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Over time, they began to adapt to the vast, empty expanse of the pocket dimension you called the Heroes Screen.
Not only that, but they learned how to subtly manipulate the space itself—managing to bring over small pieces of their belongings. Slowly, the Heroes Screen started to feel less like an oppressive white void and, honestly, more like a backstage dressing room waiting for a cue.
Everyone had already fallen into their own routines.
Adam Warlock had finished polishing his staff and was now meticulously combing his golden hair, studying his reflection in a small hand mirror. He tilted his head, adjusted a strand, then murmured softly to himself, questioning whether it looked right. Somehow, even perfection had managed to inherit the most human of worries.
Nearby, Angela preened the feathers of her lone golden wing with practiced care, pausing every so often to glance into her own mirror. Her expression tightened with concern.
“Do any of you believe my war paint is too runny?” she asked, her voice low but uncertain.
“Relax. You look as imposing as ever,” Black Widow reassured her as she walked past.
Unlike the others, Natasha wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t scrambling to prepare or double-checking her appearance. She had full confidence in her skills—as a spy, a manipulator, and a master of attraction—to catch your attention when the moment came.
Though… she did subtly adjust her suit, just enough to make sure her curves still popped.
T’Challa, as always, remained composed as he carefully sharpened the claws of his suit with what could only be described as a vibranium nail file.
“Didn’t know they had those in Wakanda,” Tony joked while polishing his own armor. “What’s next—gonna give your helmet a new eyeshadow shade?”
“A king should always strive to look his best,” T’Challa replied evenly, inspecting the edges of his claws. “And I would concern myself with my own appearance if I were you, Stark.”
“Please. I’m me. This’ll be a walk in the park,” Tony said with confidence, continuing to buff his armor—until a shadow loomed over him.
“Fleshbag,” Ultron intoned, leaning in far too close. “Surrender the armor polisher to me.”
Tony shot him a glare. “There’s something called waiting your turn. There are only so many beauty products to go around, Tin Can.”
Ultron scoffed. “If I am to gain the Presence’s favor and convince it to eliminate all of you organics, then I must operate at my full aesthetic capacity. Surrender it. Now.”
“Okay—yikes. No need to sound like a teenage girl,” Tony muttered, rolling his eyes as he casually tossed the polisher toward the android.
Ultron caught it effortlessly, though his cold, glowing eyes never left Tony.
Tony shrugged. He still needed to apply his face lotion anyway. Until he realized—
“Hey! Who took my lotion?!”
The answer was Doctor Strange, who chuckled quietly to himself as he levitated a hand mirror and smoothed a fresh layer onto his cheeks with practiced ease.
Blade studied his reflection in the polished surface of the Sword of Dracula—grateful, as always, that the old myth about vampires having no reflection didn’t apply to him. For the most part, he looked damn good.
Still, one concern lingered.
“Maybe I should sharpen my fangs a little more…” he muttered.
At that moment, Rocket strolled past, vigorously brushing his teeth.
Blade’s eyes tracked him. Slowly, his brows drew together.
“That isn’t my toothbrush, is it… raccoon?” he asked flatly.
“Uh—no?” Rocket replied, far too unconvincingly, his mouth still full of foaming toothpaste.
Steve had just finished polishing his shield until it gleamed, the surface bright enough to catch his own reflection. He sighed softly as he studied it. “I haven’t been this nervous since I asked Peggy to dance.”
“Mhm. Feels like just yesterday,” Bucky agreed, a note of nostalgia in his voice as he polished his boots with a disposable wipe. He nodded to himself, satisfied, then glanced back at his old friend. “Though… you were definitely more nervous back then.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buck,” Steve quipped.
Bucky laughed, the sound easy and familiar, and went back to wiping down his metallic arm.
HYDRA might have given it to him—but he’d make it shine just for you.
“I look okay, right?!” Cloak murmured nervously as he tugged at the edges of his cloak. “Do I look cool enough? Dark and mysterious? M-my cloak isn’t stained, right?”
“You look fine, Ty. Don’t worry!” Dagger assured her best friend, lowering the hair dryer she’d been using. “Trust me—we’re gonna knock ’em dead, like we always do.”
“Dagger!” Luna Snow shouted as she trudged toward them, her hair still stuffed full of rollers. “Give me back my hair dryer!”
“Run, Ty!” Dagger yelled, grabbing her friend’s hand and taking off.
“Hey! Tandy, watch it! You’ll seam my cloak!”
“Come back here!” Luna shouted, skating after them, frost forming beneath her feet as she gained speed.
“This is ridiculous,” Frank scoffed, watching everyone scurry around. “They’re acting like they’re getting ready for a date.”
“At this point, it does feel like one,” Matt murmured, finishing the careful sharpening of the horns on his mask before pulling it into place. He tilted his head slightly. “How do I look?”
“Like a guy who’d be better off doing literally anything else,” Frank shot back.
Matt rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re just jealous.”
With that, he turned and walked off, leaving the Punisher sputtering behind him.
“Jealous?! Jealous of what?!” Frank shouted after him—only to be promptly ignored. “Red! Hey—Red! What do you mean by that?!”
Rogue hummed softly as she set her curling iron aside, then turned toward her husband with a hopeful smile. “How do Ah look, Remy?”
“Mon chérie,” Gambit replied smoothly, eyes warm with admiration, “you look très magnifique.”
Rogue giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, shush! Ya makin’ me blush, sugah.”
She stepped closer and helped him straighten the edges of his trench coat collar, smoothing the fabric with practiced affection. “There. Now that’s my handsome devil.”
Remy’s lips curved into a familiar smirk. “Then let’s go knock La Présence off its feet, oui?”
They laced their fingers together, hands fitting easily—as if this, too, were part of a ritual they’d practiced a hundred times before.
“I am Groot?” Groot asked tentatively, turning toward Mantis.
“Yes, Groot. Your branches look very nice,” Mantis replied, nodding as she finished combing her hair.
“I am Groot?”
She paused, studying him carefully. “No, Groot. I don’t think you need to add flowers to your branches. Just be yourself.”
Setting her comb aside, Mantis reached out and gently placed her hand against his woody one. “Trust me. I can feel the Presence’s emotions. They love you just the way you are.”
Groot let out a soft, leafy sigh before offering her a grateful smile. “I am Groot.”
“You’re welcome,” Mantis said, smiling back.
Clint finished tying his man-bun with that perfectly curated casual ease before turning his attention to Psylocke, who hadn’t done a single thing to get ready.
“Aren’t you gonna do something?” Clint asked as he finished loading his quiver with arrows.
“My blade is ready, as is my mind,” she replied calmly. “Anything else is irrelevant.”
“Hey—suit yourself, sweetheart,” Clint smirked. “Just don’t cry when the Presence doesn’t look your way.”
Psylocke met his gaze with a slow, confident grin. “I wouldn’t worry about that, considering what they have said about me in the past.”
Clint sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to his gear.
“Hmph. Foolish mortals, still scurrying about like rodents to look their best—yet forever failing to approach Loki’s elegance,” Loki huffed arrogantly, making no effort whatsoever to prepare himself.
“Keep speaking nonsense, Loki,” Hela replied with a sharp smirk as she applied a fresh coat of polish to her long, razor-sharp nails. “Even your efforts pale beside the Queen of Hel.”
Loki shot her a glare—only for Thor to clap a heavy hand onto his shoulder.
“Relax, brother! I am certain you will still look—”
“Yes. Thank you, Thor,” Loki groaned, already shoving his far too enthusiastic sibling away.
Thor merely laughed it off and continued combing his mighty beard, utterly unbothered.
The Fantastic Four crowded around one of the few full-body mirrors they’d managed to drag into the Heroes Screen dimension.
Reed carefully trimmed his beard, Susan reapplied her mascara, Ben polished the rocky plates of his body, and Johnny sprayed his hair—for what had to be the fifth time.
“Hey! Get that stuff outta my face, matchstick!” Ben groaned as Johnny’s hairspray drifted straight into his eyes.
“Sorry, rock head,” Johnny said smugly. “Beauty takes effort.”
He went in for yet another spray—until Ben suddenly yanked the can from his hand.
“Hey! Give that back!”
Ben laughed, loud and victorious.
“Do you think I look alright, Susan?” Reed asked, tilting his face left, then right.
“You look fine, sweetie,” Susan reassured him, then paused. “Though… maybe a little more to the right.”
“I thought as much,” Reed murmured. His skin stretched seamlessly as he shaved the missed spot.
Sue giggled and went back to her mascara—until a familiar, deeply unwelcome chuckle sounded behind her.
“You look as lovely as ever, my dear Susan,” Namor purred, already finished polishing and sharpening his trident. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were preparing yourself just for me.”
“In your dreams, Namor,” Sue hissed.
Jeff had finished his impromptu bubblebath in the small rubber pool they had managed to bring over just for him. He emerged and shook himself dry— his scales glistening.
“Wanda—you look lovely, my dear,” Magneto said, watching as his daughter finished sharpening the edges of her crimson crown and applied the last touches of her smoky eyeshadow.
“And I suppose you look decent—for your age,” Wanda teased.
Erik rolled his eyes, though a soft chuckle escaped him all the same.
“May I?” Magneto asked, offering his arm.
Wanda smiled and looped her own through his, and together they began to walk forward.
“Fuckin’ blood stains…” Moon Knight grumbled as he desperately tried to wash off the faint but still visible stains from his otherwise pearly white cape.
Jean hummed a quiet tune as she combed through her fiery red hair, the warm glow of the Phoenix’s silhouette watching her with open curiosity.
“I do not understand the importance of altering one’s appearance for another,” the Phoenix said at last.
Jean chuckled and set her comb aside. “Well, when you love someone, you want to look your best for them.”
“Hm. Intriguing,” the Phoenix Force murmured. “There is still much of the human heart that I do not understand.”
“You’ll get there, Phoenix,” Jean said gently. “Together.”
She picked up her comb again and continued smoothing her hair, the cosmic presence remaining quietly at her side.
Doreen finished brushing her tail and gave it a few experimental swishes before turning to her best friend.
“Well, what do you say, Tippy-Toe?” she asked brightly. “Lookin’ good?”
The squirrel answered with a series of chittering sounds, then made a very clear so-so gesture.
Doreen sighed. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s not fluffy enough.”
Storm conjured a gentle breeze as she combed her hair with a serene smile, while Venom ran away from Blade— the half-vampire’s stolen toothbrush in their hand.
Logan was in the middle of sharpening his claws when their individual transparent boxes suddenly began to glow.
“Oh shit! They’re here!” Tony shouted. “Everybody look alive!”
He slapped his helmet on mid-run and bolted for his box.
Chaos erupted instantly as everyone scrambled.
Emma Frost finished reapplying her lipstick for what had to be the tenth time, snapping the tube shut with practiced precision.
Iron Fist frantically sprayed and re-sprayed deodorant across his chest, neck and armpits. They still didn’t know if the Presence could smell them, but Lie wasn’t taking any chances. He tossed the can aside and sprinted.
Magik adjusted her chest plate, angling it just enough to make her curves pop.
Peni gave her pigtails one last aggressive floof, swiped on cherry lip gloss, and climbed back into SP//dr.
Peter Parker groaned as his hair refused to cooperate. He glared at his reflection, then flung the hand mirror away. “Screw it. I’ll just mess it up anyway.”
He yanked his mask on and took off after the others.
“Hey—watch it!” Star-Lord protested as Hulk barreled past him, shoving him aside without slowing down.
“All right, everyone!” Steve called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise. “No pushing, no shoving. Enter your designated boxes—nice and neatly!”
He directed traffic like a seasoned officer, guiding heroes, villains, gods, monsters, and legends alike to their places.
In the end, they all made it inside just in time. But—
“Wait! Wait for me!” A distant voice called out. Everyone turned to see Deadpool running as fast as he could to the transparent boxes, throwing away the bonnet, cucumber slices and bathrobe he was wearing.
“Wade!” Peter grumbled, tiredly rubbing his face.
“What? Beauty takes time, Spidey! This just don’t happen!” Wade declared, wildly gesturing himself.
“Just get inside your box!” Tony snapped, and thankfully Deadpool obeyed— right on the nick of time.
The boxes sealed. The light stabilized.
And thus, another day of endless fun could begin.