#ice powers

You’d stood in your kitchen, holding the paper bag with his lunch in it, listening to him pace on the other end of the call like the world might personally lunge at you the second you stepped outside. His voice had that careful edge to it- the one he used when he was trying not to sound scared, trying not to sound like he was putting you in a box lined with bubble wrap.

“I’m not made of glass, Robert,” you’d said, already slipping on your shoes. “You forgot your lunch. I live ten minutes away. I’ll be fine.”

Which was true. More than true, actually.

“I’m serious,” he’d insisted. “The stuff I deal with-”

“-is your job,” you cut in, frustration flaring. “Not a contagious disease. I’ll drop it off, you’ll eat, and the universe will continue spinning. Promise.”

He’d gone quiet then, which somehow made it worse. Like he was weighing whether he had the right to stop you. Like he was reminding himself, again, that you were his sister, not his responsibility.

Your eyes drifted to the bottle of lemonade sitting on the counter, still warm from your forgetfulness- sitting just beside the fridge.

No one else was home. No one else could see.

You flexed your fingers, feeling the cold coil inside your palms. Slowly, deliberately, it seeped into the bottle. A thin mist curled up from the glass as frost spread in intricate crystalline patterns along its surface.

If he knew the full truth, he’d never let you leave your apartment.

“Text me when you leave,” Robert says finally.

You’d rolled your eyes, but you did it anyway.

Now, ten minutes later, you’re walking down a hallway that smells faintly like cleaning solution and old coffee, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The lunch bag is warm in your hand, grease already starting to seep through the paper. You’re still irritated- not enough to turn around, but enough that you’re already rehearsing the speech you’ll give him about trusting you, about how you don’t need a babysitter just because his line of work is dangerous.

Your fingers feel colder than the rest of you.

You flex them inside your sleeves, subtle, forcing warmth back into your palms before it can show. The cold is always closest when you’re annoyed. Like it’s listening. Like it’s eager.

You turn the corner too fast.

You collide with something solid.

The bag crumples against a broad chest, the impact knocking the air out of you for half a second. You stumble back half a step, heart jumping into your throat.

“Oh-”

He’s tall. Taller than you expected. Standing with arms crossed and the kind of blatant swagger you distrust immediately. Dark hair pulled into a ponytail, broad shoulders, wearing a skin-tight outfit trimmed with flame motifs.

For half a treacherous second, your brain offers an unhelpful observation: Unfortunately attractive.

Then the heat rolls off him again, deliberate this time, and your jaw tightens.

Your body answers the way it always does.

Cold gathers at your core, sharp and clean. Your breath fogs- barely- and you force it back down, clamping control around it before it can bleed into the air.

“Seriously?” you breathe.

He looks over, dark eyes narrowing as if trying to place you.

“Yeah?” His voice is louder than necessary. Too loud, actually. “Got a problem?”

You straighten, irritation snapping into place. Any stray appreciation evaporates on contact. You don’t have to ask who he is, you're heard enough about him from Robert to last a lifetime. Phoenix flame this, pyrokinesis that, infamous hothead with a short temper and ego to match. And he antagonizes your brother, specifically.

Enemy on sight.

“I’m guessing you’re Flambae,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the way your skin prickles with the urge to cool the space between you by several degrees.

“Tch,” he scoffs. “You just ram into people for fun, or-”

“I’m-” you adjust your grip on the bag, grounding yourself in the warmth of it, “-well, I’m here with lunch for Robert.”

His eyebrows lift, surprise flashing across his face before morphing into something sharp and amused, like he’s just been handed a new toy.

“Robert, huh?” he says, eyes flicking over you in a way that makes your spine stiffen. “Didn’t think Mecha Man had someone bringing him lunch. Guess miracles really do happen.”

You tighten your grip on the bag. “He forgot it.”

“Uh-huh.” He leans back, arms still crossed, heat rolling off him like he’s doing it on purpose. The air between you feels wrong- like summer pressing against winter. “Sure. That what we’re calling it now?”

You stare at him. Flat. Unimpressed.

“Do you ever get tired,” you ask, “or is being insufferable a renewable energy source?”

That earns a laugh- sharp, bright, and irritatingly pleased. “Wow. Mouthy. You always talk to your boyfriend like that?”

“I talk to everyone like that,” you say. “It’s a public service.”

He chuckles. “Damn. Rob really let himself go. Letting his boyfriend run interference, bringing his lunch-”

“-you’re making a lot of assumptions,” you interrupt.

His grin sharpens, teeth flashing. The temperature spikes again, brushing against your senses like a dare.

“Careful.”

“Or what?” you ask. “You’ll set something on fire? Congratulations. Very subtle.”

A door opens down the hall.

“Hey.”

Robert’s voice cuts in, grounding you instantly. The cold recedes, obedient, folding back under your skin like it was never there.

“Thanks,” he adds. “You didn’t have to bring me this.”

“I know,” you say, already handing him the bag. “But you forgot your lunch, and I refuse to let you survive on vending-machine food out of spite.”

He takes it with a sigh, shoulders relaxing as if the simple act of seeing you upright and uninjured has taken something off his mental checklist.

“I told you I could-”

“-and you were lying,” you finish.

“You really let him talk to you like that?” Flambae adds. “What, he manage your schedule too? Pick out your outfits? Tell you when it’s bedtime?”

You blink once. Then twice.

“Oh,” you say lightly. “So you’re just like this all the time.”

Flambae chuckles. “Hey, I’m just saying. You bring your boyfriend lunch, you nag him like his mom, you hover like-”

Robert exhales for exactly three seconds through his nose. A warning sign, if you know him.

“He’s my brother.”

The words drop into the hallway like a wrench hitting concrete. Flambae freezes.

“Your… what?”

“My brother,” Robert repeats, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Born that way. Not dating. Never have been. Never will be.”

You smile, sharp, satisfied, and unrepentant. “And now that we’ve cleared that up-”

Flambae stares at you, then groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“…You’re siblings?”

“Yes,” you and Robert say together, deadpan.

Flambae drags a hand down his face.

You step past him, shoulder brushing his arm on purpose this time.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “if I were his boyfriend, this still wouldn’t have gone well for you.”

Flambae watches you go, expression caught somewhere between annoyance and reluctant respect. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Later turns out to be fifteen minutes after you leave.

Which is to say: just enough time for your irritation to cool into something sharper, more brittle, and for Robert to be distracted long enough that you think you’re in the clear.

“Hey. Lunch delivery.”

You close your eyes for exactly one second.

When you turn, Flambae is leaning against the railing like he owns it, flames nowhere in sight but heat still radiating off him in that irritating, effortless way. A leather jacket half-zipped, posture loose, grin dialed down from obnoxious to- annoyingly- charming.

He’s changed tactics. Which somehow makes it worse.

“What do you want,” you say flatly.

“Wow. No hello?” He presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

You look pointedly at his unblemished torso. “Tragic.”

He laughs, softer this time. Less performative.

“Okay, fair. I deserved that earlier. I was being a dick.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Were?”

He winces. “Am actively working on it.”

You should keep walking. You know this. Instead, you cross your arms and wait, because apparently self-preservation is optional today.

“Well?” you prompt.

He straightens, pushing off the railing. “Look. I didn’t know you were Robert’s brother. And even if I did, I still shouldn’t have run my mouth like that. He’s… protective. I poke at him. That’s on me.”

Something in your chest tightens.

Your fingers curl.

The temperature drops.

Not dramatically- nothing that would set off alarms. Just enough that your breath fogs faintly in front of you before you clamp down hard.

Flambae notices anyway. His eyes flick to the air, then back to you.

“…Did it just get colder?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “It’s an old building.”

“Uh-huh.”

You glare at him. “You antagonize my brother for fun, insult me to my face, and now you’re flirting?”

He grins. “I like dangerous men.”

That does it.

The cold surges before you can stop it.

Frost spiders across the metal railing beside you- thin, delicate, crystalline. The concrete beneath your feet creaks softly as a lacework of ice blooms and immediately stills, like it’s waiting for permission to exist.

Flambae’s heat flares instinctively, flames licking briefly at his shoulders before he reins them in, eyes wide now- not with fear, but interest.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “So that’s what that is.”

You swallow, forcing the cold back down, down, down. The frost melts just enough to look like condensation. Normal. Explainable. Nothing Robert would clock if he came looking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, voice tight.

He chuckles under his breath. “Sure you don’t.”

You step closer- too close- and point a finger at his chest, careful not to touch.

“You don’t get to flirt with me like you didn’t spend time treating my brother like a verbal punching bag. You don’t get to act charming and pretend that makes it okay.”

The air around you sharpens, temperature plummeting another degree.

His grin fades. Good.

“I care about him,” you continue. “He carries more than he should, and you make it worse. So if you’re going to talk to me, you do it with respect. Or you don’t talk to me at all.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the low hum of the building and the faint hiss of ice transforming into simple dampness.

Then Flambae exhales slowly, heat rolling back under control.

“…Damn,” he says. “Okay. Message received.”

You expect another joke. Another jab.

Instead, he nods once. Serious. “I’ll back off. From him. From you. Unless you say otherwise.”

Your powers react again, a thin sheen of frost glazing the stairwell window behind him like a halo of winter light.

You curse under your breath.

He notices that too.

“Conflicting feelings?” he asks, voice low, amused but not mocking.

You glare at the ice, then at him. “Leave before I accidentally turn you into a popsicle.”

He laughs, warm and bright, stepping back with his hands raised. “Noted. For the record, though-”

He pauses at the landing, glancing back.

“-worth it.”

It had been six months since Villain had accessed the amplification device. Six months since they enslaved the world through mind control. Seven months since Hero had broken up with them, and nine months since Hero had received the gift that would turn out to be their most valuable asset.

The pendant was silver, and had a faint blue tinge, a similar hue to the glow in everyone’s eyes. It prevented any telepathic connection to or manipulation of Hero’s mind. Villain had called it a gesture of trust. It was the one thing they had done that wasn’t totally controlling.

Hero had taken the tracker out of the pendant ages ago, but other than that, it worked just as Villain had promised it would. Hero was the only one in the entire world not under their power. Even Superhero themself had fallen.

Hero grabbed the microwave dinner from the aisle freezer and trudged up to the counter. They kept a baseball cap on their head and had a hoodie over that. It was so not their usual style, but they couldn’t risk being seen. Every nation had been ordered to bring them in. Not only were the civilians and police forces chasing them, but also special operatives and secret agents from around the globe. Villain would stop at nothing until Hero was theirs again.

The cashier rang up their items, their shimmering eyes raking over each one and taking in Hero’s form.

“Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” they asked.

Hero nodded quietly.

“Total downpour,” they said in an uncharacteristically gruff voice.

Everyone under Villain’s control got to maintain their own personalities and traits from before, only now, they had an unwavering, blind loyalty and complete obedience to their supreme leader, Villain. They wouldn’t even dream of disobeying them, or if they did, they could only rebel in the most subtle of ways. Those acts were usually snuffed out quickly.

Hero paid for their items in cash. Always in cash.

“You don’t see one of these every day,” the cashier said, putting the dollar coin in the register.

“Yep.”

“Have a good night, stay dry!”

“You too.”

Hero shuffled out of the store and into the rain. They hoped no one saw the droplets of water freezing to their clothes.

They crept into their motel room and flicked one table lamp on. They never let the whole room stay lit. They set their bags down in the kitchen and slid the frozen meal packet in the microwave.

They watched their meal spin round and round. When they pulled it out, it was still cold in the center. Hero slid it back in.

They flopped on the couch with their dinner. All was quiet.

Too quiet. It felt like the kind of silence that came when someone was holding their breath, not the kind that came from utter solitude.

Hero pulled their gun from its holster and aimed at the curtains.

“Hey, easy! Not here to hurt you!”

“What are you doing in my room?” Hero demanded in that same gravelly voice.

“Cut the theatrics, Hero, it’s me.”

They were discovered after all. Hero removed the safety and hoped they wouldn’t make a lethal shot.

Superhero stepped out of the shadows, hands up in surrender.

“I said I’m not here to hurt you, put it down,” they said.

“None of you want to hurt me,” Hero snapped in their normal voice, “I believe Villain’s instructions were, ‘bring them in unharmed’.”

“I’m not trying to bring you in, either.”

Hero shook their head, taking aim.

“Superhero, if you’re still in there, I’m sorry about this-”

“Look at my eyes.”

Hero tilted their head. Superhero’s eyes were devoid of the blue glow. The safety went back on.

“I don’t follow.”

“I broke my connection,” Superhero said, taking a careful step forward, “it wasn’t easy. I almost got a concussion from the reset. It’s me, Hero.”

Icy tears stung their eyes. Hero lowered the gun back in its holster. Superhero had them in a hug instantly.

“Shhh,” Superhero said, “it’s okay. You’ve been alone for so long, haven’t you?”

Hero nodded, sobbing.

“It’s been the worst! I can’t trust anyone!”

“I know. Me neither. I managed to save a couple of our friends in the U.S., but it hasn’t been easy. We’re trying to formulate a plan to release everyone and stop Villain from having any control.”

Hero shuddered, their shoulders slumping in relief.

“I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

…

Superhero brought Hero to the rebel bunker, where they finally got a decent night’s sleep without having to wake every few hours to check over their shoulder.

Hero came down to the mess hall, where Superhero was waiting for them.

“We’ll need to take a sub back to the states. Intel says that’s where Villain is now.”

Hero nodded, eating mouthful after mouthful. It was the first good meal they had had since this all started.

“We won’t be detected as long as we’re careful- run.”

Hero blinked, looking up at Superhero.

“What did you say?”

Superhero looked like they were having a migraine. They brought their hands up to their left eye, just managing to pull a tinted contact lens out. Their eye flickered with a blue glow.

“Run,” they pleaded, “it’s a trap-agh!”

Their eyes dilated, and they pulled the other contact out, letting their eyes shimmer properly. Hero stared in horror, scrambling to get up and bolting from the hall. They just had time to see a single tear roll down Superhero’s cheek before the master crime-fighter was running after them.

Hero skated on a trail of ice as all the other “rebels” removed their tinted contacts and converged on them. Hero blasted through most of them. They ran to the gate, but it was sealed shut. They started freezing it, hoping to compromise the integrity of the metal.

The heavy steel screeched, stretching and contorting and-

The cacophony of footsteps thundered louder from all entrances.

“Come on, come on,” Hero begged.

The prick in their shoulder told them it was all over.

“No!” Hero shouted.

The first rays of dawn peeked through the gate. Hero started to climb through the opening, but then their limbs failed them.

The group surrounded them and pulled them back inside, laying them gently on the floor. Superhero knelt beside them.

“Shh,” Superhero said, “it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Tears streamed down Hero’s cheeks. The world became dim and faded into nothing.

…

Hero startled awake. They sat up as the world came into focus. A grand bedroom greeted them. Gold plastered every piece of furniture. Photos of corgis hung on the gilded walls. The canopied bed they lay in was adorned with the softest covers and pillows.

Hero still wore their pendant.

A knock came at the door, and Villain strode in. Hero watched them cross the room with wide, frightened eyes.

“Don’t look so afraid, darling,” Villain said, “you know I’d never hurt you.”

“Where are we?” Hero demanded through the shake in their voice.

“Buckingham Palace,” Villain said, “the Queen’s quarters, to be exact, God rest her soul. Did you know she had corgis? Cute little things, but very vocal. They almost never listen. They remind me of someone I know.”

“Villain, I’m not taking you back,” Hero said, “you might as well just let everyone go and-”

Villain laughed.

“You think I mind-controlled the entire world because I’m not over you?” they asked.

There was a long pause. A blush formed on Villain’s cheeks.

“Maybe there’s some truth in that,” Villain muttered, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m not releasing my hold now that I’ve gotten a taste for it.”

Villain approached the bedside, and Hero clutched their pendant protectively.

“Still wearing it, huh?” they asked.

“You’re not getting it,” Hero said, eyes narrowed.

“I’m not going to take your necklace, Hero, it was a gift,” Villain said, “when you join me, I want it to be of your own volition.”

Now it was Hero’s turn to laugh. Breathy, high-pitched, and disbelieving.

“You think I’d do that after all this!?” Hero demanded, “you were controlling before, but now… now…now you’re just a dictator! An actual, one-hundred percent dictator!”

“Dictator or not, I love you,” Villain said, tilting Hero’s chin up, “and deny it if you want, but I think you still love me.”

Hero pushed down the flutter in their heart. This was exactly the reason they had broken things off in the first place! Love wasn’t enough. There needed to be trust, and accountability, and growth, and- not whatever this was.

Villain leaned in and pressed a gentle, tender kiss to their lips. Hero fought the instinct to kiss them back. Villain broke it a moment later, considering them.

“Don’t worry, I have faith in us, Hero, I always have,” Villain said, “please don’t try to run. I hate seeing your skin marred by pinpricks.”

Villain left the room, and Hero saw two guards in the corridor. They assumed their stations on either side of the door. It closed behind Villain, and Hero stared at it for some time before the tears returned in full force, drowning any butterflies that had been fluttering in their stomach. Villain had won, and everything was in their control now.

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Having mystical powers isn't anything new to Illyana, but she won't treat anyone any differently because they do or don't have magical abilities. Her whole life she's been around mutants, so it's something she's used too.

With that said, she doesn't at all mind your powers- and in fact, even enjoys them sometimes. They're very useful to her, in battle and in everyday life. Useful as in she appreciated them and wants to keep you close for that extra support, not so she can straight up use you as a puppet.

Being basically the queen of hell, and just how she is in general, Illyana tends to run a bit on the hotter side, even when it's freezing out. Like a portable heater. And in all honesty? She likes it when you use your ice powers on or around her, the coldness is a nice comparison to how she usually is.

And, in battle she enjoys watching you freeze people, it makes her smile at the funnier moments that happen. She takes advantage of people being frozen, easier targets and all that, but also uses the ice as a distraction for her to come up behind people.

Overall: Illyana appreciates your company, and tends to try and keep you around. Not just for the ice powers, obviously, but they're a bonus.

Ice is nothing new to him, having been on a team with Luna (who famously has ice powers too), but that doesn't mean he pushes your powers off to the side just because he's seen it before.

He actually enjoys seeing what you do with them, how differently you use them compared to how he's seen them be used. Training goes well with him, oftentimes he likes to watch as you practice whatever it is you do with your powers. He likes watching people train, to see if he can incorporate it into his own skills (though there's not much he can do since he doesn't have ice powers).

Sometimes he asks for you to make Ice targets for him to train on.

In battle he tries to stick by you, but he's a very mobile person so it's not always easy. He does check up on you though. Don't take it as something offensive, he knows you and take care of yourself- those enemies didn't freeze themselves- he's just worried about you, as he does with all his friends.

After a long day of whatever it is you two did- be it training, fighting, or even just doing chores- he enjoys sharing a chilled drink with you; courtesy of you. If you fought or trained, he finds it funny that you make his own icepack for him to put on his sore muscles or any bruises he got.