#Omega wants to go to space and be the first woman on Mars

[here-comes-the-moose]

I know it’s July, but here’s what I think Modern AU Bad Batch would dress up as for Halloween:

Hunter- Rambo

Wrecker- Ken

Tech- Dr. Jekyll

Crosshair- Mr. Hyde

Echo- Pirate

Omega- Astronaut

[jameslhayhurst]

The Omega Kiss

She wore a black T-shirt and matching ball cap, aviator sunglasses and a black KN95 mask. Black stretch pants. A killer body, gorgeous ass—John had drooled as she made her way to her table by the window. Outside, light traffic moved up and down Main Street. A delivery van idled in front of the Huntley Hotel, opposite the coffee shop.

John couldn’t help but steal glances at the woman, knowing she had to be very pretty, wondering when she would remove her mask to drink her coffee. But she didn’t. She slid her sunglasses off, placed her cap next to her coffee and sat motionless, eyes glittering in the sunlight.

The woman caught him staring at her and held his gaze with unsettling interest. She lifted a hand and gestured with two fingers, inviting him to join her, a come-hither look in her eyes.

Hot damn. A man of unremarkable appearance, overweight, garbed in shabby overalls and a red cap, John Fitch was as likely to attract the attention of a beautiful woman as he was to win the lottery. He swallowed the lump in his throat and pointed to his chest—you mean me?

She nodded. He rose unsteadily and made his way to her table.

“Please sit.”

He sat.

“You are John Fitch?” she said, more a statement than question.

He reared back in his seat. “Huu . . . how you know my name?”

“I asked the barista. She said you’re a regular.”

“I come here every morning,” John said, feeling bewildered by her attention.

“And that’s your vehicle?” She nodded at the van parked in front, its side panels emblazoned with ‘Sperryville HVAC— No Job Too Big or Small.’

He nodded, thinking maybe she needed work on her heat pump or something. She’d have to call the job in first, but the idea of going to her place filled his head with sudden fantasies.

“Yes, it’s my . . . uh, it’s the company van,” John said, adding, “But I drive a Ford F-250.”

He winced. A stupid thing to say, as if that would improve his prospects with this babe.

“I see you aren’t wearing a mask. Are you vaccinated, John?”

“No,” he replied defensively. “Don’t believe that shit. Covid’s just a scam to get us chipped and obedient to the libtard elite. No jab for me, thank you. Besides, I’m healthy as a horse.”

“That’s brave of you,” the woman said. He wondered if her face was as beautiful as the rest of her. She gazed at him appraisingly. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, her tone suggesting she wasn’t interested in him working on her heat pump. Not that heat pump, anyhow.

“What kind of proposition?” he said warily, instantly regretting than he hadn’t replied in a more confident tone, some witty comeback like James Bond.

“I propose we have sex,” the woman said matter-of-factly, like she was asking for his parking spot when he left. He nearly fell out of his seat. Before he could think of anything to say, she continued, “I have a room across the street.”

“You fuckin’ with me?” John stammered, face flushed. “Did someone put you up to this?”

“No, I am not fucking with you, John Fitch,” she said coolly. “I’m absolutely serious.” She put a hand on his arm. “John, this is going to sound incredible, but I’ve traveled back in time from centuries in the future to meet you and share something very important you need to know. All you have to do is listen to me . . . and then we’ll have sex . . . or not . . . as you wish.”

“Wa—what’s your name?” was all he could think to say.

“Kali,” she said with a gaze that made him shiver. “But you can call me Abigail.”

John stared at Abigail suspiciously, wondering if he was being punked, thinking this was some elaborate prank cooked up by his friends, miniature video cameras hidden in the corners. He looked around but didn’t see any.

Abigail stood unexpectedly, placing her ball cap back on her head and sliding the sunglasses in place above her mask. She looked down at him. “I’m going over to the Huntley,” she said. “Room 411. If you want to join me, be there in ten minutes.”

With that, she strode away and out of the room, leaving John staring at the place she had sat, her untouched coffee on the table, wondering if he was dreaming.

Only one way to know for sure, he told himself, bolstering his courage. Ten minutes later, he was on the fourth floor of the Huntley, knocking on door 411, expecting the door to swing open, his friends inside, laughing at their prank, shouting “Surprise!”

The door swung open and there was Abigail, sunglasses and ball cap gone, still wearing her black mask. Holy fuck, thought John, this is not a dream. He was—maybe—about to get laid!

She waved him in. “Welcome, John. Have a seat on the bed.”

John stepped inside and sleepwalked to the bed, thinking this had to be a dream. Guys like him did not get picked up by hot babes in coffee shops for a morning fuck. It just didn’t happen. He sat down tentatively on the bed.

Abigail closed the door and came to sit next to him, looking sexy as hell. She patted his thigh. “Let me tell you about the future, John,” she said. “And then you can fuck me.”

He stared at her silently, thinking that he was about to have sex with a goddess. Who the fuck cared if she wanted to pretend she was some time traveler?

“In the future,” Abigail began, “there are a lot fewer people on Earth, less than 100 million. Everyone died in the plague. That’s the bad news. The good news is Earth is a paradise. Mankind lives in harmony with nature; we have free education and universal health care; most people live well into their hundreds. People live wherever they want. There’s a world government; everyone has a vote. There are no more corporations; wealth is shared, the excess is used for infrastructure. We’ve moved all polluting industry into space; the raw minerals come from the moon, finished products come down to earth in automated landers. Like I said, we live in harmony with Earth. Oh, and we have a colony on Mars.” Abigail squeezed John’s hand. “Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?”

“It sure does,” John replied. He thought for a moment. “You said almost everyone died?”

“Over seven billion in the first year.”

John exhaled heavily. “Wow . . .  that sucks. When does this take place?”

Abigail locked eyes with him. “It begins this very year, John.”

“Jesus . . . what kind of plague?”

“Covid.”

“Covid? Oh come on. No way—Covid’s just another flu. All this bullshit about people dying is fake news; they’re making that shit up to control us . . . that, and make money on vaccines.”

“I’m afraid not, John. But you’re right, it’s not the Covid-19 you know. It’s something worse, much worse. It’s a mutation, one that kills almost everyone . . . it’s called Omega Covid.”

“And you traveled through time to tell me this? Why?”

“Because it starts with you.”

John blinked, his jaw working as if he were chewing gum. “What do you mean?”

Abigail explained, “Everyone who survived and their descendants, all the generations that come after the plague, are immune to Omega Covid. But we all carry the virus, John—I carry it.” She touched her mask. “If I take this off, I will infect you.”

“You mean if we kiss . . . if we have sex . . . I will die?”

“No, not you, John . . . you’ll only have mild flu symptoms. You’re immune.”

John shook his head, trying to understand. “How do you know I’m immune?”

“Because you’re famous, John Fitch. Omega Covid begins with you; it’s traced back to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re patient zero of the Omega plague.”

They sat in silence for what seemed like an hour, but was only a minute. John tried to speak, but found his throat constricted. “Do you have any water?”

Abigail nodded. “In the bathroom.” She released his hand.

In the bathroom, John went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. Staring at the mirror, he thought about what Abigail said, wondered if he was having a crazy dream, wondered if he was going insane. He filled a glass and slugged it down in one long gulp. Screw it, he decided. The chick is batshit crazy, but she’s hot as fuck. I’m getting laid.

When he came out of the bathroom, John found Abigail standing by the bed, stark naked. The only article of clothing on her was the mask on her face.

A few steps and he found himself in front of her, his eyes bugging out, a bulge swelling in his crotch. Hot damn, he thought, this is the Fourth of July and Christmas rolled into one.

“I won’t remove my mask unless you ask me to, John,” said Abigail. “The Omega plague doesn’t have to happen . . . just say the word and poof, I’m gone. You alone can change the course of history.”

She has the most beautiful eyes, thought John. Perfect tits. A killer body. She’s traveled across time to let me fuck her, to make me—me, John Fitch—famous. This is meant to be . . . it’s destiny.

“I want you to take your mask off,” said John.

Abigail’s right hand rose slowly to her ear. A finger slipped under the elastic and lifted the mask away, revealing her beautiful face, a wistful smile on her lips. She looked so hot. She exhaled slowly, cupped the back of his head in her hands, and put her mouth to his.

[brawlingdiscontent]

the men of metal, menacing with golden face, 2/?

a.k.a sequel to terrible with the brightness of gold

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o, mature rating)

(first part) (tl;dr for any of you, like me, who can’t remember what happened: Charles wakes alone, finds he’s trapped in the tent, snoops around and writes a secret letter)

(part three)

This part is dedicated to all you amazing anons and non-anons who have been checking up on me and sending encouragement. You know who you are!

Warning: this chapter contains minor descriptions of violence, graphic threats of rape and murder, and some misogynistic/feminizing slurs (none of these last from Erik)

.

..

...

As Charles is marched outside the tent and herded through the camp, guarded in front and behind, he reminds himself that Lehnsherr needs him alive. The thought is especially comforting as he hears the crinkle of the letter concealed up his sleeve. 

There’s no Azazel this time to fetch him. In the bleak silence of the passage, marred only by the everyday sounds of the camp, he almost misses the other's cheerful if subtly threatening presence. Now there's just the crunch of feet on the compacted dirt of the camp. Of course, there’s no need for such official escort, nor for formality now, he thinks grimly. Formality is for guests, which he is no longer. Now he's caught.

He hears them before he sees them, in snatches of raised voices, as they approach the edge of camp. The voices echo as though carried on the wind, rising in pitch in the distinctive pattern of an argument, but words indistinguishable. 

They round the corner and the narrow view of tents opens up onto the plains that demarcate the outskirts of the camp. Horses are tethered here, by a small copse of trees. He sees Lehnsherr attending to a horse, his figure—though by no means short—dwarfed by the hulking, agitated form of another man: the source of the argument. Despite the size difference and latent threat in the other’s posture, Lehnsherr, though tense, looks more bored than worried.

As they get closer, it becomes clear that the conversation is uneven. The large man seems to be doing most of the talking, his anger apparent. Lehnsherr’s reaction is subtler, but appears in the tight curve of his shoulders, gradually stiffening as the man goes on, like a bow drawn taught just before it’s loosed. Before Charles can begin to suss out the particulars of the dispute through tone and gesture alone, it erupts. In a flash Lehnsherr's opponent buries a dagger in the point of a nearby tree, and then tugs it out aggressively, brandishing it in threat. Lehnsherr, for the first time, looks up fully from his task. He says something, steady and so low that Charles can’t even make out the shapes of the foreign words. With a thunderous look the other man lowers the knife, and, sneering, retreats. Throwing final warning glare back over his shoulder, he stalks off into the thrum of camp heading somewhere off to Charles' left.

Curious though the scene is, Charles only half follows the man’s progress, for the sight of Lehnsherr sets off a flare in his chest that's been building, smouldering since he tried to leave the tent that morning. He forgets his apprehension at the ambiguous summons and breaks from the rank of his escorts. A breath later he’s standing before the man.

“I told you I wouldn’t be a prisoner.” The accusation spills out of him, sharp and hot.

"Charles," Lehnsherr says in dry acknowledgement. “A moment, if you would.” 

He doesn't like the familiarity of his name as it curls across the other man's tongue. 

Lehnsherr gentles the horse--who’d begun to flick its tail nervously at the commotion--and gestures off to the side. It’s only then that Charles sees the dark-haired woman beside him. She's much smaller than the man who just left, so much so that he failed to notice her. She doesn’t seem to be an alpha, but her dress is looser, freer than that he would expect of betas or omegas. Lehnsherr picks up the interrupted conversation, imparting a few more words; likely some kind of instructions. She gives a brief reply, perhaps an affirmative, and darts a curious glance at Charles before slipping off back through the camp—possibly following the path of the man who just left, but he doesn’t turn to look. 

Lehnsherr watches her go for a moment. "Now then,” he says, sparing Charles a mere glance as he turns back to the horse, a mare with a silver-studded bridle—probably not his, “what was it you wanted?"

“I won’t be confined to a tent,” he repeats. Anger still colours the words, but of a more controlled sort, his initial outburst steadying to composed censure now that his displeasure has been given breath.

When Lehnsherr looks up at him, his eyes are shaded, obscuring his expression and any hint of whether he’s surprised or displeased by Charles’ outburst. 

“For your protection, I assure you,” he says with a wry twist of his mouth. “I was concerned about you wandering around on your own in the midst of such unsatisfied men.” 

Though it's seemingly said in humour, Lehsherr’s voice carries an acerbic note to it, as if to remind Charles that it was he himself who had forestalled that satisfaction by leading the omegas and beta women out of the city.

He ignores the warning in the twist of the other man’s words. “You’ve no right to keep me.” It’s a foolish statement to make. Even had he not the conqueror’s right to do as he pleased, then the right surely falls to Lehnsherr as his husband-to-be.

Lehnsherr tugs the lead to check it’s secured to the tree and steps suddenly away from his horse—and into Charles' space. Charles feels his pulse pick up, despite himself, not sure what to expect.

Were they commoners, it might appear to be the close conference of a newly-engaged couple; young lovers tentative in their newfound intimacy or drawn together by the animal urges of youth, like the amorous shepherds sung about in the bawdier ballads. But for people of their station such marriages do not exist. Marriages are made for political reasons, not romantic ones, and whatever else may lie between them Lehnsherr’s gesture denotes not intimacy but a desire to shield their conversation from those around them—the scattered remnants of his guard and runners scurrying back and forth—and most of all, a power play. To lean back would be to cede ground, so despite Lehnsherr's uncomfortable closeness, Charles stands firm.  

“In the past day you’ve proven yourself more capable than my top generals combined." The words slip silkily from Lehnsherr's tongue in almost an accusation as he fixes Charles with a piercing stare. He notes Lehnsherr’s arm where it hangs loosely, aligned with but not quite touching his. It burns with the potential to grab his wrist and close the final distance between them--in violence or in something else. 

“Beyond that,” the other man continues, “you've all too readily shown that your loyalty lies with your people. I would be a fool to ignore the evidence I am presented with and underestimate you." 

Charles feels a burst of regret, then, at the necessity of showing his hand and drawing Lehnsherr’s scrutiny—though never at its result—while at the same time he's somewhat relieved that Lehnsherr had confined him in order to protect himself, and not in demonstration of his beliefs on the place of spouses. 

His point made Lehnsherr steps back, leaving a gap in the space where he stood, and returns to the horse. He grabs a coil of rope hanging from a nearby branch and begins to fashion a hitch, when Charles’ mind suddenly catches up to what he’s seeing.

"What are you doing?" 

With an efficient tug, Lehnsherr finishes tying the hitch, securing an oilskin bag to the saddle. 

“Leaving.”

“Leaving?” For a split second Charles imagines he means the island; withdrawing to the longships and departing, leaving the shores of England bloodied and battered behind them—before reality catches up with him. Such an undertaking would require the disassembling of the entire camp, yet the preparations around him suggest a smaller party, a group of men, only. His hopes raised deflate once again, dropping back into the reality of the present moment.

“Yes,” Lensherr continues, unaware of his brief flight of fancy. “It's what I summoned you to tell you. We’ll be married when I return.”

“Why, what’s happened?” He ignores the latter point in favour of more pressing concerns. 

Lehnsherr doesn’t respond right away. He seems to be considering whether or not to tell him. He holds out a hand in gesture, and a man, one of Charles' guards, offers over the casket from the tent. Charles very deliberately does not look at it, wondering if Lehnsherr will be able to tell that it's been disturbed, will notice the missing vellum.

“I've received report of a disturbance near Eoforwic," the other man says at last, relenting. "I’m heading off to investigate.”  

A disturbance...what could it be? What force in the land would dare to rebel? He now sees the reason for Lehnsherr’s hesitation. Regardless of the distance to Eoforwic, Charles’ actions have certainly marked him out as a suspect. But one thing Charles knows for sure...

“I’m coming with you,” he asserts confidently. “And beyond that, I’ll need my men back to accompany me.”

“I’ve just told you I can’t trust you, Xavier,--” he starts at in suprise his family name -- “what makes you think I would ever allow that?" Hardness and wariness are the dominant notes in Lehnsherr’s tone, yet they make way, in part, for exasperation and a hint of something further—humour, even admiration at his daring, and, unmissable now that he knows it’s there, the faintest undercurrent of desire. Lehnsherr has relaxed his barriers, perhaps; or else he is starting to be able to read the other man. He can use this.

“If you don’t trust me, wouldn’t you rather I was somewhere you could watch me?”

“And your men?” the other’s amusement is such that Charles can hear the implied finish...how are you going to justify them?

“You yourself have just told me that you keep a dangerous company. Who better than my own men to protect me?" His tone offers a hint of challenge. "Call it a demonstration of good faith, a show of Danish spousal respect,” he adds, recalling Lehnsherr’s words the previous night. Bold, but he thinks he can get away with it. “Furthermore, I’ll need to fetch my travelling clothes.”

Lehnsherr looks at him, now, with a calculating stare, as though he’s weighing his options carefully. His blue eyes appear quite grey in the afternoon light. 

“No,” he says at last, tone firm. “I’ll let you send someone to the city for your things. But that’s it.”

Charles opens his mouth to object.

“If it’s so important to you to be near your men,” Lehnsherr presses on before he can utter a word, “you’re welcome to stay here with them.” 

The glint in the man’s eye is the equivalent of a victorious grin on his reserved countenance, and Charles closes his mouth, accepting the temporary defeat. 

He submits once again to the escorts when Lehnsherr gestures them back over and directs them curtly in Danish. Their presence no longer chafes as much, having tested Lehnsherr’s limits and found some slack. If he’s caught now in Lehnsherr’s grasp, there’s give; and if he’s careful enough, strategic enough, he can use it in order to wriggle free.

.

…

.

Going through the camp a second time, Charles notices what he should have seen sooner: the signs of a journey in the making. The camp is buzzing with potential, like a dragonfly touching down on the water, its surface thrumming with tension. As they walk he sees a few more of those he assumes are beta women and omegas, moving with the camp’s rhythms. There’s even a child or two, ducking into tents and scampering underfoot.

The guarded tent they are approaching is a familiar sight. This particular tent is big, large enough to require the support of a central wooden pole that shoots up towards the sky. A place for meetings, likely, or even dry goods storage. 

“Be quick about it,” the group's leader says sharply when they stop outside. She's a female alpha, demonstrable, as Northern custom dictates, from the braided sash she wears across her shoulders. With the tinge of red in her hair she might remind him of his daughter, were it not for her lethally sharpened teeth. 

He wonders if her keenness to hurry him along is based on an explicit order from Lehnsherr, or if she’d just prefer not to waste time watching him. Whatever the case, he's relieved to note that her instructions don't seem to extend to surveillance, and he’s free to duck in under the canvas flap alone, stepping into the muted light of the tent. 

There's a moment of hesitation at first, as the tent’s occupants attempt to identify the intruder, and then a voice calls out, “M'Lord!” and the title spreads through the tent’s close quarters. As his eyes adjust from the brightness of the day outside, the shapes of his men, his formal escort of the day before, emerge. They snap to a semblance of attention, those seated scrambling to stand even as he waves them to rest. They look bored, restless, but other than that, fairly well. 

The tent floor is unlined, sparsely sprouted with grass that’s gradually giving way under the churn of feet, and he can see little in the way of what they might have used to pad or warm their sleep. But there are much worse ways to pass a night, and such conditions certainly shouldn’t have troubled the hardened warriors Logan had selected. The most offensive thing in the space is the strong stench coming from the bucket in a corner.

He gets this all in a quick glance, holding off on further assessment: he has a task to complete. Acknowledging their bows with a tilt of his head, he passes through the group, seeking his commander, and finds him leaned up against the tent’s central pillar. 

“Logan---what on earth?--”

The man’s left eye is a bloodied, bruised mess. A split in the skin near his temple oozes blood, most of it drying or tacky; and besides the purple bruises raging like a storm across his face, the white of the injured eye is inflamed with the red of burst blood vessels.

With evident difficulty, he attempts to stand, pushing off the pole to support himself as Charles rushes forward to stop him.

“Stay down, please!” 

He settles a bit as Logan somewhat complies, not so much lowering himself as collapsing back into the pole. Logan’s eyes, both the bruised and the normal, are active, taking Charles in as though seeking assurance that he remains unharmed. The last time the other man saw him, Charles realizes, he was dragged off by Lehnsherr’s guards to uncertain fate. He senses Logan struggling with the desire to question him about what’s occurred--prevented, Charles suspects, partly because as Charles’ subordinate it’s not his place to ask. But more, perhaps, because no matter the answer there’s not a thing he can do about it. While Logan’s not up to questioning, however, Charles certainly is.

“What happened to you? Who did this?” 

“It’s nothin’. Probably had it coming.” 

Logan’s brusque reply prompts an imperious eyebrow, which yields a few more words of explanation: "Got a little worked up is all.” 

It’s bullshit and they both know it.

The two stare stubbornly at each other, at a standoff. While Logan is fiercely loyal, and would never withhold something of strategic use or relevance, obdurate man that he is, Charles thinks with mixed emotion, he would certainly keep something back if he felt in doing so he was protecting Charles.

Charles examines Logan’s face carefully, the desire to know warring with external pressures. At first glance his injury seems to be mostly superficial, but his hunched posture and stiff movement suggest damage that extends beyond his face. And yet he may not have much time here, who knows how long the guards’ patience will last? Logan’s looking back at him like he knows it, too.

Reluctantly, he lets it go, but not without shooting Logan a warning glance to signal that they will discuss it later.

“I need someone who can take a message.” He can’t send Logan, now. Were he in shape to make the journey, his injuries would attract unnecessary attention—though the choice of his commander would have been suspicious, regardless, for such a trivial task.  

"Alex."

"Alex. Which one is he?” Charles asks, scanning the assembled group.

“Over there,” Logan offers. “Far side. Blond kid, skinny.”

Charles looks over and catches sight of the youth that Logan means. He’s younger than most of the men and seems somewhat scrawny, not strong enough to have joined the honour guard, but perhaps that's why Logan selected him: he is unlikely to be seen as a threat by any of Lehnsherr’s men guarding the gates. Then, once he’s in, he will pass through the city relatively unnoticed.

He nods and briefly claps a hand on Logan’s shoulder in thanks, communicating in the wordless language that is their shorthand both the reassurance of a commanding officer and the support and gratitude of a friend, and goes to find Alex. 

As he passes near it, the flap at the tent’s entrance flutters—doubtless a signal from one of his guards telling him to hurry up. Drawing close to the membrane, he calls out in his most regal tone, “I’m not yet finished,” and hopes it will appease them for a few more moments. 

He stops before the young man Logan had pointed out.

“Alex.” 

“Sir! Your Highness.” He ducks his head, as though slightly awed at being addressed, and only Charles’ firm hand on his shoulder keeps him from jumping to his feet. He looks a bit peaked. Charles crouches down to speak to him which will serve better to hide what passes between them, even from the rest of the tent.

“Have you all been fed?” he asks first. It’s something Logan certainly would have concealed, should the answer be negative.

“Yes, your Grace—I mean, your Highness—” 

“Good.” Charles says, cutting off any further attempts at formalities. “Now, listen to me. I’m sending you on a mission of the utmost importance. I need to know that you can follow my instructions exactly.”

Alex nods, his eyes widening at the seriousness of the task with which he is to be entrusted.

“I need you to go into town. I’m sending you under the guise of retrieving some items from the keep, which you’ll do as well, but more importantly I need you to arrange to have this message passed on. There’s a person in the village, Roz, white hair. You’ll find them in the Blacksmith’s forge. It’s vital that you deliver this to them."

He slides the paper, the letter written in Lehnsherr’s tent, free from his sleeve. “They’ll know where to send it.”

The letter is for his children. Despite the promise of their safety he'd extracted from Lehnsherr their position remains precarious; worse, if he can't find a way to let Raven know what has happened. Before she took the children to safety Charles impressed on her that should she not hear from him within two month’s time, she was to assume the worst: that the negotiations had failed and he was dead, and was to flee with the children out of the reach of the assassins would likely follow. Lehnsherr will have spies in and around Normandy, and now that they've come to an agreement would likely read Raven’s flight as a sign of Charles' treachery—that he was moving his children to safety before striking back. He's not sure that he fully trusts Lehnsherr's promise, but fleeing again now is the surest way to get them all killed. Thus: the letter. Phrased tersely, it instructs Raven to remain in place. It's not exactly treason, but taken in the wrong hands, it could easily, perhaps willfully, be misunderstood, and so demands utmost secrecy.

Charles reaches into the folds of his tunic and draws out Sebastian’s seal, which also he presses into Alex’s hands. Since he couldn’t risk signing it, the letter will require another form of authentication.

"Hold this separate and send it with the letter,” he instructs.  “If anyone sees it before then, tell them it is for the guards at my chamber, to allow passage. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”  The look in Alex’s eyes, which resolves from uncertainty into determination, affirms for Charles that Logan suggested the right man. “I will guard it with my life.” 

This most important task secured, Charles takes a moment to consider something else. 

“Alex,” he says, hesitating only slightly, “what happened to the commander?”

There’s a reluctant pause, as the other almost squirms under his gaze.

“They were provoking him....saying things about you, Your Highness, about your character.” He looks embarrassed and this, if anything, confirms Charles’ suspicion that Alex is a new recruit. Embarrassment and shyness don’t last long in the company of warriors. 

Charles looks back at him expectantly, silently prompting him to continue.

 “That is...about you and Lehnsherr...and the things you might be getting up to...together…” 

Ah. 

While Alex hadn’t managed to finish the sentence, the redness in his cheeks makes his meaning unmistakable.

Even knowing the tenor of what was most likely said, Charles is too weary to bother to muster up embarrassment or indignation. Especially not when it’s so close to the truth. 

“I see,” he says, realizing he has one important task left to fulfill. And then: “Don't forget your commission. Lives beyond mine rest in your hands.”

Once Alex gives his solemn confirmation, Charles rises and makes his way to the front of the tent; waits until he has the group’s attention. 

“I thank you all for your service and loyalty,” he begins, pitching his voice to carry, so all of his men can hear. The faces of the hardened warriors looking back at him are defeated, set with grim expectation in place of hope. The fact that he’s addressing them at all is indicative of how far they’ve fallen. When the battles were still raging their orders were conducted through Logan, a matter of practicality that also allowed those of them (of whom he’s sure there are many, even here among Logan’s chosen) who respected him only as Shaw’s consort the pretense that Charles was not in charge. 

“I’m working to secure your release, but in the meantime, I’m sure you all want to know where things stand.” He swallows, clears his throat. “An accord has been reached. Erik Lehnsherr has promised to honour the treaty and guarantee the lives of the citizens. Your families should be safe.” He hesitates on the final words, not quite wanting to speak them into being; as though this moment, insignificant though it is, marks the point of no return. “And to seal the bargain...I am to marry him.” 

The news should be comforting. The marriage will afford the Saxons another layer of protection; much more than they had before. And yet there’s much resentment towards the Danes over the violence they have wrought, the Saxon lives they’ve taken, and the air is clouded with mixed feelings. This union, advantageous though it may prove to be, forever ties the Saxons to their enemies in the final sign of their defeat. 

While Charles surveys the assembled men, there’s one area of the tent he can’t bring himself to look, to the one man who won’t find much comfort in the knowledge that any outrages done onto Charles will be overwritten, any stains on his honour restored by marriage. He doesn’t want to meet Logan’s gaze, for fear of what he’ll find there. Anger, maybe. Accusation; pity. Or perhaps, most painful of all, the loss of something that never could have been. 

The fabric near the tent opening flutters again, this time with more impatience. Somewhat relieved at the chance to duck out from under those eyes, both seen and unseen, he moves back through the flap to scold his overhasty guard.

“Yes, what is it?” he demands, falling back on imperious, “I told you--” ...I’d be a few minutes. The words die in his throat as he almost bumps into the man waiting outside the tent. 

It’s not one of his minders. For a split second he entertains the absurd notion that he’s nearly walked into a bear; until he looks up and realizes it’s a large man wearing a bear cloak, the man’s barrel chest before him covered in the cloak’s thick fur. His gaze travels further up to a heavy brow, banded by widows’ peaks. Masses of unkempt hair sprout from the man’s head, separated only by several braids, dotted throughout, which are threaded with what seem to be teeth. It takes him a moment, overwhelmed by the man’s presence, to realize he’s seen him before. This morning, talking to Lehnsherr. Angry. 

“Your Highness.”

The title on the bear-man’s lips is not sardonic like it is on Lehnsherr’s, or histrionically obsequious like Azazel’s. Nor skittish as on Alex’s. But hard, flat, and raw, as though he’s chewing the words and spitting them out. While preserving the physical distance between them, he looks Charles over in a way that feels as intimate and violating as unwanted touch.

“Lehnsherr may be willing to forgive,” the man says, “he’s long scorned our ways. But I know it was you who robbed us of our rightful spoils.” 

Spoils. The word sends a chill up Charles’ spine, knowing he’s not talking of treasured objects.

“You’re a pretty little bitch, aren’t you?” the man continues. Despite vitriol of the words, he maintains an impassive, solemn countenance, his expression fixed except for his mouth, which now twists up into a sneer. “Pretty enough that he spared you. But if I were Lehnsherr I would have stuck my cock in you and gutted you while I was still inside you. Then fucked you until your screams died away.”

The afternoon light barely reaches the shaded side of the tent, and darkens farther in the man’s gaze, seeming almost to vanish into it. His yellow eyes glitter, burning like the dense centres of coals in a brazier. And swallowing all the light.

…

..

.

----

And 5000 years later, here’s an update. Hopefully the next one will not be so long.

To anyone still hanging around, thanks so much for reading and for putting up with my shameless misappropriation of history for personal edification!  Apparently this fic now has shades of Xavierine, which is akasanata and gerec’s fault!

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of July 24th, 2019

Best of this Week: House of X #1 - Jonathan Hickman, Pepe Larraz, Marte Gracia and Clayton Cowles

“You have new Gods now.” - Erik Lehnsherr, 2019

The new era of X-Men is here and for all of its familiarity, it does something new and sort of unsettling with a tried and true formula. This is thanks to the beauty and scale of Larraz’s art and the far and wide nature with which Jonathan Hickman is crafting yet another saga to rival both his SHIELD and Avengers runs. If you let it, House of X will engulf you in a rich new mutant world filled with happiness and untold amounts of pride by it end, but also with a good helping of fear… as if everything is just a little bit off.

The book begins with a great wide shot of a figure staring up at what appears to be the root of or at least some important part of a tree. Two other figures, a woman with red hair and a man with glowing eyes, are birthed from two sacs under the tree and we get the familiar line, “To me, my X-Men. Presumably, this is Charles Xavier and as we progress, this idea is made clear as it seems we are doing away with the “X” identity he took up during Astonishing X-Men (2018). This also serves as some clear symbolism of a new rebirth for the X-Men.

Over the next few panels, we are shown shots of various X-Men planting flowers, plucked from the island of Krakoa, in various areas from their home in Westchester, New York to Mars, the moon and the Savage Land. The book is then framed around Magneto and two of the Stepford Cuckoos giving ambassadors from various countries a tour of the various locales that Krakoa has been placed upon as they ponder Charles’ proposed deal. This deal would allow them to make use of the flowers of Krakoa for various medicinal purposes, possibly making the world a much better place, so long as they agree to recognizing the sovereignty of the Krakoa nation state. A new Haven for Mutantkind.

Of course there have been such efforts made in the past. Genosha, the first and most prominently mentioned example, is alluded to have been the catalyst for humankind not being taken over by the mutant X gene. Mutantkind apparently would have become the dominant race on the planet Earth within ten years if not for Genosha’s destruction. Asteroid M and Utopia weren’t mentioned, but my guess is that they simply weren’t as impactful in regard to mutant kind likely because of the events of House of M (2005) dwindling their numbers to nothing. As it stands now, after the implementation of Krakoa spiking the birth rates to much higher than previously calculated, that humanity has about 20 years left.

These estimations are made by a brand new organization known as The Orchis Protocol, a network built for the purpose of monitoring evolutionary anomalies and preparing a doomsday protocol in case humanity is threatened by Homo Superior. The organization apparently consists of ex assets from practically all major organizations in the Marvel Universe from AIM, SHIELD and Hydra to even Hammer, Alpha Flight and SWORD. Some of Larraz’s best shots are in the scenes where we’re introduced to this mysterious group. They pilot a ship towards the sun and we get a good shot of the outside of a portion of their space station as they dock their ship.

Karima, an Omega Sentinel character that hasn’t been seen since sometime after Second Coming (2010) accompanies an Orchis higher up as they talk about the state of absolutely giant station so close to the sun. We get a bit of a tour before we get the best and most ominous shot of the full station. It appears to be the head of MASTER MOLD surrounded by hexagonal plates, the most terrifying shape in all of fiction. Master Mold hasn’t been really seen since about 1994, and again in 2010 because of universe jump in Second Coming. Master Mold was one of the X-Men’s most dangerous threats for it ability to produce sentinels at a rapid rate, so there’s no way that this can mean anything good.

Cutting back to New York, Mystique, Sabretooth and Toad are stealing information from the Damage Control Database. Mystique and Toad manage to get away, but Creed is captured by Invisible Woman and the rest of the Fantastic Four. Scott Summers shows up to remind them of the amnesty that’s apparently been granted to mutants, including thieves and possible killers like Sabretooth. Scott and, normally even tempered, Reed butt heads a little bit as Reed has a problem with Sabretooth getting away with his crimes and Scott acquiesces, seeing that Reed is serious. Scott does leave them with one sick burn as he tells Reed and Sue that Franklin has actual family on Krakoa when he’s ready.

What I love best about this scene is just how smug Reed is about all of this. For years, mutants have tried to stay out of the affairs of the greater Superhero world out of fear for their reputations. The shoe is on the other foot now that they have all of the leverage and the power that they so deserve. Even more awesomely, Scott’s new costume is a fantastic design combining the best of his Astonishing costume with the angular design of his Uncanny X-Men costume, minus the X mask, with blue lines instead of red.

Speaking of colors, Marte Garcia excelled in this regard. There’s so much symbolism to be gleaned from something as simple as a color change. Cyclops wore that suit in a red hue when he was a violent radical; having it recolored blue gives off the hint that he’s still a radical, but in the way that he dealt with the situation between Reed, he’s more hands off, non-violent even. Magneto normally wears red and purple when he’s angry and evil and gray during the AXIS (2015) era and that alluded to his anti-hero nature during that time. This go around he’s wearing white. He’s also peaceful, but at the same time he’s as graceful and imposing as he always has been, never betraying the idea that he is still the same man, but won’t harm anyone as long as they respect mutants. The most glaring example is the change in color from the AIM scientists where they’re wearing red instead of yellow.

In between each different scene we’re given these little interludes in the form of documents called Xavier files. These give some background on the new elements introduced in the book and the best one is the Omega Level file. There have been hundreds of mutants introduced over the years, many of which could have been considered Omega Level mutants, but thanks to Hickman’s expert writing, things have been parsed down to just fourteen. On Twitter, he stated that the X-Men lore was nothing but chaos, so he wrote a 14,000 word memo on what the new status quo would be, including limiting the use of the term “Omega Level.” This undoubtedly helps to establish something of a power structure given the high number of mutants that are known about while also acknowledging other heroes. Notably, while Forge is a master of technopathy, his level has been surpassed by humans in the past, but Magneto is the only master of Magnetism.

I want to bring things back to the tour. After it is over, several of the ambassadors agree to support Xavier. Russia’s ambassador never had intentions too, neither did one of the representatives of STRIKE as he was simply assigned to watch another ambassador. The last ambassador had a weapon hidden and Magneto immediately dismantles it and promises to each of them that things will be different. He wants them to tell their superiors that while Charles made the offer out of grace and love, it is NOT a negotiation.

Magneto takes pride in this. So much so that his assurance and steadfastness in his stance is powerful. It moved me. He tells them to be grateful for the bounty they’re receiving out of graciousness as mutants, like Thanos, are inevitable. It’s like he can actually see a future, one not shrouded in darkness for mutants and he’s smiling because he knows it’s coming.

This is one of the more interesting aspects of the book. Charles Xavier had always wanted to coexist with humanity, but after years of divisions and attacks, he seems to mostly be done with that. He’s willing to give humanity Krakoa’s flowers to make pills that will help them as long as they leave mutants alone. He’s effectively made something that will definitely topple the pharmaceutical market and he has to know that humanity would start to get very afraid. Not only that, but Krakoa has the ability to create portals that can move mutants from place to place without humans being able to track where they’re going. Of course the ambassadors are afraid of the use they could have as far as movement and positioning in case things went to war, but Magneto assures them that it is only them that wants war.

Everything seems perfect. Everything seems like it’s going to be alright, but that helmet… something about that helmet and the bodysuit reminds me of The Maker, another Jonathan Hickman creation from his turn on The Ultimates. It scares me and I needed that, I needed something to keep me hooked and the fear that everything is not as it seems is just that.

House of X hit the ground running. While it does little to acknowledge the fantastic Uncanny X-Men run from Matthew Rosenberg, that’s probably for the best. Jonathan Hickman does his best work when he has a fresh slate. He took over Avengers from Brian Michael Bendis and made an amazing story over the course of nearly four years. He reinvigorated SHIELD and the Fantastic Four with innovative stories that had nothing to do with the books prior to them. Hell, the reverberations of his runs on each of these are still being felt to this day.

Pepe Larraz was possibly the absolute best artist to capture Hickman’s vision for this project. His high angles and wide shots give credence to the size of the story. His facial expressions give into the idea that mutants have won this time, there’s hope where previously there was none. Body language surprisingly upbeat, bouncy even. There’s a lot to say about symbolism in terms of sun positioning in many scenes. The book has many showing the sun rising, symbolically showing a rise for the mutants. I see Orchis base near the sun as an allegory for Icarus flying too close to it. As the book ends with a sunset over Jerusalem, I see things as the sun setting on the time of humanity.

X-Men and their vast history is absolutely ripe for fine tuning if not complete destruction only for it to be made bigger and better in the years to come. I have no idea where this story is going and with 80,000 spin-offs incoming with a bunch of different creative teams, there will absolutely be something for everyone. In an attempt to revitalize a part of the world that used to sell like gangbusters, Jonathan Hickman is gearing up to shoot the X-Men right back up to the moon and light the world on fire behind them.

[sunflowerspectre]

The Backwaters | Commission Piece

This is part of a long commission piece for an anon, who commissioned for a long-length, full fanfiction.

Commission Info | Also on A03

Title: The Backwaters Summary: As an agent of SHIELD, Shuri’s assignment is to find and rescue Wanda Maximoff who disappeared in the backwaters of West Virginia. But her training is put to the test when the town’s mechanic Bucky takes a liking to her. Aged up! Shuri Warnings: Omega!Verse, Beta/Omega/Alpha Dynamics, OOC

<< Previous Chapter | Final Chapter >>

The Backwaters | Chapter Nine Word Count: 3241

All Shuri can think of is when to make the call. It has been one full day. That should be enough time for Wanda and Natasha to have warned the other girls stuck there, enough for them to prepare, but should she give them one more day? Should she risk one of the girls exposing their plans? She didn’t expect to face this type of dilemma, she wanted to call them as soon as she saw Wanda, but things changed. She saw the chance to tell Nat and Wanda, to let them tell others so that they can prepare and know that there is still hope, to live for just a little bit longer, and she took that chance.

She wasn’t specific when she talked to Nat and Wanda, but it would be easy for the idea of ‘escaping’ to be tracked back to her. She knows Nat would never rat her out, but Wanda is scared, she’s used and on the verge of breaking down entirely. If Paul pushes her enough, Wanda might spill and Shuri couldn’t bring herself to blame her if she did - or any of the other girls who might spill the beans that someone is planning an uprising due to fear, torture, humiliation, or any of the other abusive tactics that these sons of bitches use.

Though, by that logic, could she really blame any of the women who may spill because they don’t like the idea of everyone getting arrested? The women who have lived here for decades, who are scared of change and too brainwashed to realize the abuse in front of their eyes, the ones who bury themselves in denial to be able to live their lives as normally as they could. 

Or did any of them actually believe it if they did hear? Did the women from that church - the ones with hollow eyes and babies on their knees - know that help is coming or do they refuse to believe it because they’ve had their hopes for escaping dashed too many times like Wanda?

Shuri sighs and rests her back against the cold, wet, shower wall of Bucky’s cabin. She thinks about the Sheriff, the non-consensual wife he took from her home, and wonders if she got word. She wonders if she was able to pack up what she needed while looking after a baby at the same time. 

She can’t risk it, she can’t risk any of these bastards getting away because they bullied and abused someone into giving them a heads up. She has to get the women out of there.

She presses her bracelet together, signaling Coulson, and whispers her plan. She didn’t contact him yesterday, with too much at stake to risk Bucky overhearing her, but now all the information she’s learned comes out as whispers that are muffled by the running water of the shower.

She tells him all that he missed, including the exact directions needed to get to both her cabin and to Paul’s, going over exactly what beaten path to follow and which tree to turn at.

“Sheriff has eyes everywhere, Coulson. Cameras at each of the welcome signs on the edges of town and helicopters may get spotted. May need to send in a discreet squad with the ATVs to get down here until you get your cuffs on the sheriff yourself.”

“Well, avoiding cameras isn’t exactly anything new for us…  What about this Nat woman? Do you think she’ll spread the word discreetly or will she rat us out before we can get there?”

Shuri remembers the determination in Nat’s eyes, the motivation in her voice, the firmness of her decision to get out and to get as many of the girls out as they can along the way. It was the only time Shuri saw something other than sadness from the woman. It was like an old fire had been reignited and the amount of hope, trust, and belief that Nat looked to Shuri with - despite the hesitation and caution, Nat looked like she wanted to believe Shuri as much as Wanda wanted to.

But she doesn’t say that to Coulson - she can’t - there’s no way you can explain those types of looks to someone. Besides, a part of her knows that he’s right, as much as Shuri does believe in Nat, there is never a guarantee that she isn’t going to warn anyone to get them out before the raid.

“Second guessing my skills, Couslon, I must say that is rather bold for you,” Shuri teases, her voice light and forced.

“-Hey what’s that supposed to mean? We’re supposed to be working together and I wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn’t remind you of SHIELD 101.”

“- don’t trust anyone but yourself,” Shuri says, her voice echoing over Coulson’s own, as she rolls her eyes with amusement.

She could hear Coulson chuckling a bit before he pauses, deep in thought, before he finally speaks up. Despite the situation, Coulson never has been this chatty mid-mission before a raid, but she can only imagine how human-deprived he is in a tent all by himself with a little bathroom shovel.

“...What about Wanda though? Is she ready to go?”

Shuri thinks of the the dull, lifeless eyes that looked at her with so much helplessness. Her lips thin, “She’s not just ready, she needs to get out now. Send some of the paramedics to her location with some of the agents.”

She pauses and then continues, “ - and a good utility knife.”

“- a utility knife?”

Shuri thinks of the beaten leather collar that was marred with fingernail scratches, the thick leather of it and how it will take more than a pair of rusty kitchen scissors to get off.

“Yes - a good one or a rotary cutter may get the job done. They’ll know what to do with it when they find her.”

Shuri continues to go over the plan with him in hushed towns, exactly how he needs to have the squad come into town, which players they need to take care of first - Wanda and the Sheriff taking priority. Wanda due to her physical and mental condition and the Sheriff due to his powerful influence over the town. She has no doubts that if they take him down first, then the others will crumble like the cowards that they are. 

She gives strict instructions to not worry about her, to come get Bucky last, that she will stall him until they get here. Something that will be easy, Shuri believes, until she ends the conversation, finishes getting dressed, and steps out of the bathroom to see Bucky standing on the other side of the door with dark eyes, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Who were you talkin’ to you, doll? Thought I heard your voice in there.”

Shuri gives an easy smile despite the pounding in her chest, dancing on her feet to get around him with grace. 

“Myself, of course. Not a crime, last I checked, to get your thoughts out for yourself and talk to yourself in the mirror. Good confidence boost.”

Shuri walks down the hall, wanting to get them to a more open space, to add distance between them. She keeps an eye over her shoulder, watching him follow her with hesitation and furrowed brows. She doesn’t miss the way that he glances into the bathroom before he follows, as if he may be able to catch someone hiding behind the curtain or stuck in the small window.

“What do you want for dinner tonight? I was thinking of doing some hash, something simple, but filling.”

She tries to keep the conversation light and natural, not wanting him to focus too much on any one part of her sentence or think too hard about what he thinks he heard her say in the bathroom.

She could, honestly, beat herself up at the moment, her throat tight and her mind spinning. She can’t have him of all people ruin this for her, all because she didn’t pay enough attention to the door. She can’t have this entire mission ruined over one rookie mistake and one stupidly handsome backwater cowboy.

They stop in the living room, as Bucky’s pace behind her slows. She spins around to face him, grin plastered on from cheek to cheek. She wishes that she had brought her shoes into the bathroom, just to have something between her toes and the wooden floors - shoes would offer a chance to run, add more strength to any kicks, and lessen the chance of her getting any splinters from just walking down the beaten hall.

Bucky hardly seems to be paying her any mind, his eyes lost in thought, arms crossed back against his chest with a tight frown. 

“You know, darling, I’m beginning to think that this is just one of the few things that are just not quite addin’ up for me.”

He meets her gaze and doesn’t flinch, he stands tall with his head high. His eyes become hooded and shadowed as the furrow on his browns deepen. Shuri, despite that there are many other things that she should be thinking about at the moment, can’t help but think that the look on his face seems to break the illusion of a ‘handsome cowboy.’ The frown just highlights the creases at his mouth and eyes, making him look older, darker, more serious.

She can finally see the resemblance between him and Steve Rodgers. She can also see that he is definitely starting to get closer to her, his figure starting to shadow over hers. She takes a step back for every step forward he takes. She raises her hands as a sign of peace, smile still on her face, and hears Coulson’s whispered tone through the bracelet that the raid has started. He has Wanda - and the Sheriff.

Which means that all she has to do is stall him until someone comes by to arrest him - if she doesn’t knock him out first. It means that she doesn’t have to play nice anymore, but she can play with him and enjoy every single moment of this. 

“I know that something ain’t right with how I woke up on the couch and it took me a minute to realize why. You’re a smart girl, darling, smarter than some of ‘em others up here. But I didn’t smell a lick of liquor on me. Wasn’t too sick ‘neither. Then I smelled it all in the sink. I’m figurin’ that you dumped it all down the sink and staged it to make me think I just drank myself out. I don’t remember too much of that night, don’t know if ya finally found the drugs and drugged me or what.”

He takes another step forward, her grin doesn’t falter as he gets too close to her. 

“But I do remember what I asked ya that night - askin’ you to come to bed.”

She takes pleasure in dodging the way he lunges for her, ducking around him with ease and a small laugh. She hears the way that he growls, grumbling and cursing at her under his breath, but he turns to go after her again. While her grin is predatory, it’s mysterious, mirroring a cat playing with its mouse. His, however, looks like the big bad wolf - hungry, angry, ravenous, alpha.

But she doesn’t falter. She is fully prepared to let him huff and puff all he wants, but when by the end of this, she won’t be the one going down.

“I didn’t have to ask you know,” his hands wave around, flaunting about the room before he starts to gesture toward himself, “I could have taken you, you know. Didn’t have to ask or nothin’. Could have waited until you were sleepin’ like I almost did the first night you were ‘ere. Could’ve drugged ya. Could’ve done a lot of things, but I’m a nice guy.”

He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, and he looks at her with a feign calmness - a mask that’s cracked, forced, and she sees right through it. It mirrors her own, but it’s unpolished, untrained, and not perfect like the mask she’s had these past few weeks.

“But I’m just very done being nice, sweetheart and if you don’t tell me what happened and stop all this nonsense, I am going to put you over my knee and spank you just like the bad girl you’ve been.”

Oh a threat. Delighted and amused that he really thinks that he can threaten her, she sits on the armrest of the couch, crossing her legs with a smile as she swings her feet almost innocently. He takes a step back, unsure of how to respond to her lack of reaction, but Shuri can see his fists clenching, his nails making indents in his palm.

“I have been a bad girl, haven’t I,” her eyes twinkle, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip, “But I like being bad, Bucky, so bad one could say I really am good. So good in fact that I took you down like you the coward you are.”

She glances at her nails, raising her hand up casually as she does so. A part of her wonders if they’re sharp enough to do damage, the other part wondering if she should get a manicure when she gets back home. Oh maybe I could take Nat and Wanda. A spa day after all this trauma. I’m sure Fury wouldn’t mind me charging SHEILD’s credit card for it if it’s for recovery. She glances back toward Bucky, almost forgetting that she’s ‘supposed’ to be taking him seriously right now. 

“I’ll take you down again, you know,” Shuri’s eyes burn in the lowlight of the cabin, lighting up her face brilliantly, “If the others don’t get here first, you know? Had to call them in after I saw the state Wanda was in yesterday, but they already told me that they have her. Paul too, I’m sure, and he’ll be getting what he deserves. Just like the rest of you will be.”

Her grin is dangerous, serious. Untamed and slightly unhinged with sharp edges. 

“You really think you lot could be doing what you’re doing up here without SHIELD eventually taking notice?”

That makes Bucky stop - if for a moment. He tenses, freezing as he processes what it is that she’s telling him. The name SHIELD causes all the hair on the back of his neck to go straight up, goosebumps starting to pop up over his thicker arms. 

Shuri’s feathers fluff at his reaction, taking in great delight the way it makes him shiver in his boots, that he’s quaking in fear like the lowlife he is. 

It is a justified reaction, she knows. SHIELD has always been the boogey-man that everyone’s warned about. The ones that come in and take you out before you knew that they were even there - the ones that have the spies, the heroes, the villains, all under their thumbs. No they weren’t the boogey-man.

They’re everything that the boogey-man is afraid of. 

She is what the boogey-man fears.

“No,” Bucky shakes his head, as if finally coming to his sense, a grin back on his face as he takes a step forward, looking her over as he laughs, “No, not a little thing like you. Don’t go throwin’ names like that around ‘ere, darling. ‘Specially when you don't have any idea what you’re really talking about.”

He grins and he raises his hands to pop his calloused knuckles, a visible threat that doesn’t phase her.

“You’re delusional darling,” the laughter is still in his voice, “Absolutely batshit. I thought you were a spitfire, but this? Really? Thinking that someone is gonna be bustin’ in to save you? Thinkin’ that SHIELD even gives a rat’s ass about this place? About you? If you’re that crazy and unreasonable, looks like I’m gonna have to beat you to reason. Beat that crazy right out of ya.”

His grin is crooked, she notes with a laugh, just like him. The more unhinged he gets, the more it shows and the more she wonders why she ever let a man like that even touch her. It’s like watching a glass of one of mirror mazes shatter right when you’re in the middle of it, destroying the illusion before your eyes. She doesn’t see a handsome, or charming, farm boy. She sees a crazed man. A backwater bully who is the real delusional one.

She wonders just how many of the girls in town are watching that glass shatter. She wonders how many of them are getting cut trying to pick up the pieces of it, to build it back up, and how many are taking it as a chance to finally get out of this never-ending maze.

When Bucky lunges for, she yawns and her dodge is graceful, but lazy. As he runs after her, she avoids him like it’s muscle memory. His moves are frantic, crazy, strong, and impulsive. Hers are strategic, thoughtful, light on her toes and come as easy to her as breathing as he struggles to figure out how to catch her.

She’s getting bored playing with him now. It was fun to break him a bit, rattle him the way he deserves. But she wants to get to town. Help settle the crying women who are losing their husbands of ten or so years and don’t know how to break out of this delusion. Fix up the beaten ones. Carry the babies of the girls’ whose arms are too weak or too young for the weight of a babe. Check on Nat and Wanda for herself. 

“Honestly, just how long are you going to keep this up,” Shuri stretches, a bored expression on her face that infuriates Bucky as he lets out a cry and lunges for again.

Tired and wanting to end this, she lets him get in close this time. She steps away at the last moment, sticking her toes out just enough to trip him up. When he tumbles toward the ground, using his arms to support his weight, she jumps and lands on the crook just above the elbow with the ball of her foot.

His arms crumble, the one she landed on breaks from the force, and she steps off of him with an off-hand thought of how much better (and easier) it would have been in heels. She can hear the sirens now and the rumble of oncoming agents. As he nurses his broken arm, she uses her feet to push him onto his back. He rolls without much resistance, his ears ringing.

She rolls onto him, her side just below his neck. Her back faces him while his arms are pinned in front of her own. Her elbow presses on the floor with her other arm wrapped just below his elbows, free to stop anything he may try. With her weight and position, no matter how he begins to wiggle, he can’t shake her off. When he tries to stand, she knocks his knees with her free hand and he goes down again. 

The door to his cabin opens. He can’t see who it is, while Shuri turns her face toward the door with a bright grin.

“Coulson,” Shuri greets with a chirp, “We were having a grand time waiting for you.”

[masseffecthoe]

Soul Glitches

Chapter 1

A/N: So I’ve been playing Mass Effect and I guess you’ve seen James Vega and his muscles since you’re here... yeah, so this is the result :))

Writing this for fun, maybe a little rough around the edges and lightly unedited :)) Just so we’re clear, it’s a James x non Shepard OC.

Warnings: none i think... yet

I like making collages, sue me!

Jun sat in a dark corner of the hallway, right leg bouncing rapidly for the past half hour. Shepard's hearing was being delayed and it couldn't mean anything good. Officers were rushing in and out of the main chamber, each wearing a perfect mask of calmness on their faces, but the hurried steps and careful whispers were a clear indication something was up. But there was no way in hell they were going to actually charge the commander with anything, right? After all, they were saved, once more, because of her.

She thought back on the last mission, the one that all thought was going to be a one way trip through the Omega 4 relay and cold shiver ran through her spine. Maybe they were pushing their luck a little, but facts were facts and all of them painted Shepard as a god dammed hero. She was bought out of her momentary trance when a ruckus came down the hall. Soon enough she spotted the commander, her confident stride making the lower ranked officers part out of her way. Getting up from her spot in the shadows she joined the other woman in her march towards the hearing, completely ignoring the marine in her tow.

"Something's up, Shepard."

"Any idea what?"

"No. Whatever it is, they're keeping it tight." They paused and shared a look. Something was brewing in Shepard's mind; you could almost see the cogs running in overtime. Jun was about to ask what was the plain if things went south when the heavy doors slid open revealing none other than Kaidan Alenko. Now, she didn't have anything against the lieutenant per se, but he could be such an ass. She knew for a fact the commander was head over heels for the guy and she just couldn't see why… First human specter, war hero and the best damn leader she served under and the woman chose that chump…

She sighed, spacing out their entire conversation, pondering on love and its apparent unique ability to make even the greatest people dumb. When Anderson came and escorted the commander, she gave Jun one last look and she nodded: she'd be waiting right there, ready to bust them out if needed. If the Alliance refused to see the reapers as a real and imminent threat they'd find help somewhere else.

"You know the commander?

"I used to." Jun scoffed a little too loudly, making the two men turned towards her with questioning looks.

"You're such a moron, I swear…"

"Good to see you again, Jun."

"If only it were mutual."

"Look, I'm so-"

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, you dimwit." Kaidan gaze fell to the ground, shaking his head.

"I get it you two know each other."

"Unfortunately." She eyed the recently promoted major with all the disgust she could muster until Kaidan let out a defeated sigh and went on his merry way. She told herself again that she did not truly hate the guy, but it was getting harder and harder not to. As strong as Shepard was, his mistrust in her had left a mark no matter how hard she denied it. Shaking her head to get Alenko out of her mind, she turned towards the marine and extended her hand towards him.

"I'm sorry for that, he just really gets on my nerves. I'm Jun Saros." He shook her hand with a steady grip and she couldn't help notice the veins along his forearm. Damn he was bulky.

"Lieutenant James Vega. You two got history?"

"God no! He's just the biggest drama queen when you least expect it." He eyed her up and down, a smirk forming in the corner of his lips. Damn that scar was sexy.

"His loss." Jun was taken aback by the comment, but found herself smiling nevertheless. With all that had transpired in the past years, her accident, Cerberus, the Collectors, she found his little quip refreshing. A dip in normality. When was the last time she just chatted with someone without looming threats over their shoulder?

She raised an eyebrow, lips parted to give him a comeback, but her words were drowned down by an explosion. The ground shook violently, windows clattering and breaking. Outside, massive shadows were landing in the distance, red lasers shooting in every direction. Jun turned to reach the hearing room, but was interrupted when an entire section of the wall collapsed, blocking the door. She was grabbed by her shoulder non too gently by James and pulled along further down the corridor as alarms started going off and people dashed towards safety. She tried the com link as she barely kept up with the marine's pace.

"Shepard?"

"Jun, Anderson and I are cut off the main exit. Head towards the landing zone and meet us at the Normandy."

"Understood." She looked one more at the reaper just outside the city lines and cursed under her breath. They were nowhere near prepared for this! "Vega, we need to get to the Normandy."

The man nodded and took a sharp left making Jun almost loose her balance when she spun at the last second. If the building wasn't collapsing behind them she would have laughed at the silliness of it. James led them towards the exit, or better said to what was once the exit. A metal plaque cut through the doorway, wires spiking with electricity dangling from the sides. She took her omni-tool and cast a shield around them, giving the marine a curt nod before heading outside.

To say the city was in shambles would have been the understatement of the century. Barely any buildings stood unscathed, shuttles were evacuating civilians as military airships were going headfirst towards the reaper forces. She didn't have much time to register everything as James took off, jumping on a railing and turning towards her, hand outstretched.

"Come on!" Purposefully avoiding to look closer at the unstable looking path he'd chosen, Jun took his hand reluctantly. They were sitting ducks there, but the open space and the reaper in the distance made her stomach turn.

"How much further?"

"Are you scared of heights, princess?"

"Less of heights, more of giant lasers and being burned alive, you know?" He might have chuckled, but it was hard for her to tell between the explosions, alarms and people screaming. She turned towards a group of officers trying to pry off a metal chunk of a colleague's leg. The decision was made in a split second.

"We're almost ther- what are you doing?" She jumped down on the level below, preparing her onmi-tool and kneeling down besides the man.

"This should stop the bleeding, but you should still get him checked…" The words died in her throat. In all this madness there was little hope they would manage to get him a doctor anytime soon. The soldiers seemed to acknowledge this as well.

"Thank you ma'am. This will give him some more time." They hauled the poor unconscious guy over their shoulders and ducked for cover as a laser was shot towards them. It felt like she was hit by a train when James rolled them behind a sturdy looking column, the air leaving her lungs. She grasped his arms for support as she desperately tried to get some oxygen back in.

"Sorry…" James took in her form once more. She was lean, but nowhere near in military shape, her hands delicate on his rough skin. He felt bad for manhandling her, yet couldn't help wonder how she got mixed in on the Normandy's crew. He remembered her name in the reports, but couldn't recall if there was any mentions of her training.

"No, n-"The words stuck in her throat and she coughed a bit more before regaining a steady breathing, her grip loosening. "Thank you. Beats being burned alive."

"Right, let's get moving." He could have gotten to the ship already if he were on his own, he wanted to get to the action and blast those sons of bitches off their planet as quickly as possible. But he couldn't leave Shepard's little friend behind. The commander and Anderson seemed to trust her.

The Normandy came into view and they made a run for it. He jumped on the air lock and turned to help the woman, but she was already midair, a little drone pushing at her back. She dusted off when she landed besides him and raised an eyebrow at the look she was giving him.

"What? I'm more capable than I look." She put out her tongue in a child like protest and he wondered again how she survived that suicide mission. Dumb luck was all he could think of. They headed further inside the ship, in hopes Shepard and Anderson would have already gotten there, when a voice sounded through the ship's coms.

"Jun! Good to have you back on the Normandy."

"Joker, I already feel safer." James followed her to the elevator, unsure of the ship's layout. "Are Shepard and Anderson here?"

"We're picking them up now. You should get to the war room, the commander will be there soon."

It didn't take long between the moment they arrived in the room, the ship turning away from Earth, the commander entering, no Anderson in sight, and admiral Hackett's message. He didn't like the situation one bit. Leaving Earth was a coward move, even if the admiral had ordered them to Mars, James was not a part of Shepard's crew, he should have stayed with Anderson and fought for his planet! He was not stupid, he knew they most likely stood no chance without help from the aliens, but his fight was not in the politics of the Citadel, it was on the ground, were his people were being slaughtered. The heavy silence after the admiral's message was finally intercepted by Jun as she got up with a sigh.

"Starboard Observation Deck is MINE this time!"

Chapter 2 >

[kyliafanfiction-archive]

Daniel Ortega, Amy Kostas, Charkatus Victorae, and Gregory Elliot.

(the Orion Team stories - which center around these four plus Lung Jiao - start in July 2817 C.E.)

Full Name: Major Daniel Fransisco Ortega, Earth Federation Marine Corps. Also codenamed “Orion-6.” Gender and Sexuality: Cisgender, Heterosexual Pronouns: He/His/Him Ethnicity/Species: Black African and Hispantic Extraction, Human Birthplace and Birthdate: Hanno Station, the 3rd Oldest Orbital Habitat/City over Mars. Population - 400,000, some 478 years old. Date of Birth, June 17th, 2750 C.E. Guilty Pleasures: Coffee, Romnivirian (another alien species) Opera Phobias: No real stand out phobias. What They Would Be Famous For: Probably one of his heroic acts in the EFMC, such as his conduct during the Defense of Fortress Gamma-3-Omega from the invading Hyplontians (an alien species). During the 3-week battle, all his superior officers were killed and he ended up leading the Battalion. His work for the Office of Extrafederation Security is far too classified. What They Would Get Arrested For: Murder, Espionage, Destruction of Property, Arson… the OES gets up to a lot of stuff on the worlds of other Stellar Nations OC You Ship Them With: His wife, Natasha Richter OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Mark Farrell (different than the Mark Farrel from the Heartpoint Chronicles. This one is a mass-murdering psychopath/terrorist who works for a rogue megacorp) Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Historical Fiction, especially stuff set in the 23rd and 24th centuries. Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Simplifying the ‘bad guys’ of history into cliché moustache-twirly villains. Talents and/or Powers: Expert at small-unit tactics, top-tier marksman. Card Shark. Why Someone Might Love Them: Fiercely dedicated to what he believes in, loyal, Very fair-minded and expansive. Radiates quiet confidence, a lot. Why Someone Might Hate Them: He can be a scary hard-ass even to his men sometimes. Strict. How They Change: He does have a bit of a crisis of conscience after he kills the terrorist leader their hunting in the first Book and realizes just how much visceral enjoyment he got out of it, that the bastard was finally dead. Its one thing to do your duty as a soldier, but to enjoy killing someone? Even someone evil? Why You Love Them: I like the idea of this guy keeping Orion Team together - he’s def the 'sane man’ of the team, to play the tropes.

Full Name: Lt. Commander Amy Xelcavia Kostas, Earth Federation Navy. Also Codenamed “Orion-9." As a practicing Novarian, her middle name is that of her spirit patron - in this case, Xelcavia, the Spider of Striving Ambition, whom she took as a patron when she was 19, as per normal for a Novarian. Gender and Sexuality: Cisgender, Lesbian Pronouns: She/Her/Hers Ethnicity/Species: Greek and Irish Extraction, Human Birthplace and Birthdate: The city of Crestwall on New Horizon, the 3rd planet of the Washington System; DOB August 7th, 2764 Guilty Pleasures: High-Intensity Sports, Old Hyperspace Engines, Virtual Reality Multiplayer games Phobias: Violating the strictures of her Faith and then not getting a chance to make recompense to the Spirits before her death. What They Would Be Famous For: In another life, where she didn’t join the EFN, Amy could have become famous across known space for her advances in Hyperspace Physics and her pioneering hand development of an affordable (for the larger market) version of the Navy’s Zeus-Class Hyperdrive. With three Doctorates. Of course, she still has time to make a name for herself in the realm of Hyperspace Theory What They Would Get Arrested For: Whatever the law, she’d be arrested for trying to break it in the most elaborate way possible while (trying) to avoid being caught. She’d go for those laws that no one has broken and gotten away with it. That, or OES work OC You Ship Them With: Her wife, Sara Townsend. OC Most Likely To Murder Them: None really come to mind from the Orion Team verse, but Amy Kostas and Alicia Lehane (Aliciaverse) could either get on great or want to kill eachother. Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Romance Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: The Meet Cute Talents and/or Powers: Masters Degree in Hyperspace Theory, could have easily gotten a Doctorate had she not joined the Navy. A lot of practical experience in Hyperspace in general. Unbroken record of success as a Tactical Officer, in both ship to ship combat and Boarding Actions.  Why Someone Might Love Them: Smart, witty, dedicated, her constant quest to better herself and meet and rise to overcome new challenges. Why Someone Might Hate Them: Her apparent detachment from the fact that she kills lots of people for her job and doesn’t really care - she’s not as detached as that, but her manner (especially her highly competitive-challenge focused approach to fighting) gives that impression. Her need to be the smartest woman in the room. Her competitive Streak. If they don’t like Novarianism, her uncompromising devotion to the tenants of her Faith (though Novarianism manages to be a generally unobjectionable Faith… most of the time). How They Change: I’m sure she does, but I don’t know how she would offhand yet  Why You Love Them: Oh my god, I love Amy Kostas. Her unique style (informed by her syncretic faith) and approach, the fact that she studied Hyperspace Theory in College because it was the hardest subject she could find. She changed disciplines in the Navy because she felt like she’d made Hyerspace Navigation her bitch and decided being a Tactical Officer was her next challenge. I love Lt. Commander Kostas.

Full Name: Charkatus Victorae xaen Velcar Delorus. His name is partially Anglicized to be more easily pronounced by human tongues and written in English. Also Codenamed "Orion-12” Gender and Sexuality: Heterosexual, Xenophiliac (he finds human women far more attractive than Romivirian Women). Romnivirians don’t approach or conceive of the concept of 'gender identity’ the way humans do. His biological sex is Male, however. Pronouns: Vos/Vorcs/Vorbs (sort of/basically He/His/Him) Ethnicity/Species: Of Viran Extraction, Romnivirian Birthplace and Birthdate: April 17th, 2746, by Human reckoning. Born in the small agricultural town of Hurolxinekur, on Velcar Prime/Velcar IV, Velcar System, Nephros Cluster, Haeron Administratum, Romnivirian Empire  Guilty Pleasures: Human women. Technically not really a guilty pleasure since he’s stopped being bothered by his attraction. Rictelzo, a kind of Romnivirian Alcohol (he, like many Romnivirians, is allergic to the chemical compounds in the stuff that intoxicates humans, and no Romnivirian who isn’t metabolizes such substances in a way that lets the get intoxicated). Old Human Movies. (like, even Pre-space ones) Phobias: Vorra Beasts (native Megafauna on Velcar Secundus/Velcar III), his Cybernetic implants being overloaded What They Would Be Famous For: I can’t really think of anything. His service in both the Romniviran Imperial Army and then the EF Romnivirian Auxilliary Corps (think French Foreign Legion) What They Would Get Arrested For: Public Intoxication, Solicitation, on worlds where Prostitution is illegal but still exists (though that’s not common in Human space anymore) OC You Ship Them With: If Amy Kostas was straight, or Bi, and you know, not married I could see them being compatible (this was not intentional when they were created). Amanda Zhao, from The Heartpoint Chronicles-Verse OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Honestly? Rebecca Fernandez from THC-Verse Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Dramedies or Comedies with Adventure story aspects Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Humanity Saves The Primitive Aliens (especially common in Pre-First contact Sci-fi). Romnivirians were in hyperspace before humans developed Gunpowder, damnit! Talents and/or Powers: Expert Sniper, Occular implants that greatly improve his accuracy, Overload Gaunlet implant in his hand that lets him overcharge electronic devices in the field. Why Someone Might Love Them: He’s surprisingly insightful about people and good at cheering them up. Clever. Curious. He’s also very chill. Why Someone Might Hate Them: He’s got a body count in the Thousands:  humans, Romnivirians, members of the Centai races, and he just… doesn't really care. He also has no other career or skills than soldiering (which broke up his second marriage - he mustered out of the Auxilliaries to be with his wife all the time and just… couldn’t stick with Civilian life) How They Change: Not sure offhand. He hasn’t really yet. Why You Love Them: He’s a fascinating external look on the weirdness and idiosyncrasies of both humanity in general and the Earth Federation in particular.

Full Name: Gregory Julius Elliot Gender and Sexuality: Cisgender, Bisexual, has dated or had sexual relations with Sytala (an alien species that looks fairly human… except where they don’t) of both genders and had a sexual encounter with a Romnivirian male, although he found he didn’t particularly enjoy that experience. He largely prefers his own species though. Pronouns: He/His/Him Ethnicity/Species: Of Anglo/British Extraction, Human Birthplace and Birthdate: December 19th, 2767 Guilty Pleasures: Exotic Hallucinogens, though by practicality, he hasn’t had any in years. Phobias: Suffocation, Drowning, What They Would Be Famous For: Under the pseudonym, "The Hollow Man", he was responsible for a lot of Hacktivist Exposes of corruption, hypocrisy and the like in government on all levels and private enterprises, before the Office of Extrafederation Security recruited him when the Law finally started to close in on him.  What They Would Get Arrested For: Hackivism OC You Ship Them With: None in Orion Team, yet, but the characters of Daniel Chase-Harris and Jack Rosado, probably even Talia McDermott (all from the AliciaVerse), would be compatible with him. OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Once in a while, Lung Jiao has half-seriously contemplated it.  Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Sci-fi. Of course, Sci-fi in 2817 looks very different than it does today. Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: When the Authority Figures were right all along. Talents and/or Powers: Really good with computers/hacking Why Someone Might Love Them: He's endearingly excitable when he’s really into something. Really imaginative. Strong principles re: transparency and the spirit of the law. Idealistic. Why Someone Might Hate Them: His excitability, Idealism and occasional naiveté can rub off badly on people. How They Change: Despite being part of a front-line black ops unit, Gregory hasn’t actually killed anyone. He does in Book 1. Why You Love Them: He’s a nice counterpoint to the cynical pragmatism of the EF’s government (OES especially) and the lighter side of the occasional 'manifest destiny’ attitude the EF has towards its mission to be the government of all humankind.

Send me the name of one of my OCS and I’ll tell you (names w/ Post)

[isakthedragon]

A Dragon Sized Adventure Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Interview with Slinkys

Crash's Universe, N Sanity Island, Crash's Home.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.*

*Brio has been knocking on the door for a few minutes.*

N. Brio: "I know we haven't been on the best of terms, but you can't just be ignoring me like this. Hmmm... perhaps their off fighting Cortex still?"

*He doesn't have much time to ponder when a portal opens behind him. Sonic pops out first, followed by Tails, Spyro, Cynder and all the others.*

N Brio thinks: *"Hmm, they don't look like mutants, yet they walk on two legs..."*

Sonic surveys the surroundings: "Well, at least Eggman went someplace tropical for once."

Knuckles: "It sure is. Reminds me of Angel Island's jungle a fair bit."

Big: "Looks like a wonderful place for fishing."

N Brio: *"And they talk too. They don't look like they belong to Cortex. And I wonder who is this 'Eggman'."* "Uh-oh." *They notice him.*

Shadow is the one who notices him first. "Hey... who is that guy?" *They approach him.*

Brio decides to play it cool since they don't know him. "I'm Doctor Nitrus Brio-"

Sonic interrupts. "Wait, DOCTOR? You mean like a scientist?"

N. Brio: "Yes-"

Sonic: "An Evil scientist?"

N. Brio: "Yes- I mean, no!" *But it was too late. Sonic had already plastered a foot on his big head.*

Sonic: "There! One less evil scientist to worry about- DOWCH!" *Amy hits him on the head with her hammer.*

Amy: "SONIC! Didn't you hear him? He then corrected himself."

*Brio starts getting angry and green and getting taller and bigger, but then he pulls out a beaker of green liquid and drinks it, returning to normal.*

Sonic: "What... the heck... was that...?"

N. Brio: "Sweet, lovely mutagen." *He regains his composure.* "Sorry about that. I need to control my anger, lest I turn into a monster."

Sonic: "Yeah, like the Incredible H-DOH!" *Amy smacks him with her hammer again.*

N. Brio: "No, he's right, it's apt. I won't lie, I was an evil scientist."

Sonic: "I knew it." *He shuts up as Amy readies her hammer again.*

Big: "Hmmm, but you don't hold that very well. You're too... meek. You would rather let others take your accomplishments."

Brio: "WHAT? NO!" *He gets more delusional by the second.* "I created the Evolvo-ray! I INVENTED SLINKYS! STOP PLAYING WITH THEM BECAUSE THEY'RE MINE. I INVENTED LIGHT-BRITE AND WROTE THE BIBLE!" *He turns into the Hulk when he says* "I! WAS! IN! THE! FIRST! GAME!" *He then drinks his mutagen, turning back to normal.*

Sonic: "Oh, great. He's a crazy scientist."

Big: "No... He's putting a façade. The only thing true in that is that he perfected the Evolvo-ray... whatever that is."

N. Brio shows his sanity again. "I see I didn't fool you, eh? You're right. I only perfected the Evolvo-ray, a device to evolve weaker creatures into super soldiers, for Dr Cortex. Now, HE is a evil scientist. He's the one who wants to take over the world."

Sonic: "Sounds just like Eggman if you ask me, wanting to take over the world."

Spyro: "What are you doing here any way? You don't look like you would normally visit here."

N. Brio: "You are correct, I do rarely visit the home of my- I mean, Cortex's creations, Crash Bandicoot, Coco, and Crunch. But I got an anonymous phone call telling me to go to the homes of the bandicoots. The caller was strange, very egotistical. And before we hung up, I swear I heard him laughing 'Bwah hah ha' and I thought I could also hear metal banging on metal in the background."

Shadow: "That sounds quite a lot like the Doctor and Metal Sonic."

N. Brio: "Oh! And sometimes, some robots would question what he was doing, only to get a 'Quiet nincombots!' in response."

Sonic: "Now that does sound like Eggman, he never compliments his robots at all."

N Brio: "So, that is who this Eggman is... Hmmm... I did sense an evil just like Dr. Cortex. Which reminds me, none of the bandicoots are here, which troubles me. I know that they can go off to fight Cortex, but he usually tells me about it. (He is Cortex's friend, no matter what.) But there was no call. Did the bandicoots finally fail?"

*The ground suddenly starts shaking.*

Sonic: "Whoa! Is this an earthquake?"

N. Brio: "No... RUN!"

*Everyone moves away from Crash's home towards the beach as thorns shoot up from the ground, missing them. On the beachfront, the water freezes with ice.*

Amy: "What's happening?"

N. Brio: "It's the mutants! They're attacking us! But why?!"

Sonic: "Mutants?"

*From the forest behind them, Spikes, Snipes and Magmadons rumble their way while from the water, Ratcicles and Eel-lectrics slither and slide out. They gang up on the heroes.*

Sonic: "Ooh! A challenge for once. I got this guys." *Sonic starts revving up in his ball form.*

N. Brio looks at the mutants and notices the new headsets on them. He tells Sonic "Sonic! Aim for their heads! Destroy those headsets!"

Sonic: "Got it!" Sonic uses his Light Speed Attack to decimate all the headsets with no trouble at all. They shatter and fall to the ground.

*The mutants go from their crazed state to a more relaxed state, stepping away from the heroes. But before any celebrating can occur, Crunch, with Crash riding him, comes in. Crunch points his arm gun at the heroes.*

Sonic: "Ah, two more want to meet my speed, huh?" *Sonic starts revving up again but Brio stops him.*

N. Brio: "No, wait! That's Crash and Crunch... but they're different."

Big: "They appear to be under mind control. But whoever did this didn't do a very good job on controlling them. Hmmm..."

*He performs a thunderous clap, awakening Crash and Crunch from their mind control. Crunch drops his gun arm and Crash accidently loses his balance and falls onto the ground.*

*Sonic can't help but chuckle at Crash's fall. Then Amy proceed to whack him over the head with her hammer again.*

Crunch: "Oh, my... what happened? Why are we back home?"

Tails: "You guys were hypnotized into trying to attacking us."

Crunch: "What, you little critters? (Crunch is about taller than OMEGA) Darn it, it was that Cortex and the rotund dude."

Sonic: "Rotund dude? Did he wear a red suit and black pants and shoes?"

Crunch: "Why, yes! He trapped us in cages. He said his name was Eggman or something."

Sonic: "Yep, that's Eggman all right."

Crunch: "Then Cortex took us to his Evolvo-ray and then evolved us to look like this. After that, it's all blank for a few days, save for a command to attack a blue hedgehog and his friends just recently."

Crash has gained more than enough brain cells to speak, but all he says is "New Evolvo-ray!" before silencing himself again, as though he rather not speak.

N. Brio: "WHAT! He made a new Evolvo-ray without me?! That does it! Follow me, I'm taking you guys to wherever Cortex is."

*N. Brio jumps into the nearby rubble of what was the old Space Head (From Mind Over Mutants). The others jump in as the Space Head starts working again. N. Brio can be heard saying "Found you!" as they reach the room N. Brio is in.*

N. Brio: "Hop on this teleporter here, it's going to take you were Cortex and this Eggman is."

Crunch: "Why should we trust you? You're not exactly a good guy."

N. Brio: "Yes, I know. But you should also know I am angry that he has thrown out the old Evolvo-ray. I'm done not taking credit! GET ON AND KICK HIS ASS!"

*Not wanting to make Brio go Hulk on them again, they get on and are sent to the Space Egg's / Death Head's lowest levels.*

-----

DEATH HEAD'S / SPACE EGG'S BRIDGE

Eggman is in command when the alarm goes off, saying there are intruders on board.

Ensign Cubot: "Commander, there is an army intruding on board."

Ensign Orbot: "It appears to be Sonic, Spyro, Crash, and the others, Commander."

Commander Eggman: "Excellent, they're right on time. Lt. Commander Metal Sonic, inform the, ugh, Captain that Sonic and Crash and the others have arrived."

Lt. Commander Metal Sonic: "YES, COMMANDER... NO RESPONSE FROM THE CAPTAIN, COMMANDER."

Eggman: "What?! Oh, that's it." *He goes to the ready room and bangs on the door.* "CORTEX?!" *The door doesn't open.* "CORTEX!" *The door is still closed.* "Metal Sonic, force the door open."

Metal Sonic: "Yes, sir." *He overrides the door's security lock, making it open.*

Eggman sees a sight that stops him midsentence, saying only "Cor...tex...?"

*Only one light is on in the ready room as Cortex sings into a microphone.*

Cortex: ♪ "Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time. I feel ali-i-i-ive! And the world, I'll turn it inside out, yeah. I'm floating around in ecstasy. So-"

Dingodile: ♪ "Don't-"

Tropy: ♪ "Stop-"

N. Gin: ♪ "Me-"

Uka-Uka: ♪ "Now."

Nina: ♪ "Don't-"

Komodo Moe and Joe: ♪ "Me-"

Tiny: ♪ "Me."

Eggman: "Oh, brother."

*Pinstripe and Koala Kong raise the lights.*

Cortex (The others take the back-up): ♪ "Cause I'm having a good time! Having a good time! I'm a super star shooting through the sky like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity. I'm a racing car, passing by like Lady Godiva! I'm gonna go, go, go, There's no stopping me! I'm burning thorough the sky, yeah, 200 degrees! That's why they call Mr. Fahrenheit. I'm trav'ling at the speed of light! I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!"

Eggman: "Great, now I have to hate Queen..."

Cortex: ♪ "Don't stop me now! I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball. Don't stop me now! If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call! Don't stop me now! Cause I'm having a good time. Don't stop me now! Yes, I'm having a good time. I don't wanna stop at all! Yeah."

Eggman: "You're gonna have to stops sooner or later."

Cortex: ♪ "I'm on a rocket ship on my way to Mars, on a collision course. I'm a satellite, I'm out of control. I'm a sex machine ready to reload! Like an atom bomb! about to oh- oh- oh- oh- oh- explode! I'm burning thorough the sky, yeah, 200 degrees! That's why they call Mr. Fahrenheit. I'm trav'ling at the speed of light! I wanna make a supersonic woman out of you!"

"Don't stop me; Don't stop me; Don't stop me; hey, hey, hey! Don't stop me; Don't stop me; Ooh, ooh, ooh! I like it! (Don't stop me; Don't stop me;) Having a good time, good time. Don't stop me; Don't stop me; Oooooooah! Alright!"

Eggman: "Fine, they are doing a pretty good job."

Cortex: ♪ "Ooooh! burning thorough the sky, yeah, 200 degrees! That's why they call Mr. Fahrenheit. I'm trav'ling at the speed of light! I wanna make a supersonic man out of you! (Hey, hey!)"

"Don't stop me now! I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball. Don't stop me now! If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call! Don't stop me now! Cause I'm having a good time. (Yeah, yeah) Don't stop me now! Yes, I'm having a good time. I don't wanna stop at all! Yeah."

"La, ra, ra, ra, rah, ra, ra, ra, hah, Ha, ra, ra, ha, ha, haaa, Ha, ra, raa, ha, ra, ra a-a-a- Ooh, ooh, ooh..." ♫

Eggman: "Are you guys done now?"

Cortex: "Ah! Yes... I'm just so happy."

Eggman: "So much so that you need to stop all communications out there?"

Cortex is clearly ecstatic. "Well, you saw how much fun we had... now what is it?"

Eggman: "Well, you remember I told you to send Crash, Crunch, and an army to handle Sonic and his friends?"

Cortex: "Ah, yes. Did they kill them?"

Eggman gives a sarcastic response. "Oh, yeah, they did such a good job."

Cortex, cheerfully: "Wonderful."

Eggman starts to rage, but then he calms down. "No, Cortex. They're here in the station."

Cubot comes in. "Reports are that they are in the Prehistoric Terrarium."

Orbot: "We shut them in there, but I don't think we will keep them in there for long."

Cortex: "WHAT!"

Uka-Uka flies over in rage. "That bandicoot is still after us?! YOU STILL FAIL ME, CORTEX, AND I DON'T GET HOW!"

Cortex: "Now, hang on. I got a plan. Dingodile, go to the Prehistoric Terrarium."

Dingodile: "Al'ight, sir. It's gonna be a roast."

Cortex: "The rest of you! To your Terrariums. We are going to stop them!"

*Everyone leave to where they need to be.*

Next Time: Get ready to see some dinos in the Prehistoric Terrarium.

[arkanne--productions-blog]

Mortal Dictata: Prolouge

Story Description: The year is 2155. Humanity has reaches beyond the confines of its solar system, discovering countless planets and extra terrestrial life. Man quickly rose among the races and formed the U.R.S.C. [United Races Space Command]. The Union brought together all the races of significance and gave birth to Veta, An A.I. that was made to control over the financial struggle of the U.R.S.C.. Quickly the use of mechanical engineering and AI programs spread to be used for commercial use. AIs would be used for home security, Cosmetic industries, and Law Enforcement. Machine ruled as the tool of organic life. Veta, sensing the uselessness of organic life due to artificial running every aspect of life, struck a blow against it’s masters. The financial market plummeted. Home Securities attacked house owners, causing many injuries and deaths. The mechanical uprising sprung and attacked their masters everywhere. Entire races fell into extinction. Humanity itself dwindles with small hope of survival. The U.R.S.C. fell and in it’s place rose Ignis-Omega, a machine empire of synthetic life and ruled by Veta who continued to hunt down any and all Organic life left in the universe. few races remained, yet new were discovered every day and recruited to revolt against the AI uprising. Ignis-Omega has control over all forms of market, military, and recreational distribution. This takes place fourty years after Ignis-Omega has come to power and Veta-05 currently rules. The revolt has claimed a central head quarters close to the center of the galaxy which remains undetectable due to solar radiation interference with scanners from Ignis-Omega

Prologue:

“Nature is by the art of man, is in many other things, so in this also imitated, that it can make an Artificial Animal. For seeing life is but a motion of Limbs, the beginning whereof is in some principal part within; why may we not say, that all Automata have an artificial life? For what is the Heart, but a Spring; and the Nerves, but so many Strings; and the Joints, but so many Wheels, giving motion to the whole Body, such as was intended by the Artificer? Art goes yet further, imitating that rational and most excellent work of Nature, Man.” -anonymous

The light carrier Nervonda launched across the open oblivion that was the world of our existence, our universe. It carried a simple crew of six people.

Alex Gren was the pilot. At a young age, her parents fell victim to the assault of the Mechanical Uprising which left her as a lone girl by herself in the unforgiving streets of Elisé, the capital city of the planet Everianel which laid as the home of the Kryptonain race. Surviving for thirteen years on the streets, stealing for food, she enlisted in the remnants of the URSC at the age of twenty-two. Now only two years later and she piloted her own ship, made her own rules, and got the added benefit of making her crew’s lives hell.

Tanner Kinley was the weapons specialist. He was much different from the other members. His real name was BBX-27. He was a repurposed Ignis-Omega smart AI. He was at the old age of 5 years old when he was placed on the Nervonda. He liked the crew as much as a sentient program could, though he was always eyed with suspicion from some of the members due to the history of a few repurposed AIs reverting back to their old coding. He made sure to make up for it with his hard work at keeping the ground team outfitted with the best gear.

Then there was Kelly Bringar. She was a marine stationed on the Norvanda and worked as a ground team leader. She led the unit as they operated planetside- or asteroidside. She grew up in the artificial gravity of the URSC frigate Vindicate and always made time to steal a ship to take to nearby rocks. She loved the taste of real air– when the air was actually breathable to humans.

Rukü Lekou ruled as the unit leader for space combat, be it boarding or dogfights. The Kryptonain grew up on his homeworld in the rural backwater of Lakeu and led his way to a life in service at the age of thirty. Eight years is all it took to be stationed on the Norvanda. While at first he held little respect for his fellow crew, most of them being human, battle has brought them close enough together for him to put this aside. He is one of the few that trust Tanner with their life.

Lex Versio. Every team needs the guy that loves explosions and Lex is no exception. Anything that can make a boom, he wants. He’s the crew’s demolition expert, taking lots of grenades and launcher ammo into the fight. He almost was never seen without his favorite girl, a toy he called Vendetta, which held warp ammo capable of pulling apart entire walkers. He grew up in a low technological city called Maeco on the planet Mgelokoo. He has a patient temper and always prefer the more direct approach. He was the armor. He was the guns. He was Lex

While the ship normally held six members, this was not the case. Recently their co-pilot Ripler was killed in a mission on Mars. She was tasked with keeping the ship ready while the rest performed their Scorched Earth policy on one of the data facilities on the surface. She had been torn clean in half by a Ignis-Omega RAPTR-G3 unit after having fended off thirteen units, succumbing to sheer numbers. The funeral was a quiet one before the funeral pyre was jettisoned into the embracing darkness of the stars. The crew still grieved his loss and had refused any replacements. Though, they had no choice on the matter anymore and were expecting a new arrival sometime soon. They docked in the station Pompeii and stayed aboard the ship, minus Lex who had left to visit a bar to drown the grief from his mind with a nice, tall glass of alcohol and the embrace of any women

~-~-~-~-~

Erron Black made his way through the crowed terminal of Dock 45. He could see the faded yellow of the word Nervonda. The O had long since faded away. He gripped the strap of his bag tighter and hefted it up more onto his back. He walked up to the boarding ramp before taking a deep breathe. This was his new station. He wasn’t told anything about his new home, just that he was to be a new co-pilot. He straitened up and made his way up the ramp and into the belly of the cruiser. He walked down the long corridor, not seeing anyone. He saw a door with a green light above it showing it was unlocked. He pressed his hand against it and opened it quietly. He stepped into the room and found a neatly made bed and a few dressers. He also noticed a rather large aquarium built into the wall. He sat the bag on the floor by the door and walked up to it, studying the aquatic life inside. He noticed something and peered harder. He swore he could see a face.

“you must be the new blood” came a feminine voice which caused him to jump back in shock. He looked at the aquarium and noticed it wasn’t just built into the wall, it was the wall. He could now make out the curvy form behind the water and cleared his throat.

“geez. You scared me there. Um, yes I’m supposed to be the new co-pilot. My name’s Erron” he spoke clearly so the woman would easily be able to understand his ramble. She walked around and came into sight. She wore simple military bottoms and combat boots with a tight fitting tank top that seemed a size too small. Her eyes were interesting, one red and the other green. Her hair was black with a dull purple tinge through the side. She stood at what seemed to be five feet and nine inches. His eyes quickly locked onto the shimmering metal of her right arm. It was a biomechanical replacement. He shivered slightly at the thought of having one. She followed his gaze and let a small smirk show.

“I’m Kelly Bringar. I know who you are. I took the liberty of reading your files, well the one’s i was able to before the Captain almost caught me. I’m in charge of ground operations. On the ship you may out rank me, commander, but on the ground i am your superior. Do we have an understanding?” she spoke sharply to get through he point. He nodded quickly.

“yes, ma-am,” he said smoothly, “ where is everyone else?” She walked past him and sat down on her bed, laying back and letting out a relaxing sigh.

“probably in their rooms. You’re lucky you weren’t early and caught me with my shirt off or else we’d be needing another co-pilot.” he let out a small chuckle. “I’ll make sure to knock next time. Mind giving me a tour or where I’ll be?” she sat up and pulled herself to her feet. “yeah, sure. Come on, newbie”

~-~-~-~-~

Kelly looked over the new pilot. He seemed a little young but he acted like he’s seen it all. He probably was younger than her twenty-three years. How he had climbed the ranks so fast was beyond her but at least it meant he was exceptional for the job of the ship. He looked forward with a stiff posture. He seemed a little formal but she was sure that would change as he got use to the new environment and met everyone. He was waiting for their captain to meet him. That’s a show she would love to see. He was actually a little cute. He had brown hair he had buzzed at the sides and let a tuff of hair remain on top which hanged off the left side of his head which covered a bit of the undercut. His eyes were a deep brown and he was only maybe an inch off of six feet tall, making him just two inches above her. She refocused herself.

“over here we have the medical bay. Tanner runs the automated systems here as well as in the armory. He’s our weapons specialist and will be outfitting you with your loud outs when we hit the ground. I’m sure you’ll just love him.” she left out the part of him being an AI. No need to put him on edge more than he already was. He nodded in understanding. He doesn’t talk much, she thought to herself. She dug her elbow into his side sharply. “I’m not going to be talking to myself here i hope,” she said with a grin. He chuckled quietly. “yeah yeah. I’m talking”

They entered the mess hall which consisted of two long tables parallel to each other as well as a serving bar with a kitchen built off of it. He saw a Kryptonain sitting at a table, eating at a protein packet of copper and fertilizer. Kelly grabbed Erron by the arm and pulled him over to Rukü. “Hey Rook. This is our new co-pilot Erron. Erron, this is Rukü but He’s in charge of space operations. My alternate if you will” Erron looked at the alien quietly and held out a hand to the Kryptonain. He looked at Erron’s hand and dismissed it, going back to eating. Kelly walked away, taking Erron with her. “he’s not very accepting of the replacement. He’s slow to trust and for now he’s going to keep comparing you to Ripley usually with you as inferior.” her head lowered some as she grew quiet.

“Alright where is this co-pilot? I need to figure out who’s life I’ll be making hell in the chair beside me”.

Kelly quickly stood at attention, Rukü standing and doing the same. Erron looked at the two and quickly followed suit, figuring this must be their captain. “That would be me, ma'am” he said loudly, pushing confidence into his voice. Alex stepped up to him and looked him over. Going to be different with a male with me. Not used to their company, she thought to herself. While growing up an orphan, most of the men she grew weren’t of a very noble type and usually attempted to take advantage of her be it labor or sexually. Usually that ended with a bullet to one of their heads so she had a negative view of the opposite sex. He didn’t seem so much right now. He seemed eager to prove his worth rather then instantly assume any superiority over the crew. He did outrank them all, even herself, after all but this was her ship which made her word law and she would be damned if anyone disobeyed her law. She gave a brisk smile.

“I’m Alex, your captain and the woman you better listen to”. He nodded with a small laugh. “I plan to do that, ma'am. I’m Err-,” she cut him off quickly. “I know who you are, Commander Erron T. Black from the 561 Division of the URSC’s SOR Special Forces. I’ve read your file and I’m sure I’m not the only one that has,” she said, giving Kelly a short glance. She didn’t notice her captain’s disapproval, being distracted with the task of looking at Erron in wonder. “You’re part of SOR? I wish i knew that before you arrived. I would have dressed more properly. Well that’s the past now i suppose.”

The Special Ordnance Recon was a special forces unit off the black ops branch of the URSC military. They were the elite and fabled the best of the best. For someone so young to be apart of it definitely had some skill. She let some thoughts flush from her mind before opening her mouth to speak again.

“maybe he should meet everyone else,” Alex said, cutting her off. She snapped her mouth shut and nodded. She grabbed his arm and dragged him along. “Lex is in the bar so you won’t meet him till later. I guess it’s time for you to meet Tanner”

~-~-~-~-~

Tanner looked over the weapon print of the M63 magnum. The .44 calibers were special piercing rounds he had designed and he was now testing it’s ability. If used right, one shot could shatter the arm of a human opponent. With enough work, machines would have a similar injury. He grasped the grip with slender, metallic fingers and raised the sidearm to peer down the iron sights. He pulled the trigger and a large hole was formed in the three inches of titanium he had set up. He grunted with dissatisfaction and tossed the gun back onto the table, regathering himself in the computer and worked on redesigning. His physical body shut down as he transferred into the terminal. He heard the door open but gave no indication. Kelly pulled a man behind her by the hand until they were just by his docking station. He reactivated the automaton and took control. He looked over the man in interest before looking back at Kelly.

“Hello, Miss Bringar. How are you this fine morning?” he said in welcome. He himself was having a dull start of the day but hid it inside the metal platings that held his AI core and hosted his sentient thoughts. She smiled briefly. “I’m doing fine, Tanner. And i thought i said to stop calling me Miss. I don’t like it,” Kelly said as she pouted like a child, putting on a bit of a show to lighten the mood for Erron.

“I’ll call you what i like, darling. And who is the young gentleman next to you?” Kelly looked up with something in her eye. “Oh, this is the new co-pilot Erron Black,” she said before leaning in with a smile of satisfaction, “he’s part of SOR”. Tanner let the expression of surprise cross his face. He had already knew everything about him. His rank, name, date of birth, even his shoe size (a 11.5 he would add). He knew that conversation helped the crew with is being and eased any tension with him being a repurposed AI. He grasped the man’s hand and shook it shortly.

“And i assume you know who i am already. Though I’m sure you weren’t informed of me being an AI”. Erron shook his hand back. “That would be correct. It’s a bit surprising but im sure if you’re trusted with a job like this then you’re worth trusting," Erron said evenly, making sure to not show any distaste. Tanner liked the man already. Ripley had been the opposite of this new member. Ripley never trusted Tanner with anything and had never trusted his loud outs. She probably died since she had chosen poorly compared to the effective weapons Tanner choose for the situation. He pulled away from the man.

“I’ll be continuing. I trust you to find your way out, please”. He reinstalled to the terminal and went back to work. Kelly grabbed Erron once again. He was getting a little irritated with being pulled around for the past hour but with the hand belonging to a female, and with the added threat of it being a girl with a metal arm that would easily break his own arm which it held tightly made him hold his tongue. “I’d like to sleep a bit. It’s been a long trip”. She nodded in understanding with a look of brief disappointment on her face. “of course. I’ll take you to your room so you can get some rest. You’ll need it”. She led him down a few turns and opened the door across from her own room and moved to the side so he could enter.

“Here we are. Sleep well”. She smiled warmly before walking into her own room. Erron watched her go before entering his room and closing the door. He looked at the inviting bed and fell forward, quickly falling asleep.

[krissysbookshelf]

Free Ebooks (7/21/17)

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  Skeletal by Katherine Hayton: Daina Harrow is dead. Now that her teenage bones have been unearthed, join her spirit in the coroner’s court as he cross-examines the people who knew her and loved her, hated her and tortured her, to tease out the truth behind her devastating death.

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  Harold Shipman: The True Story of Britain’s Most Notorious Serial Killer by Ryan Green: The story of Britain’s most notorious serial killer, Harold Shipman, from his upbringing, his victims, his trial, and his motivations. Shipman killed no less than 218 of his patients, making him Britain’s most prolific serial killer.

This book is Free on July 21, 2017

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  Storm at Sunset by Ian Hall: The story of an RAF pilot whose work is not done after the close of WWII. He is sent with his squadron to the Far East, where their task is to bring those kept in internment camps back home. But the war isn’t over in these far flung corners of the jungle, and the squadron soon finds itself in a fight to survive…

This book is Free on July 21, 2017

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  Family Matters by Laurinda Wallace: When kennel owner Gracie Andersen receives a strange gift from her troubled uncle, she is drawn into the investigation of her cousin’s accidental death of 20 years ago. No one wants her digging up the past and someone intends to stop her. With her black Lab, Haley, by her side, they’re on the trail of a killer in the village of Deer Creek.

This book is Free on July 21, 2017

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[mykaverse]

Nix - Compass Soulmates AU

Mama said that the compass pointed to the other half of your heart. The fact that Mykal's little red arrow was pointed straight up his arm to his chest all the time simply meant he was lucky enough to be born with a whole heart. Lucky enough to be born without the need for a forever-person. Lucky enough to be born earning love the old fashioned way, while the rest of the world had their happiness handed to them by the flesh-bound indicator. 

Most people looked like ink, or paint. Mykal thought his looked like blood. 

Twenty years, it didn't move. Not an inch, not a muscle. The soft flesh of his inner wrist marred by what might have been a scar or a simple birth mark, brighter and darker than most of the spinning little needles that seemed hectic and panicked on some of his friends. 

And then Mama died. 

It only took three months for the savings to run out - especially with how much the city was charging for cremation services. It only took sixty days after that for Mykal to do the neighbor a favor. Nothing more than signing for a package when it arrived, take it inside, wait for the neighbor to get home. 

That night, sitting on the sofa with the box beside him, the brunet watched his compass needle move for the first time. Staring at his arm to avoid looking at the box, he saw it twitch rather violently to the side, bouncing a moment before it settled. Pulling out his phone, Mykal checked the direction. Due South. 

A knock at the door startled him out of that contemplative reverie, and by the time the neighbor had retrieved his package, the compass had returned to its previous position - unmoving. 

It was another few weeks before another request from the neighbor had Mykal's mark spinning, this time pointing a little bit West. Pulling out a map, the brunet made a note of the two directions it had pointed so far - and measured the space between them. Maybe the distance between them could give him an idea of how far the target was. Tempted beyond measure to chase it the next time it pointed, Mykal packed a bug-out bag, ready to make a break for it the moment he got a direction to follow. 

The next time the neighbor asked him to wait for a package, the request for a "favor" included instructions of where to bring it to - since the guy didn't have time to come home for it this time. It limited the time that Mykal could make it to the pharmacy that day for his anti-biotics (welcoming the winter in the only way his body knew how) so he was quick to leave the moment it arrived, all but jogging down the city sidewalks. It wasn't until he was halfway to the drop off that he noticed his compass spinning again. Without thought, he took off, watching it wriggle enough to indicate that his mate was within sprinting distance - unless they were on a freaking jet plane. 

Box still under his arm a half an hour later, Mykal slowed from a sprint to a defeated walk, glancing down to find the compass once more pointed at himself. A shout drew his attention to the side, and before long the brunet found himself dragging a sodden ginger out of the stream, squeezing water out of his mouth. 

Elliot survived, Mykal offered dinner - two steps into the apartment building and the omega was against the wall with a hand around his throat. Fortunately, it didn't take long for the neighbor's attitude to change when the box was handed over - a little worse for wear but generally not ruined. 

Mykal followed Elliot back to The General's place. Now a house exactly, but it was more home than the empty (and now dangerous) apartment. His lease lapsed, his things were seized. Everything of remote worth to him was squirreled away - photographs and keep sakes, some of which broke or were lost. All the while, his compass remained unmoving, pointing at his own heart like an accusation. 

Begging is not easy. He loathes the people who think that it's "giving up"; wonders if they could even survive the shot to one's pride every time he asks someone if they have a quarter to spare. Mykal refuses to lie to them. Others make up stories, or try to sell cigarettes one at a time. He says straight up: I'd like to eat today. Gotta little brother to feed. Work is worth doing. He mows lawns, and clears gutters, and scrapes pools. He scrapes shit off of roofs, and slime out of dumpsters. He gets offered money for sex, and for drugs, and vice versa. 

He accepts, once. Alexei is barely legal, comes home with him under promises of real good quality shit. They spend a month helping him climb down. The General says he's a fighter. Elliot says he's a trap. When he wakes up, he's Sasha - like his mother used to call him. Mykal can hear her death in his tone, but can't imagine who put the burns on his back and shoulders. 

That winter, all of them need something for the cough - a wet cough that lingers no matter how many times they break the fever. Mykal doesn't know much, but he's had bronchitis before. He lets himself into a pharmacy before it opens. Points a fake gun at the young woman in scrubs, begs her to cooperate, and leaves with enough to get them all better. 

On the way home, the rising sun reveals his twitching compass, pointing due South again, but there's no time to be sprinting off when he's got a family to nurse back to health. And honestly, at this point, shouldn't whoever the damn thing is pointing at be trying to find him too? 

The General doesn't remember everything, which probably makes him easier to talk to. It takes his idle thoughts, while they sit on the overpass watching a sun set - a pipe in the old man's mouth, long since emptied. Maybe Mykal's mark only moves when he's committing a crime, because eventually he will get caught. 

Mykal can't decide whether that brings him comfort or not, but he gives up chasing the direction down all together. If that lay lies jail time. 

It doesn't stop him from offering his services to the neighbor a few months later. A broken leg, a new mouth to feed, and the old man's failing health, all driving him towards a more steady source of income. Not having his apartment anymore means that he's set to the beat, hands in his pockets while cheap shoes slap the sidewalk, always on the look out for buyers. 

Fortunately, it's not always selling. The brunet is inconspicuous, knows how to hide in a crowd, and has the innocent sort of face most people want to trust. He gets good at moving whole shipments - in backpacks, or rental trucks. Location to location. His education kicks in enough to start a trust - keep the money out of his name, out of the government's reach, make sure the boys can get their hands on it when they're starving and he can't come home. Sasha offers to help, then demands that his offer be accepted, but Mykal isn't willing to risk any of them. They should finish school, get a real job. It takes a shouting match for the truth to come out - Sasha hasn't owned himself in almost ten years. No identity, no documents, no idea what direction is home. The answers lie somewhere that he never wants to tread again, and any attempt to find them can only lead to re-capture, arrest, or death. But Mykal knows some people. 

It takes the neighbor - whom Mykal has been calling "Boss" for almost two years now - about a month to find the answers they want. A photograph and a school photo ID card are sent in a brown envelope, along with a card, type font name and an address of "the guy you want". The brunet hides that, handing Sasha the rest, who goes to meet his mother. 

Mykal makes a very important trade. Someday, Boss is going to get caught, and all Mykal has to do is make sure he's the one who pleads guilty to whatever they think the Boss did. 

Sasha's kidnapper is dead the next morning, along with eighteen others, all caught in a "fire" that leads to one of the biggest human trafficking breaks of state wide history. 

His compass points straight forward, away from him, and stops moving. Mykal's "whole heart" must be gone, he figures. 

It takes two years for the Boss to get caught. A day to turn himself in - or risk having everything taken. A week to get convicted. And a month to decide he needs to get out. His debt is paid. 

A month after that, the Boss is dead, and Mykal applies for parole. "Max," he offers, the first, and the second, and the third time they pair him with strangers. "Last name Dziedzic. It's Polish so don't feel bad if it's too hard to pronounce. Most people don't have the teeth for it." All the while, his compass stood straight forward, having betrayed him to whatever excuse for humanity would take him at this point. 

On his way down the hall with Nicholas Timmons, Max glares down at the black wristband - again - annoyed by the restrictions and the invasive inspections. His eyes widen a bit when he realizes that the compass is pointing at him again. 

Except, wait. It's not pointing at him. 

It's pointing behind him. 

A glance over his shoulder, and Max watches blue eyes brighten over a slightly forced smile. 

Oh boy...