snippet of my fic "what thing worthy of love can be found in me?"
âWait, wait. Let me see if Iâm getting this right. Danny, part time bartender at the Twilight Zone Bar and Dinner, presumed college student, occasional memory thief, is also the King of Cups and has been waging a secret war against the United States Government, presumably contained to Ghost County, for unknown reasons and for an unknown period of time?â Zatanna asked, bewildered.
âThe president is Lex Luthor, Zatanna.â Bruce points out.
âHaving hobbies is good for a lad his age, I reckon,â Constantine added. âWhen I was his age I was learning dark magic and doing drugs, so.â
âJohn, when you were his age cell phones hadn't been invented yet."
Short answer is that Dahlia is a terrible memory and ex-fiancĂŠ, while Iris is a terrible reminder and eventual closure for him.
Phoenix barely processes what happened with Dahlia and he is incredibly unhealthy about how he deals with it. For example: he keeps their engagement rings on a chain around his neck under his shirt at all times as a "reminder" of what NOT to do.
He is paralyzed with fear at the thought of loving someone again and makes terrible choices as a result of his trauma response (i.e. faking his death after he realizes that he has more than a mere crush on Edgeworth). You can read more about the Dahlia case in this other ask I already answered!
With Iris, I haven't really figured things out yet completely, but she serves as quite a shock for Phoenix after he sees her in the newspaper and opens a lot of old festered wounds. He goes to Hazakura on impulse, because he needs to make sure that it is NOT Dollie Dahlia, she is dead and can't love hurt him anymore. Ultimately, her and the eventual murder case help him realize that no, he wasn't (entirely) crazy and was dating a woman who was as much (if not more) in love with him as he was with her.
Meeting Iris helps him let himself love again, and maybe it gives him room to set things right with Miles.
When Vi rushes into the ER, life-or-death decisions are second nature, but navigating the unexpected pull she feels towards one particular nurse?
That's a whole different kind of challenge.
As a gruff paramedic who rarely lets her guard down, Vi's world is all adrenaline and control. Meanwhile, you're the sunshine in the chaos, an ER nurse whose warmth and unwavering optimism clash beautifully with Vi's tough exterior.
Between endless shifts, life-saving calls, and quiet moments in the ambulance bay, sparks fly. But with unspoken fears, personal scars, and the high stakes of their work, opening up might be the riskiest move yet.
prologue
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a cold glow that feels sharper tonight. The ER smells like antiseptic, stale coffee, and something faintly metallic beneath it all â the scent of urgency, of lives balanced on the edge.
You tighten your grip on the clipboard, the worn edges digging slightly into your palm, and glance at the clock. Another long night begins.
You're used to the chaos â the sudden rush, the screams, the whispered prayers that hang heavy in the air.
But still, something in the way the doors slide open catches your attention.
She bursts through.
Water dripping from the hem of her jacket,
Red hair plastered to her forehead in damp strands.
Vi.
You've heard the stories â the paramedic who gets in and gets out, fast, efficient, stoic enough to keep everyone on their toes.
Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and steady as she commands the stretcher toward the trauma bay. Orders barked with the precision of a seasoned soldier.
You step forward, heart racing as you prepare to meet the storm.
Her eyes flick to you for a heartbeat â hard, assessing â then back to the patient.
No time for niceties here.
You catch the faintest edge of exhaustion beneath her steel, like the weight she carries is more than the usual shift. There's something in the way her hands shake just slightly when she sets the stretcher down.
But she doesn't show it.
Not here.
You move into your rhythm, working side by side in practiced silence. The beeping monitors, the rush of IV fluids, the antiseptic sting in your nose. You catch a glimpse of her jaw tightening, the line of her mouth set like she's biting back something fierce.
When the immediate danger passes and the patient stabilizes, she offers a nod â brief, almost reluctant.
You want to say something, anything. Maybe a "thank you", or even just your name. But she's already retreating, vanishing toward the ambulance bay like a ghost.
You watch her go, heart pounding with a strange mix of admiration and something else, a pull you don't quite understand yet.
And just like that, your world shifts.
The ER settles back into its intense rhythm around you, but the echo of Vi's presence lingers like a sharp note in a familiar song.
You find yourself glancing toward the ambulance bay doors every few minutes, even though you know she's likely back on the streets, cruising through the city, chasing emergencies.
Your coworkers chatter around you, a mix of tired jokes and urgent updates, but your focus is pulled somewhere else.
Someone else.
That someone being, Vi.
The way she moved, all purpose and no wasted motion.
The way her hands, strong, steady â had briefly brushed your arm as she passed a tray of instruments. That fleeting touch sent a spark up your spine, confusing and electric.
You shake your head slightly, reminding yourself this is work.
Professional.
No distractions.
But even as you push the thought away, the weight of exhaustion presses in from all sides, and it's hard not to want something more than the relentless tide of trauma and blood and broken bones.
Minutes drag like hours as the night wears on. The overhead lights blur into streaks.
You run your hands along your neck, massaging the built up tension from another long day.
You sip the lukewarm coffee from the breakroom that your coworker, Maddie, got for you hours ago. It's too bitter, too weak, and makes you wish for something stronger.
Then, like a sudden thunderclap, the sliding doors open again. The storm outside has intensified, rain pelts the pavement, drumming against the glass.
Vi steps inside, soaked, cheeks flushed from the cold.
You notice how the harsh fluorescent lights catch the droplets on her jacket, how her eyes â dark, and fierce â scan the room, landing briefly on you.
She doesn't say a word, but when her gaze meets yours, the unspoken tension crackles between you.
You watch as the paramedic pulls off her soaked jacket, the damp fabric sticking to her like a second layer of skin beneath the harsh ER lights.
There's a tightness around her mouth, like she's holding back something fierce. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe something deeper.
She strides past you, voice low but sharp as she calls out to a colleague,
"Trauma bay's ready. Let's move"
The colleague raises a brow at you, signaling for you to come with, before he scurries behind her.
You follow, heart pounding with that strange mix of adrenaline and something else â something like curiosity, or even maybe envy.
Who knows?
The patient that her coworker brought in is barely conscious â the kind of emergency that churns your stomach into knots. But Vi handles it like a rock in a storm, barking orders with calm authority, never letting the chaos touch her, let alone think about it.
As you work alongside her, your hands steady despite the rush, you can't help but notice the subtle cracks in her armor â the flicker of weariness in her eyes, the quick breath she sucks in between instructions.
When the crisis passes, she shoots you a glance â brief, almost shy, before turning away. You catch the faintest hint of a smile, gone before you can question if it was ever really there.
Later, during a rare lull, you find yourself in the supply room. The air is thick with the scent of disinfectant and stale coffee. You're double checking stock when the door creaks open, and Vi slips inside.
She leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. Her usual intimidating exterior, softened a touch.
"You okay?" she asks, voice low.
You nod, trying not to let your surprise betray you.
"Yeah.. Just tired."
She smirks, a ghost of a smile. "Welcome to the club."
For a moment, the weight of the world lifts, and you feel seen.
Not just as a nurse.
Not just as someone in the way.
But as someone who matters.
And before you speak, a sharp ring of your pager cuts through the airâ reminding you that this moment has to come to an end.
a/n: hiii!! this is my first ever fic, let alone a series, so please spare me a bit!! iâve been watching a lot of greys anatomy and 9-1-1 lately so i wanted to put my own twist on it with some arcane characters!! which means some medical things in here may not be accurate or true as i am not a doctor!!
FREAKYJORKER 2025 Š all my work is my own, please do not translate, copy, or distribute any content without permission
Idk when I'll post this on AO3 since I only have 3.5ish chapters sooo
What if: Robin is instead isekai'd as a half-breed Viltrumite, and decides she doesn't want to be on the losing side?
Man. Itâs fucking hard to fake your death when youâre a Viltrumite.
Youâve been attempting to for- a while. Tracking time gets iffy when most planets have different lengths for a year, and Viltrum has too wacky of an orbit - it was in a stable one the last time you were on a ship nearby, but who knows how long thatâll last - for it to be reliable either. But time has fucking passed, and youâre starting to think youâll never manage it.
Which is.
Yeah. Sucky.
Listen-
Youâre not a good person, right.
You barely needed five minutes after waking up in a shiny new Viltrumite body to come to terms with that. Okay, not new exactly. It was a few decades old already, by your estimates, though you appear in that vague range of late teens to early twenties. Young by the standards of the few viltrumites left standing after all their tomfoolery.
Just a baby, some of them mock you with varying amounts of dickishness. Some bordering on fond (a very shy border). Because as much as they loathe the weak, and youâre impressing no one by being so unmotivated, they arenât past the point of not valuing when a young Viltrumite is added to their ranks. Even if youâre not pureblooded.
But anyway.
You worked out fast enough that youâre not going to die on the hill of, yâknow, avoiding murdering people. And hey, if you want to be a real asshole, you can always keep in mind that theyâre aliens. Hardly any of them look remotely human. Plus, youâre in a whole other dimension! If that isnât an excuse to murder freely and without much consideration, you donât know what is.
But also- shit. Okay, also-
Ugh, your motives suck. Youâre a disgrace to every comic youâve ever read. Even the shit ones where none of the characters have any depth, and the majority get stuck in endless cycles repeating the smidge of growth theyâre allowed before they need to be reset.
Okay. You want out becauseâŚyou know the Viltrum Empire loses. And you hate being on the losing side.
Youâve always been a poor loser. From baseball games as a teeny but vicious kid (who wasnât above tripping the other team when they ran by your base), to destroying the top scorer at your favourite arcade games (Dance Dance Revolution, closely followed by Ultimate Mortal Combat 3 and Speed Rider); you have zero chill in certain areas of your life, despite the general ease in which the fucks to give tumble from your slack fingers in most scenarios.
You donât want to trot along in service of the ultimate machine of toxic masculinity until youâre either killed off or have to join the good guys. Especially when one of those options includes having to - youâre gonna be sick - have kids. A happy ending might involve the picture perfect family for some people, plenty of people, but not you. Just add it to your list of character flaws.
Oh, and doesnât the empire have to make reparations and stuff, or whatever? Once it gets taken over by- shit, who was it? Mark or Nolan? Doesnât Nolan die? Does he stay dead?
See, this is why you shouldâve written down everything you knew, instead of thinking your cool new Viltrumite brain could handle it. Turns out that only applies to new memories, not your human life.
Wow, youâve totally gone native. Human life. Could never live up to A Bugâs Life, but it might beat the sequel.
(You remember that, do you? Seriously, fuck you, brain.)
But yeah- reparations, playing nice, all that? Itâs, uhâŚ
Look, itâs fine. The obviously good thing to do. But dude, spending your whole life doing that? Your long, long, long life? Ehhhh. Youâd rather go full Star Trek and push at that frontier - in this case, the edge of the Virgo Super Cluster. Youâll even follow the Prime Directive!
Not at all like what youâre doing now, haha.
âYouâre distracted.â
Itâs all the warning you get before a fist plows into your face.
And you mean plows. That bad boy takes out your jaw and a chunk of your nose, crumples your bones like an accordion, and you go flying. Not the fun kind either. The uncontrolled spiralling from the force of a single punch, the air whipping by and impossible to catch onto, too stunned to yoink your body out of being flung.
Lucky for you, a mountain is in your way.
Less luckily, you do get buried halfway through it first.
Ow.
Conquest is still laughing by the time you dig yourself out. Crazy old man.
You glare sullenly at him as you push past the boulder; all that remains of Mount Nukedplanet. Not literally nuked, but it barely has any living things left on it after being picked out as a Viltrumite training ground, so it bears a striking resemblance to one thatâs been nuked. And hit with a few thousand meteorites.
Far as you know, whoever did live here didnât have enough to offer the empire to be worth keeping while the resources got drained - Kregg mentioned they were weak but like, uh, so is pretty much everyone? - and the planet itself too much of a dusty dirtball to bother cultivating. The gravity is on the higher side, though, the air feeling allâŚthick and doughy, so it makes for a good place to train. Most Viltrumites donât need it, exactly, but plenty like to blow off steam if they donât have a mission to execute.
Like Conquest.
Talking to him is probably the dumbest idea youâve ever had, but also-
Okay, there isnât really a rebuttal there. Kregg is close to tearing his hair out with worry over you being a suicidal moron. Which is pretty touching, considering how carefully he suppresses any sign of caring, even for his baby half-sister. No wonder heâs one of the Viltrumites who go all soft once they get to Earth and shack up with humans.
He tried to keep you from doing it by sticking you on diplomacy duty. Yâknow, chill out a few rebellions (sorry, pathetic mewlings of an inferior race), get your scoutâs badge for number of controlled planets visited and stomped under the boot of the empire. You even get to be part of the planetary improvement efforts, sometimes. Bye bye famine, hello indentured servitude.
But there are only, like, fifty Viltrumites. Not exactly enough to keep an eye on you when your bones start to feel all buzzy and your thoughts wonât stop racing and-
Listen.
When you were human, you couldnât just throw yourself into traffic, or off a high building, or play around with knives. You werenât suicidal, jeez. But nowâŚ
Itâd be a waste not to see how far you can go, wouldnât it?
âIâm not distracted.â It comes out more like- yeah, not words.
Maybe kind of like those aliens who were part gas, part weirdass green lava, and who just bubble at each other to speak. You thought they might be tricky to control, but it turned out they all have this central node - a bit like the Martians, if you remember correctly - and they explode if you pop it. Which is very, very easy when you have both super strength and speed.
Speed is your Thing. Could say itâs your drug of choice, in fact, haha.
Hey, youâre never gonna be the strongest out there. That was a fact of life from day one.
Youâre young. Hybrid advantage means you grow in strength faster than a pure Viltrumite would at first (apparently. There arenât exactly proper scientists in the empire anymore, not ones whoâll go in depth, and your new bodyâs inferior race Papa is dead and gone - along with his entire planet in a spot of bad luck, choosing self-destruction over being a Viltrumite breeding ground), but you arenât the main character of this world. You canât count on a last minute power up, especially when youâre sort of beingâŚwell, as close to coddled as a Viltrumite can be.
And youâre tiny compared to most of these bulked up jackasses. Even Anissa has you beat. Which strikes you as bullshit - surely those overpowered genes couldâve boosted your height by a few more inches than puny human you. But fuuuuck reaching the higher shelves in grocery stores, you guess. Youâll just have to float.
So, right - speed.
Coloniser-You already had that as her focus, which is nice. Boosted you up for when you body-snatched her. Excellent choice on her end, really, compliments to the chef. Why hit hard when you can turn yourself into a human- oops, Viltrumite missile? Yeah, it was gross as fuck the first time you managed to plunge through Conquestâs guts, but it made you feel like a god.
You donât feel so much like one now, obviously.
But whatever. Youâll get him next time. Totally.
âYou know I expect your full attention when we fight.â
Most of what Conquest says sounds like a threat. Itâs just his natural state, so you donât really blame him for it. You gear yourself up for another cratering, but instead he drifts over and cradles your jaw where itâs been thoroughly dislodged, a few muscles shredded in the bargain.
Flip a coin: is he gonna tear it off, or-
His massive hand pulls your jaw back into place. The bones grind together, and it hurts like a bitch; youâd be crying if you could. And you donât mean that in a I must not show weakness way. This body canât cry, and youâre notâŚa hundred percent sure if thatâs a Viltrumite thing or a whatever-your-dad-was-before-the-planet-imploded thing. Seems unwise to draw attention to, just in case.
Youâre good at healing quick, too. Regeneration is so fucking inconsistent across Viltrumites. Some of them are fixed up from similar injuries in seconds, others take weeks, and age is only a factor half the time. Tough to make generalisations when your sample size is tiny, but youâve met other aliens who have better regen, or even durability. Viltrumites mostly win out by having such a power combo, the Gary Stus.
You try to communicate via a glare from under your fringe that you do pay attention when getting your ass beat by Conquest, thank you kindly. Itâs a big blaring sign - red and flashing and fucking neon - of how badly dimension-hopping has fucked you up, that you consider it a highlight of your- year? Decade? Whatever.
The aliens conquered by the empire areâŚ
Yeah. Theyâre terrified or grateful or rightfully pissed off or too alien to understand what they feel. And always, always pathetic. Always less than lines drawn on a page, and you didnât think you were this kind of person, but you get sick of being careful. You get sick of playing nice, when youâre forced to be in this shitty world in the first place.
Viltrumites donât hang out. They get partnered up sometimes, usually on missions to new planets or against enemies that need a bit more effort to settle down, but in general thatâs as far as socialisation goes. Some have their favourites and what your human memories want to label almost sorta friendships. Some fuck, though no oneâs succeeded in making a kid with another Viltrumite inâŚa long fucking time. Pre-virus. So itâs discouraged except for stress relief kept on the down low, especially with in-breeding a long-term risk if they manage to get another generation or two out.
Youâre in a rare position, actually having someone related to you around.
But even then, you donât see Kregg often. Heâs too busy being a general, serving the might of the empire, blah blah blah. Not like he even knows how to talk to you when you do see him. He gets torn between propagandist lectures and acting like heâd lock you up in the nearest tower if he could (and if you couldnât, like, fly away).
So, yeah, you spotted Conquest when he happened to be called in when you reported on a planet way above your level to handle andâŚ
âWhat has you disregarding me?â He grips your nose next and you brace yourself.
By his standards, the re-snapping - gross, did it have to start healing wrong? - is gentle. And itâs kinda silly, given how big his hands are, that heâs fixing what he broke. Even if he follows it up by creepily licking the blood from his fingers with satisfied hum.
âIâd think your blood was pure if I didnât know better,â he said the first time he did it. Christ, if you werenât from another universe, youâd have such a hang-up over being a hybrid. Probably try and prove yourself all the time and shit. Which is maybe what all the other Viltrumites assume is behind you willingly being around Conquest.
You test your jaw. It grinds and clicks, and your tongue isnât quite all the way attached, but itâs good enough for speech.
âBoring mission. Still shaking it off.â You shrug, and look pointedly at his bloody nose and split lip. No comparison, obviously, but- âGot you.â
Explains why he targeted that sort of hit this way. And it gets him grinning now, janky teeth on full display. Theyâve been smashed out of his mouth too many times to grow back neatly like yours do.
Again, threatening, but youâre pretty sure the fight is over with; youâve been at it for a while, and he only sometimes goes overboard on the first day of a catch up.
You keep an eye on his gauntlet in case he changes his mind.
âSo you did.â He clasps your shoulder with the gauntleted hand, which, not super great for the whole watch out thing. You automatically roll your shoulder, not to shake him off but more at the weird-funny feeling of it being so stupidly big that it covers your entire shoulder and then some. âWell?â
The expectant stare makes you sigh. âDo I have to?â
âYes.â His grip tightens just enough to ache. After being around weak aliens for so long, itâsâŚnot comforting, but something diagonal to it, to feel the effect of being touched like youâre still human. Even if what he wants isnât human at all.
He lets you rise higher in the air until youâre closer to level with his stupidly Jojo-esque frame. Makes it easier to reach out and swipe your thumb through the blood on his chin, because ew, youâre not going for the nose blood. You donât have many standards left to cling to, but this is one of them.
You wish you could say it doesnât taste like anything special. Thatâd be a lie.
It buzzes on your tongue, familiar and foreign all at once. A twisted sense of violence and home and power, calling out to your very cells. Itâs not just in your head - you know youâre not that far gone - but none of the other Viltrumites ever talk about this, and it isnât the same with alien blood.
Not that youâve been, like, licking up alien blood. Yuck. But when you do fight, sometimes youâre gonna get blood in your mouth, alright? Fighting is messy. So messy, even if youâre a lot better at it now than at the start. Itâs a shame long-range attacks are so looked down on, and any form of gun is outright banned. Not formally, but Viltrum doesnât skimp on their very special, fucked up code of conduct.
âHappy, fruitcake?â Your speech is still sloppy. You have to emphasise the tone by tipping your head and rolling your eyes.
âExtremely.â Fucking freak. Too bad heâs the closest thing you have to a friend.
God, you need to hurry up with faking your death, thatâs plain sad.
Now youâve both got the fight out of your system, damage on the minimal side because itâs only day one and he usually waits until the last day to put you in a coma, itâs onto a different kind of venting (shut up, not that kind). You take point there because it always takes him a while before heâll complain about the work the empire has him doing.
Youâre in a better position to, since you can start off focusing on how dull and weak the aliens are, and how maintaining peace and all that shit is totally lacking in excitement, and the best moment of it all was when one group managed to create some fucked up kaiju that had wings and spewed acid that actually ate holes through your uniform, but still - fucking still - didnât last an hour.
It depressed you for weeks after. Even the almost ice cream the planet happened to have (you donât give a fuck that the source were slugs aliens which flash like cop car lights, it was closer than youâve ever gotten) couldnât cheer you up, and you were relieved when it was decided the planet was subjugated enough. Fucking losers.
Neither of you like staying still for long, so youâre circling the planet while you talk. Mostly you. The talking, that is, not the circling - he matches you there, looking as close to content as a psycho like him gets.
To the shock of no one, Conquest isnât a great conversationalist.
Oh, he can go on a hell of a monologue, and is a brilliant source of info about the old days even if there are spots he wonât get into (and poking too hard there gets you launched into the nearest planet. Or moon. Once you got close to a black hole, and that actually freaked you out, but he caught your ankle and lobbed you through some poor rando alienâs warship. You spent hours flying about the scraps, picking up anything which looked interesting. Including but not limited to; a laser sword which lasted ten minutes into a Conquest fight (impressive), an alien grenade you accidentally set off in your face, and chewing gum that tasted like a meteor shower).
Heâll threaten plenty and insult your bloodline and call you pathetic, as if he isnât the creepy loser hanging out with the equivalent to a kid.
Maybe a teen. Viltrumites have vague standards since, yâknow, theyâd nearly extinct except instead of being an endangered species, theyâre just a dangered species, haha. Youâre lucky Kreggâs your half-brother, since youâd have probably been killed off while you were younger and weaker otherwise.
Instead, you survived long enough to become the only Viltrumite whoâll willingly chat with Conquest. And fight, but thatâs part of the deal.
You can tell it still confuses the hell out of him. But heâs never asked why you keep it up, and youâre pretty sure he never will. Too close to showing weakness. Itâs all cool to spill your guts when your opponent is also spilling their guts - and about to kick the bucket. Less chill if murder isnât on the agenda.
Not that youâre dumb enough to think heâd never kill you. Youâve already come close a few times. But, wellâŚthe sequel canât ever live up to expectations.
Besides, Viltrumite numbers are too low, and heâs a loyal soldier. Mad as a hatter, but Viltrumites only kill other Viltrumites if they betray the empire or are too pathetic to live. Your whining doesnât count as betrayal, as youâve made your case for before, and so far heâs held back.
You wonder what could push him to changing his mind. You wonder if you could use him to fake your death.
Itâs an idea youâve been turning over in your mind a lot lately. You think it might work. Kregg has told you plenty that thisâll get you killed, so why not prove him right?
Problem is, youâd have to get Conquest to believe it too. The psychosis doesnât make him stupid, and he knows his strength better than anyone. Pretending heâs gone too far, or even getting him to go too far, is trickier than it should be.
âBeen sent to anywhere fun recently?â You spin so your back is to the planet, folding your arms behind your head as you keep up the orbit. Two moons follow their own paths, one a matching red to the planet and the other a colour unique to this solar system that makes you think of popping candy and sparklers. There used to be a third, and the broken pieces of it form a ring around the planet.
One thing that hasnât lost its shine is flying.
When you woke up you were shit at it. Almost got yourself killed by that alone. But the thrill of it soon had you flying as much as possible, throwing yourself into spins and dives and bursting with Tim Curry levels of glee whenever you get to travel in space. Right now youâre both at the edge of the atmosphere so you can breathe and talk and all that, but youâre close enough to that endless void to make it impossible not to be in a good mood.
One glance at him and you can tell he hasnât had a good run.
You whistle. âThat bad? I thought there were sâposed to be some good ones - er, whatâs his face, he reported the high radiation system.â
ItâsâŚprobably bad that you havenât learnt the names of all the Viltrumites. There arenât many. But you know all the important ones, and this guy is like, super low level. Gets sent to scout ahead a lot, which is totally unfair because youâd be way better at it than him, but whatever. Life sucks. In your defence, youâd say you have a 50/50 chance of guessing it right if pushed.
Conquest doesnât care enough about the rando either to make you guess. He scoffs, arms crossed and looking down at the planet in a funny contrast to your own pose. His head is also tilted to you even if his gaze is narrowed on the ground far, far below.
âA disappointment. I had such high hopes and yet their Godzilla had so little to offer me.â
You twist toward him fully, unsure if you heard right. âDid you just say Godzilla?â
He nods. âA titan of their limited spacefare, as I understand it. Worshipped by the punier beings reliant on its strength to survive against what they considered foes. But there was nothing godly about it-â
You laugh, delighted. You canât help it.
Fucking Godzilla. There was a Godzilla hanging about this universe! Sure, itâs dead now, and was probably some weird cosmic coincidence - there are too many planets and galaxies for there not to be loads of those - but itâs so fun that it startles you.
âI wouldâve loved to fight it.â
See it is what you meant to say, whoops.
You are not immune to propaganda and all that. And- okay, admittedly you wouldâve been so fucking up for battling Godzilla, even if itâs unlikely to be anything like the real (fake?) one.
He harrumphes. What an old man. Heâs not actually the grumpy sort - even now, he seems in a good mood - but youâve noticed he has been more disappointed with the missions he gets. Expansion has slowed down and thereâs less call for total annihilation since, yeah, they donât have the soldiers to spare on all out destruction, but he also wasnât picked for the planet-infiltration mission despite being one of the oldest and strongest viltrumites.
And, yeah, you can guess why. You donât remember everything the fictional version of him said or did, but you canât picture him infiltrating one of the planets picked out for being a possible breeding ground, nice and high priority. Heâd so fuck it up. Youâve said as much, and been introduced to a planetâs core for your trouble.
Still, they really do need to give him something better to do before his moping gets dangerous. Kregg sorta agreed with you when you brought it up at his painful attempts at a family dinner (not that he knows what a family dinner really is, but dinner was involved and heâs technically family, so it counts), but if this was his takeaway? Eesh. Try harder, man.
âAs pitiful as it wasâŚit wouldâve been a worthier use of your time than your current duties.â
You groan. âDonât I know it.â
You like Conquestâs disdain for the missions you get stuck with, since you agree, and he only borders on judging you for them. More recently his opinion leans toward encouraging you to murder everyone on the planets you proxy rule in order to prove your might which-
Yeah, psychotic, but you wonât lie; itâs tempting. Would get you stuck with the same Unstable Substance label as him, though, and unlike him youâre not as useful or pure-blooded, and havenât earned respect through a literal fucktonne of battles. They might actually kill you for being disobedient.
Conquest might be the one to kill you for it, since as much as he might talk shit on occasion, he wouldnât be happy if you shirk your duties. Prove to be a disloyal half-breed and all that. Youâll push your luck, not tap dance over the line.
âYouâll be joining me on my next mission.â
âWhat?â Your eyes widen. You think itâs a joke at first, a taunt, but Conquest isnât the type. Plus he looks smug, veering off from orbit to approach the planet again, likely after a round two now youâve recovered. Naturally, you follow. âHow did you- How did you pull that off?â
He shrugs. It looks ridiculous with his massive shoulders. âI asked. Youâre welcome.â
No way Kregg would agree, right? Itâs as close to a suicide mission as a Viltrumite can get. Youâre briefly stung - you didnât think he was that shit of a brother - before shaking it off. Empire trumps all, you know that, and your worth is ehhhhâŚcould be better. Put it in an improvement plan.
Jazz has never quite loathed anyone like she loathed Jason Todd.
And that was saying something considering the number of annoying people she has met both in life and in death (from the Ghost Zone, of course).
Jason was different compared to all of them. He was on a whole other level.
The guy was obnoxious and loved being right.
It was something she learned quickly ever since she had corrected him in their shared Lit class one time. After that, Jason had been relentless in making sure they were always arguing.
He always had to have the last word, looking at her with that stupid toothy grin plastered onto his face if she didn't have a smart remark to bite back with.
She wasn't sure if it was his ego or his need to fight with anyone he deemed worthy compared to him or whatever hellish trauma he went through, but she didn't care.
If there was one staple part of Jazzs core, it was that she was competitive and would not hesitate to crush you to get to her academic dreams.
Jazz was beating him to the deans list one way or the other, and he would have to deal with it!
Still, even with being competitive, Jazz tended to stick away from Jason Todd as much as she could unless she couldn't.
The one time she couldn't, being assigned together on a final project for said Lit class, Jazz had assumed it was dumb luck.
Now though?
Now Jazz was cursing out any god that would listen because she knows somehow it was also their fault that she's staring at that exact same guy whos been avoiding her and their shared project as Dannys new General and Fright Knight.
Jazz with a pinched nose in disgust: You've got to be kidding me-
Jason without missing a beat, groaning loudly: Not even in the land of genuine dead, can I escape you.
Jazz ignoring his comment: Is this where you've been going the entire time?
Jason: What I do outside of class is none of your business, Nightingale.
Jazz, defensive: It is when you've been avoiding me and our group project due on Monday! I'm not losing my scholarship because of some rich fruitloops, kid!
Jason with an eye roll: You're so dramatic you're not gonna lose your scholarship
Jazz trying not to wring his neck: How would you know!?
Danny deciding to finally interrupt them: Uh, can someone catch me up here?
Jazz and Jason in unison: Shut up Danny!
Jazz immediately after, pointing a finger at Jason: Wait, don't tell my brother to shut up!
Jason with raised eyebrows, channeling his inner drama nerd: Your BROTHER????
Immediately both start arguing all over again.
Tucker whispering to Sam and Danny: Something tells me we made a mistake-
Danny's holding his face in his hands in despair and nodding.
Sam snorts with her arms crossed, eyes flickering between the two, amused: No shit, sherlock
_________________________________________
Or basically
Jazz has the absolute misfortune to meet her younger brothers new Fright Knight, General of the realms. She thinks he's a regular asshole until it turns out he's actually the same asshole that's been paired up with her for a group project at uni and had been avoiding her since it started.
Tagging @greypetrel @hollytree33 @inquisimer @rosella-writes @saessenach @layalu and anyone who'd like to share something!
I honestly just wanted to share this cool embroidery I'm working on for my Ren Faire chemise. It'll run along the points of the sleeves (they're wide and hang loose from the elbow). I was originally a lot more ambitious with it, but ultimately decided that I would start small and add more for later years so everything is done in time c:
