#and then is fucking useless and projects their own issues onto someone else and shoves their personal solutions onto you

[neverendingford]

Therapists have two genders:

Professional Asshole and

Well-meaning Incompetent

[strangebrews]

@madam-metaphor​ asked: 69. Ventriloquist

So Eddie was still out of a job. Not an ideal state to be in, by any means, though he’d excused the situation on being busy with other, more pertinent things—diverting an alien invasion, for starters.

But it’d been 2 months since anything urgent had come up and here was Eddie during a Wednesday afternoon, on the couch with a microwave dinner in his lap. TV shows had gotten worse nowadays, he was thinking, no respect for plot anymore, just pure drama. 

His bills were piling up—the stack of envelopes was becoming painfully apparent on the island in the kitchen, giant red notices bleeding onto the paper—but it wasn’t like Eddie hadn’t tried. He had tried—at the grocery store, the pet shop, even the fucking video rental place—yet none of the leads had amounted to any promising offer. He was just unlucky, that was all, he thought and took another bite.

You’re very lucky, Eddie. I decided to live in your body. Venom regarded itself quite highly.

He was flipping through channels now, irritated with his lack of options, Venom’s head perched on his shoulder. A streaming subscription, that’s what he needed. Another bill added to the mound, but it was necessary, because, “I mean look at this shit,” he gestured towards the TV with his remote, mouth full, “You cannot expect me to want to watch this kind of crap.” It’d been some ventriloquist—third fucking episode in a row—and Eddie jammed his finger into the skip in frustration. 

Wait.

Venom pressed a tendril to the back button and slithered closer to the screen, head cocked in interest.

How did he get that little human onto his arm?

Eddie gave Vee a crooked smile. He would admit, providing Venom explanations of silly human behaviors was one of his favorite aspects of this cohabitation. “It’s not a tiny human. It’s a puppet—not alive. You stick your arm up the hole in its ass and make it do things.” He laughed, amused at his own explanation. 

Venom’s eyes glimmered. Don’t we do the same thing?

 The laughing stopped. “No, no we do not do the same thing—it’s different. It’s very fucking different. You’re supposed to make jokes, create a show, have people watch you.”

The glimmer intensified. Let’s do that.

“Do what? Become a career ventriloquist?” a slow nod was Eddie’s only answer.  

Venom’s proposal was unsurpring, actually. It had grown increasingly frustrated recently—angry that Eddie could walk the streets now without anyone suspecting anything out of the ordinary, providing no indication they knew Venom was living inside. But the issue was that Venom wanted to be seen—wanted everyone to know that Eddie was taken, that this was Venom’s Eddie. It didn’t want anyone looking at him. Considering him.

Venom had thrown a fit once or twice in public already, accidentally shoved someone out through the glass doors of a bus because they’d brushed up against Eddie a little too often. And that had been an accident—the person was fine aside from a few scratches on the nose—but Venom had been sternly warned that day to never try anything like it again. 

“I’ll rip you out of me, Vee. I promise I will.” Obviously it was an exaggeration, but the image it produced was painful enough for Venom to agree.

So this was its roundabout way of being present in public. They could star in a show together—much like the one on TV—and Venom would have an excuse to stay on the outside, make itself known. It was a perfect idea.

I would make a great puppet, Eddie.

Eddie just laughed and brushed the crumbs off the front of his shirt. He used to be an esteemed journalist. He was not going to become a fucking ventriloquist for the afternoon broadcast. It was stupid. It was ridiculous. It was not an option. It was—

+

They were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Venom’s head bobbing out from Eddie’s right hand, while another piece wrapped around his arm before cutting off entirely before the elbow. 

A puppet. A gooey, terrifying, alien puppet.

Venom had succeeded in getting Eddie to try the idea out—there was no harm in just trying, it’d argued. And yes, fucking had been a factor in the convincing process, but there was no need to focus on silly details.

They’d been glued to the same spot for nearly an hour now, Eddie trying to mold Venom’s mass into something a bit less menacing. He’d tried giving it pointed ears, a nose, some makeshift hair strands that were supposed to cover a part of Venom’s eyes, but they resembled creepy noodles, if anything else. The attempts were useless, so with a sigh Eddie gave in and moved onto the next issue. “We’ll just be really funny, to distract from the unconventional look.” Unconventional was his way of describing it, because there was no reason to hurt Vee’s feelings. 

Mouth movements proved to be a problem too. “You have to move it based on the shape of the words I’m saying. What you’re doing is not convincing at all.” Venom was just opening and closing its maw haphazardly, disregarding any authenticity. 

I’m meant to be a puppet. They lack the same facial mechanics. 

“Yeah, but—” Eddie cut himself off, because there was a point to be made here, he just wasn’t sure what it was. He set that aside for later. 

The tongue—the tongue had to go.

“It’s just a bit unsettling, is all, when you flick it all the way out like that, you know? Some might find it suggestive, others might think it's insulting.” So Venom curled it back into its maw, with some difficulty, but it’d managed.

Then they encountered an issue with the flow of the conversation. Eddie should have expected Venom to hit a few bumps in the road when it came to witty comebacks, but it really killed the vibe when it kept answering with things like Eddie, do you really think I look like a nasty talking tar ball?

Eddie even tried feeding Venom dialogue through his thoughts, but on the fourth failed attempt he decided they were done. “We tried, we basically failed. I’ve got more important things to do.”

Staring into your empty fridge so you can ignore your real problems isn’t very important. Eddie did not entertain Venom with a response.

+

Yes, he should have been looking for a job still, but Eddie chose to write a script instead. 

They had stopped after that fourth try, but returned to the mirror an hour later. Eddie was going to get it right—he was going to squeeze at least one original, funny thing out of Venom. 

On the seventh try he decided the only way out of this was writing a script.

Recording the video, with his phone resting on the dresser and the script hiding beside it, was also, just a one-off thing. A quick hyperfixation, nothing more.

He worked on their conversation for 2 days, smoothed out all the kinks in their performance during the 10 rounds of practice recordings. Venom could now shape its mouth around the words, kept its tongue inside, and even spoke at a higher pitch to make it more convincing. The pair was ready.

+

Uploading the video to Youtube had also been Eddie’s idea. He had not given up on the project, and neither had he given up on being in denial towards the fact that he was absorbed by said project.

“It’s just—I refuse to have wasted 5 fucking hours on this and keep it private, you know?” It was a weak argument, and he suspected Venom would have raised its eyebrows in doubt if it had any, but it stayed silent. 

He’d done some minimal editing. Nothing too fancy—just an intro and an outro, simple things he’d learned during his journalism days. “It’s not gonna get any views.” he was talking to himself at this point, mouse hovering over the Publish.

“It wasn’t even that funny.” The video had successfully appeared on the recent uploads page—Eddie had checked to make sure, but he didn’t necessarily care. 

“I’ll probably delete it in a day or two, anyway, mind you.” Venom continued to hide away.

+

Venom was only ever quiet for two reasons: it was tired, or it had won a battle with Eddie and had nothing more to say. This case slotted under the latter category.

Because Eddie had not deleted the video after a day or two—it was still floating around on the Internet and Eddie’s finger was beginning to cramp up from refreshing. And refreshing. And refreshing.

The result wasn’t anything major. It was only 100,000 hits in 5 days and the title was pure bait—kinda hard to pass up a video called “Famous Ex-Journalist Stuffs Hand Up Puppet’s Bumhole, Calls It Coping” (That’s a misleading title, Venom had noted. “I know, just trust me.”)

“It’s not even that funny of a video.” Eddie said again on the 6th day, but there was a smile tugging at his lips—nearing 200,000 now. 

Cooksucker3000 said your puppet is fucking dope, Eddie. Venom hummed along Eddie’s arms in satisfaction. The comments were its favorite part, for quite obvious reasons, and Eddie was too preoccupied with his own shower of compliments to correct Venom’s reading mistakes.

this is so hilarious!! 

i love the idea! 

good to see ur doing well - i remember u from tv! 

u r really fucking hot xx

Delete that. It has nothing to do with the contents of the video. So not all of the comments were Venom’s favorite.

+

When they hit 300,000 Eddie said, “Fine—I’ll write one more script. But after that, we’re done.” Venom did not put up a fight this time either.

Because fine, Eddie could say whatever he wanted, but they shared a fucking body at the end of the day—as if Venom wouldn’t have noticed him finishing up the 4th script of a series last night.

[spookyrobbins]

don’t go (where i can’t follow) 

pairing: catra x adora 

description: 

following shadow weaver's escape, catra's future looks doomed. but with the appearance of her past self and adora, maybe catra can save them and herself.

chapter one. 

time makes you bolder 

links: ao3

Catra let her claws dig idly into the metal walls, a general lack of care permeating her entire being. Everything had crashed down around her. It was only a matter of time before Hordak realized that Shadow Weaver had escaped because Catra was weak, because she was useless. 

She was going to die and nobody would even care to mourn her. Well, maybe Scorpia would. But that was just one more thing that Catra tainted with her darkness. Scorpia represented the only light within the Horde and Catra ruined her. Months ago, she recognized that Scorpia had some silly notion of a crush and she let it continue. It was nice, ya know. To have somebody want you, to look out for you. But she never actively encouraged it. 

No, Catra was too broken for love, too broken for simple affection. Even Scorpia, who was so painfully gentle and thoughtful and kind, elicited a primal response when she touched her. Every fibre of Catra’s being fought against the touch of another. She didn’t deserve anything. 

She veered away from the corridor that would take her directly to her room. Might as well enjoy her last bit of freedom before Hordak inevitably called for her head. 

Would anyone miss her when she was gone? Scorpia would, even though Catra had always kept her at arms’ length. Entrapta barely emerged from her experiments these days long enough to breathe, let alone realize that Catra was gone. 

And Adora, well, that ship sailed long ago. Catra broke their everything. She destroyed it until she thought it would cut into her with every breath. But that only made it worse. Adora hated her. Just like Catra hated her. Adora and her dumb friends would celebrate Catra’s end. Yes, it was for the best. It had to be. Adora could be all bright and shiny and good, while Catra slipped into endless darkness. 

It was just like Shadow Weaver had always said, “You will only drag Adora down.” 

Guess that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Funny, how Shadow Weaver always won. No matter what Catra did or didn’t do, where she hid, where she ran, Shadow Weaver always got her in the end. Catra never won, ever. She had fleeting moments of victory, but they were always stolen away, be it by Adora or Shadow Weaver or just fucking life. There was no victory for Catra in this lifetime. 

Her chest ached painfully, so much so she paused to lean against a wall, rubbing desperately at her breastbone as if to will the pain away. 

She was going to die today. 

She was never going to see Adora again. 

She would never get to tell Adora- 

“No,” she hissed at herself, anger bubbling over. “No, don’t.” 

But thoughts of Adora pushed their way to the forefront of her mind. Adora’s bright blue eyes that always found hers no matter where they were. Her stupid smile that made Catra’s heart hurt. Her dumb voice and her dumb ideas. Her laugh, her laugh that Catra could just barely remember. All she could hear was Adora’s screams of pain as she raked her claws down her back or her screams when she realized that Catra had kidnapped her new friends. The friends that she clearly valued more than Catra. 

Why couldn’t Catra remember her laugh? It had been perfect. 

But like everything else, it was gone. 

A peal of youthful laughter rang out down a side corridor, causing Catra’s head to snap towards the sound. It sounded almost like, but it wasn’t. 

And there shouldn’t be any cadets in this area. 

Catra moved silently towards the hallway, which she was fairly positive was a dead end. But when she turned the corner, the space was deserted. Her eyes flicked up towards the vent where a small tail curled back into the vent. 

A tail? Who else had a tail like that? 

Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, Catra hauled herself into the vents. Admittedly, it had been a while since she moved through the vents, but she knew them like the back of her hand. 

A shuffling noise drew her attention forward and she crawled along the vents towards the source. 

“‘Dora, c’mon, focus.” 

“‘m tryin’, kitty, you’re goin’ too fast!”

At the sound of the small voices, Catra’s heart stuttered, her breath catching uncomfortably in her chest. It was just a hallucination. She was going crazy. It was inevitable, of course. Or maybe this was some more magic bullshit like in that stupid temple.

She clearly was projecting voices in her head because she missed Adora. No, she didn’t miss Adora, she missed the memory of Adora. That would explain it. 

Two distinct thuds echoed back up the vents, one barely discernible even with her superior hearing, the other almost masked by the yelp of pain. Catra pushed forward until the top of her head was just hanging out of the vent. 

Sure enough, little her and little Adora huddled together as she checked out a bruise on Adora’s elbow. 

“You’ve just gotta land on your feet next time, ‘Dora.” The little version of her wiped at little Adora’s cheeks, sticking out her tongue in an attempt to make little Adora laugh. The sound of that laugh nearly brought tears to Catra’s eyes. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” A set of mismatched eyes stared up at her, the little one’s mouth falling open as they stared back. 

Catra scrambled back in the vent. A hallucination shouldn’t be able to see her. Not really. Right? Stars, this magic stuff sucked. Had she finally lost it, like Shadow Weaver always said she would? Always said she was no better than an animal. 

“Hey, you look like me.” The little version of her, the hallucination, popped up in the mouth of the vent, her eyes squinted nearly shut. 

“You can see me?” 

“Uh, duh, dummy. Why do you look like me?” 

“Catra! What are you doing?” 

“Talking to the lady in the vents!” The younger Catra yelled back, her voice bouncing loudly. 

“Hordak, keep your voice down, moron,” Catra hissed. “What are you two doing?” 

The little Catra looked away from her for a moment before hauling herself into the vent. “Um, hiding from Shadow Weaver.” 

“No, duh.” 

“Catra!” came Adora’s shrill voice, even louder than before. 

Catra grabbed the little version of her, shoving her behind her. Bracing her feet against the sides of the vents, she let her upper body hang down. “Okay, look, Adora, I need you to keep it down okay. I’ll give you a lift and we’ll sort this out.” 

“Catra?” Adora called warily, taking a half step towards Catra. 

“Don’t trust her! She’s a grown-up!” called back little Catra, who was apparently a total brat. Catra kicked out at her, making solid contact with herself? Well, she kicked the little Catra, who let out an angry hiss. 

Catra motioned with one hand to the little blonde, tamping down her irritation with the older version. “Come here.” Adora shuffled forwards slightly, just beyond Catra’s reach. A noise startled both of them outside the door. There was a quiet tune being whistled and the jangle of keys. “Adora, seriously, come here.” 

“I don’t know you.” 

“I’m a Force Captian and I’m giving you a direct order,” she said in a desperate attempt to appeal to the girl’s intense loyalty and respect for superior officers. Well, the loyalty that existed at that age. 

“Really?” Adora cast a doubtful look her way, one that Catra was all too familiar with. But she could deal with her issues with Adora later. After she dealt with the weird hallucinations that were apparently solid. And there wasn’t really a later for her anyway, so whatever. 

“Yes, really, now come here.” Adora took another half-step forward, which was just enough to allow Catra to grab her shirt and all but toss her up into the vent. She had barely gotten little Adora up when the door swung open and a maintenance woman appeared. 

“Coulda swore I heard something,” the woman muttered to herself before shaking her head and getting back to work. 

Catra exhaled sharply as she dragged little Adora with her. Little Catra, naturally, was less inclined to stay with an unknown adult and had wandered off in the vents. She could faintly smell the girl, but it was hard to distinguish from her own scent. “I’m going to kill myself when I get her, me, whatever,” hissed Catra. “Catra, Catra, this is so not the time for this.” A tail flicked out of sight behind a bend. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she still had little Adora, Catra took off after the increasingly irritating version of her. 

She managed to snag a fleeing ankle, pulling the girl back towards her. Little Catra dug her claws into the metal, but they weren’t quite strong enough yet to stop her. She kicked out a foot, catching Catra in the ear. 

“Catra, stop, stop.” 

“Let me go! I don’t wanna go to Shadow Weaver! Please!” Catra let the girl roll onto her back but grabbed her shoulders before she could do any more harm. “I’ll be good, I swear.” 

What was left of Catra’s broken heart crumbled in her chest at the look of terror in her younger self’s eyes. How many times had she tried to hide from Shadow Weaver and her magic, only to be caught out and desperately plead to not be turned in. But nobody ever looked out for the weird, scrawny kid with ears. Everyone was infinitely more scared of Shadow Weaver than her and in the Horde, only those with a strong survival instinct make it. 

Hey, hey, I’m not taking you to that bitch. Not in a million years. I’m taking you guys somewhere safe so we can sort this all out.” She hesitated for a moment, relaxing back and giving the girl some space. “I promise I’ll keep you safe, just like Adora.” 

“Promise?” 

“Yeah, kid, I promise.” Catra swallowed against the painful lump forming in her throat. The little girl in front of her just so desperately wanted someone to protect her, to save her. 

“Catra?” 

“Yeah,” both versions answered, moving to look at little Adora. Their heads snapped back to look at each other. 

“I’ll explain later. We need to figure this out. And I’m on a bit of a tight schedule at the moment.” Her breath caught in her chest at the thought of her looming fate. If Hordak knew what had happened, it was only a matter of time before he came after her. And that would be it for her. “Let’s get out of these vents.”

Little Catra dropped down easily, but little Adora refused to move, her tiny hands clutching at the sides of the vent. 

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Catra lowered herself down, holding her arms up for Adora. “Adora, just jump into my arms, I’ll catch you, I swear.” 

Little Adora’s eyes flickered between her arms and little Catra before nodding abruptly. “1, 2, 3!” Little Adora launched herself out of the vent, managing to kick Catra in the face in the process, but Catra still managed to steady them. 

“I suppose I kinda deserve that these days,” she mumbled under her breath as she set little Adora down. The two little girls rushed to each others’ side, their hands naturally falling together. Catra gave herself a little shake. It didn’t matter anymore. “Okay, right. We’re gonna go back to my room and we’ll figure out how you guys got here. I need you two to stay as stealthy as possible.” The last thing she needed was Hordak finding these two little girls. An idea surfaced as to keep the girls quiet, but it made her skin crawl. But her issues weren’t important right now. “Stay quiet so Shadow Weaver doesn’t find us, okay?” 

The look of pure terror that appeared in her younger self’s eyes caused a wave of nausea to nearly overtake her, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t even bring herself to watch as little Adora pulled little Catra closer as if her arms could protect them from the world. 

“Alright, follow me.” 

“Yes, Force Captain.” Adora half-heartedly saluted, her bottom lip trembling. 

A smile curved up both Catra’s faces at that. Catra beckoned them forward, moving quietly towards the end of the corridor. 

“D’ya hear that, ‘Dora, I’m a Force Captain!” 

Catra wheeled on them, her eyes flashing dangerously. “What did I just say?” 

“Stealthy as possible, ma’am,” responded little Adora while little Catra just rolled her eyes. Catra bit back a chuckle at that. She couldn’t wait to tell Adora… oh wait, she was most likely going to die. In like an hour. Never mind. No more telling Adora anything.  

“Suck up,” coughed little Catra. 

“Both of you, quiet.” The odd trio moved down another set of corridors before they encountered another person. Little Catra was quick to blend into the shadows, but Adora let out a yelp of fear, freezing in the middle of the hallway. Catra scooped her into her arms, pressing them against the cold steel. Little Catra’s tail wrapped nervously around the older one’s leg while her claws caught against Catra’s trousers. 

Meanwhile, little Adora’s hands clutched at her hair as she pressed her face into Catra’s neck. Catra squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar smell of Adora washed over her. Catra kept them as close to the small corner formed by the thick pipes, providing some cover. If they were lucky, it would just be the typical Horde goons, who were generally clueless anyway. 

Two guards stomped down the hallway, chatting amongst themselves when their radio chimed. “Alert level 3, Hordak wants Force Captain Catra in his chambers. She is not to leave the building.” 

One of the guards spoke into it, “Affirmative, we’ll find the brat.” 

His companion chuckled darkly, “Wonder what Hordak wants with that mongrel?” 

“Fuck if I know. She has it coming.” 

Catra’s claws curled into her free hand, nearly breaking the skin. Another set of claws bit into her legs as her younger self let out an almost feral hiss. She could feel the little girl starting to move out of the shadows, and there was little she could do with Adora in her arms. Desperately, she let out a low, warning trill, hoping the somehow it would make sense to the girl. Little Catra started slightly at the noise, but settled back into the darkness.  

Once the men turned the corner, Catra motioned for her to follow her. She almost set little Adora down before deciding that it would be faster just to carry her. Adora, especially at that age, had an unfortunate habit of stomping around even if she was trying to be stealthy. Catra forced away the slight feeling of relief she got from holding Adora again, even if she was like seven or whatever, as they hurried down the corridors. 

They passed another set of patrols, the three of them crammed in a supply closet. Little Catra had started to sneeze, but Catra covered her mouth and nearly smacked little her when she bit into her hand. 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they made it to her room. Clearly, someone had been looking for her already. Every item was upturned and tossed about, even the files that Scorpia had meticulously organized for her. Because obviously that would be where she was hiding. She rolled her eyes at the incompetence of Hordak’s goons. At least she was intelligent despite what Shadow Weaver had always said. 

Settling the two girls on her destroyed bed, she set about packing a bag. She needed to get out of the Fright Zone, and fast. Hordak didn’t make it a habit of listening to his failed underlings and if he found the little girls, she shuddered to think what he’d do with them. Well, at least do with little her, little Adora might be fine based on the leverage she’d provide. 

“How old are you two right now?” She asked as she stuffed as many blankets into a rucksack. 

The two glanced nervously at each other before Adora answered, “Six, maybe seven? Shadow Weaver only tells me when I’m a year older, so I dunno about Catra.” 

Catra exhaled slowly, trying to balance the panic. Now was not the time to deal with her Shadow Weaver complex. “Did anything weird happen before I found you?” 

“Uh...I don’t think so?” 

“There was a weird popping noise. I heard it. I told you, ‘Dora, I have better ears than you.” 

“They’re just bigger than mine.” 

“Kiddos, now isn’t the time for this. How many ration bars do you two have in your pockets?” 

“None!” Little Catra responded instantly, shoving a sharp elbow into Adora’s side. Catra raised one eyebrow at them. “I’ve got four and ‘Dora’s got two.” 

“Clever girls,” Catra said with a grin. The look on her younger self’s face tugged at her, but she had to stay focused. If she didn’t move quickly, none of them would be getting out of here. 

“Are we going somewhere?” Little Adora asked, her hands twisting in her lap. 

“Uh-huh,” Catra hummed as she stuffed both her and Adora’s Horde-issued knifes into the bag before thinking better of it. “Here, take these.” She handed them to the little girls. 

“Force Captain, we’re not allowed knives.” 

“This is sick!” 

“Shush, both of you, unless you wanna get caught.”

“By Shadow Weaver?” Little Catra asked, her voice wavering. 

Catra let out a shuddering breath. “Worse, Hordak.” 

That seemed to shut them both up quickly. Catra glanced around her room once more. It wasn’t as if she had any belongings of her own anyway. Except for some of the silly pictures and notes Scorpia had left her. Crap, Scorpia. There wasn’t time to find her and she was too conspicuous. 

Grabbing one of her many unfinished reports, she scrawled a note out. 

Sorry, Scorpia. I have to go. I’ll explain later. I’ll see you again. 

She hesitated for a long moment before adding, I’ll miss the super pal trio.  

“You two ready?” The two girls nodded, although little Adora looked terrified that they were leaving while little Catra couldn’t look more thrilled. As they snuck out the room, Catra supposed that this would’ve been her dream at that age. Some mysterious stranger coming and rescuing her from the Horde, taking her away from the darkness. 

After little Adora tripped loudly over a loose screw, Catra picked her up again, hushing her gently as they snuck through the hallways. Adora’s fingers curled around the straps of the rucksack while Catra held her tight with one arm. 

There were even more patrols than before, and if Catra’s instincts were correct, they were all looking for her. She just had to get to the hanger and they’d be fine. Where they’d go after that? She wasn’t sure. 

As they reached the hanger, Catra keyed in her code with her free hand, glancing over her shoulder for any incoming guards. Once the door slid open, she set little Adora down. 

“Okay, I’m going in first and then you two run for the first skiff on the left. Keep quiet and keep to the shadows. Don’t let anyone catch you.” 

“What are you gonna do?” Little Adora stared up at her with those damned blue eyes and Catra’s chest ached. 

Catra let a smirk twist her mouth. “I’m going to make sure nobody can follow us.” 

“Are you sure we should be running away?” 

“Yes, Adora, it’s the only way to keep you two, and me, alive at this point. Don’t worry it’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah, ‘Dora, it’ll be fine,” her younger self mimicked with an eyeroll. 

Catra crouched down to their level. “And, if it looks like I’m not gonna get out of here, you two take the skiff and go. Head towards Brightmoon.” The pair’s eyes went round as saucers. “Ask for She-ra. She’ll take care of you.” 

“Brightmoon? But, but there’s princesses there.” Little Adora’s mouth fell open in abject horror. Catra wished she could’ve gotten a photo just to rub it in her, er, present Adora’s face. 

“It’ll be fine, kiddos.” She winked at them over her shoulder before sneaking into the hanger. Checking briefly to make sure the little ones had actually listened to her, she turned back towards the small number of Horde soldiers hanging about. After watching little her help Adora onto the skiff, Catra made her way to the control office. 

As she suspected, Hordak struggled to control the day-to-day operations without his second-in-command, so no one had removed her credentials from the system. With a few keystrokes, she locked the landing gears on the rest of the skiffs and was in the process of disabling the guidances systems of the larger vessels when the door burst open. 

“Ha! Knew I’d find you in here! Always were a coward, huh, kitty cat?” Octavia loomed in the doorway, her one good eye gleaming with perverse pleasure. 

“Hey, Octavia, how’re things looking these days?” Catra backed off the control panel, but not without tearing at the guidance system with her claws. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’ve only got one eye left.” 

Octavia let out a scream before lunging at Catra. Catra launched herself over the older woman, managing to scrape her claws along the top of her head in the process. She darted out of the control room but found the small group of guards waiting for her with an unfortunate assortment of stun sticks and guns. 

“Aw crap.” 

Her eyes darted around the room, but it was too open. There wasn’t much in the way of barriers to stop a well-placed blaster shot. She was screwed. This was it. 

“Hands up, traitor,” one of the men yelled, brandishing his gun violently. 

In that split second, Catra decided it would be better to go out fighting than however Hordak wanted to torture her. She started to lunge towards the guards when a tentacle caught her around the neck. She thrashed desperately against Octavia, her claws slashing at whatever she could reach. 

“What are you morons waiting for, shoot her!” Octavia screamed as she pulled Catra into a headlock. “Aw, look, mongrel, there’s no one here to save you now. Your dumb little girlfriend’s not he-” 

Boom! 

The ground shook violently as one of the tanks went off. The shot seemed to land just in the middle of the guards, scattering them. Muffled curses and cries of pain echoed in the hanger. 

Catra sunk her teeth into one of Octavia’s tentacles with as much force as she could muster, causing the woman to drop her. She spat out the chunk of tentacle she had taken with her in disgust. 

“Wooohooo! Told you I could use a tank, ‘Dora!” Catra’s focus snapped to the tank that had fired and sure enough, there the little version of her was peering out of the tank. “Hey, you guys!” She called to the disoriented guards. Those who were still standing turned to face the seven-year-old in the tank only to be immediately hit with another barrage. 

“I swear to whoever, I’m going to kill that girl,” Catra hissed as she bounded across the hanger, avoiding the guards lying prone on the ground. “Catra, get out of the damned tank!” 

“This is so cool!” 

Catra scaled the tank easily, grabbing the little girl by the scruff of her neck and pulling her from the tank. “You can play with tanks when you’re older.” Catra tucked her under her arm and ran as fast as she could towards the skiff, but it was so far away and the kid was slowing her down. 

An impact behind her nearly singed off her tail as she leapt forward to avoid the projectiles from what had to have been a grenade launcher. Searing heat curled up her spine as a skiff she sprinted past caught alight. 

Octavia stumbled forward, a frighteningly large gun in her remaining tentacles. With a fearsome scowl on her face, she aimed it towards Catra. Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to speed up. Then Octavia moved it towards the skiff and Catra’s heart practically stopped. 

“Adora! Get going! Go! Take off!” She screamed, veering off towards where she hoped the skiff would end up. Thankfully, as always, Adora was very prepared and the skiff slightly unsteadily moved out of the hanger. 

It was floating just a few feet out of the hanger, but if Catra mistimed the jump, she and her little self would have a very long drop down and even a cat can’t land on her feet from that height. 

She could vaguely hear her little self whimpering under her arm while Octavia’s gun revved up behind them. With a short inhale, Catra launched herself at the skiff, digging her three sets of remaining claws into the metal with a groan. Barely steadying herself, she let her younger self go and shoved little Adora off the rudder. Pushing all her weight into the rudder, she forced the skiff to drop elevation rapidly in time for Octavia’s projectile to whistle past their heads into the muck of the Fright Zone. 

 The two girls clutched at each other desperately, their eyes shimmering with tears as Catra pressed on the gas. The skiff shuddered momentarily before shooting forward. 

Her breath didn’t even out until they reached the empty green space that divided the Fright Zone from that stupid forest. They just had to get into the forest and then they’d be safe. 

“Old me let me drive a tank! Can you believe it, ‘Dora?” Little Catra was the first to speak as the skiff sped over the land, her hands still clutching at little Adora’s shirt. 

Catra bit her cheek at the memory of saying almost those exact same words to the present day Adora last year. These two were so innocent and happy. And everything would eventually go wrong and they’d want to kill each other. 

While Catra would want to kill Adora, but she wasn’t sure if Adora actually felt the same way. It sure seemed like she did when she went all glowy giant lady, but just plain Adora… that was a different story. Catra shook her head violently. That wasn’t important. What was important was getting the kids away from the Fright Zone. Even the thought of what Hordak might have done if he had discovered the younger versions of his failed second-in-command and the princess who had been tormenting his forces was darker than Catra wanted to let her mind go. He lacked the delicate manipulation of Shadow Weaver, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause a world of hurt. 

“I didn’t let you drive a tank, you dummy. You just went ahead and started firing.” 

“Well, Octavia is a dumb face.” 

Catra chuckled, steering the skiff towards the forest, “That she is, kid. That she is.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

i just fond your blog and saw you like DBH and G/T and ive been dying for a cute g/t fic! Could you please do one with Markus if thats ok???

I’m really sorry this took so long Anon! Here’s some giant Markus goodness for the G/T side of the fandom! Had to get a bit creative but hey, that’s why we have Mad Scientist Vibes Mcgree (Young Kamski)!

Enjoy!

—

    When Carl had gotten into his accident, a lot of things in his life had forcibly changed.

He couldn’t walk anymore (which was the major factor for these changes), he needed to take medicine to stop the pain that the doctors said would never go away (but might lessen with time and physiotherapy), had to quit some of his favorite hobbies (He couldn’t go skiing, swimming or sky-diving anymore) and, on top of the physical limitations that he had to get used to, Carl had lost all motivation to do anything.

He couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed most mornings, much less pick up a brush to take to a canvas.

His own home became a prison, the long curving stairwell a deathtrap for a handicapped man in a wheelchair. The members of the artistic community that he’d considered his peers had practically abandoned him and gone on to lick the boots of the next greatest deal, his relationships had shriveled away due to his terrible moods, and he’d lost himself to booze and cheap drug highs more times than he’d eaten in those first weeks of recovery and adjustment to his plight…

Carl was a mess, a depressed, bitter and angry unadjusted mess, and he practically exiled himself in his own home, resigned to wasting away alone and wallowing in his own misery.

It had felt like everything that made him who he was, had died with his ability to walk…

But of course, while the world was ready to give up on an a bitter old cripple, Elijah Kamski had believed Carl could get himself back together.

And, in believing so, he’d gone and done something truly insane to help push him towards the road of recovery.

    Carl thought of Elijah as a very clever and ambitious young man. A crafty boy that was as cunning as they came, with a reputation for the dramatics that added a bit of flair to his eccentric personality.

Where others saw an excellent inventor with a few bizarre behaviours, Carl saw a well-meaning boy who went all out in his many personal plans and schemes. Someone who gave you half the puzzle so you could figure it out yourself, but who’d jump at the opportunity to give an answer to a friend if he trusted them enough. He was odd, a bit pretentious at times, but not as impossible to figure out as many people thought.

He’d left his own company around the same time of Carl’s accident, for various other reasons he assured, albeit also intending to take the time off to think on the incident itself and in what way he could help a dear friend in need.

The overall plan, however, was to isolate himself and think over a few things that had concerned him quite a bit over work ethic and corporational corruption.

Carl knew from a previous conversation that Elijah had taken with him the fruits of an ongoing and still fairly green project, intending to finish it himself rather than let the board of directors play around with such a delicate schematic.

He’d never asked Elijah what he’d do with it if he ever did finish it, but then again he should have expected the boy to reworked it into his grand scheme of “fixing his father-figure”.

Elijah was nowhere close to performing miracles yet, but Carl was sure he’d been trying fairly hard with something of the sort before settling in his final idea. Chloe had already come close enough to the boy playing god, and Carl was sure that, while the field of medicine could benefit from his younger friend’s work and ingenuity, he himself didn’t like the idea of having his legs chopped off and replaced with mechanical parts.

Prosthetics wouldn’t fix his ruined spine, wouldn’t make the pain and trauma go away, and he’d rather die than be a guinea pig to some scalpel-happy medical students.

Elijah knew this, so he did something else. Something bolder and very much batshit insane.

He was clever about it as well. He’d hid his real intentions behind simple visits, where he measured Carl’s chair multiple times, fixed issues he had with some of its mobility, installed railings and an assortment of contraptions to aid him around the house, and then finally brought him a robotic arm to serve as a moving platform to help with his larger paintings. All presents that Carl had frowned at and ignored besides the damn elevator and the wheelchair upgrade, since he needed those to get around the house.

And then, after several of these visits where he just observed and offered idle conversation, one day Elijah showed up with Chloe and his real present.

That was a day Carl would never forget…

Hard to, when a close friend of yours brought over a 50 foot tall android to serve as a household assistant.

-

    It hadn’t been a particularly good day to begin with. His doctors had tried to send him another nurse who’d just gotten in the way.

She’d woken him up abruptly, insisted for him to eat despite him feeling nauseous from spending the night in a drunken stupor, hadn’t let him even watch the news in peace without blabbering on about how he’d organized his home or about his medication schedules.

And then of course, when she pointed out the taxidermied giraffe and commented on how “middle-ages” it was to have a dead animal decorating one’s house, he’d snapped.

The night before he’d had an argument over the phone with Adelaide, Leo’s mother.

They’d argued over him shutting them out after the accident, when he’d finally taken the steps to get to know his son.

Carl wasn’t proud of what he’d said, but he recalled laughing bitterly and saying an invalid man who can’t walk anymore, can’t really take any steps by himself.

She’d been furious at his self-deprecation. And then she’d exploded when he’d implied the situation was their fault to begin with.

Because, “had he not gone on the trip to begin with, he wouldn’t have ever gotten into the damn accident”.

Carl had been too drunk to think straight, spoke some things he really shouldn’t have, and in the end Adelaide had gotten fed up with him and hung up. He had a feeling she’d resent him for this major fuck up on his part.

The argument had left him in a sour mood, and the nurse criticizing his home and the things he’d been gifted with by friends?

It had struck a nerve and he’d become standoffish and defensive.

She’d stormed out after he’d told her off with some choice words, and then told her to tell his doctors to shove their stethoscopes so far up their own asses that they might actually hear their own stupidity.

It would have been funny really, if he hadn’t wanted a cup of tea afterwards to calm his fraying nerves.

That’s when Elijah decided to show up, in the middle of Carl cursing his stove for being too tall for him to properly use now that he couldn’t stand.

    As upset as he was with his own handicap, Carl wasn’t one to give in very easily when he actually wanted something as mundane as a cup of hot tea. Earl grey, with a few almond cookies on the side to please his sweet tooth.

At the time, had he wanted to draw or paint or even play the piano as much as he’d wanted a hot beverage, he would have likely gotten it done much earlier without ever needing any help to begin with.

Considering the spell he’d put himself in however, how fervently he believed he was useless, Carl had made himself into exactly what he thought he was when it came to procuring inspiration, thus indulging in his interests was out of the picture for some time.

But that had all been forgotten while he tried to find a way around the stove’s height.

Kettle in one hand, his chin on the other, the artist considered his options.

And then the ground began to shake.

He didn’t notice at first, too engrossed with his dilemma, until the water in the kettle began to shift and slosh out onto the floor with a resounding splatter, and the wheels of his chair began to shudder against the breaks.

The shakes were rhythmic in nature, followed by thuds that were becoming as loud as thunder just as the intensity of the quaking began to make things rattle off the shelves.

Carl had gripped the chair’s armrests tightly as he looked around the kitchen, wincing as fine china slipped out of place and shattered on the floor. As the windows rattled violently against their frames, he wondered how any of this was possible, as never once had he suffered through an earthquake in this area of Michigan.

And then of course, the intense quakes came to a halt just as a deafening screech of metal met his ears.

The artist yelled in alarm as he peered out the window and saw something absolutely gargantuan crush the tall metal fencing in his yard. Had he just witnessed a goddamn meteor crash?!

-

    Of course,being the overly-curious man that he was, Carl’s immediate reaction was not to call the authorities, but to leave the kitchen to investigate.

The old artist made his way outside by wheeling himself through the larger sliding-glass door, making use of the ramp that Elijah had helped set up in one of his many visits. He then carefully and clumsily maneuvered himself around the side of his home, trying to pick up speed while also trying not to knock himself out of balance in the process (he was still not very good at using it after all), and was quickly met by a dark shadow that was definitely not supposed to be there at noon. Whatever was currently in his property, was positively and tremendously big, enough so that it cast such an impressive shadow over the mansion.

What he wasn’t counting on seeing was that, what appeared to have obliterated his fence and part of his garden, was a pair of gigantic shoes…

Inside them, Carl assumed, were an equally gigantic pair of feet, connected to gigantic legs, that were connected to a gigantic torso, which itself had a pair of gigantic arms connected to them, as well as a gigantic head.

Did he mention how gigantic all of it was? Or how his body was instinctively trembling and screaming at him to seek shelter, as two large green eyes peered down at his own two widened blue eyes. He couldn’t quite discern any other facial features, as the rest were obscured by shade, but he could see a blazing yellow circle where he assumed the giant’s right temple might be.

There was a colossal android in his backyard. Carl was pretty sure this was a sign that he was probably going to die, until he heard two familiar voices up in the distance.

 “Elijah…It appears the RK200 has effectively destroyed Mr. Manfred’s security system…” the soothing tone of the RT600, Elijah’s darling Chloe, stated calmly as she peered down from the shoulders of the giant she’d apparently hitched a ride on.

 “I’m well aware Chloe.” Elijah Kamski, who stood on the other shoulder of the massive android, poked his head over to look down at the mess. “This wasn’t how I wanted to surprise Carl… My fault really, for letting our baby boy take his first steps out in the wild…”

 “A flair for the dramatics may be your own undoing one day…” Chloe tutted disapprovingly before reaching up to the the giant, patting it under the chin. “Poor thing, this has been a positively mortifying experience for him…”

Carl stared up and up at the trio of “guests”, completely at a loss for words purely due to disbelief because, again, there was a GIANT android in his yard.

His fence had been obliterated, trampled by said android, and Elijah Kamski was behind it.

There was only one thing to do in such a situation.

 “ELIJAH KAMSKI, YOU COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN AND EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THERE IS A BUILDING SIZED ANDROID RUINING MY BEGONIAS!”

 “Busted…Fuck me, this has not gone according to plan” The inventor fumbled with his glasses and tried to hide under the collar of the colossus’s shirt to no avail. His fate as target for one of Carl’s lectures was set.

 “I warned you he might have appreciated his gift coming in a box.” Chloe grinned at him, before waving in greeting at Carl. She didn’t seem too bothered with this outcome.

 “You’re not helping Chloe…” the man sighed miserably as he stared down at the angry artist.

-

    It ended with the colossal artificial being kneeling on the dirt (an action which made the ground shakes violently because of how huge it was) and then Chloe preparing tea for Carl and Elijah, which the two drank while conversing quietly. They occasionally peered upwards at Elijah’s newest creation.

With its face no longer obscured by the shadow it cast, Carl could finally see it’s features more clearly.

The android, despite it’s terrifying size, was not at all very imposing in appearance. If anything,it looked almost soft and approachable. Friendly even, if not for the limited amount of expressions on its face.

Tanned freckled skin, soft green eyes, hair shaved short, and a sort of inquisitive look to it’s posture which was apparently it’s most basic model of being. Curious about everything and their conversation.

The uniform was pristinely clean, although he noted the shoes had already acquired a layer of dirt and grime from it’s failed “field testing”.

It was sitting there (which of course destroyed another portion of Carl’s fence and garden considering how massive it’s proportions were, and how much it weighed), but otherwise did nothing else but look at them with those soft green eyes. Waiting for it’s orders. It was…Kind of endearing, if not for the fact it destroyed part of his property.

 “Explain to me, why you felt the necessity to bring with you and Chloe such a…” he paused to stare at the android. It cocked it’s head to the side as it listened, blinking its two massive eyes as it focused on him. Each eyelash was probably the same length as Carl’s arms. “…Unique model, while visiting my decidedly not so Kaiju-friendly house…”

 “The term you’re looking for is fun sized, and the RK200 is hardly a Kaiju. Jaeger would be a much more fitting term considering his nature and overall shape.” Elijah smiled as he took a sip of his tea. “And I thought it appropriate to let him test his legs before reaching his destined household. I didn’t account for how clumsy his baby steps would be, however…I should have expected he’d need time to calibrate his movements.”

 “It’s a domestic android?” Carl raised an eyebrow and snorted at the thought “Boy, in what world does something that big fit inside someone’s house?”

 “You’ll find I made the necessary changes to your house for him to fit nice and snug like a bug in a mug, as long as he sits still, which he’s a master at when he’s not bored.”

 “You did what now…?”

 “Of course a 50 foot android will get bored easily. The RK200 is very sophisticated and inquisitive.” The inventor carried on “He adapts as he learns, and as such I’d advise constant interaction with him to ensure the best results…”

 “Elijah what did you do to my house?”

 “That’s not to say he’s clueless of course! You’ll find the RK200 can maintain a perfectly good conversation although, due to his size, verbal communication is not advised, as previous testing noted that his vocal range has a proficiency for shattering glass and porcelain. You’ll have to learn ASL.”

 “Elijah!”

 “Carl it’s all fine. Here, see?” He turned to the gargantuan prototype overseeing them “RK200, initiate Home Program.”

The green eyed android blinked twice, LED momentarily shifting from blue to yellow as it processed the command, and then the side wall behind Carl opened up like a garage door. On closer inspection, it seemed the two floors shifted upwards as well, to accommodate for the android’s tremendous size.

Carl’s jaw dropped as he watched this happen, before he turned to look back at his friend in absolute disbelief.

 “When did you get this done? Any of this?!”

 “I could tell you, but it would warrant a restraining order.”

 “Elijah I swear to God…”

 “Carl please? He will take care of you, and god only knows you could use the company.” Elijah gave the empty tea cup to Chloe, who opted to silently watch the argument unfold while she idly stood besides the prototype “You’ve been living the hermit-chique life without the chique part. You look a mess 24/7, hardly talk to me unless I physically stand besides you, and your habits are not in the slightest healthy.”

 “Since when have you become my mother? I’m an old man Elijah, not a child! I won’t live off someone else’s pity!” Carl snapped.

 “If you’re not a child, stop acting like one!” Kamski yelled loudly, his patience running thin. “I’m worried! You’re my friend and you’ve gone through a traumatizing event! Not only that but you just became single again after seven years in a relationship and need stability and support! The RK200 will give you all of that, no questions asked!”

 “How will it do anything at that size?!” Carl pointed at the android that towered over them eerily silent. It just watched, just as Chloe did, but it’s inquisitive expression had changed to a small frown, as if it were trying to understand a complicated problem.

 “You think I wouldn’t find ways around the size of my creations? Carl, you know better than that.” The brunet shook his head, arms crossed and glasses perched on his nose.

 “Yes, because “obviously” I can imagine those hands, which are as large as a fully grown man, grasping the fragile china that is currently shattered on the kitchen floor, without completely pulverizing it into fine dust…” Carl grimaced, glaring daggers at his friend before looking at the RK200. It was still frowning, but had directed it’s attention to its creator.

 “I have everything sorted out Carl. What do you take me for?” Kamski looked up at the android and smiled “RK200, show Carl your household features.”

The Android in question gave a polite nod before looking at Carl and raising both hands so that they were held up with the palms facing the artist. Carl wondered what it would do, before his eyes widened as large as saucers as the skin of the arms deactivated, revealing intricate paneling and seams. These panels opened up, splitting the arms and hands into various parts, before several cables spilled out from within. The great majority of said cables was tipped with what appeared to be regular sized hands, while others were tipped by lenses.

There were hands and “eyes” inside its actual hands.

 “….Elijah that is the freakiest most scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life…”

 “There’s more.”

 “Oh god…”

The RK200 quietly closed up its arms after retracting the hidden limbs back inside of their proper compartments, and then pulled it’s uniform shirt up. The skin of the stomach area deactivated and then a massive storage unit popped open. From inside it, popped out two drones and a regular sized android of identical appearance to the RK200.

 “The drones are for delivery and retrieval, the extra android is a remote controlled escort for you whenever you need fresh air. The three are completely linked to the RK200s mind, effectively they are him.” Elijah explained as one of the drones flew around the artist and inventor, while the remote controlled android bowed calmly. “He can actually speak through this body, so while I encourage you brush up on ASL, you can always keep a nice conversation with him out on a public stroll.”

 “Elijah…Just how many concepts were you toying with before you decided to give me this…Mishmash of purposes?” Carl felt like he was in the twilight zone at this point. This was the most sci-fi-ish android he’d ever seen, and Cyberlife had chugged out a LOT of strange models.

 “A few. The most impressive is his programming actually…The code is adaptive and changes depending on stimuli.” Elijah smiled as he watched the RK200 collect it’s extensions. “He’s a little like Chloe, but…But more. And I’ll admit, picking you is selfish, but you’re the one person I’d trust to teach our boy to be something more than just a collection of ideas.”

 “You want a depressed man who hasn’t been out in weeks, to teach a giant android to be a good person?”

 “Pretty much.”

 “This could end badly, you know…” Carl looked once more to the Android, startling when he noticed it had laid down on its stomach and was now mere inches away from him, face practically right on top of Carl’s sitting body. It had an odd expression on its face, but it didn’t look inherently malicious so Carl quickly forced his pulse to calm.

 “It won’t. You’re not gone Carl, as much as you’d like to be considering your state…You’re a clever man, with a lot to teach someone.” Elijah insisted. “You’ll make a fine young man out of our dear baby RK200.”

 “I agree sir.” Chloe smiled as she approached, making sure to pat the colossus on the face in passing. “You’ve been nothing but kind to Elijah and myself. Your wisdom and kindness will be invaluable for RK200’s development. He will also benefit you, in being quite the delightful companion.”

 “…Well…I guess I better look up ASL…”

 “Is that a yes?” Elijah grinned triumphantly.

 “I’m afraid so.”

 “Excellent! I’ll give you the basic rundown here…Starting with supplies, no need to worry he doesn’t run entirely on thirium, that’d be incredibly difficult to sustain. Although I will send you shipments monthly since he does need it to self-heal. Which brings us to the next topic! Self-healing! If he gets badly roughed up somehow, just give him thirium and scrap metal! Biocomponents will do if you have them on hand. His body does the rest!” Elijah chittered excitedly while Carl went back to observing the android he’d been saddled with. It was still watching him, and only him, intently.

Most of Elijah’s technobabble went unheard as Carl watched the giant extend a finger in his direction, before carefully reaching out.

Said finger opened up, a few retractable limbs and cameras (again, creepy as fuck!) coming out and inspecting the wheelchair, before one hand tentatively offered for a handshake.

Carl took it and was surprised at how real the synthetic skin felt.

 “Hello there…” Carl found himself smiling as the android shyly looked away for the briefest of seconds, like a young child meeting a family friend for the first time, before looking back at him and quirking the corners of its mouth upwards. It lifted it’s other hand up and greeted slowly with it’s fingers.

The gentleness of this gigantic being was sticking.

Carl decided in the end that this might not be too bad after all.

-

    A few years later, in 2038, Carl found himself smiling as two familiar drones flew into his room and nestled themselves against his sides all the while purring that strange mechanical purr of theirs (which he’d long since associated with Markus’s good moods), while he watched a revolution unfold on the news.

His boy had come a long way since the first time he’d stepped foot in his property.

Despite his tremendous size and incomparable strength, Markus had not once taken a violent approach at any given chance.

His kind was met with anger and fear, yet the 50 foot android had done everything in his powers to be a benevolent and fair leader to both saptient species.

The remote body appeared for every public event, giving him no advantage over the situations, while his true body remained hidden away up until now…

He revealed himself out of necessity, the remote body destroyed during the attack on the barricade, with that horrid Perkins demanding his presence as soon as he realized Markus wasn’t dead.

And he’d complied to the wishes of a man who thought he’d been the cat that caught the canary. That grin fell off his face as soon as the 50 foot leader of the Android Revolution had squeezed through buildings, careful not to step on anything, avoiding the routes which had civilians and military alike to avoid casualties.

The world watched as a literal giant showed mercy and compassion, where humanity showed senseless cruelty, and Carl couldn’t be prouder.

He’d raised the boy well.

Elijah and Chloe had made the right choice in leaving him with Carl.

And the artist had to admit…For a 50 foot colossus, Markus was nothing if not a gentle caring young man, and he’d been entirely lucky to have him.

Bless Elijah Kamski’s eccentric ideas…But damn if the man still didn’t owe him a garden full of begonias.

[bigskydreaming]

princeescaluswords replied to your post:

Alex Summers, after the most recent of 128979889...

Why don’t you write Marvel? You couldn’t possibly do any worse and I could use the laughs!

Lol, its a nice dream, but realistically I don’t think there’s any universe in which Marvel would ever let me write the X-Men. 

Like, my very first story would probably have Bobby refreezing the Arctic while Storm heads up a team of elementals to combat climate change. And then a Republican senator and a Democrat senator would go on TV and make a bipartisan show of expressing their gratitude towards mutants for helping save the planet and this is the real future of humanity, this is them all building a world where they can live side by side in a mutually beneficial -

And then the broadcast would cut off because Cypher just hacked every satellite worldwide and said “all your binary codes belong to me now, resistance is futile, blah blah” before turning the camera to Sunspot who’s all decked out in his snazziest suit and dressed to the nines. Roberto yawns and flips the whole world off and says “LOL fuck you, the X-Men are done with respectability politics, we took a vote and our democratic process actually works, we don’t have a fucking electoral college. We only saved the planet because it happens to be the planet we live on, dipshits, nobody did it for you, you’re still cordially invited to go extinct. Or you can play nice and try getting along with the rest of us for a change but good luck trying to make Sentinels happen again, lmao, funding’s gonna be an issue for you pretty soon I think.”

He turns off the camera and goes back to planning his and Sam’s wedding, because look, I have my priorities, okay.

Then Mystique unleashes her new Fellowship of Evil (Same Name, But This Time Its Evil as in STFU, Its Ironic U Assholes) Mutants that she’s been recruiting from the ranks of the young and disenchanted. Overnight, the market is flooded with gold and gems transmuted from ordinary materials by mutant powers, as well as a bunch of shit ‘liberated’ from the coffers of the 1% via her Fellowship’s alliance with her son-in-law’s Thieves’ Guild. Value plummets instantly, and then technopaths join in the fun, crashing every banking system worldwide.

“Whoopsie, I broke capitalism, money’s worthless now, vive la revolution, everyone eat some fucking cake,” Raven sing-songs merrily from the chaise she’s lounging on while eating grapes. The city outside her window is burning. Meanwhile, a fiddler is playing nearby. She calls him Nero, because Aesthetic.

“Oh relax,” she rolls her eyes when Remy attempts to frown at her disapprovingly. “I had my teleporters evacuate the city before I set it on fire. I’m not a heartless monster, you know.”

“You mean you didn’t want to spend the next ten years dealing with your children yelling at you about innocent civilians and how could you,” Remy says dryly.

Mystique just shrugs and eats some more grapes. “Or that.”

Far-right dominated police forces and white supremacist militia groups attempt to forcibly establish martial law, except mostly they’re just standing around clutching their heads and trying to cope with the mother of all migraines as a gestalt of telepathic minds headed up by a Cerebro-powered octet of Jean, Emma, Betsy, Rachel, Quentin, and the Stepford Cuckoos psychically screams FAKE NEWS!!! into their brains every time their CO’s attempt to bark out new orders.

“Best school project ever,” Quire shouts. Emma smirks.

“Extra credit to the first person to psychically leak the full extent of just how extensively governments have invaded their citizens’ privacy with surveillance extremism in the name of national security.”

Jean attempts a half second of chastisement, but with them all linked this closely, there’s really no way to hide that she’s mostly just amused. Oh no, she and Emma are seeing eye to eye on something and there are witnesses and everything. The revolution was a mistake.

Atlanteans and mutant hydrokinetics team up to shove the worst oil and toxic waste and trash spills up onto the shores of every beach marked ‘privately owned’. The mile-wide ‘island’ of plastic debris that formerly sat in the middle of the Pacific is now parked off the coast of Malibu.

There’s a twenty foot demon from Limbo sitting in the Oval Office. It burps. Illyana beams and boops its nose. “Good boy.” It wags its tail and breaks the Oval Office.

Kitty and Kurt direct teams of similarly powered mutants in raiding the top secret R&D facilities of major pharmaceutical companies for all their research on diseases that never made it to mass production because they decided those treatments or cures wouldn’t be profitable in the long run because healthy people don’t need to spend a ton of money on medical care. Teams of healers are standing by to vet the viability of various research, while Hank, Cece and other mutant geniuses are already working on filling in the gaps on all the projects that were shutdown and Forge, Madison Jeffries and tech-based geniuses are converting existing infrastructure into the necessary machinery to take over mass production of these drugs, prosthetics, and sweatshop labor in general.

Speedsters and teleporters are redistributing food and stocking up the millions of properties worldwide that have just been sitting there empty for god knows how long, useless. Colossus is standing in the smashed remains of a mansion with his arms crossed sternly while a man who is definitely not meant to resemble the CEOs of either Tesla or Amazon or look like some kind of Musky Bozo hybrid cowers on the floor.

“You are a very stupid man,” Colossus says. “Why are you wasting billions funding research into space travel when there are aliens with a strong grasp of the technology in the ships that brought them here on every superhero team on Earth? You could have easily provided the Earth with working and widely accessible space travel by now if you weren’t so miserly.”

“Yeah,” Juggernaut says behind him, scratching his head. “Aliens have been coming and going from this planet for like fifty years. There are tons of fancy spaceships anyone could’ve just reverse engineered and mass produced by now. How come nobody’s ever done that and we’re all just acting like space travel is some far-off dream when everyone we know’s been to space like at least ten times?”

“Stupid people,” Colossus rumbles again. Musky Bozo wets himself and Piotr sighs and shakes his head. He didn’t even touch him.

Cyclops and Wolverine and their teams of bruisers are already done with the ICE facilities and have progressed to busting open prisons and liberating all nonviolent offenders. They inform everyone else that they can appeal to a panel of telepaths to read their minds and see for themselves that they’re innocent.

“Guilt determined by mind-reading?” Someone asks. “Lots of potential for sketchiness there.”

“Absolutely,” Scott says. “Which is why laws about boundaries and oversight have to be established. For now, its a volunteer basis only. Nobody has to get their mind read, but its an option available in the meanwhile as we sort out a better system for determining who’s been imprisoned for crimes of premeditated malice and abuse and who’s just been railroaded by an unjust and biased system.”

“So this is your new utopia, huh?” Sneers the prison warden, from the floor where he’s on his ass with a busted face because, idk, Reasons.

Scott just shakes his head. “No. It’s merely a start.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, but if its broke and you wanna fix it, you gotta start somewhere,” Logan says gruffly. “Shit was broke. This is ‘starting somewhere.’”

He and Scott share a very Passionate look of camaraderie. Rogue sighs loudly.

“Just fuck already, jfc.”

Logan grunts. He already offered, but apparently all Personal Business must wait until after the Revolution was over, because a Scott Summers who put himself first was very clearly an impostor, so its not like Logan could even fucking get mad considering Scott putting in a pin in sucking each other’s faces after their We Were Both Dead But Now We’re Not and Also What the Fuck Was Up With Us For the Five Whole Years Before That reunion was what confirmed that it was definitely the Real Scott’s tongue in his mouth.

“Alright, let’s move it people,” Logan barks, clapping his hands. “There’s three more joints to hit before sundown. We got a timetable here.”

Jubilee squints at him suspiciously. “Since when are you efficient?”

“Mind your own fucking business.”

At no point does anyone suggest they erase the most sacred sites of all the world’s major religions and call them all fake or randomly resurrect a bunch of dinosaurs and release them on unsuspecting and innocent populations, because those are terrible ideas and make no sense and just because they’re stinkin’ commies now doesn’t mean they’re fucking morons.

Also, nobody grows a ridiculous beard or stops using shampoo or starts wearing flip flops or robes, because apparently those are not actually essential components of being a stinkin’ commie or even just a garden variety peace-aspiring socialist. They checked. Extensively. It was almost a dealbreaker. Emma, Monet and Roberto all threatened to side with the Capitalist Pigs if that was not thoroughly clarified before proceeding any further.

Thus ends my first issue. I email Marvel the script. They email it back, almost entirely redacted in red, with the note “This isn’t quite what we were looking for. Do you have anything about a new cure for mutants, maybe?”

I email them back: LOL NO. MAGNETO WAS RIGHT.

I am promptly fired.

I go back to ranting about how Marvel sucks on the internet.