Did I ramble to you about wings of fire turtles? (Boys as wof dragons)? No? Well here we go!
Lou is a bit of a slut and ends up with these four babies to care for-
April is still human because chaos-
Raph obviously is a Mudwing, big old sturdy fireproof dragon.
Mikey the Raingwing, oh so colorful and bright! Utterly dangerous and poisonous-
Thinking Seawing for Leo, but I kinda want to match him with Donnie…
Donnie possibly a Nightwing or Silkwing (vulnerability with lack of wings/mind-reading hehehehe)
The utter chaos of this older dragon begin swarmed by four dragonettes and a human child??? Where??? Where did that human come from???
So what would Lou be? Obviously we can keep there main genes as the ones you recommended- but they need to have some of his DNA. So what's the most common and slutty dragon tribe?
In my opinion in its the Skywings. Come on, look at Queen Scarlet and tell me I'm wrong.
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In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came...
That voice that comes to me, and speaks my name...
*inhales*
I am in love with his musical. I was very lucky to get to go and see The Phantom of The Opera at His Majesty's Royal Theatre in London.
I LOVED IT.
I have been listening to this sound track on repeat all week, I have been so invested in this story, I just had to cross over it. So this is a crossover of the musical, not the movie, very important distinction because the musical is different, and better
Honestly I have a lot to say but I'll ramble in the tags heh.
Some more charactersssss!!
Dream is going to be left gender ambiguous here, so if you want them to be a he like regular Dream you can, but if you want them to be a she like Christine then you can!
Also Cross' scar is only present for some of these drawings, because I decided he gets it from broken glass coming off the falling chandelier.
A kind of more detailed synopsis of how the Crossover lore works. And my concept art :)
In this Cross over, Dream and Nightmare were twins, but from babyhood, Nightmare had a strange mass of gloop around his eye. First covered with a small mask, the mass grew more over time. He ran away from home at age 6 and was taken by a circus to become the star of a freakshow attraction.
Over his travels he learned a lot and was proven to be a musical prodigy, but the mass grew. Soon wrecking one side of his face and covering one side of his body, that's why he wears one glove, and has the tendrils, hiddenunderneathhis cloak.
Eventually he found himself at the opera house, and lived there secretly, living as the oprea ghost.
And then who should turn up, but Dream, moving in with the other dancers after their mother's death. It didn’t take long for Night to recognise their twin, and seek to keep on eye on them from a distance. To protect them, but also teach them to sing.
Protecting to be an angel of music, and instructing Dream from the shadows. And Dream growing convinced that he's the spirit of their 'dead' brother, and they were kind right.
And in a true dreammare fashion, some of this sibling protectiveness turned into a bit of a more twisted obsessive love in Nightmare...
And that's most of the stuff that is changed, the rest stays mostly the same.
:)
Original cross jakei95
Original nightmare and Dream by jokublog
Original ccino belongs to black-nyanko
Original ink by comyet
Original error by crayonqueen.
original lust by nsfwshamecave
@zu-is-here asked me to tag her in this post.
And I also want to bring some attention to this work, as well :)
Concept art! <3
Thank you so much!
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Can we have a little drubble about Selma’s reincarnation afterwards someday? How were her first days go?
You certainly can, I plan to write a second part to this but I covered the resurrection itself here from Selma's perspective and will cut forward to her first days after part 2.
.....
Harsh. White. Searing.
A painful light invading her eyes. Too bright.
It hurt.
She tried to speak but the sounds coming from her tight throat and thick tongue were garbled. Her skin was on fire, everything was cold and hot, shocks traveling through her body.
“She’s alive!” a voice, familiar and distant.
The sound of scrambling and booming, thunderous laughter.
Eyes squeezed shut. Pain, noise. Everything too much.
She lifted a heavy wrist.
A hand. Large. Shapely. Different. Familiar, grasped hers. So hot it burned. She clutched tighter as the world around her began to sharpen.
Voices speaking, too loud and fast to make sense, blurry, fuzzy. Her head was full of sparks.
Slowly sight and sound came back into focus. A large figure was shouting at the open skylight.
“She lives! Do you see me, Victor?! Do you see?! Your fallen angel is a worthy son! You denied me to your last breath but I am yet your legacy!"
“Stop that!” the figure holding her hand snarled. She tried to place it; it sounded like a voice she knew but also one she didn’t “We need to make sure she’s alright! There’s no time for you to gloat! I need you now. Please, Mr. Frankenstein!”
He was polite. Why did that seem strange?
As her vision cleared, she struggled to put a name to the face before her. The broad, smooth, face of a man in his fifties. Did she know him? Her head swam when she tried to sit up. The man shushed her and gently guided her back down, “Easy now, there’s a good girl. Don’t try to sit up just yet, we’ve performed a miracle worthy of Jesus Christ himself,” he smiled weakly, the shadow of something-someone familiar in the gleam of his teeth.
He took her wrist in his hand and laid two fingers on it, “Pulse is slow, her skin is like ice,” he muttered, his brow furrowing with concern. As the large figure came into view. The patchwork face of the giant was immediately recognizable to her though how exactly was uncertain. The answer seemed to come to her then drift away, lost in a sea of barely coherent emotions and sensations. Pinpricks speckled across her eyes and she shut them for a moment until the throbbing in her head died down.
“Is she supposed to be this cold? Her heartbeat is so sluggish, is this normal?”
“If I am any indication then yes. Perhaps it is an affect of the chemicals used during incubation. The question now remains did we bring back Miss Morris or is this a new life?”
“Of course, it’s her! It has to be her! There was no point otherwise!”
“Dr. Jekyll, please, restrain yourself. We must remain impartial. It will be a tragedy if Selma is lost for good but we must remember that what we have created we bear a responsibility to. No matter our grief, it is not her fault for being born.”
She didn’t understand any of this and the bickering was beginning to grate on her. She tried to speak but could only manage a weak groan. Somewhere in the back of her mind a memory stirred and she knew one of these men was a doctor and she recalled the concept of a hospital. Was she sick? She felt sick. It would make sense to be sick right now.
The doctor, Jekyll, as he had been called, clasped her hand in his and gave her a reassuring smile. It helped. She tried to smile back but the muscles of her face felt stiff.
“I’m going to check your cognitive functions, you don’t have to try to talk if you aren’t ready but if you can understand me, I want you to squeeze my hand to indicate ‘yes’, aright?”
She decided she liked Doctor Jekyll. He seemed kind.
Was that right?
She squeezed.
He looked relieved, “Good, very good. It looks like you remember language. Do you know who this is?” he indicated the giant man.
She hesitated. She knew him but it was so muddled she couldn’t be certain how. When the giant smiled the seam through his upper lip parted and exposed the teeth and gums beneath. The ghoulish sight didn’t frighten her as it would have if he were a stranger.
Frankenstein.
Was that his name? Or was it his father’s?
She squeezed.
“Good, I’m not going to ask if you know me. I’m sure my face is new to you. All you need to know about me is that my name is Henry Jekyll and right now I’m taking care of you. Think of me as your doctor and, Adam,” he gestured to Adam, who nodded reassuringly, “Is your friend. Do you remember your name?”
She froze. She tried to conjure up a name. There were flashes of memory, fragmented, disconnected. She tried harder, ignoring the pain in her head as she strained to pull her name to the surface. She knew she had one! What was it? She struggled to find some recollection of identity for herself in the mire that was her brain. She made an agitated gesture, shaking her head. Tears welled in her eyes.
Seeing her growing distress, Jekyll attempted to sooth her, “It’s alright! It’s alright if you don’t remember, it will come back to you in time,” despite its lack of recent use the comforting tones he had once used on his patients came back to him easily. Once Selma had settled, he glanced at Adam expectantly, “It will come back to her. Won’t it?”
Adam shrugged, “I have no idea, I recall nothing from before my own awakening, although I had not the ability to speak or any understanding of language. It seems she has retained at least some things,” he mused. He gestured to a small office off to the side of the lab “I need to go document all of this. Can you take care of her? Would Hyde take care of her if he comes back?”
Jekyll hesitated, he looked at Selma, still clinging to his hand for dear life, “He would. She’s safe with me-with both of me,” he said.
Adam gave a single, curt, nod and lumbered off.
What had happened? Why did her body feel so strange? As her awareness of herself sharpened and strength returned to her limbs she lifted a hand to her chest, where a loud, slow, pulse was beating.
Something was wrong. Where was the wound? Hadn’t there been a bullet? Blood everywhere, running over her fingers, she had felt the wet pulsing through the hole in her skin then…
…then blackness.
Here she was now, no blood, no wound, her fingers were resting against neat stitches. Sewn. Alive! Then why did her body feel so much colder? Heavier? Overwhelmed with pain and confusion, she began to cry in earnest. This was not right!
Jekyll watched her anxiously. Maybe it should be Edward…she knows Edward. Edward, at least, wouldn’t be too much of a coward to give her his shoulder. No sooner had he thought the words when he felt the itch of black fur sprouting from his cheek. No! No, wait! Not yet! I’m not ready! I’m not-
-not who Selma needs right now.
To caught in her weeping Selma didn’t notice Edward’s return. Not until a thick, hairy hand touched her shoulder. She looked up, doing her best to wipe at her eyes.
“Hullo, lass, it’s good to see you again. Do you remember me?” he smiled, his jutting, jagged, teeth seemed nearly too large for his mouth.
Edward!
She nearly fell from the table flinging her arms around him. He caught her, pressing his cheek to hers and when she felt the dampness on his whiskers, she neither knew nor cared which of them was weeping. She squeezed.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Slema Morris.”
She remembered Edward.
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