Chapter Text
Buttface stood there, nose throbbing, eyes wide, as his son stormed off into the den. Mrs. Haggis watched with mild interest, her face still a perfect mask of indifference.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a resounding crash, nearly unhinging itself from the frame. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the setting sun, was Margaret. She looked every bit the glamorous, world-weary woodchuck she was. Her fur gleamed with a meticulous shine, brushed to perfection, and she wore a flowing crimson cape that billowed dramatically in the wind, looking as though it belonged more to a royal court than a woodland creature. A pair of oversized sunglasses perched atop her nose, and a single pearl earring dangled elegantly from each ear.
Behind her, Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen stood, his single eye gleaming with mischief and what could only be described as a slight obsession with himself. He was tall and imposing, with a black leather eye patch that only seemed to enhance his mysterious aura. His silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his dark, brooding attire. He carried a sleek, obsidian sword at his side, adding to his air of dangerous allure.
"Margaret? Aemond? What are you doing here?" Buttface stammered, trying to regain his composure as he stared at his ex-wife, whose entrance seemed straight out of a soap opera.
"Hello, Buttface," Margaret said, her voice dripping with condescension. She slowly removed her sunglasses, revealing her striking eyes—one green, one blue. "We're here to take Christianmichael to a Megamind convention. It's his favorite, you know."
"Buttface, your name still cracks me up," Aemond added, chuckling to himself. He stepped forward, his presence almost overwhelming the small, cozy den. "Seriously though, where's the kid?"
Margaret took a graceful step inside, the hem of her cape sweeping across the floor. She looked around the den with a mixture of disdain and nostalgia. "I see you still haven’t redecorated, Buttface. How quaint."
Before Buttface could respond, Christianmichael came sprinting out of the den, dressed in a Megamind costume, complete with a giant blue head made of papier-mâché. "Did someone say Megamind?!" he shouted, eyes wide with excitement.
"Yes, darling, we're going to the convention," Margaret said, smiling warmly at her son. "Now, grab your things."
"Wait just a minute!" Buttface protested, snapping out of his stupor. "You can't just waltz in here and take him! We have... dino nuggies for dinner."
"Dino nuggies? Again? Really, Buttface, it's a wonder the child hasn't turned into a nugget himself," Margaret scoffed, flipping her cape dramatically as she moved further into the room. "Besides, Christianmichael deserves better. He deserves Megamind!"
As the argument escalated, a strange humming sound filled the room. Everyone turned to see a large, mysterious contraption in the corner, covered in a purple velvet cloth.
"What's that?" Aemond asked, stepping closer, his single eye narrowing with curiosity.
"Oh, that?" Mrs. Haggis said, a rare hint of emotion crossing her face—was it amusement? "That’s my time machine."
"Time machine?" Buttface, Margaret, and Aemond said in unison, their previous quarrel momentarily forgotten.
"Yes, time machine. I use it to collect my blueberry taxes from the past and future. Much more efficient," Mrs. Haggis explained nonchalantly.
"Can we use it to go to the Megamind convention?" Christianmichael asked, eyes shining with hope.
"Why not?" Mrs. Haggis shrugged. "But be careful. Time travel can be... unpredictable."
With that, she pulled the velvet cloth off, revealing a bizarre contraption made of gears, levers, and what appeared to be a toaster.
"Everyone in," Mrs. Haggis commanded. "We'll be back before dinner."
As they all piled into the time machine, Buttface muttered to himself, "This can't possibly get any worse."
But of course, it could. And it did.
The machine whirred to life, the room spinning around them in a kaleidoscope of colors. Suddenly, they found themselves not at a Megamind convention, but in the middle of a medieval jousting tournament.
"Where are we?" Margaret screamed, clutching Christianmichael.
"Looks like the Middle Ages," Aemond said, his single eye twinkling with excitement. "You can tell by clear smell of ass in the air."
Before anyone could react, a knight on a horse galloped towards them, a large banner flying behind him. The banner read, "Welcome to the Annual Butterchuck Jousting Tournament!"
"Well, this should be interesting," Mrs. Haggis said, finally showing a hint of a smile.