#Oc Agent Pennsylvania

[smilysstuff]

Shaking you please tell us about Agent Maryland (and some more abt Nevada), I'm INVESTED in these goobers now

You really have to ask the one agent where I didn't give much character development to😭😭 Well, Agent Maryland specialises in explosives, either to disarm them or make em go boom boom. One time she was thought to be KIA because she was in a building that detonated, few weeks later she came back to the moi with a missing arm and a big smile. She's a badass, and when the ship crash nobody knows whether if she lived or not.

(The last person beside her is Agent Pennsylvania<3They besties)

((AND YES I'LL POST MORE OF NEVADA I literally have multiple drawn videos of him))

[halibellecter]

I'm having a normal one about my oc and her mission with @agent-pennsylvania , played by @bearbait-adventures .

So instead of the test plan I'm supposed to be working on, please accept this visually confusing sketch of them doing very important Freelancer team building exercises (snuggling).

.......yeah, this is normal supersoldier behavior. mhm.

The right upper inset is a closeup since it's hard to see details, of Penn's hand playing with one of the many, many buckles and straps on OK's web gear, because he's been assigned a medic who doubles as a stim toy. I'll be over here, dying of how cute this is.

[bearbait-adventures]

Acceptable Losses- Part 1

13/31 Prompts

 8- Isolation Chamber 17- Shipwrecked 13- Team as Family 22- “Oh that’s not good” 24- Equipment Failure 28- Exposure 30- Holding Back Tears 9- Broken window 1- Panic attack 3- Fingerprints X- Alt Venom 27- Voiceless 18- Revenge

Tw- Character Death by burning drop pod (Not overly detailed)

86’s leg bounces nervously as the ODST anthem plays over the drop pod speaker. He’s strapped in, the pod may as well be an isolation chamber but for the speaker's song. It’s meant to get their blood going, get that adrenaline pumping, also get them grounded, get their mind on the mission and why they're here.

They’re waiting to be dropped deep into enemy territory. Their mission; to make sure the covies can’t get their ship off the ground before reinforcements arrive. The covenant ship had taken heavy damage earlier and headed planet side. Their captain wasn’t about to let the ship get away. The captain had a Spartan on board, and everyone in the UNSC knew what to do with a Spartan. You throw them at the problem and see what happens.

It didn’t matter that Spartan IIIs weren’t as well equipped as their Spartan II counterparts. A Spartan was expected to excel no matter the cost. It’s what they were built for.

86 braced himself as the pod moved, just before the bottom fell out of his stomach, when the drop pod shot towards the planet. His pod was followed by three others. His ODST the same ones he’s been with since basic. 86’s head turns towards the communication console, expecting to hear Joker or Monster chattering away. Back and forth quips as they normally do. Instead Gunny’s light was lit up flashing red. Oh, that’s not good, 86 panics as he taps the screen. A strange sound could be heard over the radio, a mix between white noise and a whine. Then a rumble followed by one of the most terrifying screams imaginable. 86’s blood went cold. Gunny’s drop pod was failing. There was nothing any of them could do, but listen to his screams as he burnt up in atmosphere.

86 is barely holding back tears as he clutches his harness for dear life, searching for something, anything that would help keep him grounded. The fingers of his suit clicked and cracked with how hard he was squeezing his fists. The impact warning lights flashed seconds before the pods made landfall. All downward motion coming to an abrupt and jarring stop. He could feel as each crumple zone gave way, each one taking a little of the impact away before the hatch blew off taking with it even more force.

This planet had a depressed purple and gray atmosphere. The planet was solid and rocky as he stepped out of his pod. Quickly moving the regroup with the others. Joker and Monster were fine albeit shaken by the loss of Gunny. The smoldering pod lay not too far from theirs. There would be no funeral for Gunny except the one they had right here. He died like a true ODST feet first straight into hell. No time to mourn as they had a job to do.

At least that would’ve been the case if they had sent any other Spartan. If it hadn’t been 86 they may have gotten straight down to business. But 86 wasn’t a proper Spartan. 86 wore his heart on his sleeve, a failure in that sense and there was no one presently here to keep it in check.

Upon seeing the smokey drop pod 86 was on it, the heat radiating for the pod was intense. He grabbed ahold of the pod his left hand slipping off as his switched to his right hand slamming the mechanical fist against the window of the unopened hatch, repeatedly until it breaks giving him enough of a hand hold to rip the hatch from the pod. The pod lurched to the side as the center of balance shifted.

The inside of the pod didn’t fare much better than the outside. Burnt and black nothing left but crumbling metal and ash and what was left of Gunny.

86’s chest and stomach clenched, he wasn’t sure what he had expected. A miracle perhaps? He stumbled back, an attempt to get his head back in the game. He’s reeling as he repositions his hand. A faint clicking sound catches his attention as his hand caught something along the charred door. His fingers close around the object a crunchy, sandy feeling. He opens his hand to look at what lingered there. A set of dog tags, dangles from his fingers… Gunny’s dog tags. They’re burnt and brittle, 86 carefully brushes them over with his thumb, smearing the soot with his fingerprint, before he backs the rest of the way from the pod.

He’s caught before he can stumble too far. Monster and Joker are right there. Hands on him as he takes labored panicked breaths. His SPI armor throwing the elevated readings no doubt straight to their HUDs.

“Hee-h-he’s gone… Gunny’s…gone” 86 manages to choke the words forcing the venomous words from his throat, before the grief forces it closed on him. Monster pushes against his shoulder nudging the Spartan into motion.

“Come on, we got a job to do.” Monster comments in his gruff tone. 86 stands up straighter as Joker pats his lower back. The shorter soldier weighed down with gear and couldn't comfortably reach much higher.

“Let’s go kill some split lips… He’d like that.” Joker adds as he pushes the Spartan on.86 nods as he pockets the dog tags in the soft pouch on his leg. The two ODST did a good job of redirecting the distress. Now the Spartan was out for revenge.

[gomagopowerrangers]

Zone art backlog posting while i work on Mimic's stuff

rvb has circulated in my brain for a year now

PLEASE click for better quality+full pic

1+2 r based on these songs

number 4 has @oasisofgalaxies's Agent Rhode Island next to @thegreatbaerri's Agent Arizona. standing above Maine on the floor is @bearbait-adventures's Agent Pennsylvania (top left box)

5 is from this post iirc?? i donr remember

rbs>likes!!<3

[agent-pennsylvania]

Project Freelancer (Price actually) said I should keep one of these things... something about team building. If anything it will make a great place for me to keep my puns and dad jokes for later use...you can call me Penn or Penny.

OOC: I am making this for my first ever OC! Est. 3/22/2023 If you'd like to RP send me a message. I would be more then happy to talk about it. Avatar by @clockworksir ty! Banner render by @alonewolf343!! It's awesome!!

Name: Unknown/Uno/Agent Pennsylvania (Penn or Penny)

Affiliation: Spartan/Freelancer

Description: 6’8” with no armor 7’ 2” with armor. Dark brown hair cut into a short mohawk. Left eye is brown while the right eye is a white glass prosthetic. He has heavy scaring and burns all over his right side from what looks to be some kind of fragmenting explosive but is actually "freezer burn" from being cryo'd combined with his body's rejection of the process. The skin that isn't scared is a light honey color. His right arm from the elbow down is replaced with a mechanical prosthetic made specifically for Spartans. He tends to use this arm as a shield. He's a southpaw.

Enjoys a good dad joke or pun whenever possible this has earned him the nickname “Pa” with any teammates or subordinates he ends up working with. Uses a heavy-sniper also known as an anti-material rifle, unless an enemy gets too close then reverts to dual wielding combat knives. Very proficient with most long guns but is terrible with a pistol…hates them in-fact...likes to frisbee them.

Suffers from high anxiety levels and panic attacks. Due to his memory loss he keeps a journal hidden within the files of his helmet. He's hard-of-hearing and will sometimes go non-verbal and speak in sign, when stressed. Next in line along with South to receive the AI Iota (happiness) until Carolina took both. No longer able to hold out he confronts Price and things don't go so well after…

Backstory:

UNSC Medical Logs

SPARTAN-U086 Journal Entries

Playlist

Shorts

Urchin

Fourteen

Open RPs/Lore

Sick

Waking

Calm for now

Unremembered

Acceptable Loses- Part 1

My main is @bearbait-adventures feel free to chat.

[strat0sfear]

RvB oc things !!

[bearbait-adventures]

@hipstersoulgushers @valveorangebox

taking that guy out of situations and putting him in a loving polyamorous relationship

[viktorgf]

—OCS AND VILLAIN SONGS

hey what’s up you guys welcome back to my channel— i did this post on my old blog ages ago which is unfortunately lost to time now and i wanted to do it again. so this has gotta be like, the third time some of y’all are seeing this but. fuck it we ball.

born from a post made by @unholymilf a loooong time ago that as more or less a question of if ur oc was a boss fight, what song would be playing and it struck me so here is ALL of my brain worms, including some new ones from the last post!

ANDIE— le soleil est près de moi; air.

POV: you’re bleeding out as andie is standing over you, burning white hot, hotter than the sun setting behind her. she is passionate and… reckless, and will swear this was self-defense. even if she struck first. even if she didn’t blink. even as she watches the life leave your body.

BIANCA— tricycle express; gaspard augé, mr. oizo.

POV: bianca is white knuckling her steering wheel, swiping her car against the side of your own for miles down the freeway. she is gonna run you off the road. she absolutely will; it’s unavoidable, and she’s gonna laugh while she’s doing it. this is the song she’s listening to.

CELESTE— vision; m83.

POV: “you will die soon. sooner than you were supposed to, now.” celeste deadpans as she hovers her hand over your forehead and waves. she makes a show of it, though her clairvoyance doesn’t require as much. you wish you had listened to her and thought better of asking in the first place. “it will be violent, and painful. give ares my best. leave my temple.” but you didn’t, and now it’s too late. your fate is sealed.

ELVIRA— old river; orville peck.

POV: you’re stiff, hairs on the back of your neck standing up. you’re being watched. this is a different kind of observation than the one you’re used to— the seeds constantly run surveillance on you, but this doesn’t feel as passive. you’re being hunted. and when you dare to turn on your heels to see elvira standing behind you with a crossbow bolt nocked with your name on it, you almost wish jacob was here to kill you instead. somehow, you know it would be more merciful.

OSLO— pennsylvania furnace; lingua ignota.

POV: oslo isn’t the deputy anymore. they’re the judge. eden’s gate is up a member who is worth a million and the resistance mourns a million more.

FAUSTINA— beyond the horizon; olivier deriviere.

POV: faustina is the last line of defense between you and the mother church. she’s a penitent, too, you must understand. the consecrated red ribbons she’s wrapped in are suffocating her the longer she takes to excommunicate you and she will try every prayer at her disposal to stop it—to stop you.

JEN— krack; soulwax.

POV: jen is chasing you through the fib building after she snitches on your whole operation to the iaa. you are an enemy of the state, but more importantly— you’re an enemy to agent jennifer daniels. she wants you dead, and you will be soon enough. especially if it’s up to her. and as of right now, she has you cornered in an interrogation room with nowhere to go and a gun to your head.

LOTTIE— arsonist’s lullabye; hozier.

POV: hawkins is ablaze, and lottie is at the scene of the crime staring into the flames.

LINDY— señor (tales of yankee power); jerry garcia.

POV: there’s barely anyone left to call a gang, and dutch knows as much. but he won’t admit it— that would require him admitting guilt for the losses, too. and he should be so lucky he’s still breathing; lindy wants to empty an entire revolver clip into his thick skull but knows she wouldn’t live long enough to feel the satisfaction. so she does the next best thing, and turns her back. there isn’t anything left for her, anyway. she would risk a lifetime of looking over her shoulder over having to look at him.

MAGS— change (in the house of flies); deftones.

POV: you’re being experimented on in an umbrella sanctioned lab and in walks mags— who you thought was on your side. after all, well fed devils behave better than famished saints. but not this one, she’s much worse.

MILDRED— god unbounded; uboa.

POV: you have just returned from the dead because some weirdo with a god complex and a proficiency in reanimating corpses decided that she needed the practice. and now that’s your problem, because you definitely have come back Wrong. but you’re back! surprise!

NICOLE— heart in a cage; the strokes.

POV: you’re witness to an absolute bloodbath as nicole goes crazy on the field. she’s completely lost herself, she isn’t in control anymore. she was always dangerous but now she’s lethal. she’s already gotten some of her own killed, and somebody needs to take her out before it gets worse. she’s a wild animal. and to her, you’re fresh meat.

SIBYL— summit song; nicole dollanganger.

POV: she drowns you in her scrying pool and you are never heard from again. it’s your own fault, really— anna henrietta told you to leave her be and you didn’t listen.

ROSALIND— goodbye; soap&skin, apparat.

POV: she begs mike for the coordinates of where it happened and he doesn’t budge. he never will. he doesn’t trust her not to take a shovel to the earth and dig him up. so in her state of delirium, she walks through the desert and screams and cries and repents. and becomes her own biggest villain.

ODETTE— graveyard; midnight syndicate.

POV: odette quite literally haunts her family estate, left to fall into disrepair. she’s a grief stricken wraith born of despair who brutally attacks anyone who dares step into her tomb. she’s a master illusionist even in death, so if you choose to fight her instead of just leaving, just make sure you first remove the mirrors from the wall.

okay whew that was a TASK but i’m gonna make this a tag game cs i wanna see Y’ALL make ur ocs evil and give them a soundtrack so hehe @florbelles @unholymilf @shellibisshe @ghostfvcker @benwishaw @loriane-elmuerto @leviiackrman @jackiesarch @rosayoro @statichvm @teamhawkeye @bloodofvalyria @red-nightskies @confidentandgood @simply-jason @scalpelsister @devilbrakers @lxmbert and you!

[bearbait-adventures]

Calm for now.

86 has been on light duty as he’s still adjusting to the changes, learning how to use his newly awakened augmented body along with the prosthetic arm. Light duty for Spartans is still quite a bit when compared to the normies though, and getting to know the other Spartans… Well, that was also harder than one would think. 86 was different. He was bigger than most of the Spartan IIIs, and still technically in the process of growing, but he was already damaged goods, already a failure. Nobody wanted him on their squad, he was a cripple, a liability, a mess.

Needless to say it made eating lunch in the mess hall a lonely endeavor. He wasn’t welcomed at most tables, it gets awkward real quick if you sit where no one wants you. The silence and the judging stares… It makes him sick to his stomach and he hates it. He stops trying, finds his own table, eats quickly and leaves most days. 

“Orbital Drop Shock Troopers” or ODST. They’re a rowdy bunch. They normally don’t get along with any other branch, very tightly knit amongst themselves. Remarkably brave or just plain suicidal or maybe some crazy mixture of both, funny how those things are often interchangeable.

A group of them enters the cafeteria they’re loud and laughing with each other. 86 has never seen them here before. The ODST and marines have a staggered lunch time from the Spartans. An attempt by higher powers to keep them from fighting apparently it had happened before. Something about a fight over a weight room. There aren’t many seats left, at least not where they could sit all together, the mess hall is crowded and they set their sights on 86’s table. 86 is surprised when they all pile in, but makes no protest. After all there isn’t anywhere else for them and it’s not “his” table. They don’t really acknowledge his existence, but they’re not rude so he just rolls with it. At least he’s not alone anymore. 

This continues over the next couple days. 86 claims the table and the ODST fill it in a little later. From what he’s overheard so far is that these ODST plus more and more Marines have been transferred here to runmore joint ops with the Spartan IIIs. It wasn’t long before 86 started paying more attention, sticking around a bit longer, listening to their jokes and their stories. He started to drop his guard, and started laughing too. 

Until one of them says something to him…but they’re on his bad side and he doesn’t hear them. “Hey! Are you deaf!” Is what he finally hears as they slam a fist down next to him. He startles. Sliding his chair back away from the intruder, defensive and surprised. He didn’t recognize this soldier. Was he a new one? “I said move. You don’t belong here, swabbie.” The man spat the words like a curse. The rest of the table had gone quiet, an awkward silence. No one seemed to know what to say to that. 86 felt a spike of panic go through him. This was “his” table. He was here first. He was used to sitting here. He didn’t want to move. But before he could verbalize any of that, his internal panic was interrupted by a “hooting” sound. One of the ODST across the table smacked it loudly before flapping his hands wildly at the newcomer. His hands started grumpily forming shapes that 86 vaguely recognized, something similar to military hand signs but not quite that. “Gunny, wants you to kindly fuck off. That’s our Spartan. You find your own table shit-for-brains.” Another ODST translates Gunny’s signs. The new comer growls but does thankfully fuck off somewhere else, allowing 86 to finally sit back down… Flabbergasted.

Had he just been adopted? By ODST? Gunny made more signs at him. 86 watched with wonder but still didn’t understand. “He’s asking if you can hear on that side.” The ODST that translated earlier spoke up after a moment. 

86 clears his throat, slightly embarrassed by the whole situation. “Ah, yes… A little bit…but not very well apparently…sorry.” 86 apologized as he rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. More signs come from Gunny, hands flourishing about excitedly. “He can’t hear either, too many bombs, too close to his stubborn head.” The same ODST laughed this time sitting up and offering his hand out for a shake. “Name’s Joker.”

86 took the hand, his mechanical arm whirring quietly as he reached out. He was mindful of how much pressure he put into his grip as human hands were much more fragile than most of the things he held. “Holy shit! You really are all fucked up aren’t ya?” A bigger ODST off to his side spoke up, well big compared to normies anyway. He punched 86’s mechanical arm. “They like to call me Monster.” He introduced himself. “Ah, Yeah.” 86 nodded with Monster’s previous observation. “They told me I got blown up I guess…” 

Joker laughed with 86’s explanation. “Dent and ding special it is then.”

Gunny started signing again as 86 watched. Monster translated this time. “Strays are always the best.” 86 couldn’t help but laugh, he wasn’t entirely sure what any of that meant but the tone sounded positive so he went with it. 86 later found out these three would be assigned to him as part of his training squad. Claiming they didn’t want to be with those “Pretty Spartans.” He ran missions and trained with them as an ODST…a “Helljumper.” They would give him an “ASL for Dummies” book. It was well worn and properly vandalized and signed by all three of them. Joker would teach him all about breaking the ice via terrible puns and worse jokes. 86 would even go as far as downloading an entire archive of them once he was given the resources, namely his very own set of SPI Mark II Armor. Gunny would teach him all he knew about explosives and their unconventional uses. Monster would teach him how useful a combat knife could be and to never go without…several of them. He had a little family, a crew, just a Spartan and his ODST.

[halibellecter]

Shared with permission, thanks to the awesome @bearbait-adventures and their oc @agent-pennsylvania , I got to start an rp with my rvb character!

it's going great, for everybody involved except her. (I, ooc, however, am having a FANTASTIC time lmao)

[501st-rexster]

PENN IS SO CUTE

Made for @bearbait-adventures!

Everyone say hi Penn

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 19a

ARC image by Eury Escodero | gif by @readingisloving ty so much!!

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony negotiates a weekend together, and introduces Emory to Happy and Pepper!!

Length: 3,486

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

Tony’s interrupting kiss steals the next words from her mouth and her mind. Emory grounds herself in reality by grabbing a handful of his shirt. It’s softer than anything he’d worn in the cave, as is the seat beneath them, but Tony himself is warm, rough, and real. She slips up onto her knees for a better angle, but the car starts moving just as she does this, and a bunch of her hair falls down on both of their faces.

“Fuck, that smells amazing,” Tony groans, muttering more profanity-laden endearments that trend toward complaints when she pulls away to look for a seatbelt. 

Emory finds one by the window, and when she tames her wild hair into a quick twist tucked into her collar so she can peek at him, all she can do is laugh helplessly. Tony looks dejected, legs slack, arms slanted toward her, head resting sadly on the back of the seat, the rest of him slumped so far down he’s an inch away from collapsing to the floor.

“I built a single-person flight suit to come see you, and you want to buckle up instead of kiss me? I’m hurt.”

“It’s the law, Stark.”

“Not in Pennsylvania!” he argues resolutely.

Chapter Nineteen: Photosynthesis

Flying is exhilarating.

If it weren’t for the fact that he wants to touch Emory without terrorists, SHIELD agents, or metal armor in the way, Tony would have flown the whole way from the city for the sheer bliss of the experience. He wonders if this is the closest he can get to understanding Emory’s own power generation. Does the air she bends around herself feel as much like tangible joy as the air he rockets through?

He’d sent Pepper to learn Emory’s schedule, but he doesn’t know if Fury ignored that to catch Tony off guard, or if he really didn’t know. When Tony sees there are two agents with Emory today, that former becomes more likely. He’d left Happy, Pepper, and the two vehicles key to his plan about thirty miles away. They should be far enough to avoid SHIELD entanglement, but close enough to get him the hell out of the suit ASAP.

Emory’s comment about him is so charming that Tony burns off any worry about his reception in the process of landing behind her. Her companions’ lack of surprise or concern about his appearance is disconcerting though, and so is Emory’s attitude toward them. He’d expected the agents to be more adversarial on both points.

After their kiss, he decides to push the issue. “So. Tell me about your goons,” His flipped up faceplate drops at the last word like he’d planned it that way.

“Tell me about that suit, and you might earn a vacation,” the redheaded agent calls out. Thanks to his Heads Up Display, Tony notes that she’s dipped her thumb into a hidden pocket that his AI suggests holds miniature concussion grenades. The other agent has his bow held in a tight grip at his side, which is either a concession to Emory’s value or Tony’s prominence.

“It is quite an upgrade,” Emory whispers, lifting a hand to trace her fingertips along the metal protecting his cheek before turning to face the agents, hands fisted at her sides. She’s shielding him, which is sweet but misguided, given that he’s encased in metal. Then again, his first suit did fall apart, so maybe it’s pragmatism. Emory’s stance lasts all of thirty seconds before she twists her hands together and says, in a tone that tells Tony she actually likes the two people in front of her, “I had no idea that he’d-- I mean, in retrospect, it was probably--”

“--predictable? Yeah,” the man says, offering an insincere smile. He shrugs. “Less to destroy out here.”

“Am I the only one who didn’t know this would happen?” Emory asks, a little wild-eyed. The archer coughs to hide his amused reaction when Emory glares at him. Tony almost likes the guy.

“Emory, don’t take this the wrong way, but you might be the most sincere person I’ve ever met,” the redhead says.

“Well that was the whole point for the mission, right? Our target would never suspect the wide-eyed innocent--”

“Hold up, I don’t want to get dinged for mission knowledge,” Tony interrupts, his movements punctuated by some servo noises. He wants to be airborne with Emory before Tweedle-She or Tweedle-Bow decide to object and call in the one-eyed Cheshire Cat for backup. 

“The mission needs me to seem destitute, without anyone who can help me financially-- but the press knows the two of us were kidnapped together, don’t they, Agent Romanoff?” Emory says, a little too earnestly. “If Tony disappears and I’m still missing, that’ll get picked up.” She turns and smiles triumphantly at him. “So they won’t do anything too drastic, or your disappearance will screw up their plans!”

If Emory’s right, Tony’s on board, but her mixture of manipulation and naivete makes him nervous. 

“Sir, Agent Natasha Romanoff is a highly skilled spy assassin last known to be working with the Russians. A quick scan of various databases reveals multiple reacquisition attempts by various Russian agencies were unsuccessful,” Jarvis says quietly into his earpiece. “I’m listening for anything about the other agent.”

That other agent leans over to say something into Romanoff’s ear. She seems to think for a few seconds, then nods. It’s enough to spur Tony’s impulsive side.

“In that case,” he says, stepping around Emory to hold his arms out beside him. “Long version: Metal armor, custom-built using proprietary Stark tech including power, propulsion, communications, and targeting software. I designed and hand-wired this myself, so you can tell your BFF Morpheus it’s one of a kind. Short version: you can’t have the software or the hardware, but no one else can either. Did I earn the cookie? And by cookie,” he holds up an armored finger; “I mean that vacation. Two days, two nights minimum.”

“Where?” Romanoff shoots back right away.

Behind him, Emory whispers, “It’s that easy?”

“Thought about a campsite at first,” Tony says, sauntering over to stand beside her. “But it turns out my father built a swanky bomb shelter into the NYC house. Should be enough to counter any… forces of nature that might spin up.” He hardens his tone. “I assume you know the address.” At that, Tony turns to Emory. “Put your arms around my neck?”

She’s wide-eyed but he can tell she’s excited, given the way her localized wind is whipping up the grass at their feet. After a nod, he lifts her up. Tony snugs his arm across her back with his hand against her ass, just because he can.

“Hey now,” the male agent objects.

“Shut it, Clint!” she grits out.

“Hey, Stark!” Romanoff calls out when he fires up his repulsors at a low setting to let JARVIS gauge the differential weight. Tony turns the two of them so he can look at the agent, noticing she’s no longer a half-inch away from pulling a weapon on him.

“Yeah?”

“It’s important you two aren’t seen together. You got a plan for a less visible mode of transport?”

Tony appreciates that the woman hasn’t just called in backup and subdued him for his audacity. If he had to guess, he’d say it has more to do with her rapport with Emory than any desire to avoid putting him in his place. It won’t do to let her know he’s anything less than an adversary, though.

“You’ll just have to find out when you activate her tracker. Where is it? In her arm? Her ass? Sewn into her bra?”

“Tony!” Emory hisses under her breath.

“Do not make a ‘thorough inspection’ joke, so help me,” Clint says.

“Trust but verify, right? See ya,” Tony says, and takes off.

“I can’t believe that worked!” Emory says, her words sucked away by the wind. Tony’s pretty sure only some of it is whipped up by his velocity.

As they lift off, Emory keeps expecting a group of SHIELD agents to converge on them. It seems almost too easy, despite Nat’s hints that they’d been ready, even hoping, for Tony to show up. Her big worry is that she’s just earned Tony a ton of negative attention from SHIELD in exchange for a few days of freedom. The agency will want any and all information about his suit, but can the government seize it? Will Stark Industries have to gear up for war again, against US citizens this time?

The thing is, Tony’s the smartest man she’s ever met, maybe the smartest in the country. He’ll think of something. Her best revenge is to enjoy every second she has with him, and figure the rest out when they’re safe and alone.

Alone. Something they’d only had once, lost under the burning sunlight of Afghanistan.

The thought is distracting enough to let her put thoughts of SHIELD aside for now. Tony is clearly navigating somewhere specific, and he shifts in preparation for landing, angling towards a couple of vehicles parked in a lonely gravel lot. She stumbles when they land, but any unsteadiness is wiped away by the look on Tony’s face when he rips his helmet off to grin at her.

“Pretty sweet, right?”

“A definite improvement on last time,” she agrees. Her answer seems to deflate some of his enthusiasm, so she adds, “It was amazing.”

“You met me at a low point. Nowhere to go but up, literally,” Tony tells her.

The sounds of a car door opening draws their attention, and Emory sways closer to Tony. He’s covered in hard angles and smooth lines that make her feel physically disconnected from him, but the suit in motion is fantastic. He looks like a real life hero. Given how much time the first one had taken to build, Emory knows Tony has worked miracles to come here. She’s pretty overwhelmed by the implications of that.

Tony reaches down to take her hand like he can sense how she feels, but with the armor covering his hand, it’s awkward and uncomfortable.

“I’d take off the gauntlet but I was basically bolted into this thing. It’s like my own version of Marilyn Monroe’s dress,” he apologizes.

“Hopefully it doesn’t cost as much!” she laughs up at him.

“It might,” a woman says, walking into view around the box truck with a teasing smile on her face. She’s gorgeous, her immaculate makeup and sleek clothing a direct contrast to the ratty black work gloves she’s pulling off of her hands. “I never really understood the concept of driving gloves until today!” the woman says, holding them up in her left hand as she holds her right out to shake Emory’s in greeting. “I’m Pepper Potts, Tony’s personal assistant.”

“Oh, wow,” Emory says, completing the handshake. “Emory Autumn, former PA but currently unemployed.” Tony had mentioned Potts, always with regret at what she might be dealing with in his absence, but Emory had pictured an older woman, a stuffy paragon of authority. This woman is delicate and competent-looking, the kind of person whole rooms of celebrities notice when she walks by. The politics of his choice are brilliant, really. Anyone wanting to get close to Tony would likely not be disappointed that they’d need to talk to Pepper Potts first.

“Thanks for keeping him sane in there,” Potts says.

“That was more luck than anything else,” Emory tries to assure her, but Tony replies at the same time.

“She drove me crazy in an entirely different way instead.”

“I thought that was my job?”

The voice belongs to a stocky man in a black suit who seems to have come from the driver’s side of the limo. He nods respectfully to her, and Emory looks at Tony to find that he’s grinning.

“Happy Hogan, Emory Autumn.”

Hogan’s shake is firm but gentle, considering the size of his hand. Emory ignores the brief thought that she’s just one among many women he’s been introduced to over the years. “He missed you,” she says as she lets go, suddenly feeling shy at the thought that she might be sharing Tony’s private reactions without his permission. “Both of you.”

“Yes, well,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “Very heartwarming, but if you don’t want to be crushed during the group hug, I think I should get out of this thing.” As he speaks, Emory finally figures out what she’d been struggling to articulate to herself: Tony looks happy, but also healthy, so different and yet still the same man she fell for in Afghanistan.

“In that case, follow me,” Pepper Potts says in the kind of tone Emory recognizes as ‘let’s get focused back on the business at hand.’ The PA fishes a set of keys out of her suit jacket pocket and heads for the truck. 

After carefully putting the work gloves back on, Potts fiddles with some things at the back of the truck until the bolts on the sliding door audibly release. Hogan comes over to pull out the steps and lift the door. Tony beckons Emory closer, and she sees that the inside space is flooded with lights, illuminating multiple robot arms arrayed around a central square with boot-shaped clamps. It’s the kind of complicated machinery she’s only seen in horror movies and disaster documentaries.

A heartfelt “Wow!” is about all she can manage. “I’m starting to think what you made in the cave with me was more like a junior high science fair project.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tony says, using his repulsors to fly the short distance up onto the bed of the truck instead of using the stairs. “I built something way more complicated than that for my junior high science fair project.”

“Oh, here we go,” Potts says.

“Never mind,” Emory tries, but it’s too late.

“I wonder what happened to that patent,” Tony muses, holding out a hand to lift her up onto the truck bed.

“You got a patent for your first science fair project?” She just stares up at him.

“Wasn’t his first,” Hogan says, behind her.

Tony shakes his gauntleted hand impatiently. “Third school fair. If it’s any consolation, the other two didn’t get patented.”

She uses her accumulated power to lift herself up just high enough to walk from thin air into the inside of the truck. “Stop! I already felt inadequate.”

“I’m sure you also did interesting things when you were nine.” He says this like it should reassure her, before stepping onto the boot clips and hooking a wire from the assembly into his arc reactor. “You might want to stand back.”

Emory watches Tony’s armor come off piece by piece, revealing that he’s wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants, both relatively tight-fitting. When the boots are unscrewed and he’s able to step away from the whole contraption, she’s impressed to see that he’d even designed the suit to fit around his shoes. Hogan hands him a flannel shirt that Tony starts putting on before he turns around for her to see that the t-shirt has a round hole for his ARC reactor to fit through.

“I’m working on a way to connect the power without having to mutilate my wardrobe,” he says as he does up his cuff buttons. “I could run something up beside my neck, but wireless would be ideal, grab and go.”

“Wireless? That would be amazing!” Emory says, impressed. Tony’s unhappy expression confuses her until he responds.

“Yinsen suggested it. For after we got out.”

All her accumulated power spirals down into nothingness as Emory’s heart contracts with renewed grief. She rushes into Tony’s arms. He presses a kiss into her hair and holds his lips there, his arms tightening for a full minute before letting out a ragged sigh of regret.

“C’mon.”

Tony helps her down from the truck and holds her hand until they get to the limo. Despite her sadness, Emory lets out a little laugh, drawing both Tony and Hogan’s attention.

“You kidnapped me from a shadowy government agency using something that had to cost more than most people’s houses! It just hit me how bizarre it is-- after all that’s happened, we’ve ended up in an abandoned gravel lot in front of a box truck and a limousine.”

“Kidnapping? It was a rescue!” Tony objects.

“I’ll drive this back to the charter and see you tomorrow, then?” Potts says in a placating voice.

“Perfect,” Tony tells his PA. 

He leads Emory over to the car and opens the door for her. Once she’s seated, he settles in beside her and holds his arm out for her to snug up against him. She does, blushing at how much her heart leaps from his nearness. With a long exhale, Tony drops his head back against the cushion behind him and stretches his legs out, like this is the moment he’d been waiting for all day.

Emory can feel her usual build up of energy, but it’s lethargic, as if contentment is a natural de-energizer. The limo is sparse inside, almost surprisingly so. There’s a good chance that’s on purpose. She buries a grin into the fabric of his shirt.

“What is it?”

“You cleared this space out, didn’t you? In case being with you made my powers go haywire.” She lifts her head up to look at him. Tony looks smug. “That’s very thoughtful.

“Very selfish,” he corrects. “Fewer distractions.” Right as he leans down to kiss her, his large fingers tangling in her hair, they hear the car door slam up front.

“Before I put on very loud music that will obscure any sounds from the back, where to?” Hogan asks through an intercom. Tony chases her lips as she moves back, but all Emory can do is think about how little she’s practiced staying in control of herself around him. She doesn’t want to jeopardize one of his expensive properties!

“Were you serious about the bomb bunker?”

“Mmhmm,” Tony rumbles as he kisses her neck.

“Did you mention Yinsen so you’d feel safe driving me to your house?” Emory holds her breath. It’s quite an accusation, but also a smart strategy on his part if she’s right. Sadness and fear both seem to completely cut off her powers.

Instead of answering her, Tony turns his head and calls out to Hogan. “The house in the city, Happy, as planned.”

“You got it.” Before the intercom cuts out, there’s a blast of music as if to reassure them he was serious about his discretion.

“Tony, D.C. is full of national landmarks, and even though I am really happy to see you--”

Tony’s interrupting kiss steals the next words from her mouth and her mind. Emory grounds herself in reality by grabbing a handful of his shirt. It’s softer than anything he’d worn in the cave, as is the seat beneath them, but Tony himself is warm, rough, and real. She slips up onto her knees for a better angle, but the car starts moving just as she does this, and a bunch of her hair falls down on both of their faces.

“Fuck, that smells amazing,” Tony groans, muttering more profanity-laden endearments that trend toward complaints when she pulls away to look for a seatbelt. 

Emory finds one by the window, and when she tames her wild hair into a quick twist tucked into her collar so she can peek at him, all she can do is laugh helplessly. Tony looks dejected, legs slack, arms slanted toward her, head resting sadly on the back of the seat, the rest of him slumped so far down he’s an inch away from collapsing to the floor.

“I built a single-person flight suit to come see you, and you want to buckle up instead of kiss me? I’m hurt.”

“It’s the law, Stark.”

“Not in Pennsylvania!” he argues resolutely.

“We’re not in Pennsylvania.” 

Emory unzips the leg pocket holding her mostly useless flip phone and taps the button Clint told her not to touch because it triggers some ridiculous surcharge for 24 hours of internet access. Using the arrow keys, she navigates to the awful web browser.

Tony tsks at her. “I didn’t realize SHIELD tech didn’t extend past the Stone Age.”

“Buckle up,” she tells him, continuing the frustrating process of choosing letters via repeated presses of the number keys. Just as she hits enter on the search, Tony slips something between her hip and her own fastened buckle, and she hears a click. “What--”

He stops her with a quick, impudent kiss. “Seatbelt extender, so I can sit closer to you. Lemme guess: it’s another hour and a half before we reach a state where it is legal to be unbuckled in limousines?”

Her screen confirms this to be the case. “You already knew and let me numb my fingertips looking it up anyway? You jerk!”

“Let me make it up to you.”

Emory looks at Tony, then around at the rest of the empty limo. They are, for all intents and purposes, alone. Safe. There are no terrorists, no SHIELD agents, no army medics, and no paparazzi, even if anyone could see into the tinted windows at their speed.

A powerful yawn cuts through her. Emory claps her hands over her mouth, embarrassed. “I’m not bored, I promise,” she gasps.

“No no,” Tony says. He stretches his arms out along the back of the seats like they’re on a couch instead of a bench seat. “I did that too. You’re wiped all of a sudden, right?”

“But I want to talk to you, it’s been--”

“There’s time,” he interrupts. “That’s the point. You feel safe. That’s not rude, it’s a compliment.” He takes off the flannel shirt and wads it up on his chest about where she’d rested her head before, and pats it. “Go ahead, sleep. This may or may not be on my post-Afghanistan bucket list.”

Emory blinks at him. “Really?” she asks, even as the urge to take him up on the offer becomes nearly unbearable.

“There’s time,” Tony repeats.

“Okay,” she whispers, suddenly shy.

Next chapter, Tony and Emory realize they're finally actually alone and could, you know, touch each other.

[aggravateddurian]

Stories from the City of Dreams: Kaylee Andersen

OC Profile for our newest girl!

Basic Biographical Information Place of Birth: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Date of Birth: 2 September 2052 Age: 24 (as of 1 May 2077)

Gender: Female (cis) Sexuality: Demisexual, sex-ambivalent

Employment status: Employed (as of 1 May 2077) Employer: Militech Branch: Internal Affairs Employee Number: 1183-7701-1543-0045 Rank: Supervisory Internal Affairs Agent Direct Report: Dorian Bautista (1183-7701-1189-0854)

Notes from Militech Record:

Kaylee Andersen is an Internal Affairs agent under Assistant Director Dorian Bautista, specialising in counterintelligence. Andersen is a proficient officer whose loyalty to the company is matched only by her dedication to her role within Militech. She is a good fit for Dorian, whose single-minded dedication to protecting Militech (whatever his reasons may be) works well with Andersen's like nature.

Andersen's association with Militech commenced in 2063. Her employment was part of a program to sponsor young people who showed promise in cyber studies to create a new generation of highly capable netrunners. Andersen was chosen for a sponsorship due to her high test scores at school, and a genetic test identifying markers that indicated she had enhanced tolerance to cyberware implantation. At age 16, Andersen's employment with Militech commenced, and she entered the Net Warfare and Security Cadetship Program at the Pittsburgh branch office.

In exchange for Militech accepting legal guardianship of Andersen, and her parents granting permission for her to enter the program, Militech pays Andersen's family a stipend of 1000 eurodollars a month and a variety of benefits that can be redeemed by using Militech's goods and services, though upon Kaylee turning 18, this was reduced to 450 eurodollars.

Andersen performed well as a netrunner, however, Militech leadership determined that her services were better utilised in Internal Affairs. An incident occurred which reduced Andersen's suitability in her present role. Per company policy, she was reassigned to a division that made full use of her talents. Upon transfer, she was partnered with Dorian Bautista, and the pair have remained valuable to this division ever since.

[onayasiki]

Agent Illinois and My version of Agent Pennsylvania. They aren’t really OCS? But I guess Agent Pennsylvania is. Agent Illinois isn’t but I’m shipping him with her in my own little story. I also incorporated Pennsylvania’s AI, Rose.

[bearbait-adventures]

Looks at Penn, who was supposed to be a cool Spartan/Freelancer. and is now autistic, riddled with anxiety, has abandonment issues and terrible coping mechanisms... "Um, yeah these things happen."

Forever creating autistic characters not because I intended to create an autistic character but because I intended to create a character in general and while creating them I simply completely forgor how allistic people act

[mnyehlike]

New OC! An RvB oc, their job depends on the point in the timeline. Freelancer first and foremost, one Agent Pennsylvania. Their real name, depending on the point in the story, is Quinn Quinn or Quinn Flowers. Also, their AI, Sean! There's a special story behind him.