#she’s got no interest in firearms but she’d probably be very good with them

[fauvester]

some distant cardassian predecessor was able to shoot venom out of cheek sacs. no venom in contemporary cardassians but a few of them have maintained vestigial sacs and can even use them to shoot spit. jocasta can spit a fly out of the air from three yards

[paytato435]

Chapter 12: The Iris

The Iris

“Excuse me? Who’re you calling ugly, you old hag!” Leo spat angrily at the huge woman who fell on top of him. She jumped off him like she’d fallen on a hot stove, stepping back and observing the two of them with flaming eyes. Casey wasn’t exaggerating when he thought they were flaming. It looked as if her irises were literally on fire, but as soon as he noticed it, the fire dissipated.

“Another one,” she smiled to herself. “Got anymore gifted friends, green breed?” 

“Green breed? That's not very nice of you,” Leo pouted. “Didn't your parents ever teach you to never point out or make fun of people based on their perfectly exceptional and handsome features?”

“My parents died fighting disgusting and ordinary aliens such as yourselves,” she sneered.

Ordinary? How many extraterrestrials had she met?

“Oh geez, that is really tragic. I'm sorry about that,” Leo apologized. “The Krang really affected all of us in terrible ways. But uh… we're not them!”

“The Krang?” she looked confused. “Oh no, my family would never fall to the shells of those titans,” she hissed.

Now it was Casey and Leo's turn to look at each other, confused.

“Casey, are there other aliens in the future?” Leo asked.

“Not that I’m aware of!”

“Then why does she make it sound like there are other aliens?” Leo pointed an accusatory finger at the woman. “Who are you and why do you talk so cryptically?!”

The woman did not answer, but by this point, Casey figured she was probably the Dr. Aderman that April had described on their way over. She was incredibly tall, even taller in heels that somehow avoided sinking into the grass they were standing in.

“...and Green breed? Geezus, talk about reducing a person to their color and function! Don’t objectify me! I'm a MINOR by the way, if you couldn't tell! Well, if you're that confused by a mutant, you probably can't…”

Unfortunately, she didn't seem at all interested in Leo's comments anymore.

The woman turned to Casey, who was currently unfastening Donnie’s arms from his restraints on the relocated table. He was still unconscious, unfortunately; Casey needed to get him out of here. Concerning questions about Aderman's relationship with aliens could wait.

“Thinking of taking him somewhere, runt?” she asked, taking a step toward the pair. Thankfully, Leo stepped between them.

“Sorry chica, only I get to invade my brother’s rather particular personal space.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” she snarled, as she then proceeded to twirl her finger. Both Casey and Leo dropped their jaws in surprise as a massive purple sledge hammer spun out of thin air. She took a hold of the hammer and hefted it over her shoulder. “No, really, please try your best. I want to have some fun!”

Leo barely had time to dodge her first swing. Not only was she big, she was fast too. And how was Leo supposed to block a giant mystic sledgehammer exactly? Casey didn’t want to think about that, so he just kept fumbling with Donnie’s restraints. It would only be a matter of time until she’d had her fun messing around with Leo and turn her attention back to him, right? And wasn’t that Donnie’s ninpo she was using? If she could make firearms whenever she wanted, they were as good as dead already.

Unless Donnie could wake up, probably.

“You’re a slippery little guy, aren’t you?” Aderman cackled, chasing after the slider. At least Leo seemed just as fast as she was. At that moment, however, Leo’s wrist communicator and Casey's mask alerted that Mikey was contacting them.

Oh shit, they had left him behind!

“Leo you better come back right now or we’re all gonna be swiss cheese!”

Swiss cheese?

“He’s a bit preoccupied at the moment!” Casey answered back.

“Well he better un-preoccupy himself fast!” came April’s voice. “Get us out of here!”

“Working on it!” Casey huffed, finally getting the last of Donnie’s limbs free. “Stall as long as you can, we’ll be there soon!” He had no idea how they were going to manage that, though. He had noticed Leo wasn’t portalling around anymore, and when he reached inside himself, he couldn’t feel his own ninpo- not that it would’ve helped them anyway. That meant they couldn’t just portal their way out of this one. Aderman had to go down, or otherwise give up. Since he didn’t have an idea, he was hoping that at least getting Donnie to wake up would do something for them.

It seemed silly given the immense amount of pressure they were under at the moment, but Casey was admittedly a little scared to wake the soft shell up. The reason was even more stupid. It wasn’t even entirely Donnie’s fault- and it never would be… hopefully. There was still a part of him that blamed Donatello for everything that happened to him, and for how he treated Leonardo in the future. It changed his whole life, it drove a wedge between the family. And while that had nothing to do with this Donatello, the pain of that situation wasn’t something he could let go of so easily. It wasn’t fair, but that was why Casey usually avoided Donnie. And it was also why he was so nervous to even touch him at the moment. Especially now that he knew Donnie had put a tracker in him recently. They didn’t trust each other, but he couldn’t help that right now.

“Donnie, Donnie wake up!” he shook the turtle’s shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t have to keep prodding him. He also knew Donnie hated nothing more than to have someone invade his personal space. It made the action feel all the more violating on Casey’s part.

“Donnie please, we have to get out of here!” Casey poked him in the cheek, and the soft shell at least emitted a low growl. Casey flinched back; Donnie was infamous for his bites. “Leo’s in trouble; Mikey, Raph, April too. Come on man, get up!” At last Donnie’s eyes fluttered open, and his brow lowered in confusion.

“There you are! Get up, we’re in big trouble here!”

“...the redstone clock…s’broken…” he grumbled, before closing his eyes again. He was totally out of it.

Casey heard a crash and looked up, Leo had just been thrown face-first into a tree. Oh, that would work wonders on his self-esteem for sure.

“Donnie I’m gonna go help Leo, please wake the fuck up!” Casey yelled into the soft shell’s tympanum before flipping his mask down. There was nothing else he could do but buy them some time and hope. Well… at least he had a ninja’s greatest weapon, he thought sarcastically to himself.

Casey took only a moment to figure out the best way to approach the over six foot tall sledgehammer swinging muscly… ok yeah they were probably fucked. In the small glances he had spared to watch Leo try to fight back, he’d only gotten in one chance to land a kick to her side- and he crumpled like he’d just kicked solid stone. Casey’s conclusion: blunt force was clearly Aderman’s wheelhouse, and not theirs. Well, it was for circumstances like these that Casey was glad he had a chainsaw.

As soon as it revved to life in his hands, Aderman’s head snapped to face him like a cat hearing the tuna can open. She dropped Leo, who was sputtering some stupid joke about a lumberjack and gave Casey a flashy smile.

“Decided to join the fun did you?”

"I guess so, you're not really giving me an alternative," Casey shrugged despite the rising panic in his chest. He did not like his odds going one on one against this woman, even if it was only until Leo could drag himself back up to his feet.

At least he had the advantage of having seen her move as she fought Leo. Not that it would help if he couldn't keep up with her.

So what's the plan for fighting someone larger, faster, and more powerful than yourself? Well, ideally you don't. But when you do, you shut them down as fast as possible, or find a way to trick them into doing it themselves.

In other words, Casey would have to use her momentum against her.

Aderman charged, her head down, hammer raised above her head ready to strike. Casey had seen this reckless approach too many times to count. When the lateral swing came, he was more than ready for it.

He jumped over the swing, and figuring that allowing her to continue the turn uninterrupted wouldn't give him the opening he wanted, decided to add an additional one hundred and seventy pounds to her hammer, landing on top of it and causing her to stumble forward. She stumbled right into a swing of his own.

Blades spun and grinded into her chest and she screamed in pain, but her unfortunate momentum carried her further into his space, and Casey had to roll away so as not to be toppled by her.

"You-!" But she was cut short by more gasping shrieks of pain. This was not an advantage Casey could let go.

Before she could retaliate, Casey decided it was time to go for her knees. He pivoted around to her backside, and raised his stick to follow up, when a hand grabbed him from behind, dragging him backwards.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Leo's shouting in his ears and maneuver so confused the teen that he stumbled and gaped, unable to recover. That was all the time Aderman needed to get back up onto her feet.

What was Casey doing? What was Leo doing giving up the opening? When Aderman turned, Leo's face paled. Yeah, it was a pretty nasty sight- her chest had been ripped open and blood was flowing freely down her tattered sweater and lab coat.

"Casey…" 

Casey tried to rationalize what was happening at the moment. Leo was smart, he knew how to fight, he knew not to underestimate an opponent or give them a chance to recover, but here he was doing it anyway. They could die because of his interference. Why had he pulled Casey back?

As Aderman stumbled at them, clutching her chest with one hand, purple static buzzed from her eyes and fingers. Oh that was really bad. Purple light shaped themselves into barrels, stocks, and pistons. Firearms of every variety Aderman could think of materialized.

Casey wilted under the sight of it. If Leo could portal away, he might be faster than a speeding bullet; but as they were now, they were most certainly fucked.

"Hot soooouuuuuuup!"

Ok maybe a little less fucked now. A speeding ball of tangled brown fur dropped in from the trees just in time to divert the researcher's attention, presenting her face with the nastiest, grimiest pink toes Casey had ever seen. Honestly he didn't understand how Leo could live in proximity of those but then complain about Casey's occasionally sweaty socks. The audacity.

"DAD?!" Leo blubbered dumbly as he still seemed to refuse to acknowledge just how close he and Casey had been to being blasted into oblivion by Donnie's stolen magic guns of doom.

Casey did not want to stick around and wait for Leo's permission to attack again, so he shook off the slider's shoulder grip and decided to meet Splinter halfway, going for Aderman's knees again and this time striking true. The kick from above and subsequent dead-legging caused her to crumple to the ground, but not before she fired the mystic tech blindly.

The good news was that apparently Donnie's powers required a LOT more refinement than it seemed Aderman possessed, as several of the shots either rebounded or never engaged at all. The bad news was that there was some kind of magnum firing off into the air and then immediately bucking straight into Casey's temple.

Ouch.

-

Leo had always thought he had pretty good reflexes. He had always been quick on his feet and easy to adapt to change. Watching Casey attempt to cleave a woman in half however, might have flipped a switch in the slider to trap him fully in the "freeze" category of fight, flight, or freeze. Not because he was scared of what might happen to the kid physically; he seemed to be faring pretty well against her, especially given that Leo hadn't found a way in.

But that was because Leo hadn't been trying to kill her. Casey didn't at all seem to care what happened to the woman, and that was why Leo was now having an extremely inopportune internal crisis. The scariest part? It didn't even seem like Casey had thought about what he was doing. When Leo pulled him back and tried to snap him out of it, the teenager looked at him with frustration, like Leo was the one taking this too far.

Despite just having her legs almost completely sawed out from under her, it appeared as if Aderman had taken the fall quite gracefully, all things considered. In the time it took for Leo to finally close the distance between them, she had managed to lash out with another mystic hammer and knock Splinter out as well.

“Dad!” the rat man went flying through the bushes and out of sight. Leo would have jumped after him if Casey wasn’t also still within swinging distance of Aderman.

“That thing… is your dad?!” Aderman choked as she spat out blood. Eugh boy, she was not doing alright. But Leo didn’t have time to worry about her health, because now she had turned to swing at him. Thankfully, she had slowed down considerably, and he easily hopped over her swing.

“You really should stop and take a breather, Raggedy Anne,” he pointed out as she began hacking again. “I’m not sure you’re going to be around much longer if you keep doing that.”

Aderman howled in frustration, but was in no position to move. She was stuck on her knees, but Leo’s eyes were on Casey. The poor kid was nursing his head and trying his best to crawl away, but he also looked to be at the end of his rope after getting knocked in the head. Aderman must have seen Leo’s glance too, because all of the sudden a smirk (albeit the best one she could manage in her pain) spread on her face.

“You know I really only need you mutants alive,” she snickered, bringing her hammer up.

“No!” Leo dove for Casey, but realized too late that it was actually a trap. Blue light that he had no control over surrounded them, and Leo suddenly found himself crashing back down to the ground from a greater height, landing right in the bushes that his dad had flown over a moment ago. Well, at least the sharp thorns were there to break his fall.

So she could copy not only Donnie’s, but his mystic powers too! That was really bad. All of this was really bad. He could look through the branches and see his dad was passed out- also really bad. And then he heard Casey screaming. Really really really really really really bad.

“You little shit, look what you’ve done to me!” Aderman howled as Leo heard her repeatedly beat him down. Leo rolled out of the bushes. He pricked a thorn out of his arm and thought about screaming too. It seemed the rage was infectious, and he had had enough bullshit for one night. He wasn’t just scared for Casey as he approached Aderman, he was fucking pissed.

Aderman was hunched over Casey, screaming in his face and then picking him up by the neck and shoving him back down into the ground repeatedly. His mask had fallen off somewhere in the carnage, shattered and broken on the ground below him. Blood and tears were spread all over his puffed up face. Leo had a terrifying thought as he sprinted up behind Casey’s assailant. He had almost gotten them killed when he’d held Casey back before. He had hesitated. If Leo didn’t do something now then Casey was going to fucking die.

So for the first time, Leo decided to go for the head.

If only it could be that easy. Leo’s right hand sword bucked and exploded the moment it came into contact against Aderman’s neck. How that was supposed to happen, he had no clue, but the memory of Synth talking to him back at Run of the Mill made his blood run cold.

They’ll bite back.

Leo could have easily lost an eye if he hadn’t shielded his face in time as shards of steel exploded over his face and arms, sending deep and painful cuts dancing over his skin. He yelped and tumbled through the cloud of steel and over Aderman, who was at least momentarily distracted but otherwise completely unharmed. At least, for that moment.

When Leo sat back up he didn’t have time to look at the damage done to his hands, because he was too shocked by the damage being done to hers. Somehow in this catastrophically awful mess, Casey had found his chainsaw again and had wedged it between himself and Aderman. Her hand was slashed open on his way back to get at her chest again, and she screeched in a combination of rage and agony.

Fuck all this. Leo would rather go one-on-one with Krang Prime again.

Thankfully, the shredded and unbelievably fucked up but still screaming meat rag that was Professor Aderman rolled away, freeing the equally unbelievably fucked up Casey Junior. To his credit, the kid just flopped over and continued to cradle his head. Leo wished he could do that. He wanted this to be over. But his brothers were still inside the facility. Speaking of, he turned to look at the table where Donnie was and found the soft shell scrambling to his feet.

“Oh, now you’re awake?” was all he could manage before he winced at the pain in his cheeks as he grimaced.

Donnie didn’t say anything. Leo wasn’t sure what he would say either, taking in whatever the fuck all this was. Donnie, seeing Leo was at least alive, squatted down next to Casey and examined his head. He propped the kid up and pulled an eyelid open.

“Hey, look at me. You have to be awake too,” he told Casey, but Leo wasn’t sure Casey was even in there to hear him. He looked like a rag doll in Donnie’s arms. “Wake up Casey, we’re going home now.”

How?

Donnie fussed over the teenager a bit more before groaning in defeat, and instead picked him up and carried him over the shoulder before making his way over to Leo.

“Did I hear dad?”

Leo nodded and pointed over to the bushes. Donnie set Casey next to him.

“Try to get him awake. He’s definitely got a concussion.” Leo was just relieved to see the kid was still breathing. Donnie paused before standing back up. His eyes were fixated on Casey. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that later,” Leo shrugged, trying to be nonchalant despite his very much still bleeding arms and face and the unconscious teenager slumped against him. “Go get dad.”

Two minutes later and dear old pops was groaning and grumbling all over the place, chastising Donnie repeatedly as he carried the small rat back over to the rest of them.

“You went out all by yourself in the middle of the night!” Splinter word vomited over his son. “We were all so worried, do you have any idea how hard it is to install the booster seat in the Turtle Tank by myself when I’m freaking out!? My arms don’t reach the seatbelts, I couldn’t remember where the keys were!”

Poor Donnie looked like he was going to knock himself out too if it meant he didn’t have to listen to the emotional beatdown from Splinter, but he perked up at the mention of the Turtle Tank.

"You brought the Tank?" Donnie asked.

"Of course," Splinter answered. So that was how he had shown up so fast.

“Where is it?” 

Splinter pulled out the tank’s key fob from his shaggy robe and with a click they could hear the beep of the vehicle parked only a short distance away.

Donnie looked down at Leo. “Can you stand? We need to get Casey out of here.”

“We need to get Mikey, Raph, and April out of the facility first,” Leo argued, but he managed to get to his feet just fine. He was really only emotionally drained.

“The facility?” Donnie asked, tipping his head to one side. Leo pointed toward the big white dome through the trees and Donnie’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Wait...Where are we, Leo?”

“Some secret but not so secret government facility where they were going to dissect you because they thought you were an alien, probably,” Leo shrugged. “Oh yeah and the Sister Krang is in there too.”

Donnie gave him a bewildered look before shaking his head. 

“When we are done getting our brothers back… please tie me down in my lab and never let me out again. I am clearly the greatest dum-dum on the face of the planet.”

“Chillax dude, I’m sure they’re doing fine in there,” Leo assured him, throwing a bleeding arm over Donnie’s shoulder, to which the soft shell immediately bit him for. “Ow!”

“Keep your fluids to yourself!” Donnie snapped, pulling up purple holograms showing vitals for all three of their family members still stuck inside. “Mikey's not moving inside, and Raph's been overexerting himself. Scratch that, he's collapsed. So has April, her heart rate is accelerated.”

“Then we need to move!” Leo jumped, dragging Casey up and over his shoulder as Donnie had and marched to the tank.

“Be careful with him!” Donnie urged, following him with Splinter in tow. “Dad, do you think you can look after Casey while we go help the others?”

Splinter made a concerned hum, but sighed.

"Be careful, my sons. Get out of there as fast as you can."

“We’ll be in and out lickety split!” Leo assured him. He was very ready for this nonsense to be over.

Meanwhile…

Mikey was glad that Leo had been able to get Donnie out of the lab, but couldn’t he have at least taken the rest of his family with him? Once Leo, Donnie, and Casey disappeared, all hell broke loose in the observation room as more security came in, this time armed to the teeth with assault rifles. At the moment Mikey was very grateful for Raph’s clone jutsu, which turned out to be bulletproof. Guns were new; as fast as he was, Mikey didn’t think he wanted to try and outrun them. Instead, he and April hid behind the snapper, throwing out chains and tripping up the men as best he could. April made do with whatever she could find in the room, smacking paper weights, staplers, and books at the men with her mystical baseball bat.

“How are we going to get out of here?” she yelled over the sound of gunfire. Mikey had been wondering the same thing. They were trapped. He momentarily thought about trying to portal them out, but one glance down at his scarred hands made him shiver. He remembered the heartbreaking lecture Casey had given him, and the pain that seared up his arms when he’d pulled Leo from the prison dimension. No, that would be a last resort. And even though they were pinned down, Raph was still going strong, casually knocking down man after man.

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Mikey yelled back. “Only so many of them can come in at one time!”

Crack.

Mikey and April turned their heads up to see there were more men coming into the laboratory, and it looked as though they were pounding their way against the glass with some kind of hammer.

“Okay, nevermind!” He screamed. He slapped his wrist to call Leo. “Leo you better come back right now or we’re all gonna be swiss cheese!”

A voice came back, but it was Casey. “He’s a bit preoccupied at the moment!”

“Well he better un-preoccupy himself fast!” April shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“Working on it!” Casey huffed from the other side. Mikey thought he heard some hysterical cackling from the other side, and Leo yelped. “Stall as long as you can, we’ll be there soon!”

Mikey looked into the distance with his ninpo and saw that Casey and Leo were back outside the facility. If Leo couldn’t portal them out, it would take ages for them to get back together. He also noticed the double Donnie was there again, but now he knew it wasn’t a second Donnie at all (that would have been silly). It was that Dr. Aderman lady, and she and Leo were spinning around each other like a merry-go-round. That was probably not good.

Mikey turned his attention back to the people surrounding him. He could see more and more people coming after them. The facility was huge, he wouldn't be surprised if there were over a thousand of them.

"Mikey, look up! Could we crawl up there?" April pointed at the acoustical drop ceiling. Now that was an idea!

"But Raph won't fit," Mikey frowned. "And once we're up there, it's pretty thin, they could just shoot straight through it."

"Well, how about the convenient ventilation system that is just big enough for people to fit inside?" April gestured to a register also on the ceiling. 

That was better at least.

"We'll just have to try," he shrugged as the glass window took another hit. Damn, that stuff was sturdy.

They crawled to sit under the register, and Mikey threw up his chains to rip it down. The register swung down with a sharp creak. Mikey turned to April and nested his hands.

“Aprils first!” She took one glance over at the rattling window and needed no more encouragement. She stepped into his hands and he boosted her up and out of the way, before catching his brother looking in his direction. There was no way Raph was going to fit.

“Don’t worry about me, I got this!” Raph assured him, but Mikey could tell the big guy couldn’t keep this up forever. Mikey took one more sweep of the surrounding area.

“Push through and head west!” Mikey shouted. “We’ll meet up with you!”

“Go!” The snapper roared, expanding himself as he did so, such that he was able to tear open the walls on either side of him. Several officers backed up in fright.

The glass behind Raph shattered, and Raph started making several clones of himself to fill the space Mikey and April had left behind. Mikey himself jumped up into the ventilation and crawled after April, who was already making her way west.

“Where are we going?” She panted as they went.

“Wherever those guys aren’t!” Mikey huffed. “There’s an empty room just ahead.”

The room they dropped into was a storage closet, and when they popped their heads out, they could see Raph further down the hall, now free to be as big and smashy as he wanted to. April whistled. “Look at him go!”

“Let’s go boss man!” Mikey called out to get his attention, but just then he noticed others were pushing in from the other side of the hallway. The way he hoped would offer them the least resistance.

“Do you think there’s more stairs down this way?” April asked as she sunk a home run into an officer’s gut. He flew backwards, knocking over the others behind him. Mikey easily shoved them to one side with his chains to allow them to run past. He heard Raph’s thunderous footsteps catch up behind them.

“There’d better be!” Raph answered. “Or I’ll have to make a way down.”

“Wait, couldn’t you? Haven’t you broken concrete before?” April asked him.

“My knuckles don’t want to find out,” the big guy grumbled.

Thankfully they reached a new set of stairs before they had to.

Unthankfully, someone was coming up the steps to meet them. Not that Mikey could see him coming, because he found himself suddenly blind. At least, that's what it felt like when his ninpo was ripped from him. The loss was so jarring it felt emotional too, as if he had suddenly lost sight of his family in a crowd. In a way, he had. His third eye was completely useless.

"Ah!" He skidded to a halt but April kept going, running past him with her bat in her hands, seemingly unaware that her bat was no longer glowing with mystic energy.

"April, wait!" Too late, she committed to a heavy swing at the approaching man’s chest, but he pivoted and sent her stumbling down the stairs with a terrifyingly fast kick. She screamed, turning in the air but striking the wall opposite them, crumpling onto the landing below. "April!" 

Mikey heard her swear something incoherent. He couldn’t see her, but at least she sounded alright enough.

The man in black charged him, but at the very least, Mikey could respond in kind. The man telegraphed a right hook, but Mikey knew better. He saw the stun baton sliding down from the left sleeve, and with a carefully timed handspring, kicked the baton out of his hand. Mikey's momentum carrying him forward, he snatched the man's other arm as he swung upright again and sent him crashing into the drywall to the south side. The man slid down it, cursing as dust followed him, but he was clearly dazed.

Mikey righted himself and started for the stairwell. He hoped April wasn't too badly injured-

But he had only made it a few steps before Mikey felt an explosive fiery pain shoot up from his right arm through his shoulder. 

The stun baton?

Immediately following, something sliced into his left forearm. 

Not the stun baton.

He barely had time to process what was happening when a similar force from his carapace knocked him stumbling forward and almost tumbling down the stairs himself.

"Officers, ceasefire!" the dazed man ordered. "I want them alive or not at all!" 

Oh.

…

He had been shot. Raph’s ninpo had been sealed and left them all exposed.

He had been shot. He could see movement out of the corner of his eye, but it seemed like everything around him melted away as he turned his head to look down at his right arm.

He had been shot? Mikey remembered when Raph had talked to him about his experience being infected by the Krang. How he watched himself do things, sometimes without even really thinking about what it was he was doing, or why. He wondered if this was a similar experience. He could see his arm hanging there, swinging uselessly as he swayed, trying to stay on his feet. He could see the blood running down it, and the flesh torn apart where the bullet had passed through. He could see all those things, but at the same time he felt like it wasn’t real. That couldn’t be his arm. He couldn’t even feel it. Where had the pain gone? Where had he gone? Was he dreaming? He was in danger, he remembered. He looked up just in time to be kicked in the face by the agent's shiny black boot.

How long had he been standing there uselessly? It had been long enough for that man to recover.

And sweet pizza supreme, this guy kicked hard. Mikey crashed through the wall of the narrow hallway and into an adjacent room.

He gasped in pain as the impact struck where a bullet must have buried itself in his shell.

“Mikey!” he heard Raph cry out, but Mikey could see his brother had problems of his own. Even though they weren’t shooting anymore, the EPF officers were still giving him plenty of trouble.

Mikey wanted to tell him that he was alright, but his voice caught in his throat as he tried to stand. He felt both of his arms shrieking in pain, and a terrible throbbing pain from behind. It made him dizzy, but the panic in his brother’s voice pulled him out of it. He had to stay on his feet.

"I was wondering when you four would start poking your noses around here," the man deadpanned, tilting his head and adjusting a slick black tie around his neck as he followed Mikey into the room. He was also wearing sunglasses inside. Did he hate all the white lights around here or something? Mikey was not enjoying them either to be honest; he blinked several times to try to fight off the spots in his vision.

"It's… hard not to… when you kidnapped my brother!" Mikey grunted back, swaying precariously as his left arm held his right. He could feel his heart beating frantically as blood pumped from both arms. It wasn't just the floodlights that were messing with his vision now.

"You know how it goes," the man shrugged. "Curiosity killed the cat and all that. He shouldn't have been snooping around."

Ooh this bitch was gonna get it. 

If Mikey could give it. Jeez, he really hoped Leo and the others were coming back soon.

Shit, they hadn’t even told dad where they were.

Mikey needed a reality check; he was completely outmatched in this scenario- there was no way he could fight back like this. Well, not head on anyway. All he could do was hope and stall as long as possible.

"You’re way stronger than those other dudes," Mikey pointed out. "Who are you?"

The man raised an eyebrow from behind the glasses. "You didn't even do your research?" he asked. "I am really starting to think that Aderman's taken the appropriate response. Tell me, would talking this out mean anything to you?"

While he didn’t see any reason to trust anything the man said, it seemed to be the only way out for now.

“You kidnapped Donnie. Why?”

“The United States government is researching the Krang’s mystic abilities. From the footage we have and Dr. Aderman’s personal observations, she’s hypothesized that yours and your brother's abilities are analogous.”

“Anala-what?” he remembered the word, but his brain wasn't processing.

“They’re similar. More importantly, we want them to better improve our planet’s defenses.”

“You could have just… asked?” Mikey heaved.

The man in black adjusted his glasses.

“So you would allow us to conduct research on you if you asked?”

“Personally, no way Jose,” Mikey balked, his head starting to spin. “Or maybe… Agent K. Evil Agent K. What… is your name by the way?” He tried not to look at how much of his blood was dripping to the ground.

"Agent Bishop is fine."

“Bishop. Blue Bishop…pawn.” Mikey slurred nonsensically. “Hey… d’you know howta sto’thefloor from movin’? I can’t-”

He finally fell over.

“King’s here…” he garbled before he lost consciousness.

-

Raph didn’t like to think about all the times in the past he’d lost his temper. He didn’t like being mad at people, but when he did get mad, it usually also meant remembering something dumb his brothers had done, and he really didn’t like lingering on their mistakes either. Like the pizza puffs fiasco a few months back. He still found himself checking corners of the kitchen regularly for any forgotten trace of those suspicious little devils. They had lied to him so much about how many were left that it made his skin crawl.

It was beyond frustrating to watch his brothers hurt themselves; he often felt powerless in situations like that. It’s not so easy to convince someone to stop being a dumbass.

On the flipside, it was much easier to know what to do when someone else was hurting his brothers. Rage was his hammer, and the little human standing over his defenseless baby brother looked so very much like the perfect nail.

“Are we using the code names again?” he growled, with no humor in his voice whatsoever.

The man who called himself Bishop spun straight into Raph’s twelve inch knuckle sandwich with extra salt. He hoped it hurt as bad as the crunch sounded. He didn’t even look at the man as he fell, instead scooping up Mikey in one arm as he carried April in the other. Her ankle had been twisted when she landed on hit wrong. She turned to check on the box turtle, and gasped at the sight.

“Mikey!” He was covered in blood; some running down his arms and even more budding from the cracks and indentations in his shell.

“April, can you try Leo again?” Raph grunted as he carried them both back toward the stairs. Behind them, every soldier that had dared to stick around had found themselves rendered entirely unconscious in an almost comical pile of bodies. Most of them fell from Raph's world famous smashing, but he was a little embarrassed a couple of them fainted after Mikey was thrown through a wall… on account of his fear stink. He looked down at April who was crinkling her nose, but didn't say anything.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I gotcha,” she whispered frantically, tapping at her watch.

“Leo, are you there? It’s April.”

“I’m here,” he buzzed back. “Donnie and I are on our way up. Where are you guys?”

“Still on the second floor, there are stairs on the far west side.”

“Gotchu. Be there in five.”

Five seconds later, the wall that April had previously been thrown into was smashed open in an excessively aggressive explosion of purple light.

Raph turned to shield the two in his arms as chunks of wall flew past them.

When he turned around, he saw that the twins had flown in on Donnie's mystic jetpack.

Seeing his little purple brother safe and sound was exactly what Raph needed right now. If he wasn't carrying Mikey and April he would've wrapped the soft shell up in the greatest hug ever.

"Donnie, thank god you're alright!" he sighed with relief. But he was still holding Mikey closely to his chest. "We need to get out of here. Leo can you…?"

"I'm way ahead of you big guy!" the slider smiled, pulling out his remaining sword and twirling it quickly. "Pops and Casey are waiting for us."

"Dad's here?"

"He brought the car," Donnie explained, looking around at the damage around them.

"Raph did you-"

"Don't worry about it, let's go!" Raph urged them all through Leo's portal. "I don't wanna spend another minute in this stinkin' place."

"You think this place stinks?" Leo asked, lingering just long enough for Donnie to drag him by the mask tails through his own portal. "You should take a whiff of yourself-"

"That's the fear stink, Nardo," Donnie pointed out as they stepped directly into the Turtle Tanks' interior cabin. "Did you not see Michael?"

"Orange?"

Raph was face to face with his father. He gently set April down, who collapsed herself into a seat, but he still held his little brother close to his chest.

“Wait, what’s wrong with him let me see!” Leo squeezed around to get to the box turtle.

“What happened, Red?” Came Splinter’s small voice.

Seeing Splinter’s concern, he couldn’t help but choke up himself.

“He’s uh, he’s not so good, Dad…” he sputtered.

“He’s been shot,” April explained. “Those goons inside opened fire on him. On us.”

“Dad, do we have any more bandages?” Donnie asked.

“I used them to wrap up Future Boy and Blue,” Splinter told them.

“Casey’s hurt too?” Raph turned to look around for the kid, and saw him lying along a bench seat, his head bandaged.

“We might have been a little underprepared,” Leo thought out loud, looking over himself and unwrapping bandages from his arms to tie around Mikey instead. Raph noticed he was pretty hurt too. Most of his face and forearms were ribboned with fresh cuts. What had happened to them?

Raph gently eased Mikey down into his own seat, and then took off his mask, wrapping the fabric as tightly as he could around Mikey’s right shoulder.

“We need to get them to a hospital,” April pointed out. “They could have internal bleeding, and who knows what else.”

“The hospital in the Hidden City would be better for Michelangelo,” Splinter added.

“Should we even drive there?” Raph asked. “We should just portal them there.”

“We can’t just leave the tank parked in front of a secret government facility,” Leo explained. “We should split up to get April’s leg checked out too.”

“What? No, I’m fine guys,” April started to protest, but the serious expressions on everyone else’s faces killed her momentum. No injury was too insignificant.

“Raph and I will take the boys to the Hidden City,” Leo decided. “Dad, Donnie, you drive April. We’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“No no no, Blue, Casey has to go with us,” Splinter spoke up. “The Hidden City hospital is… notoriously bad with humans.”

“For real?” Leo asked, looking confused.

The rat man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve had too many bad experiences there to count. Trust me. Future Boy will be alright if he rides with us.”

Raph didn’t like the sound of that. How many times had his dad been hospitalized while he was in the Nexus?

Raph took another glance down at Mikey and felt a terrible pang in his chest. He didn’t want to move the little guy again. He looked so fragile. He glanced over and saw an encouraging nod from Leo before taking Mikey back up into his own arms. Blue light danced across the reflective surfaces of the cabin’s interior as Leo made yet another portal. All of this bouncing around was starting to make him feel sick.

Prev. Masterpost Next

Notes: Snapper and Stinkpot will be on break for the remainder of the year, perhaps a little longer that that too, but I'll let y'all know in January where it's at. Happy Holidays! We back bitches!

[snothing]

Mar’i’s going on a date Drabble

I wrote this a while ago, and never really finished it. I decided oh what the hell and posted it. Sorry for any spelling mistakes! 

Also, love triangles, jealousy, and protective (immature) twin brother galore! 

“I can’t go on the mission tonight.”

Seven pairs of eyes peered at the seventeen-year-old Prince of Tamaran. Jake was out of his Nightwing uniform, donning instead a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt. He looked out of place amongst his fellow Titans, who were all donning their superhero uniforms.

“Are you joking, Grayson?” Damian growled, getting up from the monitors. The Boy Wonder stalked right up to Jake, the opaque lens of his mask glared at the younger boy. “We’ve been staking out the warehouse for an entire week! You can’t just bail now.”

“Yeah, Jake. There’s literally a shipment coming in tonight,” Lian spoke up, arms crossed. She tried her best to rein in her disappointment, but the displeasure was evident in her features.

“Sorry, guys,” Jake responded sheepishly. “Sometimes things just pop up, but hey, tomorrow, I’ll be back in duty and ready to unleash some Tamaranean hell.”

“Like that’ll do us any good,” Jai West snorted. “You’re like one of our heavy hitters.”

Irey was inclined to agree with her brother. “Yeah, Jake. We could really use you in the air with Jon. Are you sure you can’t come tonight?”

Jake shook his head apologetically. “Positive. Look, I’m really sorry, guys. I know I really dropped the ball on this, but it’s really out of my hands.”

“Tell me, Grayson,” Damian narrowed his eyes. He resisted the urge to look up. Even though they were only two years apart, Jake held two inches over him, a source of contention for the ex-assassin. “What’s more important than stopping an illegal shipment of kryptonite firearms?”

Jake glared and stood his ground. “It’s personal.”

“Oh come on, Jake,” Jon elbowed him. “You can’t just quit on a mission like that and not tell us.”

“Yeah, tell us, Jake!” Colin Wilkes sang from the couch. “And we were supposed to get nachos after, remember? How can you say no to nachos with your bro?”

In a blink, Jai was behind him, looping an arm around his neck. A friendly smile played on his mouth. “Whatcha got that’s so important, Jakey baby? Got a hot date or something, hmm?”

Lian frowned as she eyed Jake sharply. “Well?”

“Oooh, look at his face! Jake’s gonna see his girlfriend tonight!” Jai teased, oblivious to the darkening cloud on Lian’s face. “He’s gonna get some of that-” he made crude thrusting gestures.

“Ew, Jai, stop it!” Irey scolded, hands on her hips. She smiled kindly at Jake. “Jake’s a gentlemen. He’d never be so vulgar.”

“You should hear him when we game,” Cerdian grumbled. “Boy’s got a foul mouth.”

“It’s okay, bud,” Collin patted his shoulder understandingly. “I’d chose a lady over nachos any day.”

“Tt. Figures, Grayson,” remarked Damian, haughty. “You can at least try to take this job seriously. If you weren’t so busy thinking with your-“

“I’m not going on a date!” Jake blurted out. “Mar’i is!”

Oh shit. He was not supposed to say that.

The shadows on Lian’s face disappeared. She let out a sigh of relief but slyly cast a glance at the gobsmacked Robin and SuperBoy. They looked as if Jake had slapped them in the face.

“What?” Jon asked, failing to keep the crack in his voice at bay. Beautiful, studious Mar’iand’r Grayson— his secret crush of THREE years— was going on a date— with someone— who was not him? “Mar’i? Date?”

Damian tried to tame the storm on his face, knowing damn well that Harper and Wilkes were analyzing his every move. Still, even he could not help asking dumbly, “Mar’i as in your sister?”

“What other Mar’i would it be,” Lian chided before grinning micheviously. She knew she was treading in dangerous territory, but the chaotic side of her couldn’t resist. “She’s going on a date? That’s great! It’s about damn time someone asked that girl out!”

Lian swore she could feel someone’s heat vision on her, but whose, she was not quite sure. Damian would no doubt make her pay in training later.

“No, not great, Lian!” Jake retorted, cross. “The pokar’s name is,” he paused to gag dramatically, “Brendon.”

“Oh, I remember her talking about Brendon!” Collin said thoughtfully. “They’re both in the Astrophysics club at your school, right? She said he was a senior?”

“Ooh! Mar’i’s dating a senior!” Irey exclaimed happily. “How exciting!”

Jake, Damian, and Jon all shot the speedster a glare. “Yes, Brendon. He asked her out yesterday. Said he wants to take her to get milkshakes and,” Jake stopped to shudder, “tour the observatory.”

“Oh, that’s kind of romantic, right? They’re both into space stuff— well, she’s from another planet! I think it’s sweet,” Irey tried to appease him.

“It’s tacky,” Damian snorted, arms crossed. “Who takes a girl to get a cold beverage and see stars? Overplayed and overrated.”

“Not to mention racist! Yeah, take the alien girl to an observatory! She has other interests, too, you know! Like gardening, old movies, and birdwatching!” Jon snipped. The team was shocked to see him react this way; he was characteristically optimistic, rarely ever showing aggression outside the battlefield, and now, he looked ready to explode.

“Don’t you think you three are being too harsh?” Lian asked, eyebrow raised. “It probably took a lot of courage for this guy to ask Mar’i out.”

“Uh, no, Lian, I don’t,” Jake answered, indignant. Lian promptly rolled her eyes.

Damian turned to him. “Does Grayson know about this?”

“Uh, yeah, Damian, I’d think Mar’i’d know if she were going on a date.”

“Not Mar’i, idiot. Your father!” Damian snapped. Dick was very protective of his children, especially his darling Mar’i. 

“Use our first names, dummy! If you hadn’t notice, my mom, my sister, me, and my dad all share the same last name!” Jake shot back. “And of course, he does! He’s not happy about it either, but Mom-- the traitor-- made him agree to it!”

“So what are you going to do, Jake?” Lian inquired. She eyed him suspiciously. “You better not be thinking about ruining her date.”

“Do I look like I have a death wish? She’d kill me if I did that!”

“Then what? Last time I checked, Mar’i was the same age as you, and —get this— totally capable of making her own damn decisions!”

“I disagree with Harper, ruin the date.”

“Damian!”

“I’m not going to ruin the date. I am simply going to ensure this Brendon behaves in an honorable fashion,” Jake interjected. 

Lian frowned. “So you’re gonna spy on them?”

“Yeah, essentially,” Jake conceded. “But I’d like to say reconnaissance. This ‘Brendon’ is perhaps a form of ooze monster in disguise. If that’s the case, her dear brother Jake is here to save the day! And hopefully, she’ll see that dating is gross and never do it again.”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?” Lian sighed, exasperated. She always knew there would come a day when Mar’i would go on a date and Jake would freak out, but honestly, she expected it would either be Damian or Jon. She could not even imagine the fallout from that.

Jon cut in, placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. Normally, he’d never condone something this immature, but today, he would make an exception. “I don’t think so Jake. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

A grin blossomed on Jake’s face. Feeling validated, he turned to the archer, a smug grin on his face. “Thank you, Jon! See, Lian, at least someone understands me! I’m just doing my brotherly duties. 

Lian rolled her eyes. 

[sugarybitterness]

It doesn’t need to be canon (really cool if it was) but doesn’t have to be, I’m just curious:

In the finally found universe, what would be Natasha’s reaction to reader wanting to be a shield agent? Would she be terrified? Immediately deny her the opportunity?

Or what would be Natasha’s reaction to reader wanting to enlist in the military since the red head has no power to prevent that since it’s not shield or avenger jurisdiction?

very very long answer below the cut

hm i think it depends on if reader enjoys fighting to begin with. she does, always has actually. when she was younger she was in a few martial arts classes (that obv stopped when her adoptive mum passed) and joined some clubs in high school.

so i would think she approaches nat about training first. tasha of course is kind of on the fence about it but once reader points out that the other teens get basic training, she should too.

then once they start training they notice something.. interesting.

now we have to remember that peter is enhanced physically, widows are given a revised supersoldier serum so the only teens who don’t have any extra physical capabilities are kate and wanda. so when nat does physical training, she grouped reeder with those two first. but even she can’t deny that reader is a lot stronger and would probably keep up better with peter and yelena.

so they do some tests and turns out being the daughter of widow meant she’s a little stronger than the average 15 year old.

and also turns out she’s a natural at fighting and with a gun. they only ever used fake guns, even yelena has never trained with real firearms before because natasha was very against it so the same applies to reader. (kate’s bow and arrow are the only real weapon used in training).

the discussion obviously start the year she’s supposed to turn 18. she knows all the other 4 have already decided to join (yelena fought tooth and nail for her spot, natasha wasn’t happy)

reader would drop a lot of hints. she’d probably ask to be a shield agent first, thinking she isn’t cut out for actual avenging. but then natasha will say no.

soo she changes tactics. join the military, continue training and all. this honest to god terrifies natasha enough more. (wonder where reader got that idea from??)

but i feel like when it reaches that point, natasha will sit reader down and have a discussion. while yes natasha really wants her daughter to not be anywhere near all the dangers of her job, she knows passion when she sees it. she knows that reader wants to do it because she has a good heart, that she wants to give some good back to the world.

so natasha shared that out of her 4 friends, only peter and wanda would go on missions first. simply because they had powers that were suited for the field. but even those missions would be handpicked and the two of them would be the last choices. yelena and kate would only be called in for high level threats, and would also only be the last minute resort. the team didn’t want to have to place 18 year olds on the field no matter how skilled they are.

natasha also adds on that all four of them would have to go through university before becoming full time avengers. even if they took just a general degree, they would have to graduate before tony / steve offered them a full time avenger role.

so she negotiates with reader. reader has to go to university and pursue a degree she’s interested in. reader can continue her training and even do firearms like yelena if that’s something she wants. she’d probably be at the same level as yelena and kate, but ultimately natasha wants reader to keep her options open. only after university, if reader decides she still wants to follow her mama’s footsteps to save the world, then she can.

so reader goes to university, continues training. but when you live with the avengers and see the kind of good they do, how could you not want to do the same?

so after all 5 of them graduate from university, the team gains 5 new official members.

and at least natasha can be there to make sure reader is safe for her own sanity.

[elizaisthetruehero]

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now Chapter 1

So, I started writing another Eureka fic. Even though I have a WIP that isn't finished yet. What's probably going to happen is I'll get stuck on one and then switch to working on the other to beat procrastination. That's the plan anyway.

But here's the AO3 Link, that I posted there last night, and forgot to put here and on FF.Net. I'm doing FF.net because Eureka is an older fandom, and I think there's a couple people there who never made the switch.

Summary: Jo rushes into the Sheriff's station after 1947, and is greeted by a Zane who does not remember proposing to her that morning. But they're definitely still together. It just seems that Jo can't figure out what they hell they are, and why he's still going on dates with other women.

Zane doesn't understand why Jo's suddenly done an about face, but if it gets her to stop acting like nothing's going on between them, he can work with that. He just wishes he knew why she looked so sad when she looked at him.

Chapter 1

Jo strode into the Sheriff’s station, heart hammering against her bruised ribs, terrified of what she would find. The statue had changed. God, she hoped that was the only thing they’d changed. It would be a ridiculous change they would have made, back in 1947, but one Jo would have no problem living with.

There Zane was, sitting in her cell like he’d been that morning, casual and cool, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and thrown it in his face. Hope bubbled up in her chest, and Jo could feel it showing in her smile. Maybe they’d be okay. She could feel the weight of the ring still in her pocket. They could still have their happy ending, walking into Café Diem, congratulations from all their friends, phone calls from their parents. Everything would be okay.

“Zane. I can't believe you're still here.”

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept thumbing through his magazine, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought after the way that I reacted,” she broke off sighing, not sure what to say about what she did that morning, or how to fix it. She’d never been good with words. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just thinking too much. You know, I... I do that sometimes and...”

He cut her off, disinterest in his tone, “Lupo, what the hell are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say, ‘Yes.’”

“Yes? Yes, you’ll what, stop hogging the covers? Seriously Jo, what’s gotten into you?” he asked as he threw down his magazine.

“What we, this morning, you,” she cut herself off, dread filling her stomach like a weight. She looked around the room and saw that while Zane was in the cell, it was empty. None of the trappings or reminders of how they met that had been there when she'd first walked in that morning, before 1947. No framed poster, no bedding on the cot, no damn Panini press, no, no Liza’s box. And… Oh.

The cell door. It was locked, likely with the key that was on her belt loop. Why the hell was Zane in a locked cell?

“This morning you kicked me out of your bed at 3 am when I asked you to stop hogging the covers. And then this afternoon you threw me in jail.” Her bed. She’d kicked him out of her bed. Not their bed anymore. They didn’t live together?

Jo sat down at her desk, no able to look Zane in the eye while she tried to process everything that had happened. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. You should be smarter than that," she said, forcing a smirk to her face, slipping into the familiar biting banter she and Zane had when they were fighting. Had she and Zane never gotten serious? He certainly wasn't looking at her the same way he had that morning.

“Look, Dungeon Master, when am I getting out of here?”

She played with her hands, picking the dirt out from under her nails, “I don’t know, what’d you do?”

“Nothing, you just like throwing me in jail,” she fixed her least impressed look in his direction, careful not to look in his eyes, but just above his head. If she did that, she might do something irrational and ill-befitting of a Deputy of Eureka. Like start beating prisoners. “So I unlocked a few cages, those monkeys deserved some freedom. Look, could you just let me out? I’ve got a date."

What? "Really? A date? With who?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting the blonde chick with the Ph.D. in Reproductive Biology. We're going to play doctorate," he smirked, without any of the soft and nervous affection he'd had that morning. Just the sarcastic bravado he’d had when he’d bought her lingerie to get under her skin. Did he even remember doing that anymore?

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Lupo, don't start acting like you care what I get up to or who with. We both know what's going on here, and what we’re not." No, I don’t know what we are, or why you’re sleeping with me but going out with other women. Why the hell wouldn’t I care about that!

She rushed to his cell door to unlock it, desperate to get him away from her, “Go. Get out.”

“You gonna taze me in the ass again?” and there was that grin, charming and handsome, that had caught her eye two years ago. Obsession with firearms can be a sign of an unfulfilled sexual appetite. I'm not saying that's you. But if it is, I'm at your service.She’d had to be talked out of shooting him back then. Now she wanted to shoot him, whatever blonde chick he was meeting up with, and maybe herself.

"Just get out," she snapped at him, blinking back tears that she couldn’t let fall. He walked out the door, facing her, clearly puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that she normally found cute, but right now, made her want to punch something. Anything would do.

The door shut behind Zane with a click, and Jo leaned against the cell bars, took a breath, and winced. She’d managed to clean up the blood on her face while Henry and Fargo were repairing the phones, but her ribs still needed to be taped, and the scrapes on her hands and head needed to be cleaned. She should still have an almost full tub of GD-grade bruise gel at home. Hopefully, it was still there.

Jo unlocked her door and stepped into her house, shutting the door behind her before leaning against it, letting her breath rush out of her. She took moment to close her eyes and just breathe after the chaos of the day that wasn’t even over yet. But she knew her peace couldn't last. She would have to go through her house to try to put together the pieces of the picture that made up her life, and figure out where everything went wrong.

Well, she had her minute. Time to face the music. She pushed off of the door, opened her eyes, and headed to the kitchen. She glanced around, her fingers trailing along the cool counter, taking it in. Didn’t look any different than it had when she had left that morning. Except…

She peered into the dishwasher and sighed in disappointment. Gone were Zane's plates with dried-on eggs, or his TARDIS-shaped mug, and she didn't think that was because he'd washed them already. They were probably at his old apartment, the one he'd barely spent any time at after they got together. Oh, they hadn't officially moved in together until after he'd gotten home from the Arctic, but that had been a formality, almost. Like he'd thought his question that morning had been. So let’s make it official. He’d really wanted to marry her. Spend the rest of his life with her, like she was the obvious choice.

Jo shook her head. She couldn’t think about that, the proposal that had never happened. She didn’t know how to fix the timeline, so she had to deal with this Zane in the meantime, if not forever. She really hoped she didn’t have this smarmy asshole forever.

She moved onto the living room. It looked like it had before Zane moved in, same décor, same pictures, and the same piano along the wall. The books on the shelves and her coffee table were just her books here, no physics journals or sci-fi novels or comic books. Just the thrillers and murder mysteries she liked to read on the rare occasion she had the opportunity. And, she checked the ottoman with the small storage space, some romance novels with shirtless men on the cover that she did notpull out in public. Zane had teased her the first time he’d seen her reading one, but she’d come home early one day and saw him on the couch, curled up with the blanket his mom had sent as a housewarming present, reading one. He insisted he was just being a good boyfriend, taking interest in her interests. And then he cracked a joke about the cowboy on the cover and positions. She’d been mad at him, but he made up for it.

She moved over to the stairs, heading up. At the very least, she would have to get changed and clean up, get 1947 off of her as quickly as possible. Hope that when she got out of the shower and back to town, Henry would have figured out a way to fix this.

Jo opened the door to her bedroom and stripped off her costume, heading straight for the en-suite bathroom. She showered quickly and efficiently, noting that, like most of the house, Zane's belongings were not there. She got out, wrapped the towel around herself, and headed to the sink to check the scrape on her temple. She applied GD's liquid band-aid to the cut, ignoring the sting, and went to put it away in the cabinet when she stopped, heart in her throat.

A used men's razor. She lifted it off the counter delicately, noting the short dark hairs caught between the blades. Zane's. Jo took stock of the rest of the vanity and felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn't felt since Zane spoke, back in the station.

Two toothbrushes in the holder. A can of his shaving cream. His aftershave, cap off because he could never remember to put the lid back on. She checked the shower again, and saw the bar of soap in the corner of the caddy, the kind that she never used, but, had clearly been used by someone.

Okay. Zane didn’t have any of his stuff downstairs, but he was over often enough that he had some space on her bathroom counter. Though not over enough for them to be exclusive. She really hoped she didn’t have to see him on his date. Her self-control was good, but not that good, she thought as she taped up her ribs and smoothed gel over her bruises. Those needed to fade, and quickly. The last thing she needed was someone asking what happened to her arms.

After giving the gel a minute to dry down, Jo walked back into her bedroom and got dressed, jerking open her drawers to see what was in each one. Her underwear, tank tops, T-Shirts and sweats all still in drawers. She yanked the last one open, wondering if it was empty if it was still being used for her sweaters, or…

Zane's clothes. Not all of them, his wardrobe probably had more than just a pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, a couple of V-necks and, a crumpled-up plaid shirt. But he kept clothes here. Not enough to be living here, which the bottom floor had told her. But clean clothes for those rushed mornings when he wouldn't have time to run home before heading to work. He'd probably shown up to GD too many times wearing yesterday's clothes, thick stubble on his face.

Who had suggested it? Had she cleared it out and offered it to him? Had he brought them over in a backpack or duffle, slipping them into the drawer with a nervous grin? Were they the result of lazy weekends spent in her bed, ignoring the world outside?

She pulled her jeans on before picking up her dirty clothes and bringing them over to her hamper, and right on top of her clothes, was a pair of his boxers. Just more evidence that Zane was part of her life, but she didn’t know how she fit into his. If she went over to his apartment, would she find similar signs of her presence? Travel-size versions of her shampoo and conditioner, a change or two of clothes, maybe part of a spare uniform? Would her robe be there, or, no, she caught herself. He was fucking other women. If she got cold over there, she’d borrow one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats.

And that was if she even went over to his place. She really needed to stop dawdling and get back to town so she could talk to Carter and Henry, see what was going on, and if they could fix this. And if they couldn’t, well, she’d been a Special Forces operative and was now a Deputy in Eureka. She could adapt. Maybe she could get Zane to adapt with her. Maybe, she thought as she slipped the ring onto a chain and placed it around her neck, not willing to be without it in case Henry found a way to fix this, maybe he’d even try to put this ring on her finger again. But that wasn’t happening tonight. Because she froze.

[invaderdoom78]

New Moon Night part 2

“So what’s with all of the guns on the wall in the basement?” Bella asked as they sat down to eat the pizza Peter had ordered for them

“Oh, uh, I hunt vampires”

“Really?” Bella asked

“For a few years now. It’s actually how I met Aro”

“So” Bella started taking a bite of her pizza “is it hard killing vampires?”

“It varies from vampire to vampire,” Peter said “but if I get them in the heart right away with my steak gun that normally takes them out”

“Really?” Bella asked raising an eyebrow “Edward told me that vampires can only be killed by dismemberment and setting their bodies on fire”

“That’s true for some of them but if you use something that’s got witch's magic on it then it’ll kill them regardless of their, I guess, species. I could teach you how to shoot a gun if you want”

“...Yes,” Bella said, well aware that Victoria was still a potential threat to her life “uh, where should we go shoot?”

“There’s a spot out in the desert,” Peter said

“Is that legal?” Bella asked

“No idea,” Peter said taking a drink from his soda “but I’m not the only one who uses the spot”

“Ok,” Bella said ignoring the image of Edward that appeared, telling her not to do it

“You wanna pick out the gun?”

“Sure!”

With their lunch finished the two made their way back down to the basement so Bella could pick out her gun. Now Peter didn’t have the most impressive collection of firearms, a couple of shotguns, a revolver, his steak gun, and a wrangler and because of the small selection he was fully expecting Bella to choose the shotgun, especially since it was the best choice when dealing with vampires, but that wasn’t what she picked.

“Where are you two going?” Aro asked eyeing Peter as he put his shotgun and the wrangler Bella had picked out into their carrying cases

“Out to the desert to shoot some guns,” Peter said

“Did you put on sunscreen?” Aro asked already knowing the answer

“No” Peter scoffed

“Do you remember what happened last time?”

Peter did, he’d taken the twins out to shoot as well and when they got back home almost his entire face was burnt and the twins kept insisting on poking at it until it started peeling.

“It’ll be fine”

“No,” Aro said firmly

“...Fine” Peter gave in after a brief staredown with the vampire, walking over to an end table grabbing two bottles of sunscreen out of the drawer “here Bella” he handed her the smaller one

“Thanks”

Walking over to the hall mirror Bella stood in front of it as she put on the sunscreen, watching as Aro tried to help Peter put the sunscreen on his face while the hunter insisted that he could do it himself.

“There,” Peter asked once Aro was done “you happy now?”

“Very,” Aro said smiling

Turning around Bella held out the bottle of sunscreen she’d been holding and was about to set it onto the coffee table, but Aro stopped her.

“Hold on a minute, dear,” Aro said reaching out to wipe in the small amount of sunscreen she’d missed on her cheek, rubbing it in the rest of the way with a gentleness that she never expected from someone like him

Once they reached the spot in the desert Peter realized that he didn’t have any protective wear for Bella to use, so they had to improvise with a pair of Aro’s big sunglasses to protect her eyes as the vampire covered her ears with his hands and just like he did with Jane, Peter showed the young woman how to hold the Wrangler and where to position her feet before she shot at the five soda cans he’d set up; managing to nick all of them on the side.

“You’re a very good shot, dear,” Aro said resting his hand on her shoulders as Peter took the rest of them out with his shotgun

“My dad used to teach me how to shoot his gun a long time ago, but my mom found out and told him to stop”

“Did he teach you anything else?” Aro asked

“You mean like self-defense?” Bella asked setting down her gun “not really”

“Then allow me to show you,” Aro said

The vampire showed her the basics of self-defense poses, having talked Peter into being the practice dummy.

“Good” Aro praised as Bella delivered an elbow strike to Peters jaw, having enough self-control to stop herself from actually hitting her new uncle

Despite how quickly Bella was picking up on the techniques, it was quickly becoming apparent that training out in the middle of the desert probably wasn’t the best idea as it didn’t take much longer after that for Peter and Bella to become coated in sweat, so much so that it had almost completely soaked through their clothing. It was at this point that Peter decided that they should go home and get changed into something that wasn’t going to stick to their skin, both Peter and Bella hopping into the shower when they got home. Stepping out of the bathroom Peter dried his hair off with a towel as Aro sat on the edge of the bed running a brush through his long hair.

“It seems like Bella has settled in rather well,” Aro said

“Yeah,” Peter said tossing the towel at the hamper by his closet door

“I, overheard the conversation you and Bella had earlier,” Aro said as Peter crawled onto their bed

“I figured you did,” Peter said crawling up behind Aro, peppering the vampire's shoulder and the side of his neck with kisses

“We have laws that have been put into place solely to keep the existence of our kind a secret and it clearly states that vampires are not supposed to let themselves be known to humans”

“So should I be worried?

“If you hadn’t befriended Elizabeth then yes. Being what she is, the people that are associated with her and her family have immunity to our laws. Lest we risk facing a half-demon's wrath”

“Is Bella in danger then?” Peter asked resting his chin on the vampire's shoulder

“That depends,” Aro said taking hold of Peters wrists wrapping his human's arms around his waist leaning back into the embrace

“On what?”

“Whether or not the Cullens have any enemies”

“What about your lot?”

“Well if one of my guards discovers her she will be brought back to Volterra for a trial to determine whether or not she will be turned or executed” he felt Peter tense up behind him “don’t worry darling if it ever does come to that I will make sure that her life is spared and that she has a home in the castle”

“It's a good thing she wants to be turned then”  

“You know, you really are so much more caring than you want people to believe” Aro hummed “it's rather sweet actually; you treating Jane and Alec as if they were your own, helping Amy through getting the polluted blood out of her, reassuring your friend Charley that she would be safe. It’s a good thing I was able to snatch you up when I did”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, darling” Aro said nuzzling Peters cheek “just thinking”

Aro untangled himself from Peter's arms and got off the bed.

“Where’re you going?” Peter asked reaching out for the vampire

“The day is still young,” Aro said softly, placing a kiss on Peter's forehead knowing what he wanted

Flopping back onto the bed Peter watched Aro walk out of the room. Groaning Peter forced himself to get off the bed and get dressed before going out to the living room where he saw Bella and Aro sitting on the couch together, the vampire brushing her semi-dry hair. Sitting in front of them was the chest he kept all of his movies in, Bella looking through his collection.

“You have any preferences?” Peter asked taking a seat on the couch with them

“I like Stephen King stuff”

“I have Stephen King, but Lizzy has The Shining and all the IT movies so I’d need to get them from her” Peter said pulling out his phone so he could ask her for the movies

“Oh” Bella started but was interrupted by the front door opening and Lizzy stepping through, holding the DVDs “you don…”

“Here,” Lizzy said tossing the cases to Peter 

“Thanks, bitch” Peter said, catching them noticing how Lizzy and Bella were kinda staring at each other “that’s Bella. Bella this is Lizzy”

“Hi,” Bella said

“What’re the kids doing tomorrow?” Peter asked

“I think they’re all off,” Lizzy said, still looking at Bella like she was trying to piece some things together “why?”

“I’m trying to help Bella find a hobby”

“Cool,” Lizzy said giving Aro a two-finger salute before she left

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Aro said standing up

“Oh come on,” Peter said, grabbing the vampire's sleeve “at least watch The Shining or Misery with us. I’m sure you’ll like them”

“Alright” Aro sighed

“I’ll make some popcorn then,” Peter said standing up walking back to the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to pop when Lizzy texted him

                                           Demon Bitch (Lizzy)

So has Bella shown any interest in vampires?

                                                        Yeah she said she wants to be turned

                                              And Aro told me he cant see her thoughts

That makes sense. 

One of her great grandparents was either a vampire themselves or one of their parents was a vampire so that’s why she can use her mental ability as a human and why she’s so keen on being turned. The vampire part of her DNA is calling out because of how close she’s become to, who I’m assuming are the Cullens as they’re the only coven I’m aware of that live up in that area of the US. It’ll probably also make the transition and blood lust easier.

                                                                    You gotta be fucking kidding me

No

                               The fuck am I supposed to do with that information

Just thought I’d let you know.

🍑💨

“Ok,” Peter said, slipping the phone back into his pocket “Lizzy’s sending me farts again!”

“You are the one that decided to befriend her” Aro called back from the couch

“You say that like it’s my fault”

“Would you rather her come and do it in the house?”

“No,” Peter said walking back into the living room with popcorn

Aro only stuck around long enough to watch Misery as while he did agree that it was a good adaptation and movie he still preferred the books. It was about midnight when Aro noticed that Peter hadn’t come back to bed yet, so he got up and walked out to the living room, spotting  Peter and Bella both asleep on the couch, Peter slumped back into it, head tilted back, Bella slumped against his side.

“Oh” Aro chuckled quietly approaching the piece of furniture

Picking up the remote Aro turned off the TV before gently lifting Bella off of the couch making sure not to wake either as he moved the young woman to her temporary room, tucking her under the covers before back out and doing the same for Peter. The next morning Bella woke up more confused than Peter had, as he was used to it at this point, wondering how she’d ended up in bed when she remembered falling asleep on the couch. Kicking off the blankets Bella changed into her clothes and went out into the kitchen, looking through the fridge to see if she could find anything that she could make for breakfast when Peter came out of his room wearing his sleep pants.

“Morning” Peter yawned getting to work making himself some coffee

“Morning” Bella said, grabbing a carton of eggs “where’s Aro?”

“Taking a shower,” Peter said watching as Bella started cooking some eggs for them 

Taking a seat at the counter Peter pulled out his phone, scrolling through it as he waited for the eggs to finish cooking when Aro came out of the bedroom, fully dressed and looking like he was ready to go traveling.

“Where’re you going?” Peter asked, eyeing the vampire 

“I have to go back to Italy” Aro sighed grabbing his cloak out of the closet by the door

“For how long?”

“Hopefully not long” Aro said placing one hand on his humans cheek placing a kiss on the other before walking over to Bella “it was wonderful meeting you” he hugged her “take care and maybe we’ll meet again”

“Maybe” Bella said, feeling a bit saddened that the vampire was leaving so early as despite Edwards warnings about him she had grown to enjoy the vampires company

Giving Peter one more kiss Aro stepped out of the house so he could head off for Italy.

“So do you wanna go over to Lizzy’s today?” Peter asked pouring himself another cup of coffee 

“Sure” Bella said as Peter grabbed a key out of the bowl by the front door 

Aro called several hours after Bella had left.

“Hey” Peter said, answering his phone as he slouched on the couch watching his T.V. “how was the flight?”

“Fine” Aro sighed “though I don’t see why I was needed. This was a simple matter. How is Bella doing?”

“She’s out with Michael and the others” 

“Oh good” Aro said, the smile obvious in his voice, “is she getting along with them?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t heard from her since she left” Peter said noticing Bella as she stepped into the house out of the corner of his eye “hey I gotta go Bella just came back”

“Alright, good bye, darling”

“Bye” Peter said, looking at the fading cut on Bella’s cheek “the hell happened?”

“I killed a ghoul and then Eleanor made us dinner. Here” Bella said handing Peter a tupperware container “she told me to give this to you” 

“Cool” Peter said taking the container 

“What have you been doing?” Alice demanded storming into the living room from the basement door “why haven’t I been able to see you and then all of a sudden I see you being attacked by that thing and now Edward thinks you’re dead!” 

“Who the fuck are you and how the fuck did you get into my house!” Peter demanded, mentally going over where he’d hidden the guns on this level of the house, moving so that he was between Bella and Alice 

“Alice?” Bella asked confused “what are you doing here?”

“Edwards going to the Volturi!” Alice said, eyebrows furrowed “he wants to die too” 

“Realy?” Peter asked looking unamused “he breaks up with her the way he did and his first thought when he thinks she’s dead is to kill himself not, oh I don’t know, call Charlie and ask about it or even come back to investigate it himself?”

“Apparently” Alice shrugged “but we don’t have time to think about it!” Edward plans on revealing himself so the Volturi will kill him”

“Alright” Bella sighed “I’ll help”

“Wot?” Peter asked looking at Bella in disbelief 

“Can you wait for me out in the car” Bella said to Alice who did what she was asked 

“Ok I get it” Peter said, placing his hands on Bella's shoulders “I get it, but for the love of God don’t take him back. If he really does want to get back together with you make him work for it” he pulled her into a hug “and be careful. I have no idea what might happen over there and Aro can only do so much”

“I will”

“Call me when you get there” 

“Ok” Bella said before hurrying out of the house

Bella P.O.V.

I can do this. I thought to myself as Alice tore out of Peters driveway. I can face Edward again and even if something does happen I have Peter to turn to, he knew what I had going through and I had new friends now, ones that I didn’t have to lie to about Edward or werewolves or anything that has happened to me since I got to Forks. And if worse did come I had two options one, I could agree to be turned and live in Voltera with Aro or I could tell them about Lizzy and maybe that would give me some type of immunity, for now, but that option could also bring up some issues with Edward and his family especially considering how hostile the relationship between werewolves and vampires is, I can only imagine that it might be the same with witches and demons and that could create a whole other layer of problems. Either way the next few hours would definitely prove to be interesting.

[prinz-alexiares]

Deputy Blair R. O’Connell

I’ve had this OC since, like, 2018 but I was too lazy to assemble her design together so here she is lol

BASIC INFO

Name: Blair Rhiannon O’Connell

Nickname: Deputy/Dep, Blair, Ree (only by family)

Age: 26

Birthdate: January 19th

Gender: Female

Ethnicity/Nationality: Irish-Welsh-American

Height/Weight: 172 cm / 68 kg

Blood Type: B

Occupation: USAF Marksman (former), Deputy Sheriff of Hope County 

Hair Color: Black with red-brown undertone

Eye Color: Grey

Likes:

Winter

Guns ‘N Roses

Rain

Open nature and mountains

Spicy food

Canine animals

Warm bath

.50 cal firearms

Dislikes:

Sweets

Summer

Crowded places

Being teased/played with

Shotgun

Empty desert

Hobbies:

Outdoor related activities such as fishing, hunting, camping, and hiking

Looking at animal memes

Randomly wandering outside or sit somewhere in the forest and do nothing

Reading peculiar books

Petting all the dogs in the ‘hood

Fixing/cleaning/modifying her weapons while blasting classic rock songs on the radio

Soaking herself in a bathtub full of warm water

Personality:

Blair has a bold style and vibe, and she carries a rather thuggish demeanor. She looks and acts more masculine, although she also shows her femininity in a lot of ways as well.

She is somewhat reckless, often acts first before she thinks. She introspectively sees this as her weakness, as she repeatedly made bad decisions in the past that negatively affected people around her. But on a brighter side, she comes out as an ‘action’ person who gets things done. It also makes her seem more courageous and reliable than most people.

She can get very selfish. A lot of decisions she makes would consider her ideals stronger than anything else. But the good side is that she always wants to do the ‘right thing’ by helping others or solve problems, although the result still relies heavily on her own judgement.

She describes herself as ‘childish and mature at the same time’, hinting at her recklessness and self-centered tendencies as being ‘childish’, while her natural leader and calculating nature as the ‘mature’ side. Her service in the USAF had helped her to polish her leadership and logical thinking skills, although they sometimes are hindered by her emotions.

Five Songs in Her Playlist:

Metallica - Nothing Else Matters

Guns ‘N Roses - November Rain

Queens of The Stone Age - Make It Wit Chu

Guns ‘N Roses - Paradise City

Radiohead - High and Dry

‘GET TO KNOW THIS FELLA BETTER’ SECTION

Childhood

Blair was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to a devoted Catholic family as an only child. Her business consultant father was an immigrant from Ireland, and her teacher mother was a Welsh-American. They enrolled her into all-girls Catholic schools throughout her elementary and a half of her junior high-school years. However, that didn’t stop her from developing interest in hobbies more commonly enjoyed by boys. She enjoyed baseball, soccer, wall climbing, skateboarding, and plenty of other outdoor activities. She also made friends with boys around her neighborhood and used to walk her dogs with them as well.

During her school years, she was very competitive at school and very confident with herself. She liked presenting her work, actively asking and answering questions during lessons, and she was becoming more and more critical about her surroundings. Her teachers disliked her boldness, as it was seen as a sign of disobedience. They tried to shut her down by treating her differently than her other peers; giving her more disadvantages and having her voice ignored in the classrooms. Young Blair got discouraged and frustrated that she threw a lot of tantrums and started to become less and less compromising when she was faced with problems. She then began to show her violent tendencies as she repeatedly involved in fistfights and physical bullying. Her parents were mad at her once she was given detention from school, but upon learning the truth, they moved her to a mixed, secular private school.

However, her violent tendencies were never addressed properly thus carried until later in her life.

Before Eden’s Gate

Blair was first introduced to open nature, firearms, and hunting when she celebrated winter holiday at her grandfather’s place in Montana. He was a Vietnam War veteran, and through him she learned about the old M1903 Springfield and Winchester Model 70 for the first time. Blair had been visiting him almost every winter holiday since she was 13, learning all the stuff about guns and hunting. She was very fascinated and inspired by her grandfather that she planned to follow in his footsteps to live as a hunter.

But her metropolitan parents were against her ideas, which disappointed her. They later discussed her future and agreed upon a condition that Blair would return to formal school, taking defense studies, and/or enlisting herself in the military or police department. She did enlist to the USAF, spending about 4-5 years in service. She was in the marksman course and tasked as sniper for an Advanced Designated Marksman team in the Middle-East. She was known to be a formidable marksman with plenty of kill records. Although she didn’t experience much combat, it was enough for her to see how complex and dangerous things were, and killing people because she was told to do so wasn’t a pleasure. She also lost her teammate once; a spotter, shot by an enemy sniper.

Once she got home, she spilled the surprising news to her parents that she quit the military. She tried to seek redemption from the extreme guilt she brought home from the war. She went to Montana and stayed in her late grandfather’s cabin while thinking about what to do next. She then applied to several police and sheriff offices in Montana, wishing she’d make things up by protecting people as a police officer. Not long after, she got accepted in a sheriff office located in a remote county, telling her that they’re in dire need of someone capable of handling civil unrest situations. She wondered why, and chose to go.

PEG Turmoil

Blair tried to make peace with her past, but being involved in PEG turmoil forced her to relive her past instead. At first, seeing no way out, she decided to play along; rescuing resistance members, destroying PEG infrastructures, and becoming the pawn for the local residents’ revenge against the cult. But the more people she killed, the more destruction she created, the more frustrated she became. She started to put the Seeds’ words into her consideration. She also spoke to some of the locals who wished there would be another way to deal with the Peggies instead of going all out civil war.

She is stuck between acknowledging that the cult is probably right, that what she’s done is a severe crime and makes her no different than the cult, but she can’t leave behind the people and everything she has been fighting for.

Relationships:

Joseph Seed: The man just feels unsettling for her. Like there is something about him that makes her guts tell her how he is a trustworthy person. But her brain tells her he’s a psychopath who murders everyone to get his way with the world he resents. She hasn’t figured out whether she can trust his words or not.

John Seed: She thinks of him as a typical upper-class man with enormous wealth and power in possession who likes to exploit those who are more inferior than him. He has a superiority complex, perhaps, and Blair has heard about what happened between him and his adoptive family. She also knows his ‘obsession’ towards her, and she prefers to use it as a weapon to taunt him.

Jacob Seed: The Seed she can relate to the most, but also feels like an intense rival of hers. She has complicated feelings about him; she respects him. His values and views make sense to a certain extent, but she can’t deny that he IS a war criminal and he must be held responsible for all the horrible shit he has done. But after all the destruction she created, she comes into terms that they both are of the same kind after all. However, she won’t be intensely facing him off if not for the brainwashing trials and his hunting rituals.

Faith Seed: She feels nothing but pity towards her. She has heard what Joseph has done to her, and what happened to the previous ‘Faiths’. She treats Faith as nothing more than Joseph’s pawn, who probably has no freedom in making any decision at all.

Trivia:

Her name ‘Blair’ is of Scottish-Gaelic origin. It means ‘plain’, ‘field’, or ‘battlefield’, while her middle name ‘Rhiannon’ is of old Celtic origin which means ‘divine queen’. Her surname ‘O’Connell’ is a common Irish surname which means ‘wolf’ or ‘hound’. 

When her hair isn’t tied up, it has medium length that almost reaches her shoulders.

She equips red and grey-checkered MBP .50 with cylinder suppressor, cherry-painted silenced M60, red-painted silenced SMG-11, and a red-painted RPG. When she isn’t in her stealthy mood, she packs Jacob’s rifle and M249.

She has had a smoking habit since high school. She stopped smoking for a while during her service in USAF, but continued after she quit the military. Her favorite cigarette is Lucky Strike.

She is addicted to eyeliner.

She wears her military dog tag as a memorabilia.

Her type of man is someone who can tame and handle her ‘chaotic side’.

Unlike her family, she isn’t religious.

She believes that she is sterile, that’s why she feels like less of a woman.

I want to add some more details but shit isn’t this a freaking long post. I’ll just update them later. Procrastination is the key to better original character design.

[medievalmonk]

The Power Within

You were an assistant in a Stark lab, where a group of SHIELD scientists were tasked with studying the Power Stone. They accidentally triggered its power; in the aftermath of the explosion, only you were left alive.

Now you’re living in a remote Alaskan town, trying to adjust to the new powers that the Stone gave you, and wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

One evening, after you got home from work, Bucky and Natasha show up on your porch, at the behest of Tony, and they bring Loki with them.

Word Count: 5577

You were tired. 

No, more like exhausted by the time you were able to leave your part time job to head home. Before you could leave town though, you had to stock up on groceries, in case you couldn’t get out for a few days, as it had started snowing.

“That should do it.”

Seth, the bagger from the grocery store, closed the hatch on your SUV after he’d finished loading your purchases. 

“Drive carefully, and keep her between the ditches,” he said, as you walked toward the driver side door. 

You waved at him before shutting the door and buckling in. After starting the engine, you turned the radio up just a bit, listening for weather alerts between the classic pop songs on the radio. 

The weather had taken a downturn from the previous day; more snow wasn’t expected for two more days, but it had appeared earlier than was forecast. 

“They can’t be right every time,” you muttered to yourself while putting the car in gear and slowly pulling out of the parking lot. 

You didn’t mind driving in snow most days, but driving after sunset presented its own challenges. The drive to your cabin was a forty-five minute trip on a good day; this was not a good day so you expected the trip to be longer than normal. 

You’d been in the tiny Alaskan town just shy of two years, and with the help of the locals, had learned how to handle snow and drive in it. You still didn’t like driving in it after dark, because the wildlife tended to start moving at night, and you had no desire to have a moose or grizzly bear end up riding shotgun for you. 

You'd seen what a moose could do to a car but didn’t want to experience that for yourself. The townsfolk had also been very clear and adamant that you should always carry a gun with you, in case you had to defend yourself from an animal, or put one out of its misery if you happened to hit it. 

They didn’t know that you could likely handle either situation without the use of a firearm. You arrived in the town after fleeing from the East coast. Some of the residents may have suspected something was wrong when you never wanted to talk about friends or family, but as long as they weren’t in danger, they didn’t ask too many questions. 

While concentrating on your driving, there was movement in your peripheral vision. At first you thought it was a bear, but that was dispelled when you made out a decidedly human face on the creature that had emerged from the side of the narrow road. 

You screamed while turning the wheel to try to avoid hitting whatever it was, and you felt a slight bump as you failed to avoid it altogether.

“Crap, Crap, Crap!!”

The car slid to a stop when you jammed on the brakes, then shuddered when you threw it into “Park” before you’d completely stopped. Frantic, you searched the glovebox and center console for the flashlight you kept in the vehicle. 

“Put it back in the same spot!” You scolded yourself outloud when you finally found it. 

You exited the car quickly and almost fell flat on your backside when your winter boots found a patch of ice. Once you got your balance, you moved more cautiously toward the rear of the vehicle to search for whatever you’d hit.

There was nothing in the road or near your car, so you walked back to where you thought the figure first lurched out of the shadows. After checking both sides of the road and the ditches, you were perplexed. You knew that you’d seen and hit something, something that looked to be human, but there was nothing to be found, not even a mark on your car. 

You decided that you’d call the police once you got home, and come out again during daylight just to be sure that no one needed help. Once home, you checked your car again under better lighting but found no damage. You reported the incident to the local police, in case someone had been injured. 

It took several trips to get your groceries into the house, then you brought in firewood in order to keep the fire going in case the power went out. The generator would come on if that happened, but you didn’t want to use too much fuel unless necessary. 

Just as you sat down to eat your dinner, a knock sounded at the door. It startled you, since the cabin wasn’t in near proximity to anyone else. You weren’t expecting a visit from the police unless they found something, so you palmed the pistol that you always kept on you. 

Another knock came as you quietly moved through the living room toward the door. Before opening it, you flipped on the porch light, then took a look through the peephole. Your forehead rested against the wood for a moment before you unlocked it to pull it open.  

Your gaze went to the faces of the three people that stood there. Two of them were familiar to you, but you’d never seen the third one. As you silently studied his face, he shifted impatiently. 

“You dare?” He hissed. 

He’d felt your mental touch when you gently reached out with your telepathy; you could have invaded his mind with no effort at all, but rarely did that unless absolutely necessary. The brief touch told you what he was, even if it couldn’t tell you who he was. 

He was strong, both mentally and physically, and there was something that he kept deeply hidden. This “something” made you curious, but not enough to let him into your house.  

“I don’t know you,” you said, before looking at the other two. “And whatever it is, the answer is ‘no.’”

With that, you stepped back so that you could close the door. When the stranger put out a hand to hold it open, your reaction wasn’t one that he expected. He found himself and his two companions back at their vehicle, which was parked at the end of your driveway. They hadn’t so much as stumbled when you teleported them away from your house. 

“I asked you to leave her to me!” The female of the group rounded on him angrily.

“She dared to invade my mind!”

“If she’d done that, you would be dead!” 

The group walked back to the porch, with the woman knocking again. Once again, you opened the door but didn’t invite them in. 

“I don’t imagine that you warned him?” You asked, quietly. 

“He was warned,” the other man replied. “Are you going to let us come in, at least to get warm?”

“Bucky, the cold doesn’t bother you any more than it bothers Steve, so don’t try to play on my sympathies,” you told him. “Why did he send you and Natasha instead of coming after me himself?”

“Can we come in?” Natasha asked, softly. 

You wanted to close the door, you really did, but you found that you couldn’t turn them away, even though it would probably be in your best interest to do so. You turned to go back to your meal, which was likely cold by now, leaving them to enter the house and close the door behind them. 

“Who’s that?” You asked, indicating the tall man who still appeared to be angry. 

“This is Loki…” Natasha started to introduce him but you interrupted her when you recognized the name. 

“Ah, yes. Loki of Asgard,” you said. “Thor’s your brother, right?”

Loki had started to respond, but then realized how you’d phrased the question. He was surprised for just a brief moment before he nodded. 

“You hit my car, too, didn’t you?” 

“It was more the other way around,” he replied, stiffly. 

“My bad.” You shrugged. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be lurking in the ditches.”

Loki bristled again, causing Natasha to shoot him a glare. He kept his peace but she could tell that it was a near thing. She wondered again why Tony had insisted that Loki accompany them. She knew that Loki would be able to confirm whether you lied to them, but she couldn’t imagine that Tony wouldn’t know that he would antagonize you, which was the last thing they wanted. 

“There’s beef stew in the crockpot, if you’re hungry. I have tea, coffee, water or alcohol if you prefer,” you told them, while sitting at the table again. “I’m limited on groceries, as I wasn’t expecting company.”

Natasha went to the cabinet to get soup bowls for herself and Bucky, then took down a third one when Loki nodded at her unspoken question. You ignored them while you stared into your bowl as you ate slowly, but you could feel Loki’s attention on you. You laid the pistol on the table within easy reach. 

Bucky helped himself to some whiskey from the bottle that was on the table, then silently poured more into your glass. When Natasha sat down, she looked you over and saw that you looked tired, and that the grey streak in your hair was more pronounced. 

“May I?” She asked, indicating the pistol. 

You nodded and then put the holster with it. Natasha holstered it before handing it to Bucky. 

“You’re tired,” she said, softly. 

“Always,” you replied. 

It took a lot of effort to not teleport, read someone’s mind, or move things telekinetically; you had to make a conscientious effort not to do any of those so that the residents in the small town would be none the wiser.  Those three were relatively easy to keep tamped down, but it was your ability to control lightning that was more difficult to hide, especially if you became upset. 

“Come home,” she responded, just as softly. 

“You know that I won’t do that,” you told her, before fixing your gaze on Loki. “Why were you on the side of the road?”

“To get you to stop,” he replied. 

“I stopped. What would your next move have been?” You asked, sitting back in your chair to give him your undivided attention. “Were you going to throw a sack over my head and shove me into your car?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” he said. “But I was overridden.”

“You should listen to them.” You scrubbed a hand across your face before drinking your whiskey. 

When you reached for the bottle, Bucky pushed it away, knowing that alcohol mixed with your powers made for a bad combination. He wasn’t sure how much alcohol you’d had already and didn’t want to throw fuel on the fire. You scowled at him before flexing your fingers slightly. The bottle flew into your hand, and you poured more for yourself. 

“Don’t do that,” you told him. 

You got up to put your bowl into the sink, then sat back down to finish your drink. 

“Are you staying here tonight?” You asked Natasha. 

“We’re not staying,” Loki replied before she could respond. “The plan was to return to the Tower with you. So, you will be coming with us.”

“Oh?” You said. “And who’s going to make me?”

“I will.”

“You and what army?” Your voice was deceptively calm.

“I do not require -“

His voice trailed off when a silver sphere of energy appeared in your hand, then grew bigger when you pressed it between your palms. Bucky and Natasha both slid their chairs away from the table before they shot to their feet. 

“Stop!”  Natasha called your name in an effort to draw your attention away from Loki. 

“Get out of my house,” you hissed, angrily. 

“That’s impressive, little one, but you have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Loki said. 

“Neither do you.”

The dining table flipped onto its side, out of the way, as you stood, eyes fixed on him as he also stood. The slight smirk on his face was enough to infuriate you to the point where you wanted to hurt him. 

The sphere in your hands grew even larger before tendrils from it launched toward Loki, and circled his wrists, upper arms and then his neck. The harder he fought against the restraints, the more you fought to keep him tethered. More tendrils wrapped around his chest then knees as you attempted to take him to the ground. 

Natasha continued to call your name while getting as close as she dared. Bucky also looked for a way to stop you that wouldn’t get them all killed. Neither of them had ever seen you so angry and lost to reason; you actually had your teeth bared as you concentrated on Loki. 

Finally, another sphere of energy surged from your hands and hit Loki in the chest. It knocked him backwards, and you took the advantage and yanked his legs out from under him. He fell heavily into a counter, then slid to the floor. 

Once you had him down, you took a deep breath while letting the energy surge lapse. Loki remained where he was, his expression impassive as he stared at you. 

“I’m going to bed. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” you finally said. “There’s a spare bedroom upstairs and the couch folds out to another bed. I’ll leave you to sort it out. I’m not sharing my room.”

You left with the partial bottle of whiskey tucked under your arm. Once they heard your door close, Loki smiled before getting to his feet. 

“I like her,” he announced, with a chuckle. 

Bucky and Natasha looked at each other in confusion. 

“She just knocked you on your ass and you like her?” Bucky asked, incredulously. 

“Hmmm.” Loki busied himself with dusting off his clothes, then smoothing his hair down. “Will she go quietly?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking that’s gonna be a ‘NO,’” Bucky replied. 

— — —

Once you were alone in your room, you shakily sat on the side of the bed. Tears brimmed your eyes and you angrily wiped them away before tilting the whiskey bottle to your lips. 

It was unlike you to have such a strong reaction to a perfect stranger. You knew that if Loki had been less powerful, you could easily have killed him. 

This was the main reason that you’d exiled yourself, to prevent this type of thing from happening. While you could control the lightning to a certain extent, your emotions tended to get the best of you, and you didn’t want to risk hurting anyone by accident.

Stupid Power Stone, you thought, thinking back to that fateful day two years ago that had seen an upheaval in your life. 

— —

Scientists who hadn’t known what they were dealing with caused the lab accident that changed you forever. They had attempted to learn the secrets of the beautiful purple stone, and had failed catastrophically. At the time, no one knew what it was, until Thor had a vision about the five Infinity Stones. 

They would be careful, they said. Nothing could go wrong, they insisted. 

At the time, you were an assistant to one of the scientists tasked with studying the stone. Your job was to take notes and get coffee. You were not to express any misgivings about the research. Just take the notes and get the coffee. 

On THE day, you were taking notes as usual while the scientists worked near the Power Stone. They were trying to activate it without touching it, since they had been warned by Thor that no mortal could wield the stone or its power. 

Something had happened that day, but you couldn’t remember anything other than a bright, purplish flash, then coming to with Thor grasping your arms as you struggled to sit up. 

The scientists were gone, presumably disintegrated, in the aftermath of the explosion.

You alone were left alive in the decimated lab. 

The Stone had liked her. 

You had overheard Thor and Tony Stark talking while you were in the infirmary. They thought you were sleeping, and felt they were far enough away so that you couldn’t hear them. 

An Infinity Stone had liked you so much that it not only didn’t kill you, it changed you so drastically that you still weren’t adjusted. 

The Stone had jumpstarted the telepathy, and the first few days after you regained consciousness had nearly driven you insane. You were able to hear the thoughts of the people around you, maybe even the entire building, but didn’t know how to turn it off. 

The telekinesis manifested next; you’d thrown a doctor through the observation window of your room when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer your questions. 

The first time you teleported had terrified you. You ended up on the promenade that Tony and Thor used as takeoff and landing pads. It was freezing cold, and you were wearing thin pajamas, and didn’t have on shoes or socks. 

You heard Tony swearing just before he and Thor approached you. You were angry at Tony, since it was his lab that hosted the research, although the scientists worked for SHIELD. Deep down, you knew that it wasn’t fair to blame him, but someone was to blame since those scientists had managed to kill themselves and could no longer face the consequences.

When you had turned to face the two men, you found that Tony stayed back to let Thor move closer to you. You didn’t know until afterwards that lightning sparked from your fingertips, and that your eyes glowed with a purple light. 

Thor gently draped his red cape around you after noticing that your teeth were chattering before he guided you back toward the penthouse. 

“I don’t have clearance to be up here,” you had whispered. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Thor replied, while rubbing warmth into your arms. 

“Alright,” you responded, nodding shakily. “Thank you.”

— — 

The next morning at the cabin, you were awakened when a loud noise from the living room or kitchen startled you. 

You were slightly hungover; luckily there hadn’t been too much whiskey left in the bottle that you took to bed with you. Slowly, you rolled to your back and rubbed your face with both hands. 

You’d gone to sleep thinking about the Power Stone and dreaming about the accident and the aftermath. You laid still, staring at the ceiling while your thoughts raced around. 

You knew you should find a place to start over before things got too complex, and before Natasha and Bucky made their move to take you back to New York. You had cash stashed in your room, enough to start over almost anywhere. 

The money came from your part time job; each week, you’d take the check to the bank and get cash. Your account held more money that you never touched, and at the beginning of each month, more would be deposited. You suspected that the money came from Tony Stark, and you were determined not to touch it. 

You’ve probably been here too long anyway. The townsfolk had noticed strangers in town, and Seth was kind enough to tell you privately that they’d been asking about you.

You’d thought that a small hamlet in Alaska was far enough off anyone’s radar to allow you to live in peace. Perhaps it was a small world, after all, and you’d had almost two years of quiet. 

You debated just picking a spot on a map, then trying to teleport yourself there. If you succeeded, good; if not, you were certain that there were worse ways to die. 

When you emerged from your room, showered, dressed and with your cash in a money belt that was hidden under your shirt, two of your houseguests were already in the kitchen. Natasha stood at the stove, scrambling eggs while Bucky made toast. 

Loki stood in front of the three bookcases which were overflowing with books, perusing the collection. 

“Feel free to take any that you like,” you told him. “I’ve read them all.”

With that, you picked up your tablet and sat on the sofa to browse likely locations for you to try to ‘port to. You needed an out-of-the way place, where a new arrival wouldn’t alarm any locals. 

Mountains or plains? Cold or warm? The possibilities were endless, of course, but you did need to choose wisely. 

You were unaware that Loki watched intently when you got up to move toward the table once Natasha finished cooking. 

“Agent Romanoff.”

His voice was directly behind you, then his arms slid around you. His hands gripped your wrists to hold you arms crossed over your chest as you started to fight him. Natasha was quick to inject a sedative into the side of your neck, and Loki held you until he was sure that you were unconscious.

Traitors.

They all heard your voice in their heads as you slowly went limp in Loki’s arms. 

— — —

“Damn it,” Bucky swore from the backseat of the SUV that Natasha drove. “I thought we were going to wait to see if we could gently talk her into coming back!”

“Plans change,” Loki replied, nonchalantly. “She was ready to teleport out of there.”

“Well, she’s fighting the sedative and with this snow on the roads, we’ll never get back to the quinjet before it wears off.”

Bucky held you in his lap, and even though the sedative was enough to knock him out, he could feel the tension in your body. You would occasionally twitch, so he spoke softly, soothingly.

Liars. Deceivers. Don’t take me back. Kill me, please...

They all heard your mental voice. When your fingertips began to emit sparks, Bucky swore again before Loki reached over to place his hand on your forehead. After a moment, you relaxed against Bucky and he could tell that you were fully unconscious. 

“How did you know she was getting ready to escape?” Bucky asked. 

“She has paper money tied to her waist.”

“What?!” 

Bucky found the money belt and unfastened it. “Geez.”

— — —

“Is the room ready?” Bucky asked as he carried you off the quinjet.

“As ready as it will ever be,” Tony replied, although his expression mirrored his doubts. 

He led the way to the containment unit that had been prepared for just this occasion. He’d wanted a way to keep you from hurting anyone, or yourself, until they could figure out this Power Stone thing. 

Loki and Natasha followed, with both keeping alert in case you suddenly came to. Bucky put you on the bed, then covered you up before leaving the room. Once everyone was out, Tony had Jarvis close the doors.

“Brother?” Thor motioned toward Loki, who nodded before he worked a spell that would keep the glass from shattering if you tried to break through. No one could get in or out while the spell was intact. 

Loki had just finished his incantation when you sat up suddenly, fully conscious. They all watched when you leaped off the bed to get to the door; when you couldn’t force it open, you tried throwing furniture at the large observation windows. The furniture bounced off the magic-reinforced glass, so you tried a different route with lightning. 

When that didn’t work, every piece of furniture was tossed in different directions when you let loose with telekinesis. Your fingertips glowed whitehot while your eyes gleamed with the unmistakable purple hue of the Power Stone. 

Telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, the triple threat, as he’d called it after you had teleported to the promenade that very first time. 

Tony swore softly under his breath, uncertain how this could be fixed, or even if it could be fixed. 

“Impressive, hmm?” Loki commented, while he watched intently. “So much power in a little mortal body. Will it kill her, I wonder?”

“Brother.” Thor shook his head at Loki. 

“No, it’s alright, let him talk,” Tony replied. “This is kinda my fault for allowing those idiots to play around with that thing here. She’s my employee and my responsibility.”

“I quit, remember.”

Tony met your gaze when you stood in front of him. He watched when you looked around your room, as if trying to find a weakness through which you could escape. 

“I never accepted your resignation,” he replied. “So, still employed.”

“Then I suppose that explains why my pay is still being deposited into my bank account,” you responded. “You should have left me where you found me.”

“Maybe, but there were others besides us looking for you. We couldn’t wait any longer.”

You were silent as you continued to study the windows, running a hand along the glass while you slowly walked until you stood in front of Loki. 

“I’m hungry.” 

I like you. You want to get away from this realm...with guidance, I could help you. Your thoughts are there, I know what you want. 

Loki shifted just slightly when you spoke to him directly. His face remained stoic, for the benefit of the others, but he could see the possibilities of your offer. When he said nothing, you turned your attention to Thor, who stood beside him. 

Thor returned your soft smile, his blue eyes reflecting his worry. He raised his hand to the glass, placing it to match yours. He had always been kind to you, even reprimanding the scientists when he felt they were being too harsh with you. 

Finally, you had enough of being stared at like a rare animal in a zoo, and gave the glass a slap that made it vibrate before you went back to the bed. 

“I’m hungry,” you said again.

— — —

Several days had passed before Tony was able to check on you. Earlier in the week everyone except Loki had been summoned to DC for a meeting, and had just returned. 

“This is new,” he commented, as Thor and Bucky joined him. 

He was shocked to see that you were levitating, cross legged, several inches above the surface of the bed. Every item in the room that wasn’t anchored down also floated in the air. 

Jarvis had been given instructions to play music if you asked, so your room literally vibrated with sound. You had him turn the volume up until the windows shuddered from the assault. The communication to the room was two-way, and after only several hours of listening, Loki had turned it off where he couldn’t hear it, but movement of the glass triggered the spell, causing no minor irritation to him. 

“Yes.” 

Loki had remained on guard and to observe; he dismissed the doctor assigned to share guard duty, not wanting anyone there who would anger you. Jarvis would record any activities that needed to be reviewed. Then he stayed awake, more or less keeping you company, although you didn’t speak to him other than to repeat your offer.

“How long has she been doing that?” Bucky asked, uneasily. 

“Two days,” Loki replied. 

“Has she eaten?” Thor asked. 

“Very little.”

The men were silent for several minutes while they merely watched. 

“Has she said anything?” Tony finally asked. 

“No.”

Loki decided not to tell them that you spoke to him almost constantly, your voice soft in his head, offering to help him escape. They could go anywhere he wanted if he was willing to be the guide. It wasn’t something that he would discount completely. 

He never replied to your soft queries, but you knew that he was sorely tempted. You decided that once you were able to escape the room and his spell, you would ask him again. 

Once he was left alone with you, he watched closely. He could tell that you were still learning to use the power given to you as a result of the lab accident. You weren’t quite perfect, because emotions tended to make you lose control. He was sure that with time, you would learn to let nothing faze you. 

Jarvis had shown him videos of the accident itself, of the tests that the doctors had put you through, and the failures that had come close to injuring them. Loki found it rather amusing that these mortal doctors had continuously underestimated the power of your new gifts. 

Loki could appreciate that you were chaos itself, at least until you learned control. When Tony had him go with Bucky and Natasha to retrieve you, his main objective was to prevent you from escaping and to assess exactly how strong you were. 

The little skirmish in the kitchen told him a lot; most of it he would keep to himself while telling Tony only the bare minimum of what he wanted to know. Loki felt that you could possibly teleport to a different realm, if you knew where to go.

“Jarvis, turn the music off, will ya?”

“Of course, sir.”

The sound went off suddenly, but you didn’t move right away. Finally, the objects that you’d been levitating hit the floor while you slowly lowered yourself to the bed. 

“Well?” You asked, when no one said anything. 

“Are you hungry?” Tony asked. “Loki said you weren’t eating.”

You gave a slight shrug. “I suppose I could take something, if it eases your conscience.”

“I’m concerned about you,” he said. 

“Alright, then,” you replied, getting up to stretch. 

“Is there anything in particular that you want?” Tony asked.

“You can surprise me.”

Go rest now, you told Loki. Thank you for staying with me, and I apologize if I kept you awake.

Eat. He finally responded to you, causing you to smile softly. Get some sleep, little one.

— — —

After you’d eaten and answered a few questions from Tony about how you felt and whether or not you would escape if they released you, you laid back on your bed and stared at the ceiling. 

You told him that you only wanted to be left alone. You had no intention of hurting anyone and wanted no part of any Avengers business. He then explained that there were others that were very interested in you, and that they would hound you until they had you in their clutches. 

You weren’t too worried, since you felt that you could defend yourself, but Tony wasn’t fully convinced. He talked to you a while longer before leaving. 

Thor and Bucky remained behind to keep you company, although the conversation was awkward enough that they stopped trying. You’d asked about Natasha, but she was still in DC, taking care of Avengers business. 

You could tell that Loki was currently sleeping, so you didn’t bother him. While the others were gone, you observed him even as he watched you. You tentatively touched his mind, which he allowed although he was careful not to show you too much. 

You didn’t intrude, just gathered what he wanted to show you. He knew that you hovered at the edges of his thoughts and was rather curious about what you would do. It seemed as if you were content to listen and learn. 

After a few more minutes of staring at the ceiling, you sat up quickly, startling Bucky, Thor and the doctor on duty. 

“Books!” You said. “I’d like some books before I go stir crazy!”

“Anything else?” Bucky asked. 

“Strawberry cheesecake. And brownies.”

The items you asked for were delivered fairly quickly, so you scanned through the books that were sent and tossed the ones that you didn’t want aside. You wanted to throw them at the windows, but didn’t want to wake Loki with a disturbance of his spell. 

Once you ate most of the cheesecake and several brownies, you read for a bit before dozing off for a nap. The doctor quietly monitored the systems while Thor paced. Bucky sat in a chair, just watching. 

When the alarms on the medical systems started going off, Thor stood at the window and watched while you moved restlessly. It was apparent that you were having a bad dream, but no one could go in to try to wake you. 

Bucky went to the speaker and called your name, with no response. Jarvis also tried to wake you but failed. Before they could do anything else, you sat up while gasping for breath. 

“Are you alright?” Thor asked through the speaker. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Not my dream, not my dream,” you whispered, while still struggling to breathe. 

“What was that?”

“N-nothing,” you replied. 

You had almost said “Loki” but caught yourself before you revealed too much. When you carefully reached out to him, you found that he still slept, although he was still affected by the dream that he’d projected to you. 

“Let me out,” you told them. “Let me out or I will get out on my own.”

— — —

When the top of the Tower shook from the explosion, Loki continued to sit at his table with his hot tea and scones and waited. 

He didn’t have long to wait, and smiled softly when you walked toward him. You still wore the thin pajamas and were barefoot. 

“So, my pet, are we off to create a bit of mischief across the cosmos?” He asked, while standing. When his clothes changed to his armor and leathers, you were impressed. 

You didn’t reply, you just put your arms around him and hugged him tightly. 

— — —

“Sir,” Jarvis got Tony’s attention just as he and Steve reached the floor of your containment unit. 

“What is it? Have you found her??” Tony asked, while surveying the ruined lab. 

“She’s gone….and has taken the prince with her.”

[toomuchofabastard]

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (5/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 4 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Mentions of Dissociation

Word count: 3,726 (total 19,201)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

Madame Tracy contemplated the saucepan full of Brussels sprouts.

Then she rapped her fingers against the side of the pan and glanced at the clock again. 2:46 pm. Mr. Aziraphale would be arriving at around a quarter past three. What to do?

She still made sure to boil up some Brussels before every séance, finding that no potpourri or expensive aromatherapy oils could create an atmosphere of safety and reassurance for the type she entertained quite like the familiar scent of vegetables that had been left on the stove too long.

But that was her regular - well, human - clients. Would it work on an actual, literal angel? Aziraphale reminded her of some of her (now ex-)clients in ways, although she could think of several key reasons why he would never be interested in the services she’d offered them, beyond the cup of tea. And a cup of tea and a chat was exactly what she’d promised. She wondered again what she Aziraphale might be needing to talk to her about. Crowley had made it sound pretty serious when they’d first arranged this afternoon together.

She’d been in the Oxfam shop just off Tottenham Court Road, browsing through some second-hand purses, when the bell over the door had rung and a damp and surly-looking young man had entered. She instantly recognised the copper-red hair, not to mention the serpentine tattoo on the side of his face, the monochromatic clothing, and the curious propensity to wear sunglasses even on a rainy day.

Crowley hadn’t noticed her at first, striding straight up to the till and shoving a hefty tome at the surprised teenager behind it with a brusque “Here.”

“Oh, um, thank you! Is this to donate?” they asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” Crowley had responded distractedly, running a hand through the back of his hair, and eyeing up the door already. Madame Tracy wandered over as the cashier started to input something into their till.

“Do you qualify for Gift Aid?” they asked Crowley.

Crowley turned back and snorted, seeming amused. “No, I don’t pay taxes,” he explained, as though it should be obvious. That didn’t surprise Madame Tracy one bit. He was a demon, after all. Tax evasion was probably the least sinister activity he got up to.

Crowley made to leave and Madame Tracy rushed to catch his attention before he was gone. “Crowley, love, is that you?” she called out.

He swung round, looking a little startled, but then clearly recognised her after a few seconds. “Oh. Hey,” he said, awkwardly waving a hand. He paused, then asked “You alright?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, stepping closer. She noted out of the corner of her eye as the cashier picked up the old book Crowley had donated with a puzzled look on their face and started to type its details into their computer. “Me and Mr. S are still looking for a place in the country. Nothing yet, but with the market being what it is at the moment, we’ll probably have to be patient,” she said.

“…Right,” responded Crowley blankly. His vacant expression made it clear to Madame Tracy that he had no idea who she was talking about. Come on, demon, she thought. You’ve only known him since the sixties.

“Of course, he’s retired from the old Witchfinding now,” she led on. “Fancied he might take up firearms restoration, or maybe lock-picking.” She watched Crowley’s face closely. He remained hopelessly blank for another few seconds, and then suddenly she saw a light ping on in his eyes.

“Right, right, yeah,” he said hurriedly. “The sergeant. ‘Cos you’re together now, aren’t you?” he said. She thought she could detect a faint patina of red spreading across his cheeks.

“Exactly,” she said. She smiled widely and kindly at him, and decided to take mercy and change the subject. “And how are you and Mr. Aziraphale doing?” she asked.

Immediately, she saw that it hadn’t been a good avenue of conversation to pursue. Crowley’s face darkened and his eyes became hard and troubled. He ran his tongue across his teeth for a second, appearing to weigh something up in his head.

“Yeah, not so great,” he eventually replied, voice low and jaw tight.

“Oh, dear,” Madame Tracy remarked uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

“…Something happened,” Crowley sighed, and ruffled the back of his hair again. “He’s not… doing very well with it.”

Suddenly, the spark of an idea seemed to light up the demon’s harried face. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve been thinking; he needs someone to talk to about it - someone who’s not me - and, well, if he’s up for it, could you maybe…?”

Madame Tracy understood what he was getting at, and thought about it. She liked the angel. They saw eye-to-eye on the important things, like the fundamental problem with designating people as wholly Good or wholly Evil, and whether you should put the milk or the tea in first. And he’d been gracious enough to forgive Mr. Shadwell for exploding him and accidentally burning down his bookshop, citing impending Armageddon as a ‘mitigating circumstance’ for all involved.

“I’m sure I’d be very happy to chat to him about whatever’s troubling the both of you,” she smiled.

Crowley smiled too. “Thanks,” he said, casually, but his tone and the relaxing of his shoulders betrayed a deep relief and gratitude.

“I’m free on Thursdays now, if you like?”

“Sounds great- well, I’ll ask him, anyway,” Crowley said.

Madame Tracey nodded. “Just give me a ring, love.” Next to her, the young cashier’s eyes suddenly bulged wide as they stared at whatever result concerning Crowley’s book the computer had just presented them with.

Crowley gave Madame Tracey a sharp nod and then turned to leave. “Um, sir, are you sure you want to-!” the cashier called out, but Crowley had already sauntered back out into the rain.

That had been six days ago, and now the angel himself would be here in less than an hour. Madame Tracey tapped the saucepan again. To boil or not to boil? Probably she should have thought about this sooner. Well… what harm could it do? From the sounds of it, it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation and Aziraphale would need something reassuring. And if it worked on her usual visitors, then why not him? He seemed just as English as she was. Maybe more so.

Madame Tracey nodded to herself, and then set the sprouts to boil.

◥|⧗|◤

About half an hour later, there was a sharp buzz on the intercom. When she opened the front door, the angel and the demon were standing there side by side, one dark and the other fair, almost putting her in mind of a pair of chess pieces. A bishop and a knight, perhaps. Crowley looked uncomfortable, and Aziraphale looked nervous.

They exchanged brief pleasant greetings, and then Madame Tracey beckoned Aziraphale inside. “Do come in, dear.”

“I’ll be back for you around four, alright?” Crowley said to him, as he massaged Aziraphale’s hand.

The angel murmured something in response and kissed Crowley dotingly on the cheek, squeezing him close. Madame Tracy saw a recalcitrant blush blossom underneath the demon’s sunglasses and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Aw. They were sweet together.

They parted and Crowley slouched back to his car, which Madame Tracey could swear was a vintage Bentley model older than she was. Aziraphale smiled at her and followed her inside, down the drab hallway and into her less-drab flat.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Madame Tracey said, and then popped quickly into the kitchenette. As well as the Brussels sprouts, now boiling away happily★, she’d been sure to boil the kettle and pre-prepare two cups, saucers and teabags, which she quickly assembled and brought out to the table in her sitting room. She placed one in front of the angel.

★Or as happily as any vegetables - had they attained sentience - could be, whilst being boiled to within an inch of their lives.

“Sugar, dear?” she gestured to the bowl.

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale replied, perfectly sweetly, but his hands were fidgeting underneath the tablecloth.

She sat down next to him and took a sip from her own cup. “Lovely,” she remarked. He likewise sipped his tea quietly, and nodded in agreement, although his face was gloomy.

“So, what exactly was it that you needed to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Um… I-I don’t really know where to start,” he replied with a light chuckle.

“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” she suggested gently.

Aziraphale took a deep, slightly shaky breath, cradling the tea close to himself, and swallowed. “You, um, you remember the other angel that was at the airbase, in Tadfield?” he began.

Madame Tracy cast her mind back. There had been all manner of bizarre characters and phenomena around that day - an honourable mention to her-with-the-angel-in-her-body - but she did recall a figure who had spoken down to Aziraphale after the two of them had been separated again.

“Tall fellow?” she said. “Sharply dressed? Very easy on the eyes?” A habitual hint of coquettishness crept into her voice with the last question.

Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t look happy at the description.

“Nasty piece of work, I thought,” Madame Tracy added, coldly.

A brief smile flashed across the angel’s face. “Yes,” he said, taking another deep breath. “That’s Gabriel.”

“He’s your boss?”

“Was. I believe I’ve been - uh - ‘let go’.” He laughed humourlessly.

Then he gulped, and looked down. “He- Heaven- well, they… weren’t best pleased with me for helping to prevent Armageddon,” he said. “So they decided I had to be… punished for that, and-and for, um, associating with Crowley.” He raised his eyebrows slightly as he spoke the word associating, and Madame Tracy could tell exactly what sort of ‘association’ he was referring to.

There was a pregnant pause. Aziraphale seemed to be trying to work himself up to saying something, staring down at his clenched hands and breathing heavily.

“They… th-…” he started, but then stopped with a pained frown. He sighed. Then he tried again, but his mouth moved silently, no words coming out.

“Take your time, dear,” Madame Tracy said. She patted him reassuringly on shoulder.

He smiled briefly again, but the anguish was obvious in his eyes. For a few moments, he just sat still and took several deep, forced breaths, while Madame Tracy waited patiently. Eventually, he managed to stutter it out.

“They… r-raped me.”

Then he turned immediately away to look up at the ceiling, and blinked rapidly as tears formed in the bottom of his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” exclaimed Madame Tracy. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. Instinctively, she reached to brush his hand. Aziraphale glanced at her and then quickly away again, his chest beginning to heave. A few choked gasps escaped the angel and his shoulders jerked silently up and down with sobs. Madame Tracy rushed to grab him a tissue from the box on the sideboard.

He accepted the tissue with another quick polite smile, and dabbed heavily at the watery corners of his eyes. She continued to stroke the back of his hand as he dried his eyes and tried to compose himself a little. The poor dear. It was unthinkable, what had happened to him.

“Apologies,” Aziraphale eventually said. “That’s the first time I’ve actually…s-said it out loud.”

Madame Tracy gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shaking hand. “No need to apologise, dear,” she said. “I’m so sorry. That’s dreadful.” She shook her head. “Awful.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

She didn’t feel it was really her place to ask him to clarify, but she felt herself pressed on by an awful morbid curiosity. “You said ‘they’…?” she asked cautiously.

Aziraphale swallowed, and managed to somehow look even more miserable. “A-Another angel, you wouldn’t know him,” he explained. His eyes wandered a little and his face darkened. “Even nastier piece of work than Gabriel. Always has been.” A minute shudder ran through his body.

“And they have the cheek to call themselves angels,” Madame Tracy scoffed.

Aziraphale snorted and waggled his eyebrows in agreement. The angel reached mutely for his tea and took a long draft, sighing deeply as he set it back down. He tapped the side of the cup restlessly as he moved to speak again.

“Crowley witnessed it all,” he said, the lines of anguish returning to his face. “He’s been so good to me. So patient.” He trailed off as a dreamy, loving look entered his eyes and the lines were replaced by the plumped cheeks and crow’s-foot creases of a real smile. Then the smile faded.

“But… well… it’s changed things,” he continued. “And I- I don’t know what to do. Neither does Crowley.” He looked over at her hopefully.

“What’s changed?” she asked delicately. “Maybe I can help.” That was doubtlessly why Crowley had asked her for this in the first place.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Um… I keep- I keep having these… ‘episodes’, I suppose, where, um, well, I feel… disconnected from everything. Sometimes for hours. Crowley tries to snap me out of it but it-it doesn’t always work.”

Madame Tracy said nothing, letting him continue.

“And it’s interfering with our, um…” - the angel coughed and his cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink - “…being intimate together.” He glanced at her hopefully again. “Y-You’re something of an expert in that area. What do you suggest?”

“So you’ve tried ‘being intimate’ since?” Madame Tracy responded with a question. She would normally be a lot more frank, but right now it was probably easiest to borrow the angel’s charmingly-euphemistic turn of phrase.

Aziraphale nodded.

“And it didn’t go well?” she prompted.

The angel shook his head. “We got halfway,” he said, “and it was- it was ok, it was nice, but then, well,” - he frowned - “something changed and I just, sort of… went numb.” His face creased with regret. “And that was the end of that.”

She smiled softly again and rubbed his arm.

“You’re going to need time, dear,” she said. “You have to be patient with yourself.” Aziraphale stared down into his tea, still forlorn.

It’s a good thing he came to me, she thought. At least she had some experience with this kind of thing; more than Crowley would, anyway. Content, well-adjusted individuals weren’t typically in the habit of visiting a sex worker when they could just as easily be getting ‘it’ in more typical places. Many of her clients had clearly been in it just as much for the company and emotional support as the sex, and over the years, she’d gotten pretty decent at assuaging the needs of the soul in addition to the body.

“If you want my advice for what to do-” she began, and he instantly looked back up at her, “I think you should try to focus on yourself. Rest, do things you enjoy, make sure you’re relaxing; really just take some time to nurture yourself.”

Aziraphale looked uncertain.

“As for the disconnecting-” she pressed on, taking charge of the conversation, “-well, we just need to find a way to reconnect you, that’s all.” A sudden memory flitted into her mind. “Come to think of it,” she continued, “I had a client once who I think suffered from a similar thing.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose inquisitively.

“He was rather odd with it - he would start listing things; objects that were in the room,” she said. “Said it helped to name all the blue things he could see or things he could smell. Quite bizarre.” She’d heard about Mindfulness and Similar Capitalised Concepts in magazines, although she wasn’t sure what blue objects had to do with it. “But it seemed to work for him,” she finished.

The angel looked rather sceptical. “So I should… count objects?” he asked.

Well, she hadn’t meant that quite so literally. “It’s all about grounding yourself in the present, I believe,” she said authoritatively. “Always returning to reality, and focusing on what’s around you.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly.

“For example, in the, ahem, bedroom” - Madame Tracey batted her eyelashes - “if you feel yourself drifting off, try to notice all of the touches and sensations and whatnot. Your Crowley seems very attentive,” she continued, causing Aziraphale to turn beetroot-red and grin sheepishly at the floor, “-so you just relax and think about what feels good to you, all the things that feel pleasurable in the moment.” She thought for a second.

“Do you have a bathtub?” she asked suddenly.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “Yes- well, Crowley has one, in his flat.”

Madame Tracey raised a finger to hush him and then quickly got up and left the angel sitting, confused, at the table, as she vanished into the bathroom at the back of the flat. With targeted precision, she collected together a number of parcels and baskets she’d had lying around, and brought an armful back out to the living room. They bumped and tumbled as she dumped them onto the table between them.

“So-” she pointed at each of the objects in turn, “-you’ve got bath bombs, and there’s some salts there too, and moisturiser and your essential oils and- oh, you like tea, don’t you, love?”

Ignoring Aziraphale’s bewildered face as he tried to process the question, she bustled over to the kitchenette and began pulling boxes from one of the cupboards. She reached to the very back and pulled down a bright gift box, containing a selection of exotic and colourful loose-leaf teas, which she’d at first mistaken for potpourri.

“One of my old clients gave me these, but Mr. S will never go for that sort of thing and after all, your need is greater,” she said, and added the box to the sprawling pile on the table.

“I-I couldn’t possibly accept all this!” the angel protested.

“Oh, nonsense, dear,” Madame Tracy replied, fussing a hand at him. “I’m always buying this stuff, or getting given it; I’ve plenty enough to last the rest of my life and beyond. It’s good to pay it forward.” Satisfied with the haul, she sat back down next to him.

Aziraphale looked sheepish again. “And… this will help, you think?” he asked quietly.

“Well, it’ll certainly relax you and engage the senses,” she said. “And they say smell is a powerful thing, don’t they?” The smells that emanated from Shadwell’s flat certainly were, she thought to herself. “If you can practice focusing when you’re happy and relaxed, it’ll come easier when you really need to.”

Aziraphale sighed, and some of the tension finally melted away from his face as he smiled. Madame Tracey returned the expression.

“Oh, bother,” Aziraphale muttered, as he reached for his tea and noticed that both cups had gone rather lukewarm as they’d been talking.

“I’ll brew us another,” Madame Tracey said as she began to get up.

“Oh, no need!” Aziraphale stopped her. He clicked his fingers sharply and suddenly both cups were once again as hot as newly poured, the smell of fresh tea thrown back into the air around them. Madame Tracey blinked in surprise. Sometimes she almost forgot that Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t human, and then they went and did - she’d heard them called miracles, and that seemed apt - just like it was nothing. Amazing.

She picked up the cup, somewhat cautiously, and took another sip. The angel smiled again, and joined her.

◥|⧗|◤

Crowley prodded the doorbell and then stepped back, squinting again at the needlessly complex display of his watch. He was a little bit earlier than he’d said. Hopefully that didn’t matter. He lounged against the edge of the wall as he waited for a response from inside the house, still feeling taut with nerves. This whole thing had been his idea, and while Aziraphale had assured him that he agreed, Crowley felt a little like he’d pressured the angel into it. He just hoped it would help.

He heard muffled footsteps, and stood up straight as the door clicked open and revealed Madame Tracey’s cheery face, greeting him. Aziraphale came up behind her, his arms full of… boxes? … and squeezed past until he was standing in front of Crowley.

“Hey angel,” Crowley said softly. “Ready to go?”

“One moment, dear,” Aziraphale replied. He turned back to Madame Tracey.

“I-I really can’t thank you enough, for all of this” - he gestured to the pile of boxes - “and all of the advice and just… for listening.” Crowley was glad to hear a note of calm and relief in the angel’s voice, which hadn’t been there when Crowley dropped him off.

“Any time, love,” Madame Tracey patted Aziraphale’s arm. “You take care of yourself now.”

She looked meaningfully at Crowley, and then added: “Both of you.”

Aziraphale beamed at them both, and then carefully picked his way over the doorstep and followed Crowley to the Bentley. Crowley opened and closed the door for him, gave a vague wave to Madame Tracey, and got into the driver’s side. As he did so, a cacophony of overlapping scents instantly hit him. It was just like he’d walked into one of those cosmetics shops - the sort that you could already get a whiff of from fifty metres away and whose products always looked tantalisingly edible.

“What’s all that about?” he nodded towards the source of the offending smell, the horde of parcels in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale laughed lightly. “I’m under strict instructions to relax,” he explained, his tone humorous.

Crowley smirked. “Well, I could have told you that.”

Aziraphale laughed again. Crowley’s heart squeezed in his chest at the sound of it. It was so good to hear him laugh again.

He leant close to the angel, his voice becoming earnest. “It helped, then?” he asked.

Aziraphale’s face softened and he gazed lovingly into Crowley’s eyes. “It did,” he replied sincerely. Crowley’s heart soared as the angel reached out to draw him close, and planted a firm kiss against the corner of his mouth. Then he settled back with a satisfied sigh. Crowley gazed at him fondly for a few seconds, then he put the Bentley into gear and they roared away.

[lalainajanes]

The Kindness of Strangers

It takes a good half hour for Caroline to realize that she’s been ditched.

In her defense, she’s not exactly at her best.

She can’t stop coughing, her chest hurts. She’s freezing, still wearing her coat and scarf even though she’s been indoors, waiting for her turn to see a doctor, for three hours. Caroline will admit that she’s never been an ideal patient. She hates every single part of being sick – gross fluids leaking from her body, disruptions to her carefully plotted schedule. She loathes weakness, isn’t used to having to count on other people. She’s lived in Chicago for just under a year, doesn’t have many people to rely on.

She’d been self medicating for days, guzzling DayQuil and NyQuil in turn, googling home remedies and forcing down cup after cup of chamomile tea with honey.

The medicine hadn’t helped, nor had the tea and the best medical advice Pinterest had to offer.

Hence why she’s sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, in a packed waiting room, braving screaming children, bloody wounds, and even more airborne germs.

She’s staring dumbly down at her phone, at the picture that’s just popped up on her Instagram feed. Posted just a few seconds ago it features her boyfriend at the gym, his face strained as he lifts a kettlebell. She hadn’t bothered to read the caption, knows it’s some nonsense about reps or mile times that she’s only ever feigned interest in for the sake of politeness.

He’d been yammering on about his workout plans since he’d picked her up. Caroline had been humming in acknowledgement at regular intervals but she’d figured it didn’t need to be explicitly stated that leaving her in a hospital waiting room was so not cool.

Apparently she’d been mistaken.

“Please tell me he’s some sort of useless relation. A cousin you’re only nice to because your mum insists.”

Caroline’s head swivels to the speaker, a touch surprised by the accent. The guy next to her is looking down at her phone, his expression disbelieving.  She’d nodded tiredly at him when she’d sat down, some part of her brain cataloguing a general impression of an attractive man in her age range. She hadn’t been in the mood for conversation and he hadn’t attempted one either. She’d felt him shifting next to her, restless, and probably in pain judging by the impressive rainbow of purple-black bruises covering his bare left foot.

She should probably snap at him, demand he mind his own business but, if her own freaking boyfriend can’t be bothered to skip a workout when she’s in the emergency room, it’s probably a good idea to expand her social circle.

“My mom has even less time for useless relations than I do.”

“She sounds like a smart woman. Does she like your boyfriend?”

Her mother had yet to be introduced. Caroline had planned a trip to Mystic Falls for a long weekend but Stefan’s brother had called last minute with one of his bimonthly crisis’s so Caroline had made the trip solo. In hindsight, maybe she should have read more into the lack of effort. “Very smart. And handy with all manner of firearms.”

A warning, just in case he happens to be a serial killer.

His brows rise, a hint of amusement beginning to curl his lips. Caroline’s forced turn away and bury her face in the crook of her elbow as she’s wracked with coughs. She slumps back when she’s done, needs a moment to catch her breath.

When she peels her eye open her neighbor’s expression has softened with concern. “I’m Klaus,” he offers.

“Caroline.”

His arm nudges hers on the armrest between their chairs, a weird approximation of a handshake that Caroline returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

She’s naturally nosy, and he’s given her an opening, “What happened to your foot?”

“Stupid accident. I was helping my brother move, he got distracted. A rather heavy sofa came down on my foot.”

Caroline winces in sympathy, leans forward to peer around Klaus. She hadn’t noticed him talking to another guy but, as she hadn’t really noticed Stefan taking his leave while in her fog of misery, that doesn’t mean much. “Is he here?”

Klaus makes a low noise of denial, “God, no. Kol can only sit still as long as the average five year old. I’ll be storing this incident away for later, when I need a bigger favor than a ride to the hospital.”

Caroline doesn’t know much about healthy sibling relationships but she can admire a strategic mind.

“How long have you been waiting for?”

“I got here about an hour before you did.”

“Ugh,” Caroline grumbles, crossing her arms and yanking her sleeves down over her hands, “maybe I should have just made another pharmacy run and gone back to bed.”

Klaus leans forward, pulls a jacket and a scarf out from under his seat. He shakes them out, offering them to her. “Here. I find it quite warm in here but you’re obviously suffering.”

She shakes her head, “No, I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever I have.”

“Did you just fall ill?”

“It’s been a few days.”

Kat, her boss, had bullied her out of the office when Caroline had nearly passed out after standing up after a meeting. Caroline had tried to protest but Katherine Pierce was excellent at getting her own way. Caroline had been in the back of a town car, under a blanket, with a driver who’d had strict instructions to only stop at a restaurant for the giant takeaway container of chicken noodle soup Kat had ordered.

She’d texted Stefan when she’d gotten home, had gotten sympathy followed by an apology. He’d told her to rest, that he hoped she’d feel better soon, but he’d claimed that he couldn’t rick catching anything, not when he’s training for a marathon.

Alone on her couch, trying to muster the energy to get herself to her bedroom so she could change out of her pencil skirt and blouse, Caroline had told herself that she shouldn’t be resentful. That ambition was sexy, goals were admirable, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

That it wasn’t at all annoying that, just a month ago, she’d spent a whole weekend refilling a hot water bottle for Stefan every half hour after he’d pulled a muscle. He hadn’t asked her, she’d offered, and relationships shouldn’t have scorecards.

Maybe they had different love languages. That didn’t mean they were incompatible.

Reciting the bullet points from Cosmo relationship articles hadn’t stopped Caroline from feeling resentful.

Klaus shakes his jacket gently, drawing her attention back to him, “I doubt you’re contagious at this point.”

The jacket looks to be wool, heavy and lined and probably super cozy. She only hesitates for another second before taking it, draping it over herself like a blanket and looping the scarf around her neck.

She manages to avoid obviously tucking her nose into the fabric, to better appreciate the light touch of the very nice cologne Klaus must use.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “You can tell your significant other that you’ve earned a pile of gentleman points.”

It’s not the most subtle fishing Caroline’s ever done but she’ll just have to blame that on the large doses of over the counter meds still swimming through her system.

Klaus doesn’t seem to mind, his smile widening as he leans back in his seat. He rests his head back against the wall and sprawls a bit, closer to her than he’d been before. “There’s no significant other.”

She probably shouldn’t consider that good news but she totally does.

“And you?” Klaus asks, “how long have you and the… fitness afficianado been an item?”

Caroline suspects the moniker he’s settled on is far more polite than he’d like to be.

“About six months. But we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Let me guess, you were high school sweethearts who reunited years later.”

His distaste is obvious and Caroline laughs softly. “Um, no. Not even close. I had a ginormous crush on him but he was really into my best friend.”

Who’d waffled between being into Stefan right back and being into Stefan’s older brother.

Klaus sighs, “So he’s got an appalling lack of taste in addition to his other less than stellar qualities.”

It’s instinct to jump to Stefan’s defense. “He’s really a great guy.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s training for a marathon. It’s a lot of work.”

“Is this marathon tomorrow?” Klaus asks pointedly. “Because otherwise I don’t understand why he couldn’t take a day off when you’re so ill you can barely walk.”

Caroline deflates, presses her lips together as she swallows the argument she’d been about to make. She’s had plenty of practice lately. When she’d first moved, and Stefan had shot her a message offering to take her out for a drink to celebrate her new job, it had been easy to fall back in with her old friends. He’d been familiar, Elena and Damon too, and she’d been busy with her new job and settling into a new apartment. It had been easier to relearn how to be around them than to meet new people.

She’s a people person though, has started getting closer to a few coworkers, and Enzo, Rebekah and Kat all have certain opinions about Stefan that Klaus is mirroring.

“Perhaps this is none of my business,” Klaus says, after her silence has stretched on. He’s watching her carefully, like he’s wondering if he’s pushed too far.

“It’s really not.”

“Lost those gentleman points, did I?” he jokes.

Caroline laughs, willing to roll with his attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe not all of them.” Because she is warmer now, with his layers piled on top of hers. “Where are you from, anyway?”

He’d given her the perfect opening to pry and Caroline’s not going to waste the opportunity.

All in the interest of broadening her social circle of course.

A month later, after a breakup, rearranging her entire apartment (three times), she’s decided to make more of an effort to turn her coworkers into real friends.

Rebekah’s throwing herself a birthday party. There’s even a dress code. Enzo informs Caroline that all of Rebekah’s brothers are ridiculously hot, so clearly she needs a great new dress. And heels. And some lingerie and a new lipstick because, why not?

She sees Klaus before he sees her. He’s planted on a loveseat in the living room, his casted foot resting on an ottoman. He’s flitted through her thoughts more than once since they’d met and Caroline had regretted not getting his contact info. Or at least a last name.

Klaus might be a unique name but her attempts at social media stalking had all failed.

Caroline grabs a flute of champagne (seriously, Rebekah knew how to throw a party) and hugs the perimeter of the room. She approaches Klaus from behind, sitting down on the arm next to him and chirping, “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

His eyes snap up, widening when he recognizes her. “Caroline,” he says, something like wonder coloring the tone.

It’s enough to confirm that she’d not the only one who’s spent way too much time thinking about those few hours they’d spent together.

“Glad you remember me,” she teases. “How do you know Rebekah?”

“She’s my sister.” He shifts over, threading his finger through hers to pull her down next to him. Caroline has no objections, not even when he’s pressed along her side, leaving enough room for another person beside him. “And you?”

“We work together.”

“Small world,” Klaus murmurs, very pleased about it.

Caroline can relate.

She nods down to his foot, “What was the verdict?”

He groans, “At least six weeks in the cast. I’m right sick of it. I’ve barely left my place since it happened because I can’t drive and the simplest things are infinitely more annoying.”

“I’m glad you made it out tonight.”

He’s still got her hand clasped in his but his free arm comes up, resting loosely around her shoulders. He speaks more softly and Caroline leans closer to make sure she can hear. “Likewise, love. I’ll never complain about Rebekah being a shameless nag again.”

Somehow, Caroline doubts that.

She spends the duration of the party at Klaus’ side but she meets a whole pile of new people. There’s Kol, the brother whose couch had maimed Klaus’ foot, Elijah, who is a little scary, with his appraising eyes and aggressively perfect manners. She gets some tips about thrifting vintage clothes from Gia, a classical violinist, and when she chats with Marcel he says he hopes he sees her around, promises that he knows plenty of embarrassing stories about Klaus.

She’s kind of kicking herself for falling back into old habits when she’d first moved to Chicago. Clearly, she’s pretty kickass at making friends.

She leaves with Klaus’ number in her phone and plans for dinner the next night.

Sunday brunch plans follow, with Rebekah, where there are bottomless mimosas and vague threats.

It’s easily the best weekend she’s had since moving.

Though not for long.

[razieltwelve]

Dragon Slayer (Rebirth)

Note: Rebirth is a Worm x Final Rose crossover in which Taylor is reborn and experiences an entire lifetime as one of Lightning and Fang’s children after being shoved into the locker. After eventually dying of old age, she awakens to find herself back in the locker. In her other life she was known as Atalanta. Taylor’s cape name is Huntress.

X     X     X

“Congratulations,” Miss Militia said. “I heard you brought in Lung earlier tonight.”

Something that was equal parts exasperation and annoyance flashed across Armsmaster’s face before his expression settled into a frown. “Technically, I did. However, the specifics leave something to be desired.”

“Oh?”

“I brought Lung in… after he had already been incapacitated.”

That… was not something Miss Militia had been informed about. “I see.”

Armsmaster sat down in front of a monitor and gestured for her to join him. He was not the most socially graceful person, but she’d known him for years. Social awkwardness aside, he was a good man and a reliable teammate. She’d trusted him with her life many times, and he’d yet to let her down. “I want you to review the footage with me. I will be going over it with the director later, but I would prefer a second opinion before I meet with her.”

“Of course.” It was no secret that Armsmaster and the director did not always get along, but they generally managed to put their differences aside for the good of the city. Still, Armsmaster wouldn’t be who he was without wanting to prepare as much as possible for the meeting. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to focus on?”

“The footage we’re about to review was pulled from multiple street cameras and storefront surveillance cameras. What I’d like you to focus on is the cape fighting Lung. She only appeared relatively recently, and she has given her name as Huntress.”

“All right.” Miss Militia had heard of Huntress. She’d dealt with more than a dozen relatively minor crimes. From what the reports had said, she had incapacitated the criminals she’d target too quickly for them to react. That meant she was either skilled, experienced, or powerful, possibly all three.

As the footage began to play, Miss Militia was immediately struck by the ease and grace of Huntress as she arrived to intercept Lung. Her costume was mostly made up of blue armour with a strange symbol on the front and a mask that covered her entire face.

The armour was fairly light, including greaves, bracers, and the like. As far as she could tell it wasn’t power armour of anything of the sort, but Huntress’s movements were nevertheless completed unimpeded by it as she leapt off a rooftop and landed on the street below. Based on the height of the jump - three storeys - and how easily she landed, she would definitely qualify for some sort of brute and/or mover rating. 

Most people would have been trembling at the sight of a fifteen-foot-tall Lung stomping down the street, but Huntress held herself in a manner that screamed experience and professionalism. This was not some rookie cape getting her bearings. This was someone who was already well used to combat and life-or-death situations.

As Lung rumbled closer, the cape continued to simply watch him advance. At the last moment, when Lung lunged forward, Huntress finally moved. It was almost beautiful. Miss Militia had faced Lung before. It had been like fighting a force of nature. The raw heat, power, and rage he emanated were stifling. Yet huntress bobbed and weaved from the storm of blows he unleashed, seemingly unbothered by the heat, always one step ahead as attack after attack went wide.

She was testing him, Miss Militia thought. That was what it looked like. It was as though Huntress wanted to know just how fast and agile Lung was. A stray blow ripped a gash in the street, and Huntress flipped away and landed atop a street light, perfectly balanced on the length of metal. Lung responded by unleashing a blast of fire that melted the street light, but Huntress had already jumped away. Back on the street, the female cape lifted one hand… and then waved Lung forward.

The roar of rage Lung loosed shook the street, and he sprang, claws extended - only to go rocketing down the street like a silver meteor. He tumbled end over end, leaving a long stretch of burnt, ripped up concrete in his wake. Miss Militia’s eyes widened as Huntress slowly lowered the arm she’d used to punch Lung.

That was unexpected, a brute rating was definitely called for, possibly a striker rating too, depending on how exactly the attack had worked. It was difficult to be sure since the punch had been delivered too fast for any of the cameras to actually catch it on film.

Her lips firmed into a thin line. At the very least, Huntress would like qualify as a Brute/Mover/Thinker due to the way she’d handled herself in the battle so far. If she was a Striker as well…

The footage shifted to Lung. The punch had pulped his entire chest cavity. It was the most damage that Miss Militia had ever seen him take at this size. As Lung struggled to rise, what looked to be the pole of a parking sign speared through his throat and pinned him to the ground. He immediately went still, and Miss Militia turned to Armsmaster.

“Huntress got the pole by kicking it out of the ground before throwing it from a distance of roughly a hundred yards. The pole severed his spinal cord.”

Miss Militia frowned. A hundred yards? Given the size of Lung’s spinal cord, hitting it from that distance with a firearm would have been a difficult shot for most people. Of course, she could have done it with ease, but doing it with a makeshift spear that she’d never handled before? There was no way she’d be able to do it. She doubted even Armsmaster could do it with assistance from his armour’s systems. And the use of the pole was interesting as well. Lung might be able to regenerate from a severed spinal cord, but could he regenerate it if there was a pole stuck in the way? Moreover, with his spinal cord severed and his regeneration taxed by the damage to his chest, there was no way for him to move his limbs to remove the obstruction. 

“I arrived shortly after,” Armsmaster concluded. “But Huntress had already left the scene.” He stopped the footage. “What do you think of her?”

“Extremely skilled,” Miss Militia began. “She is definitely a brute of some kind, and I’d give her ratings as a mover and thinker as well. However, I strongly suspect that she had training and experience prior to getting her powers. It’s the way she carries herself, and the way she used the pole. She’s used to fighting, and I bet she has fought a regenerator before. I might give her a striker rating too. That punch she landed did way more damage than it should have even if she is a brute of some kind.”

“I mostly agree,” Armsmaster replied. “Especially with your thoughts on her experience. Until now, she has only dealt with low levels crimes, yet we have not had a single report of any serious injuries from people she has apprehended.”

“That speaks of great control… something you don’t find in new capes,” Miss Militia said. “And many of the injuries the criminals did sustain are consistent with techniques used by law enforcement to restrain and incapacitate people.”

“However, her fight against Lung suggests that she has the ability to seamlessly switch to a different mode of operation when necessary. It also shows how much she has been holding back.”

“Yes. If she hit a normal gang member with a punch like that, we’d be hard-pressed to scrape anything off the pavement.”

“I am going to recommend approaching her peacefully,” Armsmaster said. “She has demonstrated heroic behaviour so far, and the Protectorate could use someone competent and powerful.”

Miss Militia nodded. “We’ve got more than enough criminals to deal with as it is.” She grinned. “Will you be showing this to the Wards?”

“Yes. It might do them some good to see what proper technique and training can accomplish.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

This time around, Taylor has a big advantage. Not only is Aura absurd but she has also cut her teeth fighting a far, far, far more dangerous regenerator than Lung. I mean, yeah, Lung fought Leviathan for a while and came out mostly even before Kyushu sank, but Ragnarok is another kettle of fish.

Ragnarok would probably just eat Leviathan before complaining about the taste. 

Having access to both Diana and Fang (and later Victoria) means that Taylor knows exactly how to fight regenerators. Against Lung, she used Aura Surging to land a single massive strike that completely pulped his entire chest cavity. Even with his regeneration, that’s not something Lung can laugh off. Using the pole to sever his spinal cord while he was still incapacitated was a way to basically end the fight without having to kill him or escalate further, especially since she did know that Armsmaster was nearby.

Going by the power classification system, Taylor would be a Brute/Mover/Striker/Thinker. However, all of these powers are basically because of Aura. When her Semblance is active, she would gain a Master classification because she can create and control minions.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

[songofsilentechoes]

Noelle followed the map given to her by the blacksmith and effortlessly found a street lined with cafes. She smiles to herself, having so many options.

Uncertain of what a “Yordle” is, she decides to go with one that looks the most peculiar of the options and finds herself in a quaint cafe staffed by small humanoids with large ears. Too cute to be goblins, she concludes, hoping that their inhuman nature, and the sweet scent coming from further within, has her at the correct place.

She places an order after a brief struggle. The creature speaks quickly and with an accent she’s unfamiliar with, and her own is unfamiliar to them. But both sides are unflinchingly polite and with the order placed, she turns to her notes, taking out a few pages of parchment and beginning to copy the notes over, updating them with more accurate annotations.

After about an hour, she finishes the main notes and begins to sketch her schematics again. She feels very self-conscious at some of her designs, being almost whimsical super heroic nonsense. Some might be possible, but would take someone far more capable than her to create and far stronger or faster than her to effectively use. Her grapple design was also extraordinarily crude compared to what Mister Seraph designed for his daughter’s prosthetic.

Her designs for the amplifier for herself were probably her most thought-out, but she questioned how effective it would be for her. Her magics were weak, and while it would help her use them here, it would likely need a focusing device to be of any kind of real use. However, it would limit her flexibility.

It would almost be easier to simply create several gadgets for different functions, but that would become far too expensive too quickly, be too cumbersome for a single person to use, and likely be very heavy to carry around. She might be able to get away with a few small ones for situational use. Something to consider and save up for. Those parts didn’t look cheap and if the gem cores are more expensive now, even harder. Plus monopolizing Mister Seraph’s time to help her with such things would be rude. He’s got a business to run and a family to spend time with.

She sips at her coffee and smiles. Just the right amount of sugar and cream.

Noelle looks over the schematics again. The old “firearm” test for learning physics for new artifice devices, the miniaturized breathing device probably wouldn’t give more than a minute of air before it failed, the crude grapple that might rip the user’s arm off and the spool on the hip was a little heavy. The wrist-blade seemed interesting, if a little gaudy as an attempt to copy some of the Piltovian aesthetics. She was pleased with the glider, but it would need significant height in order to be useful, or be anchored to something moving quickly. The grapple could solve that, but the combined weight would be an issue. Drawing on her experience with energy projection, the hovering boots were an novel idea. Too heavy for more than a weak output, they might work for snow or sand, but would be impractical. A boost in their power, and a belt apparatus might allow the user slow, swimming flight, but it would be astonishingly difficult to control and burn itself out quickly. Far too expensive.

She lingers on one of her designs besides her amplifier. The resonance eliminator. By itself, it was a localized sonic disruption device, allowing the user to essentially switch the sound they make off or back on. She shudders at the thought, since it artificially replicates her own condition she’s working so hard to remove. However, she couldn’t deny that it could have some use, if one wanted to remain subtle. With some tweaking, it might also be able to bend light around the user, making them visually difficult to see as well, but that’s far outside the scope of her design. She feels uncomfortable admitting she occasionally feels comfortable when she was silent. There was a comfortable barrier between herself and others that made it easier to recover from the world.

The cost was high, though, and the silence is deafening. She might find her alone time rejuvenating, but she yearns to meet others and see new places...and she misses the music she could play. Asova sold her a voice, and now she would reclaim what she lost.

She looks back at the sound toggle. It’s an awfully cumbersome design in it’s current state. It’s almost a shame that such a thing be tied to a device at all. Pondering to herself, she sketches a few other designs, sipping at her coffee as she goes. A manipulation of sound waves to create difficult to see projections of force. It’s almost a form of wind magic, but the harmonics are more pleasing to her aesthetics. Offensive, defensive...even mobility applications if used properly. By the time she finishes, there are multiple iterations of this device, each with slightly different functions.

She takes a bite of the soft sweetcake she ordered and gives a little squeal of delight. It’s soft, but surprisingly dense, and just the right amount of sweetness. The frosting is a little much, but she figures she’s just too used to travel food to give it the appreciation it likely deserves.

Looking at the fresh coffee as the Yordle serving it pours a swirl of cream into it, another thought crosses her mind. The device could, at least in theory, toggle between sound and soundless, and the blacksmith’s prior creation was essentially an ornate dimensional anchor to lock something into phase. However, she wonders if a user could toggle other states of being through this. Biological augmentations were likely beyond it, but if it could bend light and sound, it could probably shift essence as well. Pulling someone into the very shadows, or even out of phase with the current reality. Such a device would be massively dangerous, and would need an incredibly powerful reality anchor to avoid being permanently locked out of phase with the current plane of existence and best, or flung into the gaps between planes at worst. She shudders at the thought and desires to stop her line of thinking before she goes any further. These tools overall were dangerous enough with her minimal expertise. In the wrong hands by someone far more capable, they could be nightmarish...mostly for the user, but it doesn’t take a genius to think of modifications where such things could be turned on others.

Cleansing her palette with a sandwich, she pulls the notes into a neat stack and ponders her next step. Thinking about the spaces between planes makes her think of the void....as well as the void dust she needs for her ritual. The ever-devouring essence of the void would make a natural vacuum to draw in basically anything, so the ritual calling for it as such makes sense. It just seems so dangerous, though, and it could draw in almost anything. Not to mention it specifically called for “energized” void dust. The distinct lack of such a thing is what characterizes void-touched materials, if she wasn’t mistaken. This demands more research, but it’s a scary subject. Mister Seraph was right, Asova would be her most likely source for such things, but perhaps she could stall on that a little longer and learn some more about this stuff before making a dangerous mistake.

The blacksmith made mention of a “Shurima” where the lines are blurred between this plane and the void. She pulls out her map and guide and finds it’s marked as a massive desert to the south. Reading on it, she concludes that traveling there by ship would be straightforward enough, but traveling through the sands themselves would be another matter. As traveled as she is, a rugged environment like that would be tricky to navigate. She would need a destination before she even entertains the idea.

Frowning to herself, she would also need to consider her questions carefully. Most sane people fear the void and with good reason. Asking probing questions about it could quickly become dangerous for her if she handles it poorly. She would need to find a scholar on the subject, or an archive she’d be allowed to access. This will be quite difficult.

Noelle sighs and decides to save this for another day. She stacks up her documents and places them within her satchel and leaves the gold for her meal on the table, thanking the whimsical people before she leaves. She makes a mental note of this lovely cafe before heading back to the blacksmith to deliver the copy of the updated notes.

[divineluce]

You’re Sworda Wrong || Mina & Luce

Location: Excalibur

Tagging: @drowningisinevitable & @divineluce

“Alrighty, wrap it up folks. Nice job today.” The instructor said. Luce pulled her fencing mask off and gave her sparring partner a high five, sweat dripping down the side of her face. Throwing her gloves and helmet into her bag, she gently laid her training sword inside before zipping the whole thing up neatly. “We still on for this weekend?” She asked. When she received an affirmative thumbs up, Luce nodded and headed out of the practice studio. Still warm from spending the last hour smacking people with blunt swords, she kept her jacket slung between the shoulder strap of her equipment bag as she entered the main storefront of Excalibur. Did she really need another sword? No. But did she want to look at them? Yes, yes she did. Besides, if she ever got the nerve to try and go all flame-on with one of her swords… she’d need a replacement, right? Humming to herself, she looked at the various display cases before noticing a young woman standing off to the side-- she’d been in the practice room, watching, hadn’t she? Tilting her head to the case in front of her, Luce spoke up, “See something you like?”

Sometimes, Mina liked to watch the fencing classes at Excalibur. Not often; being around that many people who could possibly be wardens and not understand that she was also a warden made her incredibly nervous, especially without her dad around to help her. But she liked watching sword fights, and she liked looking at the swords in the main shop as well, so she occasionally allowed herself to come in and watch. She was always glancing about, trying to blend into the wall, hoping no one would take too much off an interest in her. She’d been eyeing a set of daggers, wondering if she could get a nice pair of gloves so that the metal wouldn’t burn her too badly, when a woman spoke up and almost startled Mina out of her skin. Literally; with all the weirdness going on in White Crest, she’d been jumpy and nervous and one second away from forming scales and jumping in the nearest body of freshwater just about any chance she got. “Oh!” she yelped. “I mean, not really. Or just looking! I mean, it all looks nice!” She looked between the woman to the swords and then back. Could she just disappear into the wall, please? But the other woman was intriguing to Mina, the way she carried herself. She reminded Mina of a few of the hunters she’d met during her day.

When the other woman jolted, Luce flinched in response, shifting away. “Christ!” She swore, hand tightening around her bag. “A bit tightly wound there, huh?” She commented with a slight shake of her head. Eh. She probably didn’t mean anything by the response, there was a lot of shit going around town and it had everyone on edge. Even her. Which is why she was here in the first place-- nothing like doing some sparring and sword training to calm down after a long day. Rubbing her forehead, she sighed. “Sorry. Kinda on edge.” She said before laughing at her dumb sword pun. Folding her arms in front of her, Luce scrutinized the woman for a moment. There was something about her that seemed familiar. “You’ve come by here a couple times before, haven’t you?”

Mina laughed nervously. “Ha! Yeah, um, sorry! I’m sorry! I’m. Yeah.” She ran her hands through her hair nervously. God, she was making a terrible impression. She watched the other woman closely, the way she reacted. “On edge, yeah, same here. Lots of, um, weirdness going on lately. I’m sorry. I didn’t. I didn’t mean to startle you for startling me.” She laughed a bit breathlessly. “Not that I think you did it on purpose! I know you didn’t! I’m pretty sure!” Mina was going to go crawl in the lake as soon as she left her and just die. She was sure of it. As the other woman looked at her, Mina tried to shrink back a bit more. “Ah, well, yes! Yes, I come by and I watch and I look around. Sometimes. It’s a nice store, a cool store.” 

Listening to the younger woman ramble, Luce tilted her head slightly in mild amusement. “Fair. There’s a lot of shit going on. Hope you’re staying safe out there. And, if you’re looking for a little extra protection, this place isn’t a bad shop for it.” She said with an easy grin. Maybe that would help this anxious lady just chill out a little bit. Not that Luce couldn’t deal with anxious-- she had an anxiety ridden cactus cat living with her that honestly needed prescription meds. But, she didn’t super need that energy around her either. “It’s a good place. They do swordsmanship lessons in the back throughout the week, they have a calendar posted with times, if you want to check it out. It’s a good way to stay in shape and meet people.” 

“I know how to stay safe, yes,” Mina said, the half-truth coming easily. Lying made her feel ill, but she’d spent twenty-three years figuring out ways to work around it. And, even if she didn’t stay conventionally safe, Mina always did what she thought was safe for her. Unless people needed help. “Extra protection would be nice, though! I’ve always thought about getting more protection.” She had plenty, especially when it came to firearms, really, but she liked blades; they were so shiny. “I like coming by, but, um, I’m a much better observer. I’d be a bit silly, trying to sword fight. It’s been awhile.” Not that she couldn’t. Mina had more than enough scars to prove that she’d learned and become more than capable at handling bladed weaponry. But no one really needed to know that. “You come here pretty often, too, don’t you?” 

“Glad to hear it.” Luce said with a nod at the taller woman. If she said she knew how to stay safe, she’d take her at her word. And if she was bluffing, well. The girl would figure out what it meant to bluff about being safe in White Crest all on her own. “Well, there’s plenty to spare. I bought this,” She said, sticking her hand in the pocket of her joggers before pulling out one of her silver knuckle dusters, “here. They have a lot of variety.” Putting the weapon away, she quirked an eyebrow. “Been a while? You know swords, then?” She asked, intrigued. There weren’t too many people who already knew how to fight before they started taking classes at Excalibur. And the handful that did were really good at it. “Mhm, a couple times a week. Like I said, it’s a good way to stay in shape.”

Hoping her smile was reassuring, Mina nodded back. “Totally. All about safety!” She looked around the store at all the different blades.Yes, there was certainly a lot. “You could probably arm the entire city and still have plenty to spare,” she murmured, more to herself but loud enough to be heard. She glanced at the knuckle dusters; silver, a nice metal, not one that stung. She knew what steel knuckle dusters felt like to the temple. She wondered if this woman was a beast hunter. Silver was an interesting choice. She scratched at the back of her neck. “My, um, my dad. He had me learn different types of weapons growing up. We sparred a bit with swords, daggers, the like. I wasn’t,” she laughed, “I mean, I wasn’t great.” Yeah, it would make sense if this woman was a beast hunter. Frequented Excalibur, silver, training in swordsmanship. “Well, you’re very good! You seem to win more than you lose.”

Catching the other woman’s words, she laughed. “Calling it a city’s generous. It’s a college town.” Luce said with a shrug. “But, the college helps keep us going. Though, I’d kinda hate to see what some of the college kids I’ve seen would do with a sword.” She said with a shudder, thinking back to her latest trio of dumb fraternity brothers who had decided to get their frat’s letters tattooed. They totally weren’t going to regret that at all. “Huh. Cool. Sounds like a fun father-daughter hobby.” She said with a nod. Better than what her parents had pushed upon her. Studying fire magic and flaunting it for gain, not giving it the respect it deserved. The other woman’s observation caught her off guard-- yeah, she was pretty good. But, it was surprising that she noticed. “Yeah, thanks. I’ve been doing this for a bit now.” Extending a hand, Luce offered a polite smile. “I’m Luce, by the way.”

“Ah, well, yes, I suppose city is kind of gracious,” Mina said, smiling a bit and running her fingers through her hair. “Yes, the college is actually one of the reasons I’m here. I’m a masters student and thought White Crest would be as good a place as any to settle in the states!” Nothing like a supernaturally invested town to really encourage you to study math. And hunt monsters, but that was another story. “Yes, I wouldn’t give very many college students swords, especially not freshmen. Perhaps,” she looked around the store, tried to do some mental math, “Suppose there’s about fifty to a hundred people in town who actually know what they’re doing with weapons. They could be armed to the teeth with plenty to spare if they all came by here!” Mina thought a bit about fighting with her dad, the cuts and bruises and burns. She smiled. “It was pretty fun, yes. I learned a lot. He’s a great teacher.” He taught her how to survive, even if she wasn’t always that good at it. Mina perked up at the other woman mentioning that she’d been doing this for awhile. Yes, definitely a hunter. Mina wondered how long. “Really? That’s so neat. What got you into this? I’m Mina. Mina Fitzroy.” She took Luce’s hand, hoping her own wasn’t too cold and clammy. “Ah, it’s very nice to meet you!”

Nodding along, Luce smiled politely. College, as she’d found out, wasn’t here thing. She’d given it a whirl, hated every second of it, and get lucky as all get out that she’d found Ink Inc. when she did. “Cool. What do you study?” She asked. “Fifty to a hundred? That’s a lot, don’t you think?” She asked, gesturing to the people who were coming out of the training room. “Out of the folks here, there are about… eh. Let’s say 25-30 competent people with a sword. Maybe UMWC has some fencers hiding around I don’t know about, but I’d say fifty tops.” She said. “Neat. Well, if he ever comes to visit, you should bring him around here. I’m sure some folks in the class would benefit from a lesson or two from him.” The woman’s hand was a little cold, but most people felt cold to her. Fire magic had a tendency to do that-- it made her run warmer than everyone else and, as a result, everyone else felt just a bit chilly to her. “Nice to meet you too.” This normally would have been her out to leave the conversation, but Mina’s question had her stuck. “Ah, it just seemed like something interesting to stay busy. Besides, it’s something that tests your mind and body, which not a lot of other activities do.”

“Ah, well, math,” Mina said a bit sheepishly. She’d fooled around in undergrad, only really studying things that struck her interest, and had ended up with a general studies degree in three subjects that couldn’t be more different: German, math, and music. When applying for a masters program, she’d just gone with the one that might possibly be useful (and with the least amount of people in it). The degree was just a cover anyway. She knew what she was in White Crest to do. “Well, you know, a hundred might be a bit much, but I’m certain there’s more than fifty. Say that between twenty-five and thirty attend classes here. Then there’s people like me,” hunters who don’t do classes, “who might be a little shy about this kind of thing. There’s approximately 15,000 people, plus 5,000 university students. Say another ten to twenty are like me. Factor in the people that think they know what they’re doing, and the number might be a bit larger than you think.” Mina hoped she didn’t sound dumb. She was blushing a bit as she went through the numbers off the top of her head. She paled a bit at the thought of her father coming back anytime soon with her not even being close to fulfilling her promise. “Oh, well, I mean, he’s on business, probably won’t be here for some time. But I can ask!” She thought he’d probably like a chance to show off. “Oh, totally, it’s really good exercise!” She cocked her head a bit. “Have you always lived in White Crest, or are you fairly new, like me?”

Listening to the woman rattle off all the mental math, Luce did her best to hide her grimace with a strained smile. Math wasn’t her thing. Sure, her art might have some basic principles of math interwoven into the designs, but she mostly just went off visual balance. How did it feel when she stepped back and looked at it? Was it still identifiable from a distance? “I can see why you’re in grad school for math. Better you than me, I never finished college.” She said with a slight laugh, folding her arms across her chest. Noticing the way that the woman seemed to balk at the idea of her dad being anywhere, Luce made a mental note not to bring that up again. “Makes sense. If he happens by in that case.” She said with a nod. Glancing over her shoulder pointedly, Luce nodded. “I’ve lived here my entire life. Probably live and die here.” She said with a wry grin.

Mina was probably a bit splotchy from blushing, just a bit. “Yes, well, college isn’t for everyone, and it’s kind of lame, most of the time, and then you’ve got to figure out what to do with your degree or whether you want to pursue something more or where you’re going to get money and…” She trailed off, noticing Luce’s tattoo sleeves as the other woman crossed her arms. “Your tattoos are really lovely, by the way,” she said distractedly. She blinked, smiled. “But, yes, certainly, yes. I’ll ask him the next time we talk if he’d like to come teach a class or two. He, ah, he likes to show off, occasionally.” She smiled just a bit at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Mina loved her father, but she’d never broken a promise before. She dreaded to think what would happen if she did. But it was interesting that Luce had lived here her whole life. Made sense. White Crest would be a hotbed for hunters. “It’s a nice place to grow up, yes? A little strange, but it seems nice.”

Mina continued to ramble on, which at least meant that Luce didn’t have to say anything. It was easier for her to just listen and nod. “Yep. It sure wasn’t for me.” She shrugged. When she pointed out her sleeves, Luce nodded. “Thanks. I designed them myself. Didn’t do it myself, obviously, but yeah.” She said with a grin. She was proud of her sleeves-- the geometric line art of her left arm and the flowers on her right, they were very different but worked to balance out each other. Give and take, nature and man, it was all a balance. Which reminded her… she needed to get another tattoo on her thigh to balance out her most recent one. “It’s a cool place. Definitely weird, though, for sure. There’s a lot of odd stuff that happens around here, but you get used to it after a while.”

“They’re very pretty,” Mina murmured. She liked tattoos, liked seeing art on skin. However, between a fear of needles and a desire to not stand out anymore than she had to, She’d never gone through with actually getting anything done. “You’re very talented. Are you an artist?” A side gig, maybe? Most hunters had those, though, admittedly, artist was a new one for her to hear about. Still, she was working with math of all things; definitely not a traditional hunter pursuit. Not that she was a traditional hunter by any means. Luce did seem a bit different from the usual hunter type. It was kind of neat, actually. “Right, yes. The twenty-four hour night. The fish rain.” She had, admittedly, tried some of the sky fish. It was actually quite good. “Blood puddles, a few months back. Definitely an odd place, but interesting. I can see why people would want to live here and never leave.” Plenty of hunter grounds, at the very least.

“Mhm. Of the tattoo variety, specifically. I work at Ink Inc., best tattoo parlor in town. Only one too.” Luce said with a smile. Ulfric would probably not like that joke, but he wasn’t here right now. Her boss was a nice guy, but it was always good to watch your words around him. She’d heard of more than a few nosey customers getting just a little too in his business and paying for it. “Ah, yeah. Good old fish rain... “ She said, wrinkling her nose at the memory. The entire town had reeked for more than a month, the decaying fish bodies littered all over the streets. Even her cabin hadn’t been spared by the rain. “Mm. Some people want to leave, but can’t. There are things that keep us here, you know?” Luce said with a shrug. Her family, mostly.

“Oh neat!” Mina said. A tattoo artist actually seemed a bit more, well “kick-ass” than just a regular artist. It seemed like a cool job indeed, and Luce had the skills for it. Mina mimicked the other woman when she scrunched up her nose, “Yes, it did smell rather bad for awhile after it stopped.” The fish was nice, though. Which, Mina lived next to (and, on some nights, in) a lake; getting fresh fish wasn’t a problem. But she didn’t do saltwater fishing much. That had been nice. Her eyes widened minutely when Luce mentioned that things kept her in White Crest. What could possibly be keeping her in White Crest besides hunting? This was suddenly becoming very real for Mina. What if Luce was a warden? What if she mistook Mina for some sort of evil Fae? Her abdomen was still healing from where Montgomery tried to slice her open. “Right, yes, of course. People stay in towns like White Crest for all sorts of reasons, I suppose.”

“Eh. It’s a job.” Luce replied. A lot of people found her job to be something “edgy” or “alternative” but, at the end of the day, it was just another form of art. Just because it was permanently on someone’s skin, that didn’t make it any less than any other sort of art. “Yeah. But, at least it’s over. Which, you know, I’ll take it.” She said with an offhand gesture. Shifting the weight from her foot to stand in a more comfortable position, Luce nodded affably. “Yeah. It be like that sometimes.” She said, resisting the urge to continue the rest of the meme. Sometimes she forgot that it wasn’t “socially appropriate” to just talk in Vine and meme references all the time. “Anyhow…” Luce said, voice petering off, hoping it would give her an out from the conversation. 

“Still, you get to make art for other people and see them enjoy something beautiful on their bodies. It’s neat,” Mina said. She wondered if they’d been talking for too long. Had she said anything that would give her away? Something that marked her as inhuman? She couldn’t remember. “At least the darkness doesn’t smell.” She probably hadn’t. Probably? Distractedly, she said, “It really do.” She missed Vine. What if her cold, clammy hands gave her away? Did she have any lingering scales from her swim that morning? As Luce trailed off, Mina saw her out. “Right, yes! You’re probably very busy. And,” she looked at her phone, not even really looking at the time. “Oh, my, it’s getting a bit late. I should. Homework! Very nice to meet you!” Giving what she hoped was a pleasant smile, Mina darted out of Excalibur. Well, she hoped that her first interaction with a hunter went well.

[keeroo92]

Nico In Trouble

Hi everyone! Here is my submission for @whumptober2019 for day 5 with the prompt “Gunpoint” featuring everyone’s favorite mechanic, Nico. This one starts a little slow, but I think it came out well. Enjoy!

Word count - 2,489

_____________________________

Nico would never forget the first time she held a gun. It was a Heckler and Koch HK45, not one of her grandmother’s custom builds but a basic and bland model. Nothing fancy, just what her uncle kept in his nightstand for protection.

A beautiful piece.

She hadn’t been looking for it. Before that day, she never imagined he owned a firearm. All she needed was a battery to replace the dead one in the tv remote. She’d checked every drawer in the kitchen, every nook and cranny of the living room and office. This was her last hope, or she’d have to change the channel manually.

Gross.

Yet the sight of the polished metal derailed her plans. It called to her, begging for her touch. Something about the weapon resonated with her very soul and she lacked the will power to ignore it. The battery could keep for a while.

Trembling fingertips slid over the device, feeling its weight and structure. It sent chills up her spine and she couldn’t help the soft smile from crossing her lips as she lifted it, angling the barrel to catch the dim light from above. It glinted and flashed, as if it were celebrating her presence.

She was eight years old.

Guns weren’t unfamiliar to her, not with her family. Papa Rock loved telling stories about Granny Nell and her smithing days, speaking with reverence and pride of her accomplishments. It made Nico jealous sometimes; she wanted Papa to talk about her that way, too. Not to say he didn’t already, not even close.

But it always rang with the tone of an adult talking to a child. Over-exaggerated, encouraging and supportive but not truly impressed. Not false, just… something.

Her hands shifted on the grip. It wasn’t too heavy, but she struggled to maintain a solid grasp even with the finger grooves. Someday, it would fit in her palms with ease.

She couldn’t wait.

That was four years ago.

Uncle Terry’s shouts of alarm when he found her with his loaded gun still made her roll her eyes. Punishment was harsh; she knew better than to play with guns, what was she thinking? Blah, blah, blah. Whatever, as long as she got to touch it again.

But Papa Rock was ruthless. Not once since that day had he allowed her to handle a weapon. It was killing her, especially when he tried to placate her misery with a damned air rifle.

Ridiculous.

He encouraged her other interests, but nothing could quench her thirst to tinker with whatever pistol was available. She begged and pleaded and promised, yet his resolve never wavered. Not until she was ready, he said. A few more years, he swore. How was he supposed to know when she was ready, anyway? Why did he get to make that call?

I’ve been ready for years!

Nico growled and spat out her toothpaste. She wasn’t doing herself any favors by dwelling on it; better to think about something else. As much as it sucked, it was out of her hands. Papa Rock wasn’t one to change his mind, especially not when she whined about it. Either he’d let her near a gun or she’d turn eighteen and no longer need permission.

She rinsed away the dregs and grinned at the mirror, checking for any glaring scuzz on her teeth in between her braces. Another thing she couldn’t wait to grow out of…

Satisfied, she headed to bed.

Well, it was more of a sofa, but that wasn’t the point.

“G’night, Uncle Terry!” she called as she passed his closed bedroom door. A grunted response was all she received, but that was normal.

Whenever Papa Rock left town for work, she stayed with him. He kept his bedroom locked now, probably on Papa’s orders otherwise she would’ve been in his nightstand faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. Besides that, he pretty much gave her free reign.

She moved the disemboweled toaster she’d been working on earlier to the floor and slid between the sheets with a yawn. It was black as pitch outside and insects chirped through the open window, the still-humid air only just starting to be bearable. A typical summer evening, all things considered.

Then the front door exploded.

Nico jumped, her eyes shooting wide as a figure strode through the void. She couldn’t see much in the dark, but the unmistakable clack of a shotgun being loaded echoed in the heavy air.

“TERRY!”

What in the hell is going on?

The figure stepped forward and Nico held her breath. Whoever it was seemed to know their way around the small home, easily avoiding the furniture as they approached her uncle’s bedroom. Terror flooded her mind as she watched the intruder level the gun.

“GIT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT HERE!”

The snarling sounded female. Who was this, and why did she wanna shoot her uncle? It made no sense; he’d never mentioned a pissed off lady. What the hell did he do?

His door cracked open to reveal the barrel of that same Heckler and Koch from so long ago. She recognized it easily as the slide drew back, bringing a round into the chamber. The regular grumble of his voice was replaced with resigned exhaustion as he spoke.

“What the hell d’you want, Tara?”

Now was her chance, while the woman was distracted. She swallowed her fear and forced her body to move, trying to minimize the noise she made but the sheets still betrayed her as she moved to the floor. She cursed internally and prayed, but it was too late. The woman turned.

“Who’s there!? Show yourself!”

A pair of barrels leveled at roughly her position. Her heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings, her palms as slick as a greased hog. What should she do? Stay hidden and hope nothing hit her? Reveal herself and risk this stranger’s wrath? Either way, it was a risk.

I might die tonight.

The column of her throat twitched at the realization. If only she had a gun of her own! She’d cut the stranger’s tail for sure! Damn Papa Rock, damn him and his stupid rules!

“Ya got till the count of three! One…”

Her lungs refused to inflate and her legs stubbornly locked tight. Was there anything in between her and the shotgun? Could she duck behind the couch in time? She’d never been the fastest, but maybe just this once…

“Two…”

A click. She was running out of time. Her head spun and her vision swam as she slowly inhaled.

“Thr-“

Her hands flew into the air, palms open and submissive. They trembled as she licked her lips. “Okay, okay! I’m comin’ out!”

The stranger hummed and lowered the shotgun, but not by much. Drops of sweat slid from Nico’s brow and under her arms. She closed her eyes and ordered her body to rise, bracing for the worst.

“Who the fuck are you? Hit the damned light, will ya?”

A moment later, she cringed as rays of illumination flooded the room. Her eyes flew to the floor to avoid the worst of it.

“I’m N- Nicoletta Goldstein, Terry’s niece.”

A sharp clatter. Nico’s eyes stole a peek at the woman to see the shotgun raised once more, pointed right at her face. The hands gripping the weapon were solid, not a shake to be seen as if to contrast her own trembling.

A warm puddle leaked from between her legs to stain her pajamas.

I’m gonna die! Oh my god, I’m actually gonna die!

Enraged eyes locked with her terrified gaze. Her vision blurred, the first tear spilling free as she choked on a sob.

“P- please! I’m just a kid!” she begged. The admission of her youth sent daggers into Nico’s belly.

Why doesn’t Terry stop her!? Aren’t grown ups supposed to do that kind of thing?

“Well, Nicoletta Goldstein, you better hope your pig of an uncle’s got some damn good explanations!”

A thin hand left the shotgun to push hair from the woman’s eyes. Her features weren’t unpleasant, even with rage twisting them. What could she possibly want to kill Uncle Terry for?

“Leave her outta this! Our shit’s between you and me, she’s got nothing to do with it!” his voice cried.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do, shit brain! All I wanna hear from you is a damned apology!”

Blood pounded in Nico’s ears. She couldn’t hear the cicada’s anymore, only the sound of wind. Her chest heaved as she choked on dread, a metallic tang rising in her throat. What she wouldn’t give to have  more time.

There’s still so much I haven’t done!

It wasn’t fair! She hadn’t done anything wrong, why did she have to pay the price for her uncle? If there was any justice in the world, their positions would be switched. She’d have the gun and he’d be out here soaked in his own piss and drowning in terror. By all rights, he deserved it!

“Here’s my apology, you skanky bitch.”

A sound like thunder split the air as Terry pulled the trigger. With a flash and a smell of gunpowder, his shot struck home in the woman’s shoulder. She grunted and angled her shotgun at the bedroom door, squeezing the trigger and staggering back from the recoil. Pellets blasted into the wood, ripping holes in some places on their path of death.

Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck! I gotta move!

Nico didn’t hesitate, ducking low and darting behind the massive bookcase against the wall. It was a deep one, enough so that she was mostly shielded if she pressed into the wall hard enough. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Another thunderous crack; the .45. Terry was still alive, still fighting.

She closed her eyes and let the tears flow as the shotgun fired, flinching at the impact of pellets on wood. If this went on much longer, she’d learn what it sounded like when they struck flesh.

A string of violent expletives came from the woman as she ducked behind the couch to reload. Nico had mere seconds to make her move and she growled, sending every ounce of pent up rage and frustration to her legs, but they refused to move. Her body was in open rebellion. It wouldn’t let her leave the safety of her nook, no matter how much she wanted to.

Damnit, come on! You coward, Nico!

It was too late. The woman stood tall and aimed once again at what remained of Terry’s bedroom door, cackling as she fired. A massive section of wood splintered away and she advanced, preparing her next shot to spray through the gap.

“DIE, YOU BASTA-“

The .45 fired. Gurgles replaced words and a heavy thud marked the woman falling to her knees, mere inches from the door. Her muddy eyes met Nico’s and blood leaked from the fresh hole in her neck, a steady river too powerful to overcome. She shifted her shotgun and aimed, determined to get what she came for.

Just die, won’t ya?! Haven’t you done enough!?

Her hand squeezed and another round of pellets sprayed forth to decorate the door. Several went straight through and lodged into whatever waited beyond.

The shotgun clattered to the floor, followed shortly by the woman. Her head landed sideways, and Nico watched in stupefied horror as the light in her eyes flickered out. The rage seeped away as her features went slack, a soft exhalation stirring the still pooling blood beneath her.

It’s over.

Nico’s knees struck the hardwood as she collapsed. She couldn’t look away from the woman’s face as she broke down, staring at death as her body recovered from the cocktail of terror and shifted to exhausted relief. Never had she been more thankful to breathe, to be able to sob and shake with sweet, sweet life.

“Nico…”

Shit, I forgot about Terry!

She scrambled to her feet and peered through the gap made from the shotgun blasts. All that met her gaze was the bedspread, dotted with splinters and torn to shreds.

“Is she… is she dead?”

She hiccupped and glanced back to check, just in case. “Yeah, I- I think so.”

A pained grunt and the door opened. There stood Terry, covered in small cuts and scraps of wood, a scarlet stain growing on his calf, but alive.

“You all right, string bean?”

She choked on a laugh. No, she was not all right. Some lady just died in front of her after pointing a gun at her face and shooting the shit out of her uncle’s house.

But she wasn’t injured, so instead she nodded.

A warm hand pulled her into a hug. “You did good.”

This time she couldn’t hold back her manic snort. “I didn’t do anything, I just stood there and hid!”

“Yeah, I know. You didn’t get yourself killed, so… you did good.”

She wiped away hysterical tears and sniffled. Her mind already whirled with questions, but she was too tired to ask a single one. It’d keep.

She helped Terry to the couch just as the first flashing lights lit the room in red and blue. He grimaced as a voice outside demanded he open the door and surrender, an apology in his familiar eyes as he hollered back the basics of what happened.

“Hands on the windowsill! Both of you!”

Are you kidding me? I just wanna sleep! Can’t it keep?

Apparently not. The questions didn’t stop for what felt like years. Nico stopped paying attention after a while, too dazed to care anymore. She stared at the body as someone checked her for wounds. Vacant eyes were all that remained of the woman who made her piss herself in terror. Was that really all that got left behind when you died?

“Nico! Nicoletta Goldstein!”

She snapped to attention. A young man in blue held out a phone with a kind smile; no danger.

“We got a hold of your daddy, he wants to talk to ya.”

Papa Rock… I wish he was here.

“Hello?”

“Nico! Are you all right? Tell me what happened.”

She shifted her weight and pulled at the edges of a blanket someone left over her shoulders. “I’m fine. Just tired. Can I tell ya later? I’m…”

“Sure, sure… later. I’m coming back, I’ll be there in a few hours.”

A long pause. She didn’t have the energy to break the silence.

“Once you’re feeling up to it, I think it’s time. You’re ready.”

She stifled a yawn. “For what?”

“To learn to shoot. When you feel up to it, that is.”

She almost laughed. If he’d said those words a few short hours ago, she would’ve screamed with joy and excitement. Now, she felt nothing. That probably wasn’t a good thing, but she didn’t care. For now, it was enough to be alive. The rest?

It’d keep.

[theorynexus]

The Regal 75 signals another quarter of the century passing.

I still wonder if 100 posts will be enough to contain the epilogues!  (Probably not.) Seems like it will be Jake and Jane, this time!   I wonder if this version of events will see them have a consensual and healthy relationship that is not interfered with by the nefarious actions of rude people who happen to be megalomaniacs!

There are benefits and downsides to being “perfect.”  (By the way, every utopia is also a dystopia. Let’s just make that absolutely clear from the get-go.)  I imagine the weapons industry would be struggling quite a bit if it weren’t for alchemy allowing a nearly limitless capacity for customized gear creation.   Wonder what they’re used for since there aren’t wars.    Probably the noble art of hunting and whatnot.   And professional sports based on combat disciplines a la real life fencing, and in-story Threshing, apparently. Oh, and it’s still weird for her to barge in like that, despite the social norms of that world and the little bit of time they’ve spent there (also how close they are).

 I would just like to say that, for one, I would normally sortof side with Jane if those were real degrees (since degrees that are earned actually mean something), but with them being honorary, I honestly can’t properly compare their two experiences (and honestly, while Jane had like... two years more experience than him in her life before SBURB, I don’t think that that is enough to discount the potential knowledge that either of them may have acquired after the game’s completion and/or [in Dave’s case] during their time on the meteor).  I would also like to point out that it is very, very nice seeing Jane’s perspective on this matter/rivalry, not just Dave+Co’s.      I worry that this is showing her to be a bit too egotistical, and, as I suggested in my commentary on a similar portion of the Meat Epilogue, a bit too unwilling to take others’ perspectives into account (which is a key political skill).

Yes. Yes it does, because that may not continue to stay a thing that is true, and the world at large generally needs people who care about such matters.  Something something, joke about Obama, something welfare, public needs, et c.

Suddenly, Jane is a Disney Princess, huh?  What an interesting thematic twist.   That said:  I really wish we had some visualization for this so we’d be able to compare Jade’s home as shown in Acts 3-5 and this one, considering their shared (effective) proprietor.  Also the home from Hiveswap, I guess.

What are kitten heels?  Also:  YES!!!   I have wanted to see him using a rifle for SO long! :’D (Interesting to see that the coloration is indeed similar to Jade’s home, with the different lightings.  Also interesting that she catches him bathed in the light of Dirk’s influence.  Reminds of the first time the topic of romance was brought up between him and she regretfully said she was not interested in him that way.) It is very nice to see she is concerned for his safety, though perhaps a little bit... odd, considering their mutual godhood.  I guess she is just generally quite flustered. It’s understandable, with the sudden change of plans.

Very nice to see the bot came out of that unharmed!

I love his ridiculously skewed sensibilities. 

Hmm.  It is very interesting, seeing that kind of understanding being extended, here, considering how characters’ perceptions about each other have been presented generally, here~    Part of me wants to write a great big analysis post about how perception effects things in Homestuck (both for the reader and the characters), and has since the beginning, but I think I lack the grist of the endeavor, presently.  Perhaps later... .

It is nice to see that she is still being affected by her earlier passion for detective works, by the way. That was something that seemed far too absent in the limited exposure to her we got in the Meat Epilogue. We didn’t even get to know that it was an argument about locksmithing that brought up the economic debate with Dave. (This is likely because she holds the issue as being important, and thus close to heart, and he was much more concerned with the later material involved in the one-sided affair. [She seemed unprepared for the sudden rant/challenge.])

Wow. Yeah, he is. It must be that same elation that came from being out from under Dirk’s thumb that came up when Alt!Calliope intervened during the Meat Epilogue’s events.

***opens my mouth to object, holds up one finger, and then cannot even manage a single word; eye twitches for a moment, and then I shake my head and sigh***

Yeah, that is indeed quite logical. An excellent deduction on her part. That she took so long to make it might speak poorly to her detective capacities, but I am willing to give her some slack since she is assuredly out of practice.    That said!:   Man, Jake... you really shouldn’t mix alcohol and firearms.  No one should! (Oh, and Dirk’s Classpect expression probably at least partially accounts for their closeness/cooperation.  I’m sure Dave probably wouldn’t have left Bro for a long time, if he hadn’t been left by him in the Beta Kids’ session.   Well... to be fair, Davesprite being there might have changed things, but this is already getting out of line with the Alpha, so the feathery guy might not even be there in this scenario.   Whatever, though~)

Addiction Hope is a powerful thing.  I wouldn’t say “at all,” though. Despite him being something of a dork, there certainly is a charm to him.”

“cheap” and Merlot can go together, huh?  Oh, wait, that’s the reverse of the reaction I should be having.  (Jaaaaneee... this isn’t a good thing to do!)

Sounds about right. :’) (Rude, but that is natural from the same source that made a robot that tore out its heart, crushed it, and then exploded.  He does indeed pour a bit of his soul into every bot, after all~)

Yeah... Jake’s right, but Jane’s right too. Realistically, that’s just not something that can be done. Not until next election cycle, at least.  The embarrassment factor is a little bit childish, but honestly pretty realistic, considering the way many politicians are. They just wouldn’t be able to admit it, possibly even while so drunk. :y

***raises an eyebrow***    That is indeed very interesting.  I don’t think that would necessarily have to do with Hope powers?   Honestly...   Could it be that Gamzee’s presence is influencing the world in this way?  Rage could certainly be expressed in apathy, but... I don’t think so.  Perhaps this is just a consequence of the choice John made. All indications suggest that might be the case.   I just... want to know the root causes a bit more. Hmm. I like that people are actually noting this shift and contemplating why that is!

I wonder if Dirk’s control over things dramatically influenced her way of thinking. I would not have necessarily thought that she’d have such an apparently poor view of him, otherwise.  But... yeah, I think most of the time it should have been~

Sortof, and yet at the same time, it doesn’t seem that way. I blame the fact that Nanna’s life was so different than Jane’s. Thus, Jane pursuing the path that Nanna did seems more odd than it should. This does indeed seem quite sudden and questionable, though. Very “HMm!” inducing.

Honestly, that’s pretty funny.  I do like that he brings up the fact that there is some precedent for her desiring children in this lifetime too, at least on some level.  The Tiaratop seems to have only partially changed how she thought about things, and left certain baseline features of her personality intact. (Thus her blushing at Dave’s comment about her, when they first saw one another [at least I’m pretty sure that was when it was].)

... I want to read that.  I am somewhat surprised that said advice only came while drunk, but I guess that’s a theme, at this point. Not much to be surprised about, here.

...   ***is not sure whether to take her statements as just awkward attempts at seduction, or as major evidence of her being manipulated by a malicious and probably somewhat sexist individual with weird fanfic-y impulses***

I can see why that sort of affection could be appealing.  Also, as I said:  Hope is a powerful thing.  Jake’s is like a black hole.  It’s sortof ridiculous.

...     Yeah, if I actually were someone who drinks, I’d probably be doing about the same, right then.   Man, that is an “Ouch,” if I ever have seen one. And now, to go to bed and forget about all this embarrassment, myself.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: A Difficult Man to Like

Summary: Rushbelle. Dr Rush and Lieutenant French share a strange, somewhat volatile, friendship aboard Destiny.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “Captain and Lieutenant”

Rated: T

A Difficult Man to Like

It was well-known throughout Destiny that if Colonel Young wanted to get Doctor Rush to do anything, the easiest way of getting the man to comply was to send the request through Lieutenant French. Early on in their stranding, some foolish people had made snide remarks along the lines of Rush not being able to resist orders from a pretty face, but since he treated all of the other female members of the military with the exact same contempt as he treated anyone else, that theory was quickly put to bed for fear of an impressive beat down from said Lieutenant French, who despite almost being too short to join the Air Force, was a complete powerhouse.

No, Rush did not like Lieutenant French any more than he liked anyone else on board Destiny. The difference was that he tolerated her presence and assistance, because prior to her posting on Icarus, and indeed during it, French had been a mechanic, and she had never lost her fascination for taking things apart and putting them back together again. She took every opportunity she could to nerd out over Destiny’s inner workings, and after several explosive arguments consisting of Rush lambasting French for touching bits of the ship that she shouldn’t and French countering that she’d fixed the thing, hadn’t she, Rush had begrudgingly accepted that French’s background in fixing state of the art jets and spacecraft would prove valuable in getting Destiny in working order. It was easier to have her onside than it was to fight her. As much as he wanted to be able to do everything by himself and discover things at his own pace, he’d realised that French was just as fascinated by Destiny as he was, and he knew that she would treat the ship with the appropriate reverence and respect that it deserved, unlike the rest of the military contingent, who just wanted to get off the ship as soon as possible.

She was loyal to Young, of course, and when it came to matters concerning their immediate survival, she would usually side with military over science, much to Rush’s disgust. When it came to matters regarding Destiny itself, however, she was at least willing to listen to what Rush had to say, and more often than not, she would agree with him. It had been useful to have her as a liaison, not that Rush would ever admit that to anyone, least of all to French herself.

They were sitting in one of the shuttles, attempting to make it operational again. Or rather, Rush was sitting in the pilot’s seat, running diagnostics with the help of a kino that Eli had sent out of an airlock, and French was somewhere on the floor behind him, so buried in electrical equipment that the only thing that could be seen of her was her boots. He’d be worried that she’d suffocated if it hadn’t been for the little off-key tune she was singing and the occasional clang of metal or fizz of electricity.

“How are you doing back there, French?”

“You of all people know that these things can’t be rushed, Rush.” There was a snort of laughter at the unintentional pun. “You’re always yelling at everyone to give you more time to solve a problem, so put your money where your mouth is for once and let me get on with it. Do you want to go for a joyride in this thing or not?”

“Lieutenant, I have absolutely no intention of going for a joyride. I just want to make sure that the shuttle is functional should we ever have to use it.”

“Oh.” French sounded rather disappointed and Rush couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “You do realise that getting to fly this thing is the only reason I’m helping you right now, right?”

“And what, pray, would you be doing if you weren’t here, Lieutenant?”

French extricated herself from the wires and gave him a look. “Ok, you’ve got me there. I don’t have anything better to do and I’d rather do something interesting than die of boredom. Are you sure that we can’t go for a little spin around space?”

“We certainly can’t if you don’t fix the electrics, French.”

“Give me a break, Rush. It’s not like you’re doing anything to help. You’re just sitting there tap-tap-tapping on your little console. How do I know you’re not just playing minesweeper up there and making me do all the work?”

“You don’t. Do you want to fix this shuttle or not?”

French dived back into the wires, but if Rush thought that he was going to get any respite from her needling then he was going to be disappointed.

“You know, are you sure you’re not military?” French asked, before swearing as she caught a particularly lively live wire. “You sure like bossing people around enough to be a drill sergeant.”

“I’m good at giving orders. Not so great at taking them.”

“You’re telling me. I’m the one who has to act as a go between every time Young wants you to do something.”

“I’d noticed. It makes me wonder why you don’t tell him where to shove it. I wouldn’t put up with it if I were you.”

“That’s because you’re not in the Air Force and you’re used to not having to explain yourself to anyone and the concept of a chain of command is completely foreign to you.” It sounded like he’d touched a nerve, and for a moment Rush was quite glad he couldn’t see her face because French had one hell of a glare on her, one that was made scarier by the fact she had extensive firearms training. “You’re so certain that you know everything about everything that the mere thought of someone else having a different concept or a different way of doing things is so repulsive to you that you’ll do anything in your power to undermine it. God, sometimes I think you’d argue that the sky was green if Young said it was blue.”

“If you don’t like my working methods, French, then you’re welcome to leave.”

He ducked just in time to avoid the screwdriver that was thrown at his head. French had come out of the wires again and was giving him The Glare.

“Why are you like this?” she asked. “Why do you make it so hard for people to like you?”

“Because, Lieutenant French, I don’t give a crap whether people like me or not. Me playing happy families with the rest of the halfwits aboard this ship will do nothing for our longterm survival, nor that of Destiny herself.”

“One of these days someone’s going to shove you out of an airlock.”

Rush scoffed. “Please. You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t last two minutes without me.”

Hindsight told him that he probably shouldn’t have said that, as the spanner made hard contact with his groin before French stormed out of the shuttle, yelling over her shoulder.

“Fix it yourself, since you know everything there is to know about this fucking ship and the rest of us are complete morons in comparison to your superhuman intelligence.”

Rush sighed and grabbed the tools. If anything, French’s outburst had just proved his point exactly. If he wanted anything doing, he was going to have to do it himself.

All the same, as he took up the work where she’d left off, he found himself missing her chatter and her enthusiasm. Over the course of the shuttle work, they’d become what could almost be classed as friends. Well, at the very least, they weren’t enemies. Well. They hadn’t been until now.

He wondered if he should go after her, and then he wondered why he was wondering. French wasn’t worth his time; if she couldn’t get along with him then that was her problem, not his. All the same... She had been getting along with him. Right up until she hadn’t been.

He thought again about her words.

Why are you like this? Why do you make it so hard for people to like you?

His answer to her had been the truth, but there were moments like this when he couldn’t deny that it would be nice not to have to fight everyone all the time.

X

French didn’t come back to work on the shuttle with him for the next few days, and their interactions when their paths did cross on the ship were cool at best. Mostly, French was pointedly ignoring him and Rush wasn’t concerned enough about her opinion of him to care one way or the other, however much he might find himself missing her presence in the shuttle or in the console room, or wherever it was that he would normally find her fiddling with wires and wrenches.

It was only during their next drop out of FTL that things came to a head. French had been part of the planet-side expedition team. It was unusual for her to go, normally she stayed on Destiny preferring to fix things, but given her sudden antipathy towards doing anything that might possibly assist him, maybe it was not so strange for her desire to go and see the world that they had found this time.

Rush had not paid all that much attention to the planet, too focussed on other things beyond sending the usual instructions to bring back water, lime for the scrubbers, and anything edible. It was only once panicked voices were heard in the vicinity of the gate room that he really realised that something had evidently happened to the expedition, and with the countdown in full swing, the metallic taste of fear began to coat the back of his tongue. French was out there. What if something had happened to her?

He came over to Riley at the gate controls. “What’s going on?”

“There was a rock fall; some of the team are trapped. They’re trying to get them out now.”

The tension in the room was unbearable, but Rush couldn’t bring himself to leave. There were a hundred and one other things that required his attention, but in that moment, all he could think about was French. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave the gate room until he saw her back safely through the gate. Time was ticking, and he could barely bring himself to look at the countdown. There was radio silence from the away team, and Young was pacing up and down the room. The panicked voices had given way to quiet, with nothing that those left on Destiny could do to help.

At last, the event horizon pulsed out and the team staggered through the gate with just minutes to spare. They were covered in dust and bruises, but all in one piece, and TJ immediately started triaging people for what patching up they required. Rush peered through the gaggle of people, looking for French.

“French? French, are you ok?”

“Since when do you give a fuck about me, Rush?”

He whirled round to find French behind him, her arms crossed. Her fatigues were caked in rock salt and there was a small cut above her eyebrow dripping blood down onto her cheek. Despite the exhaustion in her eyes and the altogether sour expression on her face, Rush had never been so glad to see her.

“You’re all right!”

“Yeah, I’m all right. I had no idea you cared so much, Rush. Aren’t I just some stupid grunt who’s only good for following orders?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh yeah? Well we all know that I wouldn’t last two minutes without you, because of course I’m bloody dispensable and you’re God’s fucking gift to Destiny. Seriously, Rush, since when did you give a fuck about whether I’m all right or not? You’ve made it perfectly clear that your life would continue completely unaffected if I’m not in it!”

The silence in the gate room was deafening, all eyes turned towards them.

“I…”

For the first time, Rush had no idea how to respond. The things that she was throwing at him, he was fairly sure had never come up in conversation between them, so he had no idea where he was getting them from. He’d never said that his life would continue unaffected if she wasn’t it. Still, he wasn’t going to get into the details with so many spectators.

French shook her head, batting TJ away when she tried to apply a dressing to her face.

“You make it so hard for people to like you,” she muttered, before going over to Young for debrief, leaving Rush alone in the middle of the gate room, with half of Destiny’s crew gawping at him.

X

It was late in the day when Rush returned to the shuttle. His time had been taken up with other things, and it was only now that he had the opportunity to return to something important but marginally less pressing than everything else that demanded his attention.

He was surprised to find French already there, sitting cross legged on the floor as she untangled the mess of wires that she’d been buried beneath a few days prior.

“I thought you were off shift,” he began.

French nodded. “I am. This is a pet project though. Leisure time.”

“I admire your dedication.”

She looked up at him, and for the first time in too many days, she smiled. It was a tired smile; the plaster over her eyebrow didn’t do much to assist, but it was a smile and not a scowl, and certainly not the patented death glare. Rush thought back to the things that she had said in the gate room.

“Earlier…”

She rolled her eyes.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said gently. “I want to like you, Rush. I already do, really. But you make it so bloody difficult for me to do it when it feels like every other sentence you say to me is dripping with contempt for everything that I am and everything that I stand for. I don’t think that you even know that you’re doing it sometimes. I have a great deal of respect for your intelligence and your problem-solving skills, and for your sheer downright tenacity. I like those qualities in you. But when you show no respect for me, I can’t help wondering why I bother. And then I remember the conversations we have in here, when you’re almost civil, and you talk about Destiny with such passion and I think that when we get it functioning again, you’d probably make a good captain. Captain Rush, off exploring the stars and learning the origins of the universe itself.”

“I’d like that,” Rush admitted.

“I know you would.” She put down the bundle of wires, now neatly cable-tied off. Where she’d got cable-ties from in Destiny was anyone’s guess, but Rush wasn’t going to knock it.

“French, I…” God, he wished he knew what to say, but he had no idea where French was even going with her speech. “I do respect you,” he finally finished. “Well. Most of the time. And more than anyone else we’ve got. I don’t know why I like you. But I do.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” She got up off the floor, closing the gap between them. “We should make the most of this moment, I’ll probably be yelling at you in two minutes.”

“Obviously. I can’t have a conversation with anyone without yelling being involved in some shape or form.”

French laughed, and then, unexpectedly, she darted forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Rush could only stare at her, gobsmacked, his fingers brushing over the place her lips had touched.

“If I was going to take the shuttle for a joyride and go and explore the stars, then I’d want to do it with you, Captain Rush,” she said. “Are you sure it’s completely off the cards?”

Rush shook his head. “I’m coming round to the idea.”

French’s smile was positively luminous, and Rush chanced to return the kiss, a clumsy effort on his part. He was glad when French took the lead, slanting her mouth firmly over his and slipping her arms around his middle. This was certainly not what he had anticipated when he had found her here in the shuttle, but he was definitely not complaining.

There was still so much left unsaid between them. French’s outburst in the gate room had not been properly addressed, but it could be put to the side for now. This was new, and unexpected, and he didn’t want it to stop. For the first time, he was beginning to see the concrete benefits to forming a good working relationship with French.

At length, she pulled away, as all good things must come to an end, and she gave a soft little laugh.

“Come on. Let’s fix this shuttle.”

It was a suggestion that Rush was all too happy to go along with.