#the scarab pit

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

getting too lesbian with it and i have to remind myself that im drawing fucking bill and ted fanart

[lemlem21]

THEY FINALLY GOT CLOCKED BY ANON HEHEHEHHDHE

hari & neevi my beloved. yes anon you are right. brooding dilf w/ parental instincts x silly pretty boy allergy disaster

their intro post!! by @whumpbug yours truly

[imaginepostingonsideblogs]

name ONE crime cas has ever committed.

any "crimes" done out of love don't count, that's just how he shows affection, okay. i'm sure scarab and all of cas' other happy, well adjusted lovers would agree with me

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllll..............maybe we shouldn't neutralise EVERY crime hes comitted. for. the sake of love. hes erm. thats um. its a lot.

...

all of them. its all of them, apparently.

[dusterbishop]

i mistakenly called them by your name.

summary. || you're the avatar of anubis and the biggest secret you harbor is your relationship with jake lockley and the daughter you share. when the scarab falls into the hands of a cult, you delve into the fray and hope you can balance saving the world with protecting your secrets.

pairing. || moon knight system x f!reader (established relationship with jake, marc and steven join in later)

count. || 6.2k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. my annual moon knight obsession has taken over my brain and it's currently missing jake lockley hours </3

part one. || part two.

Despite being the Avatar of an ancient Egyptian deity, you don’t necessarily believe in fate. There is no such connection between the world and an individual such as destiny, such as there is no connection between one person and another that classifies as a soulmate bond. People exist in a state of utter abandon, and they are nothing but reactive to the state of the world around them.

Yet, as you turn around to show Eliana another exhibit on Ancient Egypt, dutifully reading aloud the brass-plated plaque she points at, you wonder how much of a coincidence it is that you see your husband standing there, just behind the gift-shop counter. The sight of him plunges your every nerve into a tumultuous sea of arctic water, the waves crashing through your body in a rush of panic. If he knows you followed him back to London, with Eliana no less…

Until you see his gaze meander your way, then slide right over the two of you as if you are nothing but ordinary museum attendees. There’s a slouch to his shoulders, his presence curled up in itself, but you have to tear your attention away before he catches you staring. Or, more likely, before you break and stride over there to demand answers. You have had enough time to sketch out and fine-tune your list of questions for him, and when you booked the flight to London you thought you were composed enough to be able to propose your tidy list to him without wanting to grab him by the lapels of his coat and shake some sense into his stupid fractured brain.

You let out a slow, controlled breath. You’re composed, of course you are. Nothing can shake you.

“Mama,” Eliana says, tugging at your hand impatiently, and you feel a jolt of awareness at the back of your mind that signals the creeping presence of a god nearby. This one isn’t yours.

“Yes, habibti?” You say, casually scanning the museum lobby. It’s a public, brightly-lit institution with sparkling glass cases displaying relics far older than you. There are groups of people sparsely scattering around the room, milling idly from one display to the next, unaware of the oversized jackal trotting through people and the display cases as a spectral entity.

The black-tipped tip of its tail wags in gentle greeting when it catches you looking, and you manage a pointed glance at Eliana before turning your attention back to the exhibit she dragged you to.

“It’s you,” she announces cheerily, grinning up at you. She is a dead-ringer for her father; same loose black curls and dark eyes that glimmer with a mischievous streak of satisfaction in teasing you. You look closer at the replicated statue of a jackal-headed god and huff out a laugh. It’s a statue of Anubis, of course, and you don’t have to look behind you to know that the jackal lingering in your shadow has an open-muzzle grin at the acknowledgment.

“Your flail is better,” she adds, pointing to the replicated flail dangling in the statue’s hand. The museum’s version is plated with imitation gold and striped blue, the metal sparkling beneath the fluorescent lights. The length of its handle fits flush to the statue’s forearm in the traditional symbol of a shepherd’s tool.

“Mine does look different,” you agree, idly swinging your joined hands between you. She stares up at the statue of Anubis with an intent solemnity, and you feel that familiar pitch of guilt in the pit of your stomach. Your service as a god’s Avatar is absolute; as his hands and his faith, you have had to adjust to a life of constant change. What began as a simple career at a local mortuary has transformed into a globe-trotting itinerary with a rapidly-expanding catalog of adversaries.

You resist the urge to glance over at the gift-shop counter and instead tuck a stray curl from Eliana’s eyes, smiling at the way she twists to look over her shoulder and scrunch her nose up at you. “I think we should take a break for lunch, habibti.”

“I wanna see the Ennead,” she frowns. Well, it’s bordering closer to a pout, but you can tell she’s getting hungry and her temper is on a shorter fuse than normal. She points to the banners on the wall, naming off the gods she sees, then pauses. “Where are the other gods, Mama?”

You study the display. There are only seven of the Ennead displayed, Anubis included, unlike the nine traditionally depicted. It’s clear who is missing immediately, and some strange emotion flutters in your gut at the realization.

“Khonshu and Ammit are gone,” Eliana announces. She twists around, peering for any sign of their presence, and she goes tense in your grip when she spots the man at the gift shop counter. “Oh! Daddy’s here.”

“He’s not himself today, habibti,” you tell her. She squints at him, studying the curve of his posture and the polite smile he gives the old woman buying a glass paperweight in the shape of a pyramid. There’s an earnest sheen to the clumsy way he gestures towards the display of fridge magnets that makes his customer smile, polite yet uninterested. He looks like he’s spouting off a laundry list of information, and the old woman nods kindly as she collects her change and receipt before retreating. He manages a wave in goodbye then moves onto his next customer.

“He’s nice,” Eliana decrees. “Can we say ‘hi’, Mama?”

Yeah, Jake is going to kill you for this.

“Sure, habibti. Let’s get a souvenir and we can see him when we checkout.”

In the very least, it’s an easy redirect towards getting her out of the museum to get lunch. She practically drags you over to the gift shop, her eyes taking in the inventory with ravenous longing, and you notice the display of plushies with a resigned sigh.

“Taweret!” She shouts. You let go of her hand before she yanks you off-balance to follow behind at a slower distance, smiling as she gazes reverently at the tower of plush hippos. The black bead eyes shine kindly under the display lights, perfectly reminiscent of the goddess herself. She would be utterly delighted to see the merchandise in her likelihood.

“Oh, we just got those in,” an accented voice says, coming around the checkout counter to edge closer to the two of you. The relentless buzz of worry and stress that you have been harboring since Jake went missing in the dead of a Cairo night eases as his body comes into view. Of course, you assure yourself, his body is fine. With the Moon Knight suit to accelerate his healing instantly in battle and Anubis’s blessing to keep him whole, he was never in danger of death.

Still, your shoulders loosen from the relief, and you turn to smile at him. The name tag fastened to the lapel of his jacket says ‘Steven’, though you figured as much based on the British accent and the seemingly exemplary customer service skills he has displayed. Marc, during the plentiful amount of life-threatening occasions you’ve clashed with him in, is not as patient as his alter, and you know Jake prefers limited contact with strangers when necessary.

“She’s a bit of an Egyptology enthusiast,” you tell him, gesturing to Eliana. A sensation of warmth spreads through your chest as you watch Steven turn to your daughter, his face lighting up in delight. Jake liked to lament the fact that she was just as Egypt-obsessed as Steven was, though you knew he was secretly pleased that she shared that trait with his fellow alter. Steven is a soft-hearted history nerd, he had told you, and he never shuts up about it.

And you love him for it, you had translated, and Jake had expertly changed the subject by changing the channel on the television to put on the game show you both liked. There was something to be said about the way he complained about Steven’s constant stream of history trivia facts only to religiously tune in to Jeopardy with you during his time in the body. Not to mention how damned good he was at it.

“Hello, there,” he says to her, crouching to get closer to her level. He points to the display of stuffed hippos. “I reckon you know who that is, yeah?”

“Taweret,” Eliana beams. She looks to Steven with that smile, and he returns it just as brilliantly. “She’s the goddess of women and children, an’ she helps steer the boat in the Duat.”

Steven raises his eyebrows at that, but his voice doesn’t falter from that kind, attentive tone. “Wow, you’re an expert! She helps guide the souls through the afterlife, yeah?”

“She weighs hearts,” Eliana agrees.

“Oi,” Steven says, sounding a little put-out by the declaration. “Well, that’s more of Osiris’s thing, innit? Weighing the heart, comparing it with the feather?”

Uh-oh. You know that her furrowed brow mean she’s gearing up to properly educate Steven on the true nature of the Duat, so you edge your way back into the conversation, crouching down to be level with her and Steven.

“Do you want to tell Steven what we noticed, Eliana?” You prompt, and her face turns solemn as she stares down Steven.

“You’re missing two,” she tells him. At his startled look, she points over his shoulder to the Ennead banners displayed on the far wall. “Khonshu gets cranky when you don’t talk about him.”

You barely manage to tilt your head down to hide your grin from Steven. She clearly picked that observation up from Jake, who often translated his disdain for Khonshu’s regular self-righteous rants into kid-appropriate terminology when he noticed her paying attention.

“Right,” Steven says, frowning. For a beat, you think it’s from the way Eliana talked about the Egyptian god of the moon with familiarity, but no, he looks justified as he points to the banners. “I told my boss the same thing, yeah? There are nine members of the Ennead and only seven banners. In a museum!”

Uh-oh. Now you got Steven all worked up.

“Stevie!” A voice shouts, startling the three of you. Eliana reaches out to clasp Steven’s hand, eyes wide, and some unspeakable emotion clogs your throat when you see his grip on her hand tighten reflexively, a silent comfort.

“Uh, here!” he calls. To Eliana, he says, “Donna, my boss.”

He dares a glance your way, and you blink at the flush of red creeping over the crest of his cheekbones. You aren’t used to your husband’s body looking so… soft and shy. Not in public, anyway. “I’m real sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him, soft, and he seems to blush harder only to yelp in surprise when Donna turns the corner. He straightens up to his feet fast enough to shake the display rack of Taweret plushies in a dangerously tedious wobble, which makes Eliana giggle and in turn draws Donna's attention to the way he’s still gripping onto your daughter’s hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asks him, her voice edged in exasperated annoyance, and you rise up from your crouch, eyes narrowed. Donna gestures to their clasped hands. “Let go of that child, Stevie, what’s the matter with you?”

Steven releases Eliana’s hand as if her touch burns, and she stares up at him with wide eyes, hurt twisting her bottom lip into a wavering pout. You reach out and draw her closer to your side, smoothing a hand over her dark curls as she buries her face against the hem of your coat to hide her tears.

You look at Steven, and the gutted expression that flashes across his face nearly rends you in half. Jake. You would know him by sight alone, even if he only takes control of the body’s expression just long enough for you to see his hurt before he shutters himself away again. Got you, you think, relief unraveling the pit of worry trapped beneath your ribs. The body is alive, yes, but so is Jake. He’s there, even if he masks himself behind the presence of his fellow alter.

Part of you had thought… you had worried that…

“Steven is a real scholar,” you interrupt, forcing a smile to your face, hard-lined with polite disdain for her tone. Donna pulls her glare from Steven and looks at you as if just noticing your presence for the first time. “He was just telling Eliana about the Ennead. She loves Egyptology, I’m so glad she could talk to someone who loves it just as much as she does.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, really,” Steven scrambles to add, flushing darker, his gaze darting from you to Donna with a wariness that reminds you so much of Jake you wonder if he’s still at the surface of the body’s consciousness, prepared to strike.

“I appreciate his help,” you add over Steven’s stuttering apology to Donna. She gives him a flat, annoyed look then turns to you with a fake smile.

“Well, at least he’s good for something,” she says, pointedly staring at Steven, and the defensive curl of his shoulders makes you want to throttle her. The blaze of fury that curls up the length of your spine is not only your own; a jackal’s rumbling growl echoes in the space above you.

“He is amazing,” you blurt out. She turns to stare at you, but you only have eyes for Steven. His posture is slumped, but those dark eyes are glittering with surprise as you stare at one another, a rising tide of unsaid words swelling in the back of your throat. You want to tell Donna of the incredible knowledge he has, the kindness of his heart, and the mirrored facets of his body that she could never fully understand. She cannot understand that when she disparages Steven Grant, she is also targeting Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, and Moon Knight.

Instead, you say, finally, “I really appreciate it, Steven. We would love to hear more when we come back.”

“Of course,” Steven says immediately, then blanches at the glare Donna gives him. “Right, uh, you’re welcome back anytime, yeah? Eliana, too.”

At the sound of her name, Eliana twists her head to look shyly up at Steven, her fingers easing their death grip on your coat when you gently tug at the curl falling into her eyes. The smile she gives him shines bright enough to make him grin back. “Thanks, Steven!”

“Thanks, Steven,” you repeat, and part of you wonders what Jake sees when you lean down and haul Eliana up onto your hip, carefully maneuvering your way out of the gift shop without bumping into the few patrons staring openly at the strange display between you, Steven, and Donna. He had told you that he stays aware during the day, giving his nights to Marc unless he felt a spike of adrenaline that signaled the start of a fight for the body.

You hope he sees your message loud and clear as you make your way to the museum’s exit, glancing over your shoulder just once to find Steven watching you, his face morphing into guilt and embarrassment when he sees you catch him staring.

You offer him a fleeting smile. You hope Jake sees your silent meaning: come and find me.

***

You get lunch at a cafe across the street from the museum, and you don’t argue when Eliana begs to sit at one of the bistro tables outside despite the clouds rolling in and muddling the sky. London is a dreary change of pace from your last apartment in Tunis, though you silently admire the way Eliana watches with open amazement at the crowded sidewalk and idling cars passing you on the street, enraptured by the bustle of pedestrians and flow of afternoon traffic.

You are no stranger to the world, but you forget how novel the entire experience is for your daughter. For a five year old, she’s been to more countries than you had been to at her age, but she still chews on her sandwich with an absent-minded instinct as she watches. Like the exhibits in the museum, she is utterly taken with the foreign display of another life.

The french fries you ordered taste like ash in your mouth, but you manage to chew and swallow without feeling too nauseous. It helps when you have a spectral jackal curled up at your feet under the table, its weightless head resting on your shoes in silent support. Its head is pointedly aimed to the front doors of the museum, acting as a sentinel. You don’t expect Steven to lose control of the body any time soon, especially not to Jake. Last you heard from him, he was intent on keeping his role in the system as a secret.

There’s enough going on in their head without me, querida.

Fair enough, you think, though you give up on picking at your fries in favor of scrawling another entry in your travel journal. It was a simple way to keep track of Jake’s memories during your former glory days as traveling Avatars, but you keep the habit without him there to add his own observations or opinions.

Noon: Visited the National Art Gallery with Eliana. She took us around the Egyptian exhibits for an hour. Saw Steven in the gift shop. Saw you briefly in the front. Got lunch at the cafe across the street.

Staring down at the entry only furthers that jolt of longing in your heart, so you snap the journal closed and slip it back into your tote bag, far out of sight.

“Oh,” Eliana says, breathless, and you barely have time to look up before you see her get swept up out of her seat by a pair of hands.

Your choked gasp of shock catches the attention of a nearby table, but the older couple looks away when Jake glares back at them, hoisting Eliana up onto his shoulders. He carries the body with the same lithe grace as a panther, you think. Where Steven is huddled and wary, Jake burns as bright as the sun, his shoulders squared, every step graceful and sure.

Even his smile to you is near-predatory. Unhappy.

“Fancy to see you here, querida,” he says. Not unkindly, though you know it’s more for Eliana’s benefit. There’s an edge lining the corner of his mouth that is reserved only for you to see now that she’s stashed safely atop his shoulders.

“I saw Steven!” She tells him, burying her hands in his dark curls. She leans down to press her temple to his, only to squeal in delight when he turns to kiss the tip of her nose.

“You told him he was missing the gods on that poster, princesita?” He hitches his shoulders to make her bounce, and she curls up to steady herself in his grip, giggling riotously against the crown of his curled hair. “I think you forgot something when you left.”

“Not-uh,” she declares. “I got my jacket!”

“Hmm,” Jake muses. “What about your shoes?”

“One, two,” she shows him one foot then the other. Jake’s smile softens at the sight of the untied laces, and you know he’s thinking of the same daily rituals you are. So many mornings he has spent muttering over her sneakers, constantly re-tying the laces, failing to convince her to get velcro shoes because she likes Jake to tie them for her and he cannot resist making her smile, even in that small way.

A morning ritual the two of you have tried to remedy together since he left. You’ve shown her how to tie her own shoes many times since then, but both of you can feel the gaping emptiness that he has left since Cairo.

“¿Estas segura?” He teases, and when she lets out an offended squawk of annoyance, he releases his grip on one of her ankles and pulls out a fuzzy dark-fur plush from his pocket.

You laugh despite yourself. A plush jackal, colored just like the god tucked in at your feet.

“Anubis!” Eliana gasps. She takes the plush from Jake with reverent joy, tucking it securely into the crook of her arm as her other hand curls gently into his dark hair. The exhaustion and annoyance that lined his face earlier is long gone, and a gentle adoration softens his eyes as she leans in to whisper in his ear, “Gracias, Daddy.”

“De nada, princesita,” he whispers back. For a moment, they stay just like that, her face ducked low to lean against his, his hands clasping her ankles to steady her perch on his shoulders. She has the same sort of smile that he does, too, as if it’s a secret split open and divided just for the two of them to share.

You’re loath to interrupt their first moment of peacefulness in nearly two months, so you merely catch Jake’s gaze and hold it, silently conveying every thought rattling in your head.

Cairo. The apartment abandoned in Tunis. The journey to London through international flights, hauling around a cranky kid that missed her dad and didn’t understand why it was important to pretend she wasn’t Eliana Lockley Spector when the boarding agents checked them in. Seeing Jake’s body being piloted by a near-stranger in the gift shop, knowing he was close enough for you to touch but you had no right to ask for the privilege.

“Join us?” You ask softly. He swallows thickly, and for a beat, he lets you see the emotions filtering through his mind in his subdued expression: exhaustion, stress, panic, relief, love, love, love.

“I have an hour for lunch,” he says. He doesn’t say that it’s Steven’s lunch, though you know that based on the tension ticking in his jaw, he’s already wondering how he will cover the blank spot in Steven’s memory when he comes back to front.

You push your plate across the table, and he eyes the untouched sandwich and half-eaten fries with a knowing look.

“No mayo,” he assumes. It’s endearing, you think, watching him scrutinize the lunch date you arranged while Eliana pets his curls with gentle fingers, tangling up the sleep-mussed locks even further. If Steven looked tired and rumpled, then Jake seems exhaustively spent. There’s a firm tilt to the corner of his mouth that reminds you of the way Marc always frowns when he’s in the front, but as Eliana carefully combs through his hair with her little fingers, you can see his expression smooth out and soften.

“You should finish lunch,” he finally says. He’s looking directly at you, but he lifts Eliana up and over his head to settle her in his lap, claiming the chair he swept her up from. She wiggles to lean her head against his collar, her posture loose and sated. He pulls her plate closer to the edge of the table so she can reach, and one of her hands dart out to snatch a french fry.

“Ay, have more than just the fritas,” he admonishes, but he takes a fry off of your plate with a wink only you can see. Eliana giggles but obediently reaches for her half-gnawed sandwich next, and so Jake doesn’t complain when she curls up in his lap to nibble on it, watching the passing traffic with a bright smile that makes your heart ache.

The three of you will never have your little life in Tunis again. You know it, even if you want nothing more than to take Jake by the hand and drag the both of them back home. It eases the sting to know that Jake would go with you and he wouldn’t fight it. His willingness to settle down was never the obstacle in your relationship.

“How was the shiva?” You ask. It’s easier to switch to Spanish; you can feel the sidelong stares from the old couple at the table next to yours, still uneasy at Jake’s sudden appearance. They are likely harmless, but you don’t have enough energy to sidestep the actual topic you need to discuss by using petty code-speak.

Jake takes the offering without stumbling. “Didn’t go in. Had to nudge them through the city streets before one of them got run over.”

“The museum is just his day job, then?” You ask, nodding to the name tag still fastened to Jake’s coat. Or it was technically Steven’s coat, you supposed. The three of them have their own preferences, and you know Jake would have preferred something softer and warmer for the tepid English weather.

“Gallivanting at night,” Jake agrees. He takes another fry off of your plate and eats it slowly, chewing as if he can delay the conversation entirely. Eliana eats just as slow, you notice, and you wonder if it isn’t just Jake who feels the tension brewing between the two of you.

It isn’t fair for her, you think, and that gives you the courage to speak first.

“I’ve been talking to my sister,” you start, and the next sentence dies in your throat when you see Jake stiffen, panic flashing through his eyes before his gaze settles in wary distrust. The slope of his shoulders tense into a straight, drawn-back posture. A soldier’s stance.

“You,” Marc says flatly. Eliana straightens up at the sound of his voice, looking at you with wide eyes, and you can only offer her a smile in what you hope conveys comfort. Either that, or you just might expose some of the frustration welling up in your chest.

“Just having lunch,” you tell Marc. His brows draw together, unsure, and you quickly jump back into English. “We invited Steven to lunch.”

Wrong thing to say. The tension stiffens into protectiveness, his dark eyes slowly taking in the plates on the table, the half-eaten vegetarian sandwich pushed between you and him. Then his attention trails down to Eliana, and his expression smooths out when he realizes that she’s watching him with rapt attention.

“Hi, Eliana,” Marc says, soft. When he looks at you, that wariness turns the softness of his black eyes back to stone. “Steven isn’t involved in any of this, Lockley.”

You nod. The sound of his voice sends that shiver down your back. God, you missed this so much. Jake may be the alter you married, but Marc is still the reason you have him and Eliana. He was your partner in a way Jake didn’t quite equate to.

“I know.” You offer your best apologetic look, but he doesn’t seem swayed until you nod to Eliana. “We came to the city for my sister. I got a lead and I needed the babysitter.”

“Lockley,” he warns. He glances around the cafe, and you follow his gaze. The old couple that sat next to you have gone while you were distracted, and you supposed it was good they left before they noticed Jake switch into a brooding American from Chicago that looked like he was holding a pipe bomb rather than your daughter in his lap. The faces around you are different but unassuming, and none seem interested in your suddenly tense conversation. It’s only the three of you, and the jackal curled languidly at your feet, unbothered by the display.

Good. That must mean Khonshu isn’t here yet. When Marc looks back to you, you smile at him.

“I know,” you say, soft enough to sound less like a defense mechanism and more like an olive branch. It doesn’t loosen the slope of his shoulders, though there’s less wrinkles across his brow. “I just needed time before meeting with Sophia. Eliana wanted to see the exhibits.”

“I saw a mummy,” Eliana adds, patting Marc’s shoulder to get his attention. The anger clears from his face when he tilts his head down to offer his full attention. His eyes linger on the plush jackal clutched in the crook of her arm, but he merely offers her a kind, gentle smile.

“Oh, yeah?” He says. He pokes her side, supporting her weight when she jolts away at the ticklish touch with a giggle, then pokes at the plush on her other side. “You picked up a souvenir, too?”

“Anubis,” Eliana affirms. She pulls it out to offer it to Marc, and his hand is gentle as he pets the top of its furry head, his smile tugging ruefully at the corners of his mouth. You take a brief, gracious moment to silently thank Jake for his thoughtfulness. Not only did Eliana have a souvenir, but it was a good cover story for when this exact scenario happened: they saw Steven at the gift shop counter during checkout, and they got lunch together.

From what you knew of Steven, you gathered that he was an earnest, kind-hearted, and well-mannered man. He wouldn’t refuse an offer for lunch, and he was just as likely to strike up a friendship with Eliana through a few conversations about their shared love for Egyptology.

Like you choosing the vegan-friendly restaurant, Jake chose a prop for a lunch date. For all of the complaints he had about Marc’s love for strategy, he could be a formidable opponent in the game of chess you all played with the system. Hiding Steven from the world of Avatars, hiding Jake from Marc and Steven, hiding who you and Eliana truly are from Marc.

It was all a delicate circus act of balance and lies, and you wondered just how far you could let it go before it all came crashing down. Marc would be gutted if he knew the girl cradled in his lap was his daughter just as much as she was Jake’s and Steven’s. He would be furious if he knew his marriage to Layla was null and void just because he was married to you, instead, long before he started to even date her.

Yeah, some chess game you all played. Some days you wondered if it would be easier simply to set the board on fire and let it all go.

“I’m sorry,” you say suddenly.

Marc and Eliana both look to you, an eerie mirror to the life you pose for. She has his striking dark eyes and soft curls, and thanks to you, she has his name, too. One of the contacts you worked with beyond the scope of Marc and Layla’s influences forged her birth certificate and passport, sympathetic when you explained to her that Eliana was a surprise and her father had no interest in being involved. She needed identification papers, and you couldn’t go to the local embassy to register her birth with her father, and so you made them up.

You couldn’t blame Jake for lying about his role in the system. You were just as complicit in the deceit of your daughter’s life. By extension, for better and for worse, that meant Marc’s life, too.

“For showing up so suddenly,” you explain. “I didn’t expect to get so caught up in a museum today. We just had to kill some time.”

In emphasis, you check your watch, and you don’t have to fake the tired sigh that overcomes you at the acknowledgment of the time. Steven’s lunch was about over, and you had to catch the next bus to your sister’s house before she started to worry about you.

Marc, ever attentive, takes the hint.

“I understand,” he says, though he doesn’t sound happy. “Just… leave him out of this. We can talk about the scarab later.”

“Didn’t tell you that was my lead,” you point out, a little sly, and he levels you with an unamused look. You relent, “I’ll share my sources and we can make a plan. You don’t have to rush in alone.”

The smile he gives you is bitter. “Am I ever alone, Lockley?”

With that, you watch as his posture softens, Marc stepping back from control. For a moment, you wonder if he intends to have Steven step in, in which case explaining the lunch arrangement again will get much more confusing. But no, you can see Jake’s mouth twitch with a muted frown before he gives you a wide, uncharacteristically bright smile.

“Right, look at the time,” Jake says, and you can’t help but smile at the British accent. “I best get a move on, right, love?”

He presses a kiss to the top of Eliana’s head, and only you can see the way he closes his eyes for a heartbeat, a wave of longing sweeping across his face before it settles back to an imitation of Steven’s soft look and he leans back. When he looks at you, his face betrays nothing of his true nature, and you wonder what he would say if Marc wasn’t hovering so close to the front, watching your interaction.

He would probably be pissed. He didn’t like to be left out of the loop, and you coming to London was so far out of left field that you came from another stadium. Bringing Eliana only complicated things, but were you supposed to leave her with your neighbors in Tunis? As much as you liked and trusted the al-Karims that lived next door, they were vastly unprepared to take care of Eliana if you never came back. Next of kin was the best opportunity you had, at least for now.

“It was nice to see you,” you say to your husband. You hold his eyes for a long moment, a silent conversation held delicately between the two of you. Years of working side-by-side as Avatars and the aspect of parenthood where being aware of what Eliana shouldn’t have to hear finely tuned your silent communication skills, and you are more than fluent in the language of Jake Lockley.

He is beyond pissed. He is utterly fucking terrified. He wants you to leave just as much as he wants to pull you in and keep you close. He wants to settle in and rest, even for just a little while, and he does not want to let the two of you out of his sight.

I will be back for you, you tell him silently. We are not doing anything alone. We are going to fix this and go back to normal.

Jake says, with the slightest furrow of his brow: I want you to be right, querida.

Yeah, you want to be right, too. It’s a work in progress.

“You ready to go, habibti?” You say to Eliana, gathering up your tote bag and her small pink backpack. Before leaving Tunis, you packed it with her clothes, along with some of her favorite books and a few toys. How strange your life was that you had a go-bag for your five year old. It had been even worse that she recognized her backpack and had gotten ready for your flight before you even explained the trip to see your sister.

She heaves a world-weary sigh and shuffles around to face Jake, lifting up her Anubis plush to kiss his cheek with a soft peck of its nose.

“Anubis likes you,” she tells him, solemn. The jackal at your feet, nothing more than a shimmering mass of sand and shadows, gives Jake a bared-teeth grin of acknowledgement that no one but you can see. She isn’t far off, though you would rather not have Khonshu overhear that his Avatar has a soft spot in a rival god’s heart.

Marc must still be close to the waking consciousness of the body, because Jake nods enthusiastically and generously pats the plush’s head.

“Right, thanks, mate.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to muffle a laugh. His impression is openly expressive and earnest, though not entirely overdramatic. The accent is a dead ringer for Steven’s stereotypical posh English. It makes sense; he has spent many years posing as flashes of Steven to keep Marc unsuspecting of certain blank spots in his memory. Typically, it’s softer errands, such as grocery shopping or doing laundry, but you have heard Jake’s impression of Steven and Marc enough to know when it’s him putting on an act, even if it happens to be a very accurate act.

Jake keeps up his front as Steven, and you wonder if you’re the only one that notices the way he reluctantly passes off Eliana to you, his hands lingering just a moment on her untied shoes before they drop back in his lap, empty.

Eliana nuzzles her face in the crook of your shoulder, her arms wrapping around your neck in loose comfort. She’s exhausted after your morning of travel to London by bus, followed immediately by your museum visit and the impromptu lunch date. When you reach your sister’s house, you know she’ll be grumpy until you can convince her to nap.

Then, you will have to leave her there, and meet up with Marc.

“Thank you,” you say to Jake, though it’s half meant for Marc, too. The two of you can manage to find the scarab and keep it out of the cult’s hands, surely. The quicker you locate the artifact, the quicker you can arrange a real routine for Eliana while you adjust to London life. Or maybe you’ll get lucky and you can go back to Tunis, the three of you, to go back to enjoying the sunshine and frequenting the food stalls in the Medina.

“Pleasure’s all mine, love,” Jake grins, and this time, it’s his own flirtatious smile that makes you grin back.

[80pairsofcrocs]

baby scarab || 69

A/N : nice

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : okay so like- im kinda back into it?? college is going great and i think im out of my depression era so HEY GUYS!!!!!!

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader, casper hart(OC) x reader

TW : medicine (pills), spidey stuff, mentions of violence, language, multiverse nonsense, nothing makes sense, making multiverse friends, bad words, reuniting, and then a call from casper, let me know if i missed anything

~~~

Saying incoherently, 'motherfucker- where am I now…?' You quickly look about, attempting to figure out where you are, while muttering to yourself. 

The enormous windows letting sunlight into the large room add to the luxury surroundings, which give the image of a sumptuous mansion. Your eyes linger on the immaculate couches, which appear to have been sat on very little, if at all.

Once you hear footsteps approaching, you become apprehensive and go quickly behind one of the soft furnishings. 

Out of sight, your heart thumping in the stillness, your pulse accelerating with every second. Your unexpected arrival in this opulent home is made more mysterious by the obvious tension in the air.

Looking out from where you are, you see a man entering the kitchen, which is connected to the living room where you are now standing. If you look attentively at him, you can see that he looks tired and worn out, which is confirmed when he carefully pours himself a drink at the counter. 

Your expression becomes confused when you see him turn around and hold the glass to his lips while sipping from it. 

A sardonic grin appears on your face as you imagine this figure to be someone you know, particularly your dads, but with a hilarious twist—somehow, like your father if he were to be bald.

A surprising scene unfolds in front of you as you stand in the peaceful calm of the moment, adding a lovely whimsical touch to the tense atmosphere that surrounds you. 

A rush of bewilderment swept over you as you furrowed your brows, filling your head with doubts about who the person in front of you was. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach as you continued to wonder who you were actually staring at. 

But as soon as your eyes locked with his, you felt a tremendous wave of familiarity, and everything came to you with a startling clarity.

The world appeared to stop for a moment as he gave you the look in return, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce, unblinking intensity. 

You were immobile, your body almost automatically hiding behind the couch's protection, as though it were trying to escape the severity of what was happening to you.

Time seemed to have stopped, trapping you in that instant of realization and bewilderment, a precarious equilibrium between awareness and fear. 

Each detail was sharply engraved into your mind, belying the strange nature of the event, as the scene unfolded like a tableau. 

And you couldn't help but ponder about the ramifications of this unexpected encounter as you stayed motionless, concealed behind the couch.

He arched an eyebrow and said, "Now what are you doing here in my home, girly?" in a little suspicious tone. The puzzled look on your face grew deeper as he sipped his drink slowly, and you began to feel uneasy. 

You got to your feet gingerly, your palms up in a sign of submission, not knowing how to answer his surprise query in such a strange place.

As she looked about the room, she carefully remarked, "I don't mean to intrude," her words tinged with worry. 

The man said, "That's not what it looks like." Grinning subtly, he retrieved a stylish smartphone from his pocket and quickly dialed three numbers with well-honed accuracy. 

You exhale a long sigh of resignation and set out into the unknown depths of the next dimension.

~~~

After exhausting all other options, Jake and Layla spent the night in a nearby homeless shelter. The warm, compassionate vibes emanating from the very friendly women who worked there welcomed their weary eyes as they entered the institution. 

These kind hearted people embraced Jake and Layla, providing them with more than just short-term housing—they gave them hope at a period of uncertainty. 

In contrast to the chilly streets they had explored hours earlier, the women showed them to their own beds, which were modest but comfortable places to sleep. 

The shelter volunteers carefully prepared a warm dinner for them to eat, which the two avatars were extremely grateful for.

Having found an ally in their cause, Jake let out a sigh of relief as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. 

He muttered, "I'm glad we have someone on our side," in between mouthfuls. Layla smirked as she pointed out the truth of their predicament in her incisive answer. 

She questioned, "You mean underpaid women from another universe?" The weight they carried on their shoulders weighed heavily in the air, reminding them of their predicament despite their casual joking.

Jake rolls his eyes at his companion's casual remark, experiencing a wave of annoyance. The only sound to accompany their shared dinner is the clinking of cutlery as they both discreetly return to their own meals while the tension lingers in the air.

After standing apprehensively, Layla eventually found the confidence to ask her query. "Can I see Marc?" Her voice, which was a mixture of anxiety and longing, was hardly audible above a whisper.

At her request, Jake's stern face softened a little, his features loosening as he gave her request some thought. He nodded gently and agreed, but not before reminding her, "Just keep it PG, alright?"

“You’re such an ass, Jake.”

~~~

The strange experience of seeing your dad's doppelgängers, each of whom seemed as a different person, started to have a profound impact on you as you traveled through one universe after another. 

The weight of this phenomena increased with every new experience, settling you with a sensation of uncertainty and uneasiness. 

You were left feeling increasingly confused and emotionally strained as a result of these frequent glimpses of various incarnations of a familiar face, which made it difficult to distinguish between the actual world and the fantastical.

After seeing the hardships of a struggling musician, meeting a promiscuous man, meeting a dignified duke, discovering a group involved in questionable activities, and ending up stranded in a spacecraft, you are now alone with nothing to keep you company but the cold metal floor below you, your head in your hands, and you are thinking back on the series of events that brought you to this lonely moment.

Anxiety gnawed at you as you thought about the new version of your father appearing eventually. 

What if there was a dark side to this current version of him, turning him into a villain? The very idea of people wearing your father's face doing evil things made you sick. 

You felt a discordant chord when you witnessed familiar features contrasted with abhorrent behavior.

You startle out of your deep thought as a succession of gentle beeps abruptly disturb the silence, causing you to flinch a little. 

Up until the sudden sound, you had been so engrossed in your thoughts that you had been totally oblivious to your surroundings. It was like a trance being broken and brought back to reality. 

When the noise's origin finally dawns on you, you turn to see an odd sight next to you. In front of you was a small, round, seemingly innocuous robotic figure. 

Despite being mechanical, its face—or what may be called a face—looked strangely adorable. Its appeal was only enhanced by the fine intricacies in its design.

Once again, the robot beeps playfully before carefully approaching the spot where you were sitting. As you watched it move with a mixture of interest and laughter, you couldn't help but wonder what it was doing. 

Did it have a more sophisticated intelligence than its cute looks, or was it just programmed to engage with onlookers?

You were charmed by the innocent manner of the small robot as it rolled closer to you. It seemed to be requesting your attention, a quiet plea for company. 

Despite your first astonishment, you and this endearing creation started to feel warm and connected. 

The metallic creature appears to be pulled to your outstretched hand as you sit there in wonder, your eyes focused on the tiny robot before you hesitantly extend a hand towards it, beeping a succession of happy melodies like a symphony of excitement.

As you watch the tiny mechanical wonder zigzagging across the surface, its beeps blending with the faint but distinct sound of its sirens, a gentle exhale from your lips and your body eases into a more comfortable position.

You remark gently, "If you're trying to talk to me, I can't understand you," with a hint of regret in your voice. 

A dejected smile lights up your face, lending the situation a hint of melancholy. The bot, seeming almost bewildered, cautiously approaches you, its mechanical motions a little clumsy as it unintentionally strikes the tip of your shoe. 

But when you observe the bot's attempt to interact with you, you have a warm look on your face that combines humor and compassion. 

Grinning broadly, you extend your hand again, your fingers following the fine ridges and ridges of the metal, a motion that is at once tender and inquisitive. 

You firmly declare, "I don't speak robot," as you face the circular bot in front of you with your arms crossed. 

Unaffected by your comments, the mechanical thing beeps once and then turns dutifully in the direction of the approaching footfall from outside in the long narrow hallway.

"BB-8, now's not the time to be playing hide and seek," When he notices you sitting on the floor, a man's voice stops its feverish whispering.

With a tired sigh, you anticipate the man's next move and begin your introduction before he can say anything. 

The familiar phrases flow naturally from your lips as you dive into your practiced speech with a sense of urgency.

"My name is y/n Spector-Grant-Lockley-El Fouly, and I want you to know that I'm not here to hurt you, violate your privacy, or take anything from you. I'm from a different universe. Finding my dads is the only reason I'm here"

“…Okay.”

Raising your head, you see a mirrored version of your own father standing in front of you, and a wave of déjà vu passes over you. Although his face is an exact clone of your dad's typically composed manner, there is a little intensity in his eyes that permeates the atmosphere. 

"Okay?" you repeat, the word weighing heavily on the air between you with unanswered questions. You feel a change in the air, a tension that wasn't there previously, as though this meeting has more meaning than you initially realize. 

You find yourself reaching for words to break the spell as the quiet lingers, pregnant with meanings that cannot be expressed. At last, you are able to express your perplexity, "That's it?" 

"Well, you know, my friend here is really picky about introductions. He doesn't just let them in." He shrugged nonchalantly as he watched his robotic companion walk in a slow circle around his legs. 

"Plus, it seems like you've had a long day and might not have the energy to make a bad impression," he said.

You found yourself letting out another weary sigh as the fatigue began to set in again. You leaned your head back against the cool wall behind you and closed your eyes for a while, reliving the day's events. 

With an inquisitive yet amiable gaze, the man crouchs away from you. He mutters, "Maybe the reason people are thrown off is because you have a million last names," almost amused. 

You gently turn, meeting his gaze with a small smile on the corners of your lips. "Maybe," you answer, your eyes sparkling with amusement, "So... I don't understand what your robot is saying. He was introducing himself, right?” 

You stoop a little, curious to see what the robot is trying to tell you, curious to understand the mechanical entity's attempt at communication.

There was a glimmer of joy in his eyes as he nodded. He responded, "Yeah, his name is BB-8," in an admiring tone. He proudly clarified, "And he's not just any ordinary robot, he's a droid," 

He shook his head in dissent when asked if a robot and a droid were the same thing. He explained, "No, they are quite different," eager to impart his expertise. 

In the reality of this world, there was no doubt about the difference between the two: a droid was made for a specific purpose and had sophisticated technological capabilities, but a robot was just a machine.

As you return your focus to the droid in front of you, you hear a quiet "hm" slip out of your mouth. 

Despite the droid's absence of facial expressions, you try to project warmth by smiling softly and saying, "It's nice to meet you then." As a sign of its friendliness, BB-8 replies with a string of upbeat beeps and whistles. 

You laugh at the droid's amusing antics as it scurries around with excitement and bumps into your shoe once more.

"Oh, and my name is Poe." The man greets you with a warm smile and holds out his hand for a handshake. "Poe Dameron." 

His solid grasp gives you a pleasant sense of kinship as you return the gesture. Poe smiles and gives you a hand up after you exchange names. His manner conveys a combination of assurance and sincere goodwill.

"so.. another universe, huh?" You nod as he leads you out of the tiny space.

"Yes, how come you're handling this so well?" Unable to understand how he seems so calm in the face of such mind-bending revelations, his posture unflinching in the face of the remarkable, you ask, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, and he answers with a calm smile.

Poe lifts his shoulders a little before he speaks, his demeanor casual. "You know, I have this friend that does the most amazing things that leave you speechless. In addition, there are a billion galaxies in the huge, mind-blowing region in which we exist. In light of all of that, the notion that there are several universes doesn't seem all that absurd, does it?” He explains dramatically.

Based on your facial expression, which verges on admiration, you ponder his remarks for a while. "Well, that's.. interesting. It feels oddly comforting if you think about it that way.”

When he says, "Well, I'm going to get you two could meet; I have a feeling that she might be able to provide some valuable assistance or guidance to you in one way or another," he holds the door open with a kind smile on his face, showing that he is willing to help you meet the person he thinks could be able to help in some way or offer insightful advice.

You say, "Huh, I guess this universe doesn't completely suck," as a smile spreads across your face and a gleam of hope and optimism sparkles in your eyes. 

The comforting reply, "Ah, you'd be surprised," has a tinge of mystery about it, as though they have a secret that could permanently alter your viewpoint.

~~~

Poe had introduced you to a courageous man named Finn and a kind woman named Rey. 

According to the description, Rey had a strange power called "the force," the full scope of which you were never told. Poe suggested that Rey might be able to access your mind and provide direction for your future path. Conversely, Finn radiated a feeling of unflinching loyalty and calm power. 

You could not help but feel a sense of wonder and eagerness growing within you as you watched their exchanges and sensed their unsaid connection. 

You are currently following Rey's instructions and practicing meditation, despite the difficulty posed by your dimension-changing-bracelet-things lack of direction. I

It's an intriguing contrast to be using a technique that doesn't offer a clear path to navigate through the unknown, but here you are, accepting the peace of meditation as a means of self-centering. 

"Take a moment to clear your mind, y/n," Rey says in a soothing voice that reverberates across the space. Sitting across from you, she looks up at you with a calm expression on her face. 

Around the ship, Poe, Finn, and BB-8 are all busy with different chores. With a gleam of hope in her eyes, she adds, "If you focus, you might find a newfound ability within yourself. Imagine utilizing your watch to precisely locate the whereabouts of your parents and then embarking on a journey to reunite with them." 

With a sense of adventure and potential, the suggestion remains in the air. It seems as though Rey's words have given you a sense of resolve and unlocked a world of limitless possibilities.

With a trace of amusement dancing in your voice, you jokingly say, "You sound like Khonshu. All mysterious and cryptic." You like the comparison, as seen by the slight smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

Rey furrows her brow, obviously perplexed by your allusion. "What's a Khonshu?" she asks, intrigued by the strange moniker.

Though he is your honorary grandfather, you pause for a time, wondering how to describe the mysterious character of Khonshu, a man enshrouded in old stories and traditions. 

But after a moment of hesitation, you just shake your head and respond with a little, sardonic smile, "...nevermind."

She looks at you with an eyebrow up, and there's a hint of suspicion in her face that makes you blink and open your eyes again without realizing it, a faint shivering running down your back. 

The y/n-tingle that had briefly been under your skin now starts to get stronger, takes the form of a tingling sensation that prickles and tingles, and you move slightly under her examining gaze.

"..well anyways," she began in a gentle and comforting tone, "I could try to access your subconscious mind to find out where your parents are," she said swiftly, "of course, only if you are comfortable with that." 

A look of concern and resolve flashed over her eyes as she delicately reached her hands towards your temples.

After giving it a moment to stew, you nodded firmly, stating that you would stop at nothing to be with your loved ones again, your need for their company intense.

You felt reassured and at ease when you saw Rey's warm smile. She softly said, "Take a deep breath and let go of any tension, just unwind and have faith that everything will work out. It won't take long, so there's no reason to resist."

Sensing the warmth of her words, you obeyed and closed your eyes, following Rey's instructions to take a deep breath and let go of any anxiety that was bothering you.

You experience a slow detachment as though your consciousness is floating away, putting you in a state of mental suspension while Rey looks for hints to find your parents' auras. 

Your senses are overloaded with glimpses of the past and feelings as memories begin to flood in, racing across your mind at breakneck speed. Each memory flashes vividly before blending into the next, creating a mental tornado due to the intensity of the rush of memories. 

In the midst of this swirl of memories, Rey's attention becomes more acute, searching the area for anything of importance that would point her in the direction of your parents' auras.

As she carefully and purposefully gathers each clue, assembling the jigsaw with a resolute determination, the urgency of her search grows. 

As the link between the memories and Rey's search gradually becomes apparent, you experience a growing sense of expectancy, a mixture of thrill and fear. 

The sensations and pictures that surround you act as a portal, revealing secrets and solving the enigma surrounding your past. 

As time goes on, the overlapping stories of your recollections and Rey's objective come together, gradually entangling you in the mysterious web of your entwined fate.

As they observed you both, Poe and Finn exchanged nervous looks, a tinge of concern showing on their faces. 

The robot, BB-8, came toward you warily, its whirls and beeps indicating its anxiety. It made a modest, almost tentative, tilting motion with its dome, one that suggested uneasiness. 

Poe came forward, his tone gentle as he sought to console the little droid, assuring it that everything was alright.

The room appeared to come alive with a new vitality as you gasped, and Rey pulled her hands away from yours. You both returned to the present after the brief period of connection and shared trance you had entered together. Y

you both felt a sense of success and a growing bond as Rey's concentrated attempt to find the auras of your lost parents came to an end.

"He looks exactly like—" Rey interrupts herself, leaving her statement unfinished. 

You murmur, "I know... it's confusing," as the burden of the bewildering circumstance begins to weigh on you. 

As a physical expression of the cerebral tiredness brought on by attempting to make sense of the chaos of information racing through your head, your fingers automatically reach up to rub your weary eyes. 

Finn raised his voice in a curious tone, asking for clarification. "Who looks like what?" he inquired, showing interest and a wish to learn more about the circumstances.

With a warm smile in return, Rey got up right away and reached out to help you up. She smiled and said, "Congratulations, Poe," as if to say something remarkable. "You're a father in another universe," she said.

Surprised by the unexpected information, Poe chuckled a little while seeming to be amused and incredulous. 

"Nuh uh," he answered, his tone displaying a mix of suspicion and laughter at the lighthearted conversation taking place all around him.

Rey looks at him. She thinks, "Oh, in this poor little girl's world, her father—well, fathers are just like you." She turns back to you again. “I wonder where the other version of her is in this case." 

When you cocked your head in thought, a trace of bewilderment appeared on your face, as though you were attempting to solve a difficult puzzle. 

With a faint smile pulling at the edges of your lips, you asked, "Maybe I'm one of a kind...?" Your face was a mixture of playfulness and uncertainty.

Rey, wearing a knowing smirk, couldn't resist rolling her eyes in amusement at your contemplation. She said, "Believe what you must, child," with a hint of mild humor, expressing her acceptance of your distinct viewpoint and originality.

Finn's face twists in confusion as he becomes aware of how different you are from Poe "But y'all don't look alike," he says honestly. 

"I'm adopted," you reply nonchalantly. Finn's face brightens with comprehension when his eyes enlarge in shock. 

"Oh, congratulations, no shit!" He cheerfully holds out his hand, giving you a congratulatory high five and a kind grin that suggests he understands and appreciates the special circumstances of your adoption.

Rey looks at Finn, her face screaming for him to go back to the work at hand. She emphasizes the value of staying on course by asking, "Can we please get back to business?" with a trace of aggressiveness in her voice. 

Seeing the sincerity in Rey's eyes, Finn becomes clearly deflated, as if he was a kicked puppy. An apologetic "Yeah, yeah, sorry mom," he murmurs.

Rey slowly looks back at you, her eyes displaying a mix of resolve and hesitancy. She confesses quietly, "I know where they are, relatively speaking," with a note of cautious optimism in her voice. 

She says, "I can certainly assist you in an attempt to pinpoint their location on your helpful little device," in a confident yet realistic tone. But a veil of doubt dampens her prior zeal, and she pauses before continuing. 

Rey looks at you and says, "But, I must be honest with you - there's no guarantee that our efforts will yield success," with a hint of grief in her eyes as she makes a silent appeal for your understanding.

You grin at the three people in front of you with a heartfelt look of thanks, astonished by the magnitude of their assistance. 

You sincerely say, "You guys have truly made a difference.. beyond what I can put into words - I am so grateful for everything," with a determined heart. The trio smiles back at you, kindness and understanding reflected in their eyes. 

Poe says, "We hope that you find your way back home safely, kiddo," in a tone that is comforting and caring.

Playfully prodding your shoe again, the droid rolls around to you with a subtle whir, its sleek metallic shell shining under the warm glow of the overhead lights. A warm sensation blossoms in your chest as you watch its charming conduct, and you can't help but laugh at its funny antics. 

"You're a good droid," you whisper lovingly, appreciating how it reacts to your compliment. With a succession of joyful beeps, the droid's mechanical voice is filled with what can only be described as contentment. 

Then, with a feeling of purpose in its movements, it glides back over to Poe.

With a kind grin on her face, Rey takes your hands in hers and clasps them tenderly, a gesture that conveys comfort and certainty. With a gentle yet eager tone, she asks, "Are you ready?"

With a determined expression in your eyes, you slowly nod in agreement, saying, "Yes, I am ready to find my family and go back home where I belong." You feel excited and full of optimism when you consider getting back together with your loved ones. 

~~~

Thanks to the generous assistance of the committed women at the homeless shelter, Marc and Layla had thankfully accepted the healing power of a restful night's sleep, thanking them profusely before saying goodbye and moving on. 

They were unaware that the situation they were in appeared to be unsolvable; confronted with a being that was a sinister reflection of themselves, they were unable to come up with a clear solution.

Even though the situation was unsettling, going home seemed as out of the question as facing this evil doppelgänger. 

The pair, in search of peace and clarity, took refuge in the peaceful haven of a little pond, which reminded them of a happy day in your world when a mischievous duck escaped into your custody and was hidden inside your jacket.

"Do you think she's okay?" As she waits for Marc's answer, Layla asks, turning to face him with anxiety in her eyes.

"I think she's fine... knowing her, she's probably out there trying to find us, making sure we're safe," Marc responds after letting out a long sigh. You  always put other people before yourself; that's just the type of person you are.

With pride visible in her features, Layla nods in accord, her countenance softening. She smiles and says, "That's our girl," her voice full of tenderness and respect for their brave and kind daughter.

With a slight furrow of his brow, Marc appears almost hesitant as he carefully considers his words before finally mustering up the courage to ask Layla, “Our..?"

Layla nods gently in response, her eyes full of love and comprehension. "Yes, our. It's something that's expressed on paper as well as deep within our emotions," she says quietly.

Marc's expression softens, a mixture of tenderness and regret flickering across his features as he struggles to find the right words.

"Well, I had been hoping for a more opportune moment to ask you again, a moment that would be more fitting for what I have in mind, but circumstances have a way of guiding us to unexpected places," he says with an air of anxiety.

"Shut up, Marc," Layla mumbled to herself, her displeasure palpable as she dug further into her pockets, the fabric rustling with every swipe. 

Marc shifted uneasily, a scowl tarnishing his features as he sensed the stress coming from Layla.

"You could've just said no-" Marc opened his mouth to say something, but Layla cut him off with a sudden motion, her hand now coming out of her pocket and firmly gripping a small object. 

Exasperated yet loving at the same time, she reached out to him and held a tiny ring in her hand.

"I was supposed to ask you this time, stupid," Layla started hopefully at Marc, her tone softening, a tinge of humor in her remarks. 

Marc's first line of defense vanished as the revelation hit him, and he could feel the strain from the earlier denial leaving his shoulders as they relaxed. They exchanged a knowing glance that went beyond words, and their wordless connection spoke a great deal about the moment's significance.

With a flash of anxious excitement in his eyes, he takes out his own ring and shows it to Layla. A broad smile appears on his face as he playfully teases her, saying, “So ask then, dummy."

His cheekiness takes Layla by surprise, and she responds by giving him a playful yet loving slap on the head. "Marry me." she declares, her eyes sparkling. 

The moment lingers as Marc nods eagerly in response while experiencing a wave of emotions. They exchange rings, each putting the mark of their love onto the other's finger in a charming and personal gesture.

As they sit together, unified in their dedication and newly discovered delight, relishing the unique link they've just cemented via their joint promise of forever, the weight of the moment is evident.

With tears in his eyes, Marc took a deep breath before starting to speak, his voice heavy with regret. 

"I understand now, Layla. I was cruel to you, treated you poorly, and for that, I was a bad person," he confessed. "I'm truly thankful that Y/N helped reunite us." His words softened as he turned to Layla, expressing his deepest desires. 

"I long to continue this journey of parenthood with you by my side, Layla. I cherish the thought of parenting our daughter together, and I hope you can find it in your heart to be my wife once more," he whispered, the weight of his plea hanging in the air. 

Layla's touch was gentle as she raised her hand to lovingly cradle Marc's face, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of empathy and understanding. "You were dealt an unfair hand, Marc," she began softly, her voice tinged with sorrow and regret. 

"You let the anger and grief consume you, and I blame myself partially for not being there to guide you through those dark moments." With a sense of reassurance in her tone, she continued, "But know that you have found redemption in the face of adversity. Yes, you've done things you're not proud of, but a significant portion of the blame lies with Khonshu." 

A bittersweet chuckle escaped her lips, carrying a mix of amusement and relief, as she added a light-hearted touch to the weight of their conversation.

“I think.. We are both ready to communicate better. Like adults” Layla nods firmly.

As Marc nodded and leaned closer to Layla, their connection was evident in the air, conveying his intense feelings. He whispered softly, "I love you, Layla," the words bearing the weight of his sincere love.

His statement caused Layla's own smile to expand, reflecting the joy and love in her heart. She added earnestly, "I love you too, Marc," her eyes gleaming with affection and tenderness. 

Just as the two lovers were about to close the physical gap between them, a strange, humanoid figure suddenly fell into Marc's lap. Marc was startled out of the private moment with a pained groan as he staggered backwards due to the abrupt weight and contact. 

The possibility of intimacy between the two was destroyed in that instant, and in its stead came a feeling of perplexity and disbelief at the odd development. 

"What the fuck was that!?" Marc, taken aback by the unexpected interruption, shoved the person away with an audible groan that echoed through the air.

"It's Y/N!" Layla came running over to lend a helping hand, reaching out to help you get your bearings, and her voice cut through the chaos with a tone that was both relieved and urgent. 

After processing Layla's remarks, Marc's initial disbelief gave way to a rush of awareness and alarm as he realized how serious the situation was. 

"What?! Oh my god - Y/N!" he said, his voice becoming softer as he rose to his feet, his movements becoming automatic as he embraced you in a comforting and cozy hug. 

The tension from the unexpected meeting slowly subsided as Marc and Layla came together for a moment, their mutual concern for your welfare creating a wall of protection around you.

The three of you stood entwined in a passionate embrace, demonstrating the unshakable tie created by shared concerns and experiences.

Your eyes hunted for answers in the sky until they found Layla as you stood motionless, a sense of incredulity sweeping over you. With a mixture of surprise and hope, you blurted out, "Mom..?"

Layla's comforting nod caused a wave of feelings to wash over you. "Yes- how- how did you find us, honey?" You had long craved the sensation of security that her touch provided.

When the truth of your difficult trip finally set you, the floodgates of emotion opened. Your eyes began to well up with tears as you searched for the perfect words to describe the tumultuous mixture of relief and fatigue that overwhelmed you. 

"I- I just..." Those incomplete words carried the weight of your experiences, demonstrating the fortitude you had displayed during your search for your home.

Layla exhaled, her voice trembling with excitement and relief at your return, "you don't have to explain, we- oh my god you're here." Her eyes filled with tears of delight, and she was unable to control the smile that lit up every surface with her genuine happiness.

As a nonverbal expression of love and appreciation for your safe return, she gently kissed your forehead. She then transferred you to Marc, who embraced you with such warmth that it felt like you had returned home after a long journey.

Marc muttered, "Oh my sweet girl," in a tone that was both relieved and loving. "I had a feeling you were coming." His eyes glistened with a range of feelings, expressing the need and love he had experienced while you were away.

Knowing that you were at last back where you belonged, you experienced a wave of calm as you sank into his embrace. 

With concern and interest in your voice, you inquired, "How- how long have you been stuck here?"

Marc said, "Only almost two days," his eyes meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and assurance. 

A dramatic change occurs as you are taken off guard by Steven's unexpected hug. His hands gently stroke your face before pressing light kisses all over your face. 

"My darling! Oh my god, are you hurt?  How did you get here? "How are you feeling?" he blurted out in an anxious tone.

You took hold of Steven's wrists and gently reassured him, "I'm all right, Steven. It's simply a little bit... hard to explain." 

As he examined you with worry, a smirk appeared on his lips. "Are you really sure? You're completely covered in dirt.” As you stood in front of him and felt the weight of his love and concern enveloping you in a consoling embrace, his contagious laughter filled the air. 

Layla couldn't help but cross her arms in faux disapproval and chastise Steven with a lighthearted smirk. In response, Steven bowed slightly in acceptance of Layla's taunting, but his expression was apologetic.

When Jake became known to the subject at hand, he said, "You're always so brave, hermosa," with adoration in his voice. His touch was warm and reassuring as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. 

He then asked a useful query, "Just one question though, how are we planning to get home from here?" with a hint of humor. 

His look, which was a combination of interest and practicality, highlighted how crucial it was to make sure that the evening's activities ended safely and amicably.

You raise your wrist with a happy smile, showing off the bracelet that has the ability to change your universe. 

"Just hold onto me," you command quietly and with assurance. As you follow Strange's previous instructions on how to operate the watch, Jake and Layla obediently hold onto you, their faith in you unshaken.

You three plunge through a swirling gateway as the watch is triggered, its mystic abilities swirling around you. When you finally crash onto the sanctum's well-known grounds, the impact is lessened by your shared unity and connection. 

After the turmoil of the trip, the sanctum's aura welcomes you like an old friend, familiar and reassuring. 

Stephen's well-known goateed visage towers over you as the three of you slowly stand up, holding a warm mug of tea. "How was your vacation?" he asks in a deep voice, breaking the silence. 

 “Take this fucking watch back- I’m never traveling the multiverse EVER again because holy shit-“ is your response, as you wrinkle up your face in disgust.

With a knowing gleam in his eye, Stephen laughs and takes the watch. "I completely understand that. Crossing realms may be quite the.. thrill," he says.

"I'm guessing these are the parents?" Stephen asked, breaking the stillness again with a curious expression on his face. He pointed to Jake and Layla in a courteous but curious tone.

Jake firmly takes a step forward and holds out his hand to introduce himself. "Jake Lockley, professional lift services," he declares, his voice tinged with a little pride.

"He’s just a fancy Uber," you say with a smirk.

With his brows knitted in false seriousness, Jake says, "Shut it, or you're grounded," as Stephen laughs and gives Jake an affirming handshake.

"Hey! I just saved your ass!" you snap back, a frown forming on your face, and Layla laughs.

“Ah, tom-ay-to, to-mah-to” He waves you off, a playful expression dancing in his eyes before turning more serious.

With a comforting tone and a sense of achievement in his voice, the mystic artist said, "I think you are ready to go home now." 

Your eyes moved to him in appreciation of the direction and attention he had given you during the session. You sincerely said, "Thank you, Dr. Strange," with a kind grin.

"Call me Stephen," he says with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've truly redeemed my perception of spider people," he teases, a chuckle escaping him softly.

"Really?" you exclaim, your voice tinged with excitement as you lean in, eager for his response.

Stephen takes a moment to savor the anticipation, his gaze thoughtful before replying. "No," he responds, his tone slightly serious yet holding a playful glint. Bringing the cup of tea to his lips, he takes a slow sip, the steam swirling around him in a comforting embrace.

“Ah, so you got jokes,” you chuckle in response, playfully taking your parents’ hands in a lighthearted gesture. “Funny,” you remark with a grin, appreciating the humor in the moment.

As you prepare to leave, the mysterious figure bids you farewell, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue and a touch of respect. “Get home safe now, arachnid,” he calls out, his tone holding a mix of banter and sincerity. 

“Nice meeting you, Moon Knight, Scarlet Scarab,” he adds, acknowledging the unique monikers with a sense of camaraderie.

You lead the two through the sanctum's enormous doors, guiding Jake and Layla with a slight tug while navigating their confused expressions towards Stephen's knowledge of their alter egos. 

"Yeah.. He does that. You laugh, highlighting the lighthearted aspect of the circumstance, "Don't let it keep you up at night." 

You three continue down the silent sidewalk, each step bringing you closer to the comforts of home as the sanctum's doors close behind you and the echoes fade into the night.

There is a secret settlement between you and your parents during the journey back to the apartment, filled with knowing smiles and glances. A sensation of solidarity and togetherness fills the air as you stroll along the sidewalk.

A physical reminder of your connection is provided by the warmth of your clasped hands, a gesture that conveys meaning without using words. 

Knowing that you have each other to rely on no matter what obstacles you face gives you strength and comfort during these brief but meaningful moments of closeness.

A sense of satisfaction and solidarity clings as you get closer to your apartment's familiar entrance, indicating that more times of entertaining and affection are to come.

And then, a call from Casper.

~~~

A/N : holy shit guys i did it. im a genius.

~~~

taglist :

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[ask-tfone-optimus]

*hands you a metal pole*

Go, my scarab.

Beat the pit out of anyone who annoys you.

Can I beat the Pit out of myself? I really want to...

Optimus shakes his helm.

No don't think like that think about Odyssey no don't think about Odyssey don't think about Megatron don't think don't think don't think-

[thenixkat]

Jaime Reyes should not have been a vampire in DC vs Vampires for multiple reasons:

a) Khaji Da can revive the dead. If Jaime got turned Khaji Da could just unturn him if things that can revive the dead can make fuckers not vampires, ie why the vampires destroyed every Lazurus Pit they could find. Also, if the Dan vs the Eye of Horus issue was anything to go by then Khaji Da could revive folks that aren't its host too.

(hehe let Jaime-Da slap bitches back to life)

b) Khaji Da is also a holy symbol, the fucking blue sacred scarab! Even if its creators didn't make it as an Earth holy symbol that doesn't change the fact that it resembles one, was used and considered to be one for 6000 yrs, and that there at least one god on Earth that confirmed that Khaji Da counts as a sacred scarab. At some point in Khaji Da's past it most likely got blessed by a priest of Ra and became consecrated to Ra. A suited-up Jaime should be walking vampire bane.

(the Ra thing is from Dan's comics, I personally would have gone with the more specific sun god Khepri given the beetle thing) (Also Khaji Da getting consecrated to a god during its time on Earth and having magic properties from that wouldn't contradict it being alien biotech)

c) Khaji Da is solar-powered. It makes as much sense that if vampirized Jaime would either be going through it and severally weakened/harmed like vampire!Superman or just flat out immune like Starfire.

[pinata-candy]

Charts relating to my WOF rewrite that I’ve been chipping away at in my brain! More details below <3

I have 1001 gripes with Pantala and arc 3, which. I know, not an original thought, but still. And I’m getting this out of the way immediately:

there is no dragon slavery in my rewrite.

I am in no position to tackle such a topic and in my opinion, neither was Tui, which may be a bit mean. I think she did a great job creating a series that so many people love but the dragon slavery is not needed and it is handled sloppily at best and very, very inappropriately at worst. I am not willing to fumble my way through a topic that is so heavy and that I do not fully understand the ramifications of and cannot ever fully understand the ramifications of. I don’t know how to write dragons dealing with being enslaved and having to figure out how to dismantle the entire social structure that did this to them and no, I don’t think saying it was a few bad dragons with some evil plant is a good enough answer for all of it. So it is being cut from my rewrite and the focus of Arc 3 (so far, always subject to change) will be just the Othermind.

But those points aside, let’s get into my Pantala thoughts!

Pantala always felt so empty to me compared to Pyrrhia, it just feels undercooked. It’s a continent of the same size but it feels like we see none of it, none of the landmarks other than the jungle, the hives, and the pit where the Othermind is feel memorable. Partially I think Pantala just was underdeveloped- the first book of arc three and the last book of arc two came out within a year of each other, it wasn’t given enough time to work itself out it seems. Another reason I think it feels so empty is because there are only three dragon tribes on it- while again, Pyrrhia is the same size and is hosting seven different tribes. Having three tribes is limiting, especially when two are living in the same environment together and the other is pushed to the furthest corner of the continent away from everything else. All action then either has to occur in the jungle or in the savanna as those are the only population centers anywhere, that’s pretty limiting- so limiting that one of the books took place BACK ON PYRRHIA because there seemed to be just so little to do on Pantala. Working out things like towns, important landmarks, etc is something I’m working on but expanding the tribe list will help me do so.

NOTE: WITH ALL THE FANTRIBES IM SURE THESE NAMES HAVE BEEN USED BEFORE AND ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE

Pantalan Tribes:

SilkWings- Colorful, four winged dragons that live in the mountainous forests on the ‘wing’ of Pantala. They can produce silk from their wrists. They undergo metamorphosis to get their wings at 7 years old

Queen: Monarch

HiveWings- Four winged dragons that do not undergo metamorphosis. They are often yellow, orange, red, or black. They have stingers on their tails and in their wrists. They live in the savannas of Pantala

Queen: Wasp

LeafWings- Two-winged dragons that live in the jungle on the head of Pantala. They come in greens and browns and are known for their Leafspeak. They are also mildly poisonous and can produce a foul-smelling mucus from their mouths.

Queen: Sequoia/ Belladonna

BeelteWings- Two-winged dragons, easily mistaken for four-winged due to their Elytra. These colorful dragons live on the 2nd wing of Pantala and are known for their strong, armored scales. They can produce a hot, acidic liquid from their tails if threatened, but this is very taxing on them.

Queen: Scarab

DamselWings- four-winged dragons, live on the tail and the tips of the claws of Pantala. These dragons come in blues, greens, purples, and pinks. They are incredibly fast, fastest of all Pantalan tribes, they have no natural defenses beyond their speed.

Queen: Meadowhawk

WebWings- no-winged dragons that live in the massive tunnels beneath Pantala. These dragons traded their flight ability for stronger silk and sturdier bodies. They come in blacks, grays, and browns. They have a venomous bite.

Queen: Widow

The tribe name for BeetleWings is also subject to change as I’m not huge on it but we’ll see.

Right now in my mind- The main conflict, prior to the discovery of the Othermind, is the HiveWing's constant grab for power. They've chased the other tribes to the edges of Pantala/ down into their tunnels through violence and shady territory deals. This issue was started by Wasp's grandmother and has persisted into the modern age. The other tribes are beginning to feel the pressures of being so condensed, their resources beginning to dwindle. Truthfully I don't have much yet. I think developing Pantala, it's tribes, and whether I'm going to take away/add tribes has to come first and all that <33

[wazzappp]

So. What if Jaime had chemoreceptors on spots his armor? I have four potential explanations/reasons.

One: the less creepy version: certain types of bugs taste with their feet, etc. Not beetles, but they do. They can land on things and identify whether or not they’re food that way. So, fingertips and or balls of his feet have the ability to taste.

Two: the raptorial version. The forearm blades/upper forelegs are raptorial. If he’s fighting/hunting, he might wanna be able to sense if this is food or not, once he sticks his blades in. So taste receptors on the blades. Possibly little pores like ampullae of lorenzini (detects electrical impulses, so might help with finding muscles to cut to incapacitate prey), or thermal pits like vipers (to help locate large veins to slice.)

Three: antenna version.

The upper forelimbs kinda look like antenna, could give them sensory function (in suit). Maybe sensitive to pressure on the tips, with chemoreceptors clustered on the tip (active investigation, like he’s poking at a thing) and trailing in a rough line down the limb towards his main body (passive investigation, like the wind blows a smell to him)

Four: scout version. The scarab is an infiltrator, part of infiltrating is collecting data, so the armor must have a whole fuck-ton of sensors on it, so the scarab can get lots of data to send to Reach. Khaj isn’t interested in the reach, but that doesn’t change what it was designed for. So lots of sensors everywhere, with taste/smell receptors clustered on the ends of limbs (feet, hands, blades)

Thank you, have a nice day!

Hey. Hi. Not to be dramatic but I’m going to marry you now. This is not a request. Put the ring on

Hoooooooooly fuck I love the Ampullae of Lorenzini idea so much. I know there aren’t really insects that have them (as far as I know) but I don’t fucking care they’re SO COOL. The gel inside ampullengang might need to change because it’s meant to detect electromagnetic fields underwater but that’s like. The only real issue here.

Fuckkkk you could have so much fun with behavioral shit too. Movement might cause his mantis blades to try and lash out to attack whatever’s triggering them. In battle this could help with quick instinctive attacks that might not be possible if he was doing it consciously. BAD news is that means he has to get a grip on them real fucking quick so he doesent hurt anyone on accident. OHHHH MY GOD WHICH WOULD MAKE DUCK-TAPING THEM DOWN IN MY LAST LIL AU BLURB EVEN MORE FUN LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO.

Oh god accidentally hurting a family member. His worst fucking nightmare. Delicious. I am drinking that shit like lemonade.

Yes I added his little clawsies in the diagram you can fit SO many knives on this boy.

THERMAL!! PITS!! Holy fuck I did not know there were beetles that have these but there ARE. They’re called fire chaser beetles and they can sense fires from MILES away and holy fuck I love them. Their sensilla (sorry for spelling it wrong in the drawing lmao) are stored in the thorax and are infrared receptors. These contain liquid which expand in response to the infrared radiation, and touch a nerve, which tells the beetle where heat is coming from.

For Jaime this would be weird as FUCK. It’s more just a sense of 'HEAT WHEREMST’ than infrared vision. It is nice for telling his mom when she forgot to turn off the oven though.

[bugbasedheroes]

Okay legitimate question for the Blue Beetle fans, specifically Blue Beetle fans who watched Young Justice

Is Jaime a Metahuman!?!!?!?

I Don’t mean “do his powers make him technically a Metahuman” or “is the reason he was able to bond with the Scarab because he was a Metahuman”

I mean does Jaime- without powers- carry the Meta gene.

I know this sounds like a stupid question with an obvious answer of No- but there’s one scene that has me questioning everything.

The DAMN scene where the outsiders get stuck in the X-pit.

We see earlier in the season that non-metahumans struggle extensively when exposed to the X-pit with long term effects afterword (see the Nightwing Fever Dream). It’s specifically told to us that the thing that makes some people handle this better is the Metagene (or apparently being Kryptonian?)

When in the X-pit, Blue is struggling- that much is clear. He’s struggling bad enough that Bart has to tell Ed to get Jaime out first because the Scarab is literally dying.

But that’s the Scarab.

Beyond the pain he’s facing from the Scarab dying, Jaime seems to be handling it about as ‘well’ as the other outsiders- all of whom are Metahumans. In fact the Scarab specifically says that the technology is “non compatible”- leading me to believe that the reason they’re struggling so much has nothing to do with Jaime not being a Metahuman. Also- once out of the pit he is back to being in fighting condition pretty quickly- especially compared to Nightwing who is messed up for weeks after spending about the same amount of time in the X-pit. We could put this up to The Scarab’s healing abilities- but if The Scarab couldn’t handle the New God tech I doubt they’d be able to heal from it like they heal from everything else.

This whole thing has me falling down a rabbit hole of trying to find any evidence that Jaime does or doesn’t carry the Metagene but I can’t find anything- even from the comics. The one slight evidence in the direction of him having it is the fact that he was chosen by the Scarab for some reason we’ll never know- meaning perhaps the gene is a determining factor (Ted couldn’t bond with the Scarab and we do know he doesn’t have the gene.) The slight evidence against is the fact that bonding with the Scarab in the first place could have triggered the gene?

Maybe I’m losing my mind does anyone else have thoughts here?

[ask-tfone-megatron]

*hands you a better, stronger metal pole*

Go, my scarab.

Beat the pit out of stars-creamed-himself.

Without pleasure!

*start chasing Starscream*

@lord-starscream (love you ❤️)

[kaiowut99]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters GX Episodes 106-107 Subbed (Finalized)

(Previously: Episode 105 Subbed [Finalized])

(Check out my Subbed!GX Stream Masterpost!)

TURN-106: Judai and Johan of the Gem Beast Deck

A new school term has started at the Duel Academia. Invited to the Academia as transfer students and becoming new friends are the Academy Champions known as Amon, O'Brien, Crocodile, and a mysterious boy--along with one Professor Cobra. Meanwhile, atop the school building rooftop, Judai meets a boy who can see Spirits--who turns out to be the "mysterious boy," Johan. Cobra proposes an Exhibition Match, pitting Judai against Johan. Johan turns out to be a duelist in control of the rare Monsters known as the Gem Beasts.

TURN-107: The Neo-Spacians VS the Gem Beasts

Johan summons one Gem Beast after another, from his Amethyst Cat to his Topaz Tiger. Judai also has Neo-Spacian Flare Scarab and Neos perform a Contact Fusion to take them on with his Flare Neos. Then, Johan destroys Judai's Field Magic and activates a new Field Magic, Ancient City of Rainbows -- Rainbow Ruins, sending his Neo-Spacian back to his deck. Seeing these skillful attacks, Ed begins to speak of the unknown relationship between Johan and his Gem Beasts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...so, didn't mean to let these take about a month and a half since 105 was all finalized, but heremst we be *sips indie coffee*

Season 3 gets into full swing with these two episodes as it starts us off with a hint of our upcoming big bad right off the jump (RIP Hiromi Tsuru, your Yubel is still fantastic), then introduces us to the big foreign players we'll be seeing quite a bit of going forward. Judai has a nightmare taking place in an area similar to his vision with Saiou--which I'm sure is unrelated to anything--and then opening ceremonies ensue before we're introduced properly to our new transfer students, and the Ancient Roman lore around Johan's Gem Beasts which was pretty cool to include; Judai and Johan then have a fun duel together as we see the Gem Beasts in action facing Judai's Neo-Spacians. These episodes also see the debut of some of my favorite OST tracks from Season 3, like Fervent Duel (used really well in 107) and A Pinch here. Ed coming in for 107 and giving us the background on Johan from Pegasus, featuring cameos of Dark Yugi, Kaiba, and Jounouchi (from the Warriors and Unstopping Overflowing Feelings OP/EN in DM--these nods were kept in the dub, so it was the first time those particular shots of Kaiba and Jou were used in the West), as we learn that he gifted the Gem Beasts to Johan during a tournament in Europe was good, and I still love Johan's little fakeout at the end with the Rainbow Dragon he doesn't actually have yet. A fun duo of episodes with a fun, low-stakes duel that we should enjoy while we can.

Quick side-notes for the dub, but want to take a sec to shout out Jim's dub VA who perfectly nailed his Australian voice for the guy, and who I hope comes back if we're ever lucky enough to get a more accurate GX redub (though I think he was recast in DL? But still sounded pretty good). Dub!Yubel, though... I'm still baffled by the decision made with that voice, and I'm glad they eventually went with a better voice in BBT. 107 also saw them make a bunch of--I assume--time cuts, including most of the cold open which featured our first in-series look at Martin, and other shots as Cobra set up his evil lair in the old SAL lab (continuity!), but also the ending shot as Cobra looks at the duel energy he collected and comments on their impressive duel--most of those are fair as far as time cuts go, though I think the ending scene should've been kept. It's also interesting that, with Johan's southern accent being a thing in the dub (which has grown on me, though I like his later no-accent voice more), that they had Pegasus say the tournament he went to with him happened "down south;" according to a comment on the Crunchyroll upload, the venue's the "All-England Lawn Tennis Club where the Grand Slam Wimbledon" happens in the UK? lol

Animation error-wise, there were just over a handful that I picked up on in each episode that I went ahead and fixed up--mostly quality-of-watching ones along with a couple of card errors, and I also translated the bio on Amon that O'Brien hands to Cobra early in episode 106. As always, details below the cut if interested, along with Translation Notes for the bio.

Anywho, enjoy! The next two-parter features our fiery boy O'Brien, and with some really nice art/animation in 109 that I always love to revisit; I'll begin work on that once I finalize some special side work that I should hopefully get to post about soon, too, though I'll also be going back to episode 1 to fix up a card error I forgot to tackle, lol. Stay tuned!

Fixes/Edits! (106)

Early in the episode, Professor Cobra enters O'Brien's room on the ship and asks who else would be visiting him; he hands him a bio pointing to one Amon Garam. As detailed here, I translated Amon's bio in this shot, first compiling a full image to edit from its later appearances in 111 and 121, then keyframing it into the rotating zooming-out shot that happens here with AfterEffects and Sony Vegas. (The full text of the bio is in that detailed post)

In the next shot, Cobra asks if Amon came to see O'Brien, noting that he seems to be a meddler but suggests that he doesn't pay him any mind, turning to pass the bio back to him--as he does so, a few quick animation errors happen: 1) Cobra's face/mouth glitch for a few quick frames as he shifts his face into a smile (likely his current face being left over his moving face behind it); 2) the bio page in his hand jitters a bit in the frames leading up to his turning towards O'Brien; and 3) once O'Brien's holding the paper and moves it down, there are a quick few frames where a small part of his hair (the one bang on his left) is missing before it comes back. As detailed here, I edited in my translation to the bio while Cobra's holding it and as he passes it back, masking in Cobra and the rest of the frame over it for blending, while also fixing those errors for the Japanese scene by holding Cobra's face pre-glitch over the glitched frames, editing the Amon bio so it's steady throughout, and masking in O'Brien's full hair bang over the frames where it's cut short.

Later, as the Judai/Johan duel gets underway, Judai and Johan give their "Duel!" shouts and draw their hands, but a few things happen as they jump into a split-screen for it: 1) Judai moves a frame before Johan starts to slide in on his split; 2) once the screen pans down to their decks as they draw, the split-screen border seems to have been drawn in oddly, as part of Judai's side ends up just on top of the border (also seems to be slightly cut off in width halfway down); and 3) as they split apart, more of Judai seems to have made it to the left of his split's border. I fixed each one in Vegas by first sliding in Johan a frame earlier as Judai moves, then enhancing the split-screen border a bit to cover up what ends up on top of it and to its left as they split out (I generally try to avoid making redone borders that much bigger, but thought it was the only way to cleanly/consistently fix that).

After Johan plays Gem Beast Emerald Turtle, we cut to the Overseas Champions watching on, with Jim whistling before Amon expresses his surprise at the Gem Beasts--but a coloring error happens in the rapid pan from Jim to Amon, with both having odd coloring spots. A quick fix in Vegas by redoing the panning using a frame of Jim post-whistle and a frame of Amon before his mouth moves.

After Judai summons Neos, Johan laments that he can't ask for his autograph while they're dueling, but notes that he was waiting for him to summon a new Monster--Judai slides in on a split-screen to question that, but a few things happen: 1) Johan starts moving to make room for his split a frame before he does so; 2) a coloring error happens as Judai and Johan then split apart before Johan activates Triggered Summon (more noticeable on Johan), and 3) Judai's uneven slide-out leads to it taking a frame longer than Johan's to get offscreen. Fixed each one in Vegas by sliding Judai in a frame earlier as Johan moves, masking in Judai and Johan's pre-slide-out splits over the frames as they slide out to fix the coloring error, and making Judai's slide-out match Johan's by masking one frame in earlier.

[continued below, just split thanks to stupid text-block character limits]

(6) A bit later, after Johan talks about not having any destruction cards in his deck so he can see his opponents going all-out, Judai notes how neat he finds him; as they split apart and Johan tells him to bring out his new Monster (due to Triggered Summon's effect), there's a quick frame where the border is missing on Judai's split. Quick fix in Vegas as I just added it back on by duplicating the one on Johan's and touching it up as needed.

(7) As Judai then summons Neo-Spacian Gran Mole, we see it pop up in front of him, but Judai has black rectangles on his Disk where Gran Mole, Neos, and Aqua Dolphin should be. Fixed using AfterEffects to slap on proxies for each in one frame, which I then took into Sony Vegas and shook around position-wise frame by frame to add it to the full shot (thankfully, this was just shaking around and not zooming in or out lol).

(8) During the preview for 107, we see Judai on a split-screen jumping as Johan declares an attack with his Amethyst Cat, but as they slide apart, two quick things happen: 1) there's a quick frame where there's just black behind them (and Johan's split's border isn't as glowy as Judai's), and 2) some of Johan's split's border hangs on for two frames after he and Judai slide offscreen. Fixed each in Vegas for 107 proper first, then applied the fixes here, masking in Amethyst Cat behind Judai and Johan as they split apart, then masking in some of the whooshing background behind Amethyst Cat to cover up the remaining bit of Johan's split border for those two frames.

Fixes/Edits! (107)

After Judai summons Flare Scarab, he has it do a Contact Fusion with Neos for Flare Neos, but as he declares Flare Scarab's name for it, we see that the cards on his Disk--for Gran Mole, Neos, and Flare Scarab--are flipped upside-down. Fixed in AfterEffects first by applying proxies as Judai swings his Disk around, then on one frame during the zoom-out on Flare Scarab after he moves--I then took the latter frame into Sony Vegas, where I redid the zoomout on it for the whole shot, masking in Flare Scarab on top of it.

After Johan plays Rainbow Ruins and Judai's Battle Phase ends, we see his Disk as Flare Neos returns to his field, but not only are his cards upside-down again--he also has regular ol' Neos where Flare Neos should be. Fixed both in AfterEffects by applying the Mole and Flare Neos proxies correctly, masking in the orb part of Judai's Disk over the Gran Mole one.

A bit after the eyecatch, as Judai realizes that Johan hasn't played his ace yet, he starts to ask about it, startling Johan as he slides into a split-screen with him to ask as much, but Johan starts to move for it a frame early. Fixed in Sony Vegas by sliding Judai in a frame earlier there.

Later, after Johan explains that Ruby Special-Summons itself and the other Gems in his Magic/Trap Zone when placed there (rude of the OCG to remove that part of its effect), we split out of the split-screen there as Ruby's summoned, but the border on Johan's split hangs on for an extra frame. Fixed in Vegas by just masking in part of the whooshing background over it.

A bit later, Johan declares a direct attack with Amethyst Cat, and Judai jumps as their split-screen splits apart to show Amethyst Cat pouncing at him, but as they slide apart, 1) there's a quick frame where there's just black behind them (and Johan's split's border isn't as glowy as Judai's), and 2) some of Johan's split's border hangs on for two frames after he and Judai slide offscreen. As noted for the preview version of this shot in 106's list, I fixed these here first before applying the fix there, masking in Amethyst Cat behind Judai and Johan as they split apart, then masking in some of the whooshing background behind Amethyst Cat to cover up the remaining bit of Johan's split border for those two frames.

Later, after summoning Air Neos (who), Judai slides into a split-screen to explain his ATK-gain-per-LP-difference effect; as they slide apart, Judai's uneven slide-out causes his side to take a frame longer than Johan's to slide offscreen. Fixed in Vegas by just masking part of Judai's slide-out a frame earlier to even up the slide-out.

A bit later, after Johan hypes up Rainbow Dragon only to end in a "just kiddin'," Judai clicks in for a split-screen in confusion before they split apart to show Air Neos's attack connecting with Amber Mammoth--as they split apart, parts of the border on Johan and Judai's splits hang on for an extra frame. I fixed this by just using the touched-up version of this shot from the recap in 108, which had Judai and Johan's splits slide out more naturally.

After the duel, Cobra walks out to congratulate the two on a duel well fought; he beckons them towards him, but as he walks up to the center of the arena to do so, his still feet jitter as Judai and Johan start to walk over. Fixed in Vegas by masking in his feet from the frame as Judai and Johan start to walk over over the 2-3 earlier frames as he gets to the center of the arena to keep it consistent.

[dusterbishop]

i was let down it wasn’t the same.

summary. || you're the avatar of anubis and the biggest secret you harbor is your relationship with jake lockley and the daughter you share. when the scarab falls into the hands of a cult, you delve into the fray and hope you can balance saving the world with protecting your secrets.

pairing. || moon knight system x f!reader (established relationship with jake, marc and steven join in later)

count. || 6.8k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. you guys leave the sweetest comments, thank you!! i love sharing the drama with y'all. if you would like to be part of a taglist, just throw me a mention! or you can follow. :)

part one. || part two.

In true Marc Spector fashion, he tries to sneak out to Austria without you.

The advantages to having the favor of one of the Ennead is that you are adaptable to the whims of your mission. Moon Knight, whether its identity is being worn by Marc or Jake, is capable of flight in the winds of night, his silhouette cast far above like a crescent moon. It’s a convenient trick of Khonshu’s.

Your service to Anubis is convenient in terms of air travel, too, though the similarities are not lost on you. It’s an amusing thought as you summon your ceremonial armor. Eliana is safely tucked into bed, your sister is thoroughly distracted by her TV show, and you are standing on top of the roof, the night wind rustling the keffiyeh draped protectively over your mouth and nose. Your armor is simpler than Moon Knight’s, since battle is not your forte, but it serves to protect you from the elements all the same.

You shake away the lingering exhaustion and tap the emblem of Anubis on the chestplate of your armor, a quick two-time rhythm that echoes through your body with a shiver. The gleaming gold of your suit fades into the shimmering white sand of intangibility, weightlessness settling around you like a cloak.

Traveling in the wind under the moonlight, you let your body dissipate into a rush of sand. Vertigo tilts you into a spin cycle, pitching nausea in the pit of your stomach, but you keep your mind sharpened on your destination point. It’s much easier when you know his face as intimately as you know the back of your own hand.

Marc, to his credit, doesn’t flinch when you swirl into tangible being at his side. He has worked up into a dead-set pace through the airport terminal, a baseball cap pulled low over his furrowed brow and his travel bag hiked up defensively over one shoulder. His entire demeanor deflects attention like a shield. Don’t look at my face, don’t step into my way and distract me.

He’s very good at it.

Marc sighs when you fall into step alongside him. “Lockley.”

“Spector,” you hum. His strides are long and unfaltering, and for a moment you let that acknowledgement lay without further explanation while you keep pace. Avatars have enhanced endurance and strength while bolstered by their God’s favor, including you, not to mention that the life of a mercenary demands careful maintenance of your body’s upper limitations. You have gone for days on the run, never sleeping longer than an hour or so at a time, surviving off of nothing more than shallow sips of water and pure determination.

You are no stranger to pain, fear, anger, betrayal. Neither do you flinch in the face of Marc’s stony silence, though you would like to get through this mission without actively antagonizing him, either. The scarab is far more important than his prickly hesitance to let anyone close enough to help him.

“You could have flown,” you say.

His only answer is a grunt of annoyance. You’re inclined to believe that his ire is directed mostly to Khonshu’s stubbornness, but you figure he’s still irked to see you in London.

“There’s also the matter of my ticket,” you continue. That gets him to slow his rampant pace, and he reaches up to rub at his eyes with a harsh scrub of his palms. Nearly able to pity him, you add helpfully, “I brought my own props this time.”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” he finally says, dropping his hands. He gestures impatiently to you. “Boarding is in ten minutes. Hurry up.”

Despite the grumpiness, he follows in the wake of your steps as you duck into a secluded terminal lounge. You pass your purse for him to hold, ignoring the pang in your chest as he tucks it into the front pocket of his backpack with familiarity. He hangs back a few paces away, surreptitiously looking away as you crouch down and press your fingertips to the golden cuff on your wrist. The colors in the lounge fade to dull monochrome between one blink and the next, and you give a soft chuff to let Marc know you’re ready.

While you had changed, he had enough forethought to pull the harness and leash from your purse, and he looks briefly miffed as he reads the new lettering on them.

“Service animal,” he reads, and you give him an open-maw smile. You’ve seen yourself in the mirror when you’ve changed forms. You’re small, less than fifteen pounds, and you have the distinct markings of a black-backed jackal. It should be impossible to pass as anything other than a wild animal, but Anubis’s favor must conceal you from skeptical witnesses, because you only get looks if you’re wandering around by yourself in public. Even then, the concern is mild, the sort of panic the sight of a stray dog would invoke while you visit other countries.

You’ve chosen to lean into it over the years. Jake likes to tell curious passersby that you’re a purebred German Shepherd. Marc, when pressed to pretend that you’re an animal and not the favored Avatar of Anubis, simply shrugs and calls you a mutt.

The designation as a service animal is new, but so is traveling via traditional air travel. He can’t expect you to wander onboard at the last minute without a passport, boarding pass, or luggage. So, in this case, you’ve become his luggage.

Despite his frown and the headshake of disbelief, he crouches down when you trot over to him and swiftly connects you to your harness. It’s a familiar ritual by now. With Marc, it’s almost easier than having to endure Jake’s jokes about enjoying being tied up. You do, but you don’t necessarily enjoy having to flirt with your husband while appearing as a twelve pound jackal. It kills the mood.

When Marc finally clips your leash on and straightens up, he takes in the sight of the bold SERVICE ANIMAL lettering and your dog-wide grin. You take the time to admire him, too. At this angle and in a tint of monochrome, the furrow of his brow is stark against the darkness beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted. The body itself is exhausted, running ragged with the lives of three people crammed into one skull, of which none of them try to coexist easily with another. Marc can act as protective of Steven as he likes, but it’s no life to be isolated by Moon Knight’s midnight rendezvous and stuck in a dead-end job selling plushies.

Not that you’re any better, not when it comes to secrets.

“Oh, my God,” he mutters at you. “You look ridiculous.”

You can’t speak, but you snap your teeth up at him in gentle rebuttal. Eliana thinks you’re cute as a jackal, at least. Wearing the form of a jackal is less about appearance and more about how to further serve your purpose as Anubis’s Avatar, but that doesn’t mean you’ll take an insult lightly.

Marc is fortunate that you’re currently stuck in animal vocal cords, and that the airport’s overhead speaker crackles with boarding information about your flight to Austria.

“Come on then,” Marc sighs. He gives you another look, and the faintest hint of amusement tinges the corner of his mouth. “You look great in neon orange, Lockley.”

You shake out your fur in agreement. You keep up a steady trot as the two of you navigate through the crowded terminal, basking in the muted atmosphere of your jackal senses. You aren't really a jackal in this form, despite appearances, and you don't have the same sharpened sensory facilities as one. The perk of this form is to allow you to seek out decay and carrion.

The airport terminal, mercifully, has a noticeable absence of dead things. It makes it easier for you to keep pace with Marc's long-legged stride. He always moves as if he's being chased, relentless and hunched in on himself. Steven minimizes his presence, too, but not like Marc does during a mission. You don't think you will ever stop marveling at the way the body changes with each alter, every movement tailored to their own unconscious intent. You're still in the process of learning Steven, but you know Jake and Marc well enough to see through their glamoured appearances.

"Here goes nothing," Marc mutters, and he shifts his shoulders back in a soldier's determined stance, tightening the slack on your leash. You adjust yourself to press your side firmly against his leg, willing your tail in droop in a neutral posture, your ears pricked up to catch the voices around you.

"Cute little pup," a boarding agent whispers to her coworker. "I love when we get service dogs, they're the sweetest things."

"If they're real," her coworker mutters back. He approaches you and Marc first, not bothering to deign you with a proper glance. He's taller than Marc, but there is none of the restrained grace in his stance that makes him appear as a threat. He also has an English accent that could rival Steven's for proper British poshness. "Good evening, sir."

"Evening," Marc says. He offers his passport, boarding pass, and the folded certificate you packed for your service animal prop. The agent studies his passport briefly, then reads through your service animal certification twice before handing it back to Marc with a gruff hum.

"Your service dog is cute," his coworker tells Marc, and she gives you an adoring smile. "I've never seen a little German Shepherd like that!"

You flash her a dog-wide smile, your tail swishing softly in acknowledgment. You hope Jake is close enough to the front to catch that little comment about your supposed breed. He loves to convince people that you're actually a full-blooded German Shepherd and not a mixed breed. It's easier when you're in an airport and the poor English boarding agent has likely never seen a jackal in her life.

"Thank you," Marc says, sounding just as amused as you feel. "She's mixed with something, we don't know what. Probably a wolf."

You press against his leg in soundless complaint. You aren't a mutt rescued from the shelter. The movement only makes the corner of his mouth tilt up in a half-smile, and he merely nods amicably to the other agent before leading the both of you on board.

He gets an aisle seat every time he flies, and it's the same row with the emergency exit. You settle comfortably at his feet, wiggling back to press your haunches beneath the seat and make room for your fellow passengers to get by. Marc fusses as usual; he adjusts his seatbelt twice and fiddles with the buckles on your harness. You rest the tip of your muzzle on his knee in silent comfort. Jake hates to fly, restless with the lack of control, but you know Marc is caught in the undertow of his own emotional whirlwind.

Your heart still aches with the fear from his sudden disappearance two months ago. It's not uncommon for Marc to be summoned for midnight missions at Khonshu's whim, but this was the first time that he did not come back. This time, Jake did not reach out to assure you that the system was still alive, and it was only through your shallow crossings of the Duat that you knew he was not dead. You had wondered, though, and you had spent too many sleepless nights curled up in the armchair next to the window in your apartment in Tunis, your face turned up to the moon.

In a rational shadow in the back of your mind, you know that he is nearly utterly invulnerable. Khonshu's ceremonial armor deflects most bullets and heals more than just bruises and cuts. The blessing of Anubis you performed on Jake all those years ago is just another fail-safe to keep him whole and alive, just in case he loses the god's favor.

Still, you don't feel comforted until now, when Marc gently rests his palm on the crown of your head, soothing back to run his fingers over the fur on the ruff of your neck.

You may have met Jake, first, but it was Marc that reluctantly began to invite you on Avatar escapades through the world. He still keeps himself walled off from your deeper probing, and he has no idea that Jake has already told you about the life their system grew up in.

You imagine Wendy Spector raising her hand, the air-whistling snap of the belt hitting her surviving son, and it almost makes the fur on your hackles bristle with anger. Jake had insisted on keeping your shared life separate from any mention of their childhood home, but it only serves to fuel your abhorrence of her actions. Whether it was the loss of Marc's brother or the escalation of Wendy's violence, it only contributed to Marc's trauma response.

The shiva made it all worse.

You look up to Marc, still resting your chin on his knee, but he's watching the passengers board the flight with rapt attention. His fingers, idly, stroke through your fur, over and over. You wonder how close to the surface Jake is at the moment. Does he know that you are following them to Austria, despite Marc's poor attempt to leave before you noticed? Can he feel the echo of your fur through Marc's touch, and does it steady him to know that you're right at his side?

You hope he does. You hope that it helps Marc, even in this small way, and you keep still so you don't scare him off from the simple comfort it gives him.

It's not a long flight, but his touch never falters.

Marc lunges for the window.

For a brief minute, you think he's going to summon the suit and use the momentum to float down using his cape. You're already intangible to human touch, a swirling figure of sand rushing through the winding hallways and scattered mercenary forces. Bullets whistle through your chest and skull harmlessly, punching holes of dust and sand into the wall behind you. It's an eerie feeling, like goosebumps prickling up the nape of your neck.

In this form, you are best suited for distraction, not attacking, but you manage to confuse a pair of cultists to shoot at each other by aiming for your abdomen. They collapse to the floor simultaneously, screaming in agony. It hurts to be shot in the gut. It's a pain you know intimately, and you don't feel remorse for the way they curl in on themselves, weeping and gasping for air.

A shocked shout from the window catches your attention. You forget the minor discomfort of bullets whizzing through your form when you watch Marc leap out of the window, wearing nothing but his travel clothes.

IDIOT, Khonshu rumbles in Marc's wake. DON'T LET THEM CATCH YOU.

"Not helping," you mutter. You tap your emblem of Anubis, gravity settling over your body like a shroud. With the flick of your wrist, you summon your staff. Sand drips from the cuff of your armor’s wrist to solidify into a gleaming golden pole just as long as you are tall, curving into a laughing jackal’s mouth at the top, its eyes glittering with blood-stone gems. In the mid-morning light shining through the castle's windows, the flecks of red in its eyes glow like a beacon, sharpening in response to the stench of death permeating the air.

To the disgruntled cultist aiming his gun at you, you offer him a polite smile. "Sorry, but you're in the way, and you tried to shoot my husband."

The jackal's jaw slackens to bare its teeth, and that is the cultist's only warning before the blood-stones emit a curling tendril of smoke that cripples him into a lifeless pile of limbs. He isn't dead, but he won't be able to shoot you in the back while you regroup with Marc and plan your escape. Khonshu seems satisfied by the effort because he crosses the room in four long strides, the heel of his staff tapping in succinct rhythm across the floor.

You sweep the room quickly, kicking the gun to the other side of the room under a set of drawers. The compound is sparsely decorated. As far as you and Marc figure, this is nothing more than a crash-pad for Harrow's cult, one of many international safehouses they utilize while recruiting new members. Still, you take the time to open the cabinet door of the armoire against the far wall, briefly rummaging through the lower drawers. Nothing but clothes, but it's worth a look all the while. You found the scarab tucked away in a sock drawer, after all. They are not very good at hiding valuable artifacts.

From his perch in the window, Khonshu calls down, GO BACK TO SLEEP, WORM.

That catches your attention. You raise your head and find Khonshu shaking his head in disgust. Marc must have hit the ground hard if he forced Jake to the front. It sends a chill of worry twisting through your gut, but you know the suit could heal internal damage if needed. Khonshu doesn't look annoyed by Marc's impending death, just the unexpected arrival of Jake.

You can't necessarily blame him. Jake's finesse is in his ruthlessness. He could go blind and deaf and still crawl his way to the next target without relenting. Marc is better at strategy, and right now, you needed a solid plan to escape the village without being followed by the cultists. Not to mention that he has the scarab.

"Don't call him that," you tell Khonshu. You shut the drawers and make for the doorway, mentally remapping the compound in your mind. There's still militia-trained forces prowling the building, and you know the town is full of Harrow's sympathizers. There's one winding road down the mountain that made you carsick just driving up it, but you figure your rental car might be sticking out like a sore thumb now that the hunt for the scarab is underway.

Khonshu may be right. You need Marc, and you need to get the hell out of here.

Unlike Marc, you have no intentions to leap from the window and break every bone in your body. Suit or not, you can manage to navigate to a lower level and avoid risking losing consciousness.

"Hello?"

You hardly hear it, lost to the distance and the mental gymnastics you're performing to plan an escape, and you freeze in the doorway. You have never heard Jake's voice sound so small and unsure. Did he suffer a head injury? Was there something wrong with their healing, some wound so dire that he sounds surprised to wake up in a new place? Jake is a punch-first and ask-later man. His first instinct is always to find a weapon.

YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, Khonshu rumbles, irritation crackling in the air like ozone in a thunderstorm.

"Yep. I completely agree." A pause, then a faint and confused, "Where are you?"

"Oh, no," you mutter.

SURRENDER THE BODY TO MARC.

"Khonshu," you hiss. You check the hallway for soldiers and, blissfully, find none. Carefully, you step back from the doorway and tap your Anubis emblem, swirling into intangibility. You ignore the resulting dizzying swell of nausea that pitches low in your stomach. Your voice can still carry in this form, so you whisper-shout to him, "That's not Jake."

In answer, faint and pitched in concern, is Steven's stuttering, "'Surrender the body'? What body?"

Khonshu's lung-rattling sigh shakes through the room like a storm. OH, THE IDIOT'S IN CONTROL.

"He doesn't know what's happening," you say defensively. "Don't frighten him."

Without a backward glance, Khonshu dissipates from the windowsill, vanishing from sight. You swear under your breath and take off towards the window in four broad strides, leaping up to perch delicately on the open windowsill. The compound is nestled in the mountain-flanked valley of a quaint countryside village, and the picturesque endless field of green grass and wildflowers is violently interrupted by Steven's bewildered presence.

Looming behind him in disapproval is Khonshu, gripping his staff in a perplexed vice-grip. You shake your head down at the god's back. He's going to give Steven a heart-attack.

God, Steven is here. Sweet-spoken, non-confrontational, untrained Steven. The alter kept so tightly smothered by Marc and Jake that you have never formally met him face-to-face before the brief stint during your museum visit just yesterday afternoon. Now it feels like a lifetime ago. You watch, frowning, as he senses Khonshu's presence and jerks back to look behind himself, his gaze tracing up to you.

No, not you. He cannot see you in this form; Jake may have the uncanny ability to sense your sand-forged figure, but you know that to the naked eye you look as unremarkable as dust shimmering in the sun. Nothing more than a trick to the eyes. He looks up at the window you're perched in, squinting, before his gaze follows a shift of movement in the window next to yours.

From this distance, you see the way his frightened, wide eyes narrow in on the man leaning out to catch his target, his mouth opening in a soft gasp of shock. He offers a polite, if not utterly confused, wave up to the cultist staring down at him. You watch the exchange in silent disbelief, still poised to drop from the window to land far below if needed, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your surprised laugh when the cultist waves back to Steven.

"Hullo," Steven says, brow furrowed. "Hiya."

Oh, Steven, you think, grinning. You've heard plenty of stories from Jake, and you met him in the gift shop, but watching his sweet and confused mannerisms makes you want to haul down there and throw your arms around him in a hug. No wonder the other two are so protective of him. He's simply… kind. Polite, too, in a way that seems utterly foreign in a body you have seen ravage destruction and death for years.

"What are you doing?" The second cultist's snarl yanks your attention up from Steven, just in time for you to see the gun aimed down at him.

Steven panics, far below, but you're utterly infuriated at the sight of those guns aimed at your husband's body. Marc may be down for the count and Jake seems to be under the surface consciousness, but you're still here, and you refuse to watch Steven get hurt. Not even your lingering vertigo can distract you from that simple, unrelenting purpose.

You launch yourself at them from your adjacent window, catching the sail of the valley winds, and you tap the emblem on your chest just in time to form tangibility and connect your heel to the square of the second cultist's chest. He falls back with a stifled cry of surprise, and you pull your fist back to punch him across the jaw, silencing him into a deadweight blackout.

DON'T JUST STAND THERE! RUN!

"You're one of them," the other cultist gasps from behind you. He raises his gun, leveling the assault rifle's barrel to your forehead, and you swirl into nothingness just as he pulls the trigger. The drawback kicks his aim up just enough to avoid killing the cultist you knocked unconscious, and you take advantage of his surprise at your disappearance to leap past him and plunge several stories down to the grass below. You flinch when your feet hit the ground, but in your sand-form, the impact is nothing more than the faintest pressure on the soles of your shoes.

You don't linger on the fact that you are unbelievably lucky you aren't dead. There are limits to your power, and you rarely tread so closely to the cliff's edge of its boundaries. Steven being here changes things, particularly your wariness and ritual of lingering to the edges of confrontation, but there's the uncomfortable acknowledgment that you may go to touch your emblem only to find yourself unable to change forms.

Is it worse to be intangible to all other life, nothing but sand?

Or should you be more worried of being unable to change into untouchable dust when there's a gun aimed for your chest and murder in a cultist's eyes?

Fuck. You need Marc or Jake to surge back into control and get the hell out of here before the scarab is taken back into Harrow's clutches. You are nothing more than the death specialist, a harbinger ferryman of the dead and the dying, a woefully under-skilled strategist in the grand scheme of your scarab heist. Marc could navigate his way out of a coffin sunken to the bottom of the ocean, just as Jake could struggle and drag himself out of a tomb buried under miles of dirt with nothing but his bare hands and sheer determination.

Steven… well. He's running directly to the center of a town that is intent on following the lawless word of a disgraced Avatar, carrying the one artifact you need to keep from their clutches.

You send up a silent prayer to Anubis, though his tangible presence is nothing more than a muted shadow to your existence at the moment. He can be more helpful than Khonshu, at least from your brief past experiences, but you aren't aspiring to tempt the boundaries of his ability in this plane of existence just yet.

Get the scarab, keep the body of your husband alive, and perhaps avoid losing your attachment to your psychical body altogether. It should be manageable. How much trouble could a museum gift shopist cause in a town of murderous cultists?

You are so used to working with Jake or Marc that, when Arthur Harrow commands his brainwashed audience to kneel, you follow suit without thinking about how Steven is woefully out of the loop.

It is an instinct for you to blend in, even if your sand-shrouded figure is indecipherable to the untrained eye, and your blood runs cold as ice when you hear his startled little gasp before he realizes what he has failed to do.

"Oh, bullocks," he mutters, and his aborted attempt to kneel in order to avoid the attention makes you grimace in silent sympathy. This is not going to be a clean and fairly-matched encounter. Steven has done his best to navigate the labyrinth of village streets in search of an escape route, with you tracing his every move as a dust-streaked shadow, but you know that he is not like you. Marc and Jake keep him stifled beneath the veil of normalcy because they think the violence will break him.

You think, grimly, that violence upon Steven will end up breaking Marc and Jake far more.

"You. I know you," Harrow rasps, and the hungry wildness in his eyes betrays his feeble posture and modest robes as nothing but a farce. You know the danger this man is capable of.

You tap your emblem and silently swirl into physical being. The cultists huddled next to you gasp softly and shuffle away, but you only have eyes for the way Harrow stares down Steven with ravenous curiosity. Like a cat catching a mouse.

"Me?" Steven squeaks out. He stiffens, pointing to himself, and slowly rises to his feet like a deer caught in headlights. "Hiya."

You rise with him, no more than a meter apart, but from this angle he cannot see you flanking his back. Harrow can, though, and his gaze narrows in on you with that same insatiable urge to hunt you down.

"Mercenary," he says. The tone of his voice rouses the cultists around you, prompting them to rise, and every instinct in your body is screaming at you to wield your jackal-headed staff and clear an escape. If you had the proper time to curse out Marc for his stupid impulse to fling himself out of a window and get knocked out, you would. Again.

As it is, though, the cultists that initially retreated to give you space are edging closer, lured by the ire that Harrow directs at you.

"Mercenary," Steven is saying, but it's more like his anxiety bubbling up and resorting to straight blabbering, really, because he's looking about as if he expects a camera crew to expose themselves as a T.V. stunt rather than a real life or death situation. He gives a nervous little laugh. "No, no, I'm not a mercenary. No, I'm a gift shopist. Uh, I work at a gift shop. Um. My name's Steven Grant."

Harrow shuffles a half-step closer to Steven, eyeing him, and you step forward, too, tensing in preparation.

Steven is still talking.

"Uh, I'm trying to get back home. Back to London." He gives a desperate look to the unmoved crowd of cultists around him, but he still doesn't turn around enough to see you right behind him, prepared to leap into the fray. Even he can sense that the greatest danger of them all is directly in front of him, and he can't quite look away. "London? Don't know why I'm saying it like that."

"Well, Steven Grant of the gift shop," Harrow affirms, flat-out amused, and now he's walking towards Steven with a clear intent. Every movement like a man possessed with desire. You have what I want, and I will pry it from your hands.

"Yeah?" Steven acknowledges, and there's a tremor of fear in his voice that plucks at your very heartstrings. This will not be an easy fight, and suddenly you really wish you could properly curse out Marc for being such a fucking idiot. Who the hell is stupid enough to leap out of a window from that high up?

Jake, maybe.

"Will you return the scarab?" Harrow asks Steven, and you know he can recognize the wavering confusion as an easier target compared to you. Unfortunately for him, you don't intend to let the scarab go so easily. Especially now that you have an inkling that Jake may not be so far under the surface as you initially assumed.

"The what?" Steven stammers, just as you speak up.

"No."

Steven jolts as if he's been struck by lightning, turning to meet you face-to-face. The frightened dart of his eyes and anxious downturn of his mouth is so unlike the usual expressions you see on that handsome face. Anger, yes, and solemnity even more, but never such raw, confused terror. His brows stitch together when he recognizes you.

"Gift shop," he blurts you. He points at you accusingly. "You were there. This morning."

You offer him a sympathetic wince. You don't have the heart, nor the time, to argue with him about the time differences of traveling from London to here. "Yes. Sort of."

"What's this, then?" He says, and there's that flare of indignation you know all too well. He fumbles for his pockets, and the scarab's gold carapace gleams in the sunlight as he offers it to you. You don't take it, but it's less to do with the responsibility of keeping it safe and more to do with the fact that the crowd around you dissipates at the sight of the artifact, and Harrow takes three steps closer.

"It's a compass shaped like a scarab," you say, and your voice is far more calmer than you feel at the moment. "Don't give it to him, Steven. Please."

To his credit, he notices the crowd of cultists shuffling away, too. He eyes the growing gap between the both of you and them with wariness. Like a caged animal. You just wish you knew him well enough to know how he will react to being caught at the edge. He seems inclined to listen to you, at least, because he thrusts his hand towards you pleadingly.

"I don't want it," he tells you. You nod, and just as you reach out to take it from him, a man with beady dark eyes and a shaved head reaches for your elbow, tugging you back a half-step. You stiffen in his grip, prepared for a fight, but he releases you with nothing more than a thinly-veiled look of discouragement. It's only a warning.

YOU WILL GIVE HIM NOTHING, Khonshu rumbles, lurking along the edge of the crowd, and Steven can't conceal the startled little flinch he gives, nor the panicked little glance around in search of the god. His eyes pass over Khonshu's form without notice, and you don't have to wonder why Khonshu only registers to your senses and not his.

"It's okay," you say, your tone soft enough to placate Steven, but it's the annoyed glare you cut to Khonshu that translates your words with more of an edge. Let me handle this.

"I strongly encourage you to return that," Harrow says, and Steven jumps at the sound of his voice as if he forgot that Harrow was there at all. Before you can interject, he holds out his hand for Harrow, the scarab gleaming maddeningly bright for him to take.

"Steven," you start, tensing, only half-aware of the cultist lingering at your side prepared to step in if you make the wrong move, and the fear for yourself melts away into despair as Harrow reaches back to take it.

Only for Steven's fingers to curl into a fist, tight enough to bare his knuckles stark-pale. Harrow stares with utter incredulity as Steven fumbles to unlock his grip, prying desperately at his fingers, stammering on and on about the altitude, and you can't help but smile. Even Khonshu, lingering at the shadow of your peripheral, tilts his head like a predator catching a scent.

The body betrays him; Steven unfurls his fingers only for his arm to wrench itself back, out of reach.

"I will not ask again," Harrow narrows his gaze.

"I didn't do that on purpose," Steven tries. "I don't know what's happening."

"We're not here for a fight, Harrow," you add. His eyes land on you like the weight of the world. The shimmer-faint edges of his expired Avatarship to Khonshu catch in the midday sun, the only highlight of the desolate, gnawing shadow of his soul. Like an eclipse, the festering darkness blots out all the rest. Corruption of spirit.

You are not Moon Knight. You don't carry an arsenal to enact justice on behalf of the travelers of the night. But you are a faithful Avatar of Anubis, and you know your place is to act as a protector of the dead. As Harrow stands here, now, you can see the smears of putrefaction steeping into the very marrow of his soul, straight into his beating, unbalanced heart. Spirits cling to his shoulders and down his back in a cacophony, rending through his flesh without teeth.

The dead do not lie. He is a haunted, manipulative man.

"I last saw you in Cairo," Harrow muses. He taps his cane against the cobblestone once, twice, each rap of the tip echoing through the silent crowd like a gunshot. Steven flinches at each beat, and you can only stare at Harrow with pulsing anger. "You have a child to return to. Don't make a mistake you will regret, Mrs. Lockley."

"Oi, don't do that," Steven blurts out, and nearly withers at the way Harrow stares him down. The body is still wound tight, arm outstretched behind him in defiance, but Steven wiggles himself awkwardly around to offer the scarab to Harrow. "There we go, just take it. Take it, take it, take it."

Harrow looks none too pleased at the display, but he reaches out all the same. At the same moment, you summon your staff, fingers trembling with the exertion, and the cultists around you swarm closer with hungry violence. The body purposefully marches Steven out of Harrow's reach, and you only find your voice enough to shout out a warning before they seize him into a stifling hold.

"Don't hurt him!" You shout to Harrow, and the step you take to help is immediately pushed back by the crowd gathering around you, separating you, isolating Steven into Harrow's grasp. You swing out with your staff in a fit of frustration, hoping to bid back the tide, but one of the men knocks away your blow before it makes contact. Another cultist snatches your other arm, wrenching it behind your back hard enough to make you yelp in pain. You lash out with your foot and manage to catch someone in the knee, but any pride in hearing their cry of pain is stifled by the growing swarm.

You can't see him, but you can hear Steven pleading for them to stop, his voice high-pitched with fear, and the wave of desperation that comes over you sours like bile in the back of your mouth. No, it can't end like this. You flail out to hit someone, anyone, your pulse rushing in your ears like a tempest, Harrow's placating tone fueling the pyre in your chest.

"It's all right," Harrow tells his flock of cultists, even as you struggle against the grip of your captors, helpless to resist as they raise you up and drag you towards a storefront. The building is nondescript, painted a sunshine-pale yellow with white trim, but the windows are covered with brown kraft paper to block out both light and the eyes of curious passerby. If they bring you in there, you don't think you will be able to make it back out.

That's the thought that makes you sick enough to scream.

It cuts off with a sharp note when one of them hits you, exploding starlight behind your eyes and tilting the world into vertigo, pain streaking across your face in a supernova. An answering wail of pain rises up from too-far away, accompanied by a sickening crunch of bone, and a spectral voice sighs out above your head. It's a world-weary and impatient sound, just as impatient as Eliana's.

FINALLY. YOU TOOK YOUR TIME, WORM.

"Shut up," Jake grates out from behind you, and the sound of his voice fills you with such relief that tears prick at the back of your eyes. The cultists carrying you slacken their hold, and you even manage to loosen their grip on your arm long enough to pull free and slug a fist across one man's jaw. The others are quickly downed by Jake, and through the haze of adrenaline-laced panic you can sense his hand brushing over your cheek in a gentle, searching caress.

"Okay," you mutter out, but your eyes flutter shut in a traitorous display of fondness to his touch. Warmth drips down the side of your face, and you can feel the rough pad of his thumb wiping back the stray tear. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

His hand retreats just as quickly as it came, and you open your eyes to see Steven blinking back at you, looking ashen at the sight of the bodies around you. Just like that, the fear evaporates in the light of fury. You can see Harrow watching you both with suspicion from just over Steven's shoulder, and the crowd at his back edge closer with growing discontent.

NO, Khonshu laments. THE IDIOT'S BACK.

"Run," you tell Steven. You swipe a hand over your cheeks to clear away the remaining tears that escape, grimacing down at the blood now on your hand, and Steven eyes his own bloodied hands with growing horror. His gaze darts from the blood to your face to your own bloody hand, silently calculating, and you hate that this is one of his first impressions of you. It's eerily similar to your first encounter with Jake but instead of the unveiled glee in the violence, Steven only looks sick.

"Steven," you snap. He shakes off the blank veil of fear and finally seems to notice the danger edging in around you. His eyes widen. "Run!"

"Bullocks," he gasps. He stumbles a step back, realizes that you're both slowly being surrounded, and looks to you with growing desperation. Then his eyes land on something right over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to a bright pink delivery van. "Right, let's just, uh, go this way?"

DON'T YOU DARE DROP THE SCARAB.

"All right, all right!" Steven cries up at the sky, but you're already moving, reaching out to curl your fingers over his wrist and drag him along. He keeps pace with you surprisingly well, even if you can feel his pulse jumping unsteadily underneath your touch, and you barely make it to the cupcake van before all hell breaks loose.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Divine Bridge of Limgrave

Having finished with the Roundtable Hold for now, it was time I get this Great Rune actually working again. And to do that, I needed to go to the Divine Tower.

From the courtyard where I fought the lion (some debased descendant of the original lion lord?), the way was lined with statues of Banished Knights. This seemed to be a more recent addition than the rest of the bridge.

Moving forward, I found the source of the book and sword statues down in the pit of Stormveil. Statues like this must've once been a part of Stormveil, but that was a time long past. The only trace remained on the Divine Bridge. Why not remove them from here as well?

Of course it wasn't going to be easy. The bridge was just littered with broken golems as the ground below, so it was no big surprise when one of them stood up to oppose me. It was, however, a surprise when two more golems got up. One of them an archer farther down the bridge, the other with an internal furnace still so hot it could breathe gouts of flame. However, the golems weren't particularly good at staying in their lane. I downed one of them, and the other breathed fire that finished it off. I downed the firebreather, and before it could get back up, its chest was shattered by an arrow.

Getting to the end of the bridge to deal with the archer was a bit trickier, but the braziers and statues were still sturdy enough to block an arrow or two. I had to move between them (taking care not to stand too close) to get in range. Once I did, the archer had basically no defense and was easily dispatched.

Unfortunately, this is where the bridge ended. There was a gate, but I decided to climb down first and see what I could find. Not much, but there was a grey version of the Incantation Scarab headpiece I already found, this one for ashes of war.

the voice didn't say anything new, aside from the fact this is for Ashes of War, but i noticed something I'd never thought about before. The eye on the back of their carapace. At first, I'd assumed it was a natural marking. On closer inspection, it appeared painted on. I went back through my memory of scarabs I'd seen in the wild and they had also had the eye on their backs. And I only know of one person who uses an eye symbol like this.

It seems absurd, but could this be part of Gideon's information network? The scarabs are everywhere and no one really pays attention to them, but they're just insects. What purpose could they serve? Even if he could somehow see out of the eye symbol, it'd still be of very limited utility.

Something to stew on.

I touched the gate and was teleported to the foot of the tower. I went back to check, finding a couple un-grafted Stormhawks along the way.

IT bothered me that there was an entire section of the bridge that I'd just skipped over, but I didn't see any way to get over there so what was I to do?

The inside of the tower was otherworldly. The walls were inlaid with those golden meteorites from the tunnels. An elevator without mechanism raised me to the top. Pale wisps of rising mist would suddenly turn black and oily, dripping back down to the bottom of the tower. I could feel it. This was a place of power. As I approached the summit, I felt in tune to the other towers across the land. I didn't know what I'd find waiting for me at the top, but I knew it would, in some way, provide answers.

And yet, I was more confused than ever. More meteors inset in eight pillars. At the center, a patch of bare earth, and upon that earth, the Two Fingers.

Dead.

Curled around the outline of Godrick's great rune.

The Two Fingers are dead? Or is there more than one?

What role to the meteors play?

What was with the white fog and black oil?

What destroyed the divine bridge?

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 38

 Imagine a Hollow Knight inspired AU. Everyone is bugs, with magic or weapons or both. 

Gotham I wanna say gives off a deepnest vibe, mixed with a lot of void because the place has been cursed so many times, is built on top of a lazarus pit, and has had a door to hell opened at least two separate times just in Arkham. Metropolis is probably more in line with the surface, seeing as it’s so bright and sunny. Like the city of tears if it was built above ground instead of under a lake. 

 Now while I’m not sure what everyone would be, I like to think that Jason revives as something similar to a bug of the grimmtroupe. Maybe he’s let go, maybe the batfam have to rescue him and help return his better memories. Honestly up to the writer. Speaking of the batfam, Cass is definitely something like a butterfly- actually they might all be butterflies or similar creatures. Long cloaks and perfect for their Wayne/civilian personas, perhaps with a bit of vessel inspiration as well. Look, they deserve shadow powers. 

 The flashfam are some sort of crickets with lightning-shaped antennae, because those things are energetic little things that are constantly chirping. Plus they’re incredibly quick too. 

 Wonder woman is definitely some sort of beetle forged from clay and brought to life by magic, an heir and guardian all rolled into one. Just to name a few ideas of course, it’d all be up to the writer and what you all think. 

If DP crossover, I mean, ghosts as shades made via void would work well, no? And Halfas would be bugs corrupted by void into vessels, similar to the Hollow Knight or the player character (who is named Ghost so what d’ya know lol) Also Tucker as a scarab beetle would be so fun, no one can convince me otherwise

[thenixkat]

I cringe every time I see Justice League International/America put as essential reading for Ted Kord/Blue Beetle 2. Like no, just cause it was long-running and popular and referenced by a bunch of things, since Ted was OOC the entire time in JLI that's not essential reading for him.

This is what I've read so far that gives a good feel for Ted Kord/Blue Beetle and what he's about where he's reasonably in character:

Captain Atom (1966-1967) #83-86- Ted's first comics. Look out for period typical sexism

Blue Beetle (1967-1968) #1-5- Ted's first solo comics. Look out for period typical sexism and racism. Ted's ok with killing bad guys/won't lose sleep about it if it happens. My girl, the MVP Tracey is here as Ted's gf, lab assistant, and confidant. Issue 5 has Vic Sage/The Question showing up in his civilian persona and helping out Blue Beetle.

Charlton Portfolio (1974) #1- Ted's civilian persona gets blamed for murder and the theft of an invisibility suit. Has the first mini-Bug/Snoopy for spying on shit. Tracey defends her man's honor and chews people out for bad-mouthing Ted.

Charlton Bullseye (1981) #1- Blue Beetle 2 and The Question team up officially as superheroes taking on a villain with many mooks and death traps. Also, this story implies that Ted has been Blue Beetle for at least 10 yrs. The Question calls Blue Beetle his friend and thinks they make a good team.

Crisis on Infinite Earths (1985) #1-3 [you can read more if you want but he's less prominent the further the Crisis goes on]- Ted's DC universe debut as part of the Earth 4 crew. This Ted has the Scarab and it can work as demon repellant and keep him from getting disintegrated from being touched by antimatter demons. Ted is cosmically important enough to be Earth 4's representative!

Secret Origins (1986) #2- Dan and Ted's origins are retold to fit in the DC universe. Ted does not have the Scarab. Red-head curly-haired Ted!

Blue Beetle (1986) #1-24- Ted's DC solo run. Red-head curly-haired Ted! Ted has no confidence for his secret identity which causes drama. His girlfriend/lab assistant is Melody Chase. In issues 5-7, Vic Sage/The Question teams up with Blue Beetle 2 for an arc. This run has crossovers with Legends (1986) and Mellinium (1988). Ted also starts appearing in Justice League International (1987)[boo, hiss, thankfully JLI didn't affect the plots of Ted's solo unlike the crossovers]

Showcase (1994) #2-4- Set in JLI era but Ted is pretty much himself. Ted fights cops and a city's local government b/c they stole his patents and they're fascists and he doesn't vibe with that.

L.A.W.: Living Assult Weapons (1999) #1-6- This series is racist trash propaganda. You mostly just want the first two and last two issues for Ted stuff. Ted decides to retire from being a superhero at the end of this series.

Birds of Prey (1999) #2, 4, 7, 10, 15, 19, 22-25, 33-37, 39-42- Ted makes a number of cameos initially via chatting online with Oracle as her friend. Then meeting up for an in-person date. Then coming out of retirement and joined the Birds of Prey on missions as support and a driver primarily. Then Ted gets diagnosed with a degenerative heart condition and retires again.

Robin (1993) #96- Ted teaming up with Tim Drake/Robin to track down a Jokerized werecat. Ted charms and scores a date with one of Dick Grason/Nightwing's civilian love interests.

Convergence: Blue Beetle (2015) #1-2- A return of pre-DC Ted! Set on Earth 4's Hub City kidnapped by some cosmic entity pitting heroes against each other with the survival of their cities on the line. Blue Beetle, The Question, and Captain Atom vs the Legion of Super-Heroes. My girl Tracey is here! As Ted's copilot!

Convergence: Justice League International (2015) #1-2- DC Ted and with the Justice League International but well handled and enjoyable. Enjoyed him interacting with the Kingdom Come version of himself. Includes, Ted/Bea which is not something I expected but neat.