destiny is overrated.

Illyana smiled slightly. “If you were going to keep every piece of paper I sketched on there would be almost nothing else in this house” if there was a pen, marker or pencil in her hand and something to draw on around, chances are Illyana sketched on it. “Not to mention all the jeans I drew on when I got bored in class” she spent maybe half or more of her time in class drawing on the legs of pants if she’d run out of paper. “I don’t think I had a single pair of jeans that I hadn’t drawn on back then.”

“I could always just use magic to grow them out faster” Illyana joked, well… she was mostly joking. “Or just stay in Limbo while they grow out, though if I stay there that long-” she sighed before turning away from the mirror and back to Zatanna. “I’m not sure I’d come back.”

/

"I'm sure I could convince the house to expand the library. Give you an entire section for old sketches." Zatanna didn't do desperate well - she didn't hover - but the impulse to save these things was fierce. Illyana might not see the value in them, and maybe they weren't perfect, but still, Zatanna couldn't let them go. (She was trying to hang onto her without suffocating her. Illyana would always be her first daughter.) "You should have let me make a quilt out of them," Zatanna teased.

"I'd vote for cosmetic magic before going back to Limbo." Anything was better than losing Illyana to that place for a few months again. Or years - or any amount of time. Illyana had to return there regularly, Zatanna had accepted that, but the idea of her being there for an extended amount of time still caused her to bristle. "Is something else happening there?" Another war? Another battle? Or did she... just hate this place that much?

(✉️ ➡️ bella): compare FRIDAY to a cat out loud and she’ll set the tower on fire, zee (✉️ ➡️ bella): she’ll give you a pass in writing. maybe. just don’t repeat it, or draw too much attention (✉️ ➡️ bella): i think it’s more like the other way around ;) (✉️ ➡️ bella): god you’re so hot (✉️ ➡️ bella): i know /this/ cat is (✉️ ➡️ bella): shadowcrest is pretty old. i bet there are some rats hanging out who know the benefits of remaining inconspicious. you’re in denial (✉️ ➡️ bella): too late! sorry babe (✉️ ➡️ bella): reading is for dorks anyway. i’m much cooler (✉️ ➡️ bella): i’m your baby, baby (✉️ ➡️ bella): for at least another couple months, anyway, until i’m usurped (✉️ ➡️ bella): we could do a daddy v mommy issues battle (✉️ ➡️ bella): daddy v daddy (✉️ ➡️ bella): i’m icking myself out but (✉️ ➡️ bella): also not

Illyana continued to flip through the sketchbook until she came to the last drawing. It was unfinished, not the only unfinished drawing in this particular sketchbook but unlike the others this one had a hard line going through most of the drawing. She’d been working on this specific drawing when she had a feeling which caused a reaction that had her hand moving unwilling across the page. Not long after she had, along with Katya, investigated what had caused the feeling, which in the end had resulted in Illyana’s death. “I think maybe you’re reading a little too much into meaningless sketches” she commented as she traced the lines of the drawing for a second. They were of course more than meaningless sketches, it was her way of expressing herself and her feelings when she couldn’t use words to do it, but Illyana would deny they were anything more.

Walking over to the mirror in the room she tossed the sketchbook into a pile of other things she wasn’t bringing with her when she moved. She ran her hand through her hair a few times. Zatanna had probably figured out Illyana was moving by now, she should probably still actually tell her that. Instead she kept running her fingers through her hair, “do you think I should cut my bangs again?” Deflecting and avoiding instead of just saying what she wanted to. “I kinda miss them.”

/

A smirk formed at the corner of Zatanna’s lips. Illyana was right. She was looking at the sketches that Illyana was discarding not like practice lines that she was sure others saw them as – but as works of art. Snapshots of a different time for both of them. A history in the form of pictures. And who were they if they didn’t have their history? What was their future if they didn’t have a past? And with a hand on her stomach, running over the curve that had formed in the past months, that worry she had felt was mixed with excitement and wonder. A new adventure just around the corner. “Maybe,” Zatanna offered with a shrug, forcing herself to look away from the sketches. “But I figure that’s my job, isn’t it? Offer world advice and hold onto every scrap of paper you ever sketched on?”

The book was thrown into a pile that looked like garbage. To either be thrown out or left behind and Zatanna wasted no time in picking it up. “Get clip in bangs. You can take them out if you get board and avoid that awkward growing out phase that happens with blunt bangs.”

Miguel’s shudder was dramatic and exaggerated and joking in a way that made the room feel a little lighter. “You’re a nun now. Please. Be a nun.” It was funny, in retrospect, the idea that their relationship really hadn’t changed much. What they found out in that lab when those words flashed across the monitor should have shifted everything in a new direction, should have redefined how they spoke to each other entirely, but it hadn’t. Zatanna was still his friend, even if her blood ran through his veins, even if it was his mother’s smile on her lips and his brother’s flash of mischief in her eyes. They were friends long before they were family. Miguel was relieved that they’d held on to that, in spite of everything. “I would find a way to fit in. I’d be king of the eighties. And all without having to deal with you!” She was absolutely right, of course, even if he’d never admit it. Miguel had a hard enough time with the shitty tech of this time. He wouldn’t even begin to know how to use a brick phone. The thought of it sounded horrifying. “And what is it you always say about that not counting? Respect your elders, memaw.” His tone was dry, sarcastic, familiar. He knew how to do this better than he’d ever known how to do family. (Maybe this was what family was supposed to be, anyway.)

He was safe here. On some level, he knew that. On some level, he understood that Zee and Tony were heroes and people loved them for it, that Captain America was on posters on bedroom walls and that Superman was cheered when he flew across the skyline. But some habits were hard to break, some things were so ingrained in your psyche that you could never be rid of them entirely. In Miguel’s time, heroism and death went hand in hand. It was hard to shake the panic from his mind at the thought of being unmasked even when the mask was an utterly unnecessary accessory. 

“Seriously? Why? What did I do to deserve this?” There was an unmistakable whine to his tone, like a child in desperate need of a nap. Of course, it was all for show. Miguel might not enjoy the zaps Zee sent his way (who would?) but he didn’t mind them as much as he pretended to, either. There was a certain fondness to them that he recognized, like when Gabri called him an idiot or when Xina rolled her eyes at him. There were some levels of exasperation that could only come with love. Miguel knew that better than most. The flickering bothered him far more than the zapping, if only because each terrifying blink came with the somber knowledge that this time, he might not resolidify. “You’re gonna make yourself go gray,” he told her, because it was easier. It was so much easier falling back into teasing than it was to recognize the gravity of it all, the ache. Miguel had always been so bad at anything real.

"Okay," Zatanna said, pretending to consider his request. "But remember, if I turn into a nun, then the flickering increases, doesn't it?" She touched her chin, tapping the center a few times before smirking at him. "I mean, you can't exist if I'm not promiscuous." There was a glitter of humor in her eyes as she watched him, knowing that the more she said, the more uncomfortable and frustrated he'd become. Their friendship had been rooted in that, and maybe, one day, that would change. Maybe she'd open her eyes and realize that she should pull back on all these things that she shared with him because there was a line of allowing herself to be known by her grandson - and allowing him to see every shadow in her life at the same time.

Like the things she was supposed to protect him from. Like the family he had gotten, that didn't include her or Tony in the future. And again, she knew they must have been dead long before he was born if they hadn't been there for him. It was the only way that could have happened - but what use was it, torturing herself over a future that had taken hold of him? Zatanna swallowed those feelings, focusing on the time she had with him now. It was easy this way to pretend that they could change the future without ruining him in the process. Pretend like this was normal. "I'll get you a cane for your birthday then, old man."

(✉️ ➡️ bella): i never really thought about a pet before i met you, you know (✉️ ➡️ bella): you’ve corrupted me (✉️ ➡️ bella): do you have that face? i’ve never seen it before (✉️ ➡️ bella): clearly instagram has done you dirty. i see top cat hats all the time (✉️ ➡️ bella): how hard could it really be? they’re just cats, they can feed themselves (✉️ ➡️ bella): what if i get you banned from the library doing something /really/ nice? (✉️ ➡️ bella): i’m your baby (✉️ ➡️ bella): in a sexy way, not a weird way (✉️ ➡️ bella): though i do have mommy issues so you know (✉️ ➡️ bella): maybe a weird way /and/ a sexy way

“You know,” Miguel chuckled, “I actually get that a lot.” For all that he’d inherited from his father (far more than he’d admit to sharing with him), Tyler’s skills in lying hadn’t been among them. Miguel didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one, most days. “Those are both terrible. Christ. I’ll stick with O’Hara.” It was almost funny — Miguel’s surname came from a man he had no biological ties to whatsoever, a man who he’d hated and who had had hated him just as much. And still, it felt lighter than the idea of taking on Tony or Zee’s or a combination of the two. At least he didn’t have to worry about disparaging George’s family legacy. His stepfather had done that all on his own. “If I said yes, would you believe me?” He grinned, because it was another lie and she probably knew it. There weren’t any barns in 2099. The fact that Miguel barely knew what a cow was was proof enough of that. “Sorry, my brains always manage to stick around. If I haven’t managed to rot them out of my skull yet, I don’t think you’ve got a chance.” 

Frustration was clear on Zatanna’s face, and Miguel hadn’t really meant to hit a soft spot but apparently he’d found one anyway. He snorted at the revelation, filing the information away for later. It was good, he’d learned, to know the best ways to annoy people. “He’s dead,” Miguel pointed out, “so I guess he probably is eating dirt, in a sense. And I don’t need proof. I’m right.” Now that he knew it bothered her, he’d hold his position to the grave. Which… wasn’t saying as much as it used to, given how close the grave was these days. “Just because you don’t get my culture doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve got loads of culture.” He pulled a face at her slang term, rolling his eyes. “Shock, you’re retro.” It was a familiar dig… and not entirely a fair one, given the fact that they were in a decade where the term was still relevant. He offered her a small smile at her affirmation, finding himself looking forward to the idea of her sharing her culture. “I’d like that, I think. You know, uh… My costume is from a Día de Muertos festival. Gabri dragged me to one in Mexico once.” It was just about the only connection he’d ever had to his culture, and it had been saturated and watered down to boost tourism but he’d felt something for it all the same even if he’d spent half the trip needing Gabri to do his best attempts at translating. 

Zatanna didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult, even coming from her. But considering who he was related to and all the shit that he had gone through — maybe it was a little good. It meant part of him would always have to be honest. And the way he fought to pretend to be anyone else than who he was, she was thankful for that. He’d always have to be a part of Miguel — always have to be part her and Tony. Even if he wouldn’t take their last names. “They’re great,” she corrected. “That’s our family legacy, don’t knock it.” While she didn’t believe his mother had given him much growing up, certainly not love, she doubted that she would have taken Miguel to a barn to raise him — if they even existed in 2099. What small parts she had seen looked like something from a futuristic movie where people got their full nutrition from pills and didn’t actually eat anything at all. (That, and she didn’t think the corporation had left anything remotely close to what a farm was.) “I’d say you oversold the evil corporation dystopian future.” Zatanna shrugged, but the grin on her face told another story. Wondering if she willed it hard enough if it would just happen. There was a chance. And that was all Zatanna really needed.

(✉️ ➡️ memaw): thanks it’s genetic (✉️ ➡️ memaw): whatever you say :) (✉️ ➡️ memaw): first of all, i read plenty of books that aren’t about sequencing dna. i also read books about nucleic acids. (✉️ ➡️ memaw): no. i like google. it’s very helpful. (✉️ ➡️ memaw): i am. (✉️ ➡️ memaw): what the shock is bedazzle? we’re not doing that.

“You can’t ask your fans, Zatanna. They’re biased.” It was a poor hill to die on, Danny knew, because it wouldn’t be hard to prove him wrong even if she were to ask someone less biased than the fans who came to her shows. But Danny wasn’t known for backing down, particularly not when he was having a good time with the argument. And arguing with Zee was always a little fun. “We can bet. I like bets. I’m good at them.” It was a boldfaced lie — he hadn’t won a single bet since returning to New York. Since before, probably, even if all the ones he made in K’un Lun only ended with him giving Davos portions of his meals.

There was a lot he didn’t understand about the way the world worked. When you left society at the age of ten and reentered it very suddenly fifteen years later, that was sort of a given. But… Zee was less impatient in teaching him than most, and Danny knew he owed her a lot for that. He flashed her a brief smile. “So… this is you being a bully, then?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. “We are not! I bet there’s all kinds of good food that you don’t like.”

/

“That means I can’t ask anyone,” Zatanna argued, as if the entire world was at her feet at any given moment. It was possible, if she was willing to dabble in that kind of far reaching magic, but she didn’t tell him that. She might threaten Miguel with that though, he’d react far worse to the idea of her having a dramatic villain origin story than Danny would. Danny was too good to believe that she’d fall that far from where she was now. “Do a lot of gambling do you? That’s a dangerous addiction, you know. You’re lucky you’ve got the money to cover your expenses when you bet on the wrong horse.”

Her mouth opened, and then immediately shut. A hush falling over her as she stared at him. “I’m not teaching you things so you can use them against me.” But he had used it correctly - and he was right. She was definably bullying him. “I don’t like meat for one,” she offered, grinning at his accusation. “But that’s a moral thing. You can’t hold that preference against me. But not liking waffles? That’s an act against God, Danny. The worst preference you could have.”

“Oh, so that is my fault as well? Do forgive me.” As if being a man was not enough, he was being an old man, apparently. Though Loki did not like to think of his centuries of existence as being “old,” he certainly was by Midgard standards. “Surely I sound like one because I am, though I do not appreciate the derogatory connotation of being more advanced in years. I prefer to say I am more experienced.” She was experienced, even he knew that, but she was also still a mortal, and that meant she was not above making a error. “No chance? Really? None whatsoever?” Zatanna’s sarcasm was more appreciated than her denial of the possibility of her making a mistake, and Loki offered her a decidedly condescending shake of his head. And naturally now she was expecting him to clean up her mess. He sighed. “A god’s work is never done, clearly. At least you recognize when to ask for help from a superior being.” He could not say for sure if he could fix him, but the odds were good. “I don’t know. Are you going to ask me nicely?”

/

“Yes! That is your fault too, thank you for agreeing with me.” That wasn’t at all what had happened, but it was clear that Zatanna was happy to close her eyes and pretend in this one scenario. (Loki had never been one to let her win any arguments, so if he was going to fight in a way that was… far cheaper than she was used to, she’d take the easy victory.) “People in this realm would call that out of touch — or crusty. Might want to watch yourself when you brag about that.” She shrugged, letting the words linger. “Absolutely no chance.” Asking Loki for help came with… strings. It always did. Even as she tried to play it off as something he had done that he needed to fix — he was telling her to ask nicely.

Which was normal. And the exact same thing that Zatanna would have done if he had screwed up badly enough to need her help. (She was going to be absolutely thrilled when that day finally arrived.) “Nicely or are you going on about getting on my knees and begging — because I’ll say please, but I’ll never do that last part.”

“Yeah, because a maniac figured it was the best way to get rid of me!” She had a point, of course, even if Miguel would never admit to it. Twice now, he’d run into Zee long before he should have, met her when he shouldn’t have even been born yet. Gabri would say it was like the universe was trying to tell them something, a phrase he used largely to piss Miguel off. The universe doesn’t speak, Miguel used to insist, and Gabri would grin and shake his head and say it does if you shut up long enough to listen, Migs. But listening had never been his strong suit, and this… This wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to dig into what it might mean, why it might insist on happening again and again. In spite of his curious nature, Miguel had learned a long time ago that there were some answers you were better off not knowing. “I am not short. And I’m telling Tony you said that!” As if Tony would care, given the source. Miguel couldn’t imagine Tony holding anything against Zee. Not anymore.

He clicked his tongue at the threat, shaking his head. “You’re gonna zap me for being too much like you? That’s cold, Zee.” But then she turned it around on him, and Miguel sputtered with an expression that made it clear just how offended he was. “I have multiple degrees,” he reminded her for what was probably the thousandth time. “PhDs! And my charm is all me. You’re not charming. Tony’s not charming. I’m charming.” It was total bullshit, because Zee and Tony could both charm their way out of a paper bag with ease, but Miguel was nothing if not stubborn. (It occurred to him that he’d probably gotten that from her, too.) 

She made a good point, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Probably not easy to do fluidly in battle.” The thing about body language was that it was difficult to control. It was something your body did all on its own, with or without your permission. But if you could find a way to control it, even in a limited sense? There was a chance it could save Zee’s life. And Miguel had a pretty vested interest in doing that, one that would have existed even if his life hadn’t depended on hers. He watched as she attempted the moves he’d demonstrated, grinning when the second one yielded a result. “Okay, so, body language works,” he nodded, satisfied. “That’s good to know.”

/

"Well, they were right! You're stuck here. So, can't fault them on logic at least. Just wish they had picked a different time. One with dinosaurs would have been better for your attitude." Their life and their meeting, it wasn't a traditional one. Miguel was forced out of the time that he had called home and found himself stranded here and he was making something out of it. Zatanna couldn't claim that he was making the best out of it, he avoided making any real connections. Falling back on a thousand excuses that he had made up to say that allowing himself to get close to anyone would only hurt more people when he died. And she couldn't argue with him that once people knew him that losing him would hurt - but she couldn't imagine how lonely it was to isolate himself the way he intended to. And how horrible that death would be for him, if he were as alone as he wanted to be. "When you see him, make sure you tell him that I said: we love a short king."

Zatanna opened her mouth and thought about it for a moment, considering that she had constantly been telling him that this was a chance for him to meet his family and find out what family meant to her and Tony - what they had faced and what they were trying to turn it into... She hated it when Miggy had a point. "Not for that exactly," she murmured. "But for some other reason. I have a shopping list. You're very annoying. Which is unique to you." Zatanna opened her mouth, tempted to ruin his entire night with a few reasons why Tony was definitely charming (there were too many videos to prove it - hopefully Miguel would never see those), and when it came to herself? She couldn't pretend to buy what he was selling here. "You really didn't inherit any of our charms..." Zatanna sighed deeply, feigning disappointment.