If Crash wins.) Crash: "Hooray! I did it! I won!"

Shadow: "You did, Crash, fair and square."

(If Shadow wins.) Shadow: "Sorry, Crash, racing Sonic has made me put on the speed."

Crash: "It's okay. Just means I need to do better." 

(Whatever happens, this is said next.) Shadow: "Let's not tell Sonic about our race. He's very competitive."

Crash smiles. "Won't stop me from challenging him! I feel confident." *He smiles even wider.*

Shadow: "That's the spirit." *He ruffles Crash's hair and they both leave.*

Achievement Unlocked: Super Shadow Racing :P

-----

Level 30: Desert Sanding

Tropy: "Perhaps I went too easy on you. Let's see if you can escape this trap in time!" *He laughs and creates a new warp destination.*

Crates: 408

Time Trial

Sapphire: 8:00.00

Gold: 7:00.00

Platinum: 6:00.00

Crocoviles to Save: 6

Helping Partner: Espio

Beasts: Scarab: Just walks back and forth, usually noting the water level in Tomb Wader. Concrete Block Lab Assistant Pawns: These work levers that drop concrete blocks to crush you.

Tropy has decided to lay down a trap for you... by dragging making a linear walk of the old levels in Crash 3. But worse, he made it night time, so you have to rely on fireflies to make it though the level. Your start point is where Tomb Time started, though that sphinx and into the sphinxes of Sphynxinator and Tomb Wader, and one final sphinx walk though Bug Lite. It's a lot, but it should be manageable. Tropy thinks he can tire you out, so prove him wrong. And yes, those gems from the originally levels are there too, needing their respective  colored gems to get them as well. 

Achievement Unlocked: Having the TIME of Your Life

-----

*Tropy forcefully drags Crash and whichever partner was with him (Remember you can complete the levels in any order) into the center of the terrarium.*

Tropy: "Now you're on my time, you little skunks! Give me the crystals!"

Boss: Tropy

Hmmm... something doesn't feel right here. We are fighting Tropy... but his fight is exactly the same as it was when we originally fought him in Crash 3... Well, just dodge the clocks he sends, along with jumping over his lasers he sends from his trident, and attack him when he brings the platforms about. 3 hits will finish him off...

Achievement Unlocked: Déjà Vu?

Tropy?: "My time may be up... but yours will soon be too..."

Shadow (From wherever he is): "Crash, get back!" *He Chaos Controls and grabs Crash and warps him away to the other heroes before 'Tropy' blows to bits.*

*Tropy appears in the group.* "Damn you, Shadow! But I should have known it would be too easy."

Crash: "Tropy!"

Tropy notices Shadow making a move and bangs the trident on the ground. "Hold on there, not so fast."

Sonic makes a groan face while he, along with everyone else, gets frozen in time.

Tropy notices this. "Sonic, did anyone ever tell you your face will freeze that way if you keep making it?" *Tropy laughs.* "Don't worry, I'll let you guys unfreeze once I leave. But know this, I won't be taken down that easy. I swear it." *He time warps away, unfreezing them in the process.*

Sonic: "Ugh, he's worse than Eggman with those puns!" *The others agree and hoof it to the next terrarium.*

Next Time: Will Tropy make the dead out of you in the East Empire Terrarium?