While the Anchors are away on vacation and the firewall twins are still recovering from the battle against the CCC, the Syndicate decides to use these lowered defenses to check out one of the servers slated to be in the next batch of MRU universes. Namely, by having Crocker and Metal Timmy travel to the world of Mega Man Chaos and scope out Dr. Wily as a potential new recruit. He does so by having Metal magically insert ideas for a new set of Robot Masters and Fortress Guardians into the not-so-good doctor's mind.
A set based on the SMG4 Crew.
When the inevitable invasion proves even more chaotic than usual, Roll volunteers to handle the bosses while her brothers are busy with damage control all across Mega City.
And oh boy what a time she's in for.
The Robot Masters (the Wily Guardian Series)
(if you're wondering why the numbering is weird, it's because 3 and 4 are reserved)
WGN-002
Psycho Woman
Master Weapon: Baka Hammer
Weakness: Super Shotgun
WGN-005
Rap Man
Master Weapon: Sonic Boop (now why would he have that?)
Weakness: Baka Hammer
WGN-006
Shroom Guy
Master Weapon: Super Shotgun
Weakness: Bonk Bat
WGN-007
Arcade Woman
Master Weapon: Pixelator
Weakness: Sonic Boop
WGN-008
Manga Man
Master Weapon: Inkweaver
Weakness: Melon Blade
(Roll is likely very confused about why he was designed to look like an Axolotl. To be fair so was Wily.)
WGN-009
Kat Woman
Master Weapon: Bonk Bat
Weakness: Splattershot
WGN-00M & WGN-00L
The Jump Men
Defeat provides Jump Upgrade Package, providing:
-Triple Jump
-Backflip
-Side Flip
-Wall Kick
-Long Jump (note: Wily somehow managed to replicate the BLJ glitch despite the fact that, from his perspective, it shouldn't have been physically possible. He's genuinely just That Good of a mad scientist.)
-Ground Pound (signature technique of Jump Man Red)
-Flutter Kick (Signature Technique of Jump Man Green)
These are movement options, not Master Weapons, so they don't consume Weapon Energy and can be used in any form.
Boop Devil
(Oh that's why Rap Man had that. Huh, aquatic Devil-series with a massive sonic attack and enough sapience to have an extremely personal vendetta. that'll be fun to deal with.)
Melon Deity
(upgraded versions of three of the robot masters will be replacing the usual refights)
Shroom Slayer
(complete with the full Doom Eternal arsenal and Anti-Shroomy's personality)
Agent Ink
Wily Battle
Super Wily Guardian 34
A giant mech with its colors split down the middle, SMG4's colors on the left and SMG3's on the right. Along with the usual Wily Machine abilities and the fact that it has arms and legs, it also has the ability to summon energy constructs based on memes to fight and access to every single explosives-based Master Weapon in the series. It also has two self-aware AIs included to help Wily keep track of everything, and they spend most of the battle bickering like an old married couple. Once this is all over the Lights will probably be building them separate bodies.
Written for @sterekwritingroom‘s October theme: Autumn
Autumn. Just the word was enough to make Stiles smile. True, living in northern California meant they didn’t get as drastic a change in seasons as other places, but the leaves still fell from the trees, and the temperatures began to drop. People began to dress warmer, and for Stiles this meant he finally had a chance to really showcase the wonder that was his hoodie collection. Simply put - there was much to love about this time of year.
When he was younger, going back to school was what he looked forward to the most about autumn. Even though the weather didn’t start to change until late September, the start of school after Labor Day seemed to herald the change of seasons. New pencils, notebooks, a backpack, and the untapped potential of a new teacher that would inevitably be pulling their hair out in frustration over Stiles before fall break. Those were the good old days.
As a recent college graduate, autumn didn’t mean back to school for the first time in many years. As a relatively new employee of the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department, it did mean he was still up and on his way to the coffee shop first thing in the morning. It was here, on this beautiful, crisp fall morning that Stiles was reminded of the one thing he loathed about the season: Pumpkin spice flavored everything. No, he would firmly tell the barista, he didn’t want to try a pumpkin spice latte, thank you very much.
Waiting in line for his first caffeine dose of the day, he ruminated on why people had decided everything needed to be gourd-flavored for an entire season. He was pretty sure he’d seen it all. Some pumpkin-flavored desserts weren’t too questionable; he was totally on board with a slice of pumpkin pie after Thanksgiving dinner, and he’d even had a pumpkin-chocolate chip cookie that wasn’t half bad. But pumpkin spice flavored potato chips? Pumpkin spice flavored yogurt? And the most offensive to date, pumpkin spice beer? Who the fuck was thinking this shit up? And why? God, the horror.
At his desk at work, which he just decided to declare a pumpkin-free zone, he sipped at his coffee (bold, a splash of caramel) while he went over his pile of unfinished paperwork. He looked up when Derek Hale walked in, because who wouldn’t, and sneered when he saw the coffee in his hand. It looked suspiciously festive, topped with whipped cream and a dash of sprinkles in orange, yellow, and brown.
“Deputy Hale.”
“What?” Derek demanded, his voice gruff.
“Your coffee,” Stiles said.
“My coffee.”
“It’s pumpkin-spice flavored, isn’t it?”
The expression on Derek’s face implied Stiles was causing him physical pain. “Yes. And?”
“It offends me.”
“It offends you.”
“Why are you repeating everything I say?”
“Honestly? I’m hoping it’ll help me make sense of your words. I feel like I’m missing something.” He scratched at his stubbled jaw and said, “Or maybe this is just another bad dream where you talk nonsense and won’t shut up.”
Stiles grinned, slapping a hand on his leg. “You dream of me? I knew it. I knew it’d just be a matter of time before you realized we had chemistry and you stop fighting it. Does this mean you’ll go out with me this weekend?”
Eyebrows raised, Derek reached for his coffee, sucked up a gulp through the straw and put it back on his desk. “You missed the part where I said it was a bad dream, Stilinski.”
“Nope, too late,” Stiles said. “You admitted to dreaming about me. It’s clear I’m finally making it past your defenses.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek said, taking another long drink of his coffee.
“Perhaps,” Stiles agreed, shuddering a bit at Derek’s obvious enjoyment of his pumpkin monstrosity. “But I’ll wear you down eventually.”
Licking a stray bit of whipped cream from his top lip, Derek said, “You realize you’ve never actually asked me out, right?”
It was both good and bad that the sheriff walked through the station right at that moment. Good, because it saved Stiles having to verbalize his painful realization that yes, he’d never actually asked Derek out in the few months he’d been on the job, only hinted at it, or implied Derek would object somehow. It was bad because his father had heard the tail end of his and Derek’s conversation and rolled his eyes at the both of them.
“Hale,” the sheriff greeted with a nod before turning his attention to Stiles. “Son, please don’t make me have to bring back the sexual harassment training program. People come from the state, there’s lectures and a movie, for Pete’s sake,” he said. “It’s painful, so painful, and I’ll make you clean the toilets the week after the chili-cook off contest.”
“Dad! God, that's…” Stiles grimaced. “We’re fine, there’s nothing to see here. I was merely pointing out to the good deputy here that his taste in coffee is revolting. And hey, did you bring donuts? Way to make a Monday better.”
The sheriff grinned and held out the boxes to Stiles. “Yeah, go put them in the break room for me? I couldn’t resist stopping by the bakery when I saw the sign out front. They were having a special on pumpkin spice donuts.”
Stiles could feel his right eyelid twitching. “Et tu, Dad?” He shook his head. “What’s next?”
His father smirked at the reminder of Stiles’ dislike of pumpkin-flavored products. “I hear maintenance switched out the air fresheners over the weekend. Pumpkin spice.”
“This has become a hostile work environment,” Stiles grumped. “I’ll be in the break room if anyone needs me, not eating a donut.”
He was pouting in the breakroom as he set out the boxes of tainted donuts when Derek walked in, closed the door behind him, and locked it. He advanced on Stiles, his hands in fists by his side, and a determined look in his eyes.
“Please don’t hurt me!” Stiles said, ogling Derek’s bulging biceps while simultaneously stepping backwards. “If this is about what I said about your gross coffee, I apologize! I’m sure you’re still a good person even if you drink pure nastiness!”
Firmly in Stiles’ personal space, Derek pushed him against the wall with just his body, his hands coming to rest on either side of Stiles’ head. “Stop talking,” Derek said pleadingly. “Please. Just for two seconds, that’s all I ask.”
“But-”
Derek’s lips thankfully cut off anything else Stiles might have said, though he certainly did attempt to speak. That only made it easier for Derek to slip his tongue past Stiles’ lips and deepen the kiss, turning it from playful and teasing to wet and dirty. Mindful that they were at work, however, Derek pulled back, grinning. “Go out with me on Friday.”
Stiles stared up in awe as he licked his lips.
“Stiles?”
“Fuck me, I was wrong.”
Clearly disappointed, Derek frowned. “Oh. I mean, you don’t have to. I thought-”
“No! No, it’s not that,” Stiles said with a reassuring smile for Derek. “It’s just - I fucking love pumpkin spice lattes.”
For the FLASH EVENT: SOLAR ECLIPSE of the amazing @sterekwritingroom, here have my rough (and god, do I mean “rough”, as in two-hours-under-pain-medecine flash) take on Derek and solar eclipse.
Thank you to all my lovely people in the chat 4 that cheered me on (Sean, Deb, Celeste, I love you <3), and sorry for being a little late on the deadline (can I plead jet lag?).
Derek wants to go home.
The trip to Mexico was long, boring, and too stressful for him to handle. Derek didn’t know it was possible to hate something that much but he now knows that airports and airplanes are the worst things in the world. He has seen so many rude people, smelled the worst things, ate food that tasted like cardboard and then spent hours with his hands against his ears, trying to relieve the pressure against his eardrums that no werewolf healing could fix.
And after all this, they are now stuck in an unknown forest that just feels wrong. The trees are different from the preserve, menacing and unfamiliar. The forest smells of distant sea and rotting plants, like a brewing storm and turned over earth.
With five entire packs gathered in the same little clearing, there are too many unknown werewolves around for Derek to feel calm. The air is too moist and hot for the end of February.
Derek is tired, and he doesn’t want to be here.
Cora has already given up, rolled in a tight ball like a pill bug inside their dad’s coat. Only her hair is spilling out over Derek’s knee and Derek tries to anchor himself on her quiet heartbeats.
At nine years old, Derek has been judged mature enough to have the tradition explained to him.
The mourning under the disappearing sun. The importance of networking and strengthening bonds with other packs. The significance of the tradition, the weight of generations and generations of ancestors crying under the same darkening sky.
At nine years old, Derek is still young enough to hate the whole thing.
The alphas are in the center of the clearing in a loose circle, silent and staring at the sky. His mom is the only one in full shift and, despite his petulance, Derek can’t help also feeling proud of his alpha.
His grandma and dad are standing just behind Derek’s mom, in full shift too. His grandma’s fur is streaked with grey and her muzzle white, as if dipped in snow, but she is still so beautiful.
His dad stares at his mom with so much mushy admiration than, even from this distance, Derek is vaguely embarrassed by them.
Derek’s head turns when he hears Laura’s heartbeats approach. She’s skipping toward Cora and him, smile full of fangs and leaving behind her two betas of the Alvarez pack shell shocked and smelling of frightened arousal.
Derek’s family is the worst.
Laura laughs at his disgusted frown and messes up his hair in passing. She kneels at their side and picks Cora up, still bundled up in their dad’s coat. Cora groggily buries her head in Laura’s neck, lax and trustful. Laura kisses Cora’s forehead before brushing her cheek with her knuckles, encouraging Cora to look up. When Cora finally does, their little sister’s mouth opens up in surprise.
Derek looks up.
The moon is now almost swallowing the entire sun, only leaving a fiercely glowing crescent behind some wispy clouds. The luminosity in the clearing is turning eerie, like a sunset sped up. The temperature drops suddenly.
Slowly, the clearing quiets down. All the wolves are shifted now, eyes glinting gold and red and blue in the growing darkness, all their heads raised toward the sky.
Around them, the world seems to freeze, animals made uneasy by the sudden arrival of night. The insects and birds stop singing. The whole forest sounds dead.
Derek shivers.
When the sun finally disappears completely and the clearing is drenched in dusk light, the five alphas throw their heads backward and start howling.
The howls are hoarse, coming from deep in their chest. It sounds like crying, like a wound.
Derek, after years of knowing only the joyous cries of the hunt, presses his head against Laura’s arm and frown.
Many of the betas join their alphas and, for the long minutes of the eclipse, the wolves sing to the moon.
Against the silence of the world around them, it’s a beautiful scene. A heartbreaking one.
Derek doesn’t howl at the dark sky.
He shivers.
He wants to go home.
—
The light spilling on the hill is starting to dwindle, half the sun eaten up by the moon.
Sprawled on the ground, hands deep in the grass, Derek can already hear the animals of the preserve slow down, hesitate. The birds stop flying to perch in trees.
The world is going still, silent.
Well. Mostly.
A few feet away from him, Lydia, Allison, and Boyd are still sitting on the picnic blanket. The girls, buzzed from all the wine from the picnic, are leaning heavily against Boyd.
The three of them are laughing at the plot of the movie they all saw yesterday during pack night. Lydia is actually giggling, the sound lovely and surprising coming from her; Allison stares at Lydia, eclipse clearly forgotten for a better view. Boyd has his arms around them both, smiling fondly.
At the top of the hill, Isaac is –for some reason— perched on Erica’s shoulders. His elbows rest on top of her head and his head is thrown back so far back that his sunglasses are threatening to fall from his face. Erica’s own head is tilted on the side, resting her temple against Isaac’s thigh.
On their left, Scott has not stopped staring at the sky for the last forty minutes, afraid to miss even a second of it. His mouth is opened in wonder. Despite his werewolf healing, his eyes must be hurting now and he has dry tear tracks on the sides of his face. Nobody has been able to convince him to look down.
Jackson is poking him in the cheek every few minutes and mocking him half-heartedly, bored out of his mind.
Stiles is sprawled on the ground, his head in Derek’s lap and eclipse glasses on his nose.
“These things are ridiculous,” remarks Derek, his hands carding through Stiles’ hair.
“Please. I make them looks good.”
The paper glasses sit oddly on Stiles’ face, too stiff and a little crooked. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are red after hours under the sun, his freckles stark on his skin.
When he smiles at Derek, upside down and mirthful, he’s beautiful.
“You do,” Derek admits simply.
Stiles stares at him for a second, smile melting from amused to fond. He turns his head to kiss the palm of Derek’s hand.Derek cradles the back of his head with his other hand and keeps him as close as possible from him.
The temperature is dropping quickly, deep twilight crawling over the hill. Lydia and Allison finally remember the eclipse and put their own glasses on, Lydia’s face creasing visibly in disgust when the ugly glasses touch her nose. They both rest their chins on one of Boyd’s shoulders before looking up.
Scott is almost jumping up and down, straining his neck to try to look even harder at the last sliver of sun in the sky, his hand grasping Erica’s in excitation. Jackson looks up at Isaac, and they both shake their heads. When Jackson looks back up at the eclipse, he’s smiling.
Their voices are all turn to whispers. The sun is now almost gone.
Derek should shift.
He’s their alpha, and the only one on this hill knowing of the mourning traditions.
This is what brought them so far away from the city. The reason they all took a day off to be together as a pack.
To uphold traditions. To cry at the darkening sky.
But in his lap, Stiles is a warm, reassuring weight. His smell is familiar, blending with the syrupy, electric feeling of his magic bleeding in the air and raising the hair on Derek’s arms. And around him, his pack is vibrating in happiness and excitement.
Finally, the sun disappears completely. For a second, the world is silent, the forest sounds dead.
Derek doesn’t howl.
The silence is broken by Scott whooping, the sound tearing up from his throat in pure excitement.
Erica and Stiles immediately burst out laughing, loud and amused. Isaac, supportive as always, starts shouting too. Lydia and Allison are giggling, uncontrolled chuckles that nobody could make them produce if they were sober.
Amusement and exhilaration spread in the pack, enthusiastic whooping and yells deteriorating in chaos.
Isaac almost falls of Erica’s shoulders when he throws his arms a little bit too vigorously in the air. Scott somehow convinces Jackson to carry him, but they almost overbalance over the slope of the hill.
In Derek’s lap, Stiles is laughing, and laughing, and his magic and joy are almost a physical thing in Derek’s nose, on his tongue.
Derek kisses him, sending the eclipse glasses in disarray on his face, half over his forehead half on his cheeks. Stiles smiles goofily at him.
Derek doesn’t howl at the dark sky.
He doesn’t shiver.
He smiles.
(Thank you for reading this little thing! As always, you can find my other headcanons/not fic here and my fics on AO3. Also come say hi on my tumblr :D )
You can also find the other fics written by the sterek writing groups for the Eclipse event here. They are all wonderful! So go read them all and enjoy!!
For @inkandblade, my awesome @sterekwritingroom pal!
Prompt: Rooftop bar and a fancy cocktail
“That glass is so overly large, it looks like you could swim in it,” Derek said.
It was true; their waitress had arrived carrying Stiles’ drink not on a tray, but with both hands. If anything that had just added to his excitement upon seeing the slushy drink with all the straws. “You’re just jealous you could drink this entire thing and still be sober.”
Derek quirked an eyebrow. “You’re absolutely right, and that’s a good thing. Someone has to make sure you don’t go over the edge of the bar. Now stop being a little shit and enjoy your drink so we can get out of here. Everyone’s staring at us.”
“Everyone’s staring at you. I warned you if you wore that suit it’d happen.” When Derek had put on the black suit paired with a black shirt, Stiles’ heart had nearly given out.
“What was the alternative?” Derek asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gym shorts and a t-shirt?”
Flashing a shit-eating grin at Derek, Stiles said, “Only if it came complete with the backwards baseball cap.”
Finally cracking a smile, Derek said, “Yeah, I can see how that’d have been better. Drink your drink.”
“Okay, God, you’re being such a grump.” Stiles took a long drink, only stopping when it was either stop or get brain freeze. “I don’t think I’ll be rushing through this,” he admitted. "Unless you plan on carrying me out of here. Besides, the party’s for you, ‘Mr. I Got The Promotion Everyone Wanted Because I’m Brilliant.’ Try to enjoy it.“
“I’m enjoying it,” Derek insisted.
“You’re such a liar.”
“I don’t like everyone looking at me!”
“Derek, the sooner you accept the fact that half the people here want to take you home and the other half want to be you, you’ll be happier.”
Dropping his face into his hands, Derek muttered, “I’m married to a crazy person. You’re actually 100 percent insane.”
Stiles let the straw slip from his mouth, his smile showing all his teeth. “90 percent at most. You’re constantly exaggerating. But you love me. Admit it.”
Just a short drabble, based loosely off this prompt: The monster of the week imprinting on Derek and nobody understands why. It’s super ugly but Derek takes his responsibilities Super seriously, and takes it running in the woods and plays catch with it. Everyone is weirded out. Stiles loves it
Thanks so much to my group at @sterekwritingroom for the encouragement!
“This isn’t going to end well,” Scott yelled to Stiles over his shoulder as he followed Derek’s scent deeper into the woods.
As much as he hoped they weren’t going to find Derek in pieces at the hands… paws… of a Chimera, Stiles knew the monster of the week was just that; a vicious, blood-thirsty monster. “Does it ever?” he said with a snort, and ran after Scott, eventually slamming into his back where he was standing at the edge of a clearing, his mouth open wide in disbelief.
Scott put out an arm to steady Stiles, and asked, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“If you’re seeing Derek sitting on the ground with a chimera resting its head on Derek’s lap? Yeah. I’m seeing what you’re seeing.” Stiles choked a bit and added, “Derek? Are you sure it’s safe to be scratching it’s mane like that?”
“Her mane, Stiles,” Derek said quietly, raising his head to meet Stiles’s wide-eyed gaze. “It’s a girl.”
Cooing softly, Stiles approached hesitantly, kneeling beside them. “It’s a girl?” He reached out, cautiously, and at Derek’s nod of approval, he ran a fingertip across her forehead.
“Guys, seriously, this isn’t safe,” Scott scoffed, still from his place at the edge of the clearing.
Stiles, enthralled by the fact that a freaking mythological creature was letting him smooth his fingers over her fur, couldn’t bring himself to respond.
Scott tried again. "Derek, come on, think of Stiles, at least.“
Still ignoring Scott, but meeting Derek’s eyes, Stiles asked, “Can we keep her?”
“Chimeras breathe fire and drink blood,” Derek said, his eyebrows shooting skyward, “but I think we can figure something out until we can help her get to where she needs to go.”
Stiles knocked his shoulder against Derek’s, and grinned. “I’m seriously up for that.”
Written for the FLASH EVENT: SOLAR ECLIPSE at @sterekwritingroom - and I do mean flash - written quickly, unbeta’d and probably more cheese than you need on a pizza…
Thank you @artemis69 for the prompt! xo
On the sandy shore of a lake, Derek and Stiles set down their towels, a cooler, and lastly themselves. There’s no one else there, seeing as it’s private property, but also because everyone’s left the area to drive north to get a better view of the solar eclipse. What Stiles wants to see, however, has nothing to do with the sun, but what’s supposed to appear in the lake during the eclipse.
“I still think you’re asking for trouble,” Derek says, huffing a bit as he peels off his shirt and gets comfortable on his towel. “Listening to advice from old, musty books seems like a great way to die horribly.”
“When did you turn into such a pessimist?” Stiles keeps his t-shirt on, not wanting to add to the freckles he already has on his back and chest. “And when has a book ever been wrong?”
Derek’s response is to raise a single eyebrow. “Do you want the comprehensive list, or just a recap of the highlights?” Poking a finger into Stiles’ abdomen, he says, “There’s a reason no one else wanted to come. They know how this is going to end.”
It’s Stiles’ turn to make a less-than-impressed face, and he goes with an expression of clear disdain. “It’s going to end fabulously, after we’ve spent an afternoon frolicking with a mythical water creature that only appears during a summer solar eclipse.”
“If Cthulhu pops out of that lake, I swear to God, Stiles, I will end you,” Derek says. “You won’t have to worry about anything, ever again.”
“I’m not sure whether to be terrified or comforted,” Stiles answers honestly. “Come on,” he says, standing up and finally shedding his shirt. “I’m already hot, let’s go swim.”
He doesn’t catch the way Derek eyes him appreciatively as he reaches down to set his phone on his towel, but it’s probably for the best. Mythical creatures are still easier for Stiles to believe in at this point than the thought of Derek Hale being even remotely attracted to him.
It’s a good thing Derek’s a patient man. Mostly.
Following Stiles into the cool water, Derek can’t help but let out a contented sigh. The sun’s bright, the weather’s beautiful, and he’s reminded he has super-human strength and he chuckles.
“What’re you laughing about?” Stiles says, turning and looking at Derek, suspicion clear in his eyes.
Derek takes a step closer to Stiles. “Why don’t you come here and find out?”
“Did you get into the special wolfsbane again?” Stiles asks, but he moves to stand in front of Derek in the waist-high water.
“You wouldn’t have to ask if I had.” Grinning now, Derek grabs Stiles by the hips, picks him up, and tosses him as far as he can towards the center of the lake.
Stiles comes up sputtering and coughing, but when he no longer sounds like a drowning victim, he lets out a happy whoop and says, “That was freaking awesome! Do it again!”
And that’s how Stiles and Derek spend the afternoon of the eclipse. No mythical water creature appears, but Stiles gets his own personal water-park ride in the form of a happy, hunky werewolf, and well… Smiles, laughter and being in each other’s company is preferable to most anything.
