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The Reagan Administration: Chapter 2

All characters and settings are property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. This series is rated T+ for violence, suggestive themes, language, and Nick Fury being a bad@ss.   
 
Last chapter, we met miss Reagan, a plucky, charming young freelance agent and adventurer with her grandfather's trouble magnetism. THe young mutant, who has stealth powers, has yet to show Nicholas that she is in fact one of his last blood relatives. But Reagan, raised (after a fashion) by the Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, isn't ready to give up on her gruff old man just yet.  
 

Reagan

I looked up into the control room to see that the man was looking down at me. I'd seen pictures of Nicholas Fury before, but I'd never seen him in real life. In a totally not-creepy way, I could see why the Contessa was so attracted. He was all muscle and sinew, tall, in a bodysuit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

His eye looked just like mine, and I assumed the other one did too, only it was hidden beneath a plain black eyepatch.

Also, it was painfully apparent that it sucked to be Nick Fury. His big square shoulders must have held the weight of the world, like Atlas, and the lines carved themselves under and around his eyes. On the top, his hair was brown like mine, but with a little less red, and his skin was tanned, but probably used to look like mine too. Minus the adorable red cheeks.

“Hey, you aren't supposed to be sitting on that.”

I looked at the woman looking at me and smiled. “Hi,” I said.

“Um, hi,” she said back. She looked a little less suspicious. “You're the girl that came with the Contessa, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered, “but I don't think I should tell you my name yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because. The old man and the old lady are up there talking about it right now,” I said, tilting my head up to control. They were arguing now, outright, and I listened, hoping I could hear. “If they don't come to an agreement then my name is irrelevant.”

“Right. . . well I'm --”

“Daisy Johnson? I know. I've heard of you,” I said pleasantly, holding up her file with a grin.

“How did you get that!?” she demanded. I held it out to her and she snatched it.

“I got it out of Fury's office.”

“How did – okay, nevermind. Look, if you don't tell me who you are, right now, they I'm going to have to put you in custody.”

I sighed. “This is why I hate signed agents, they always wanna know who you are and why you're in their secret facilities,” I rambled with a shrug. “If you must know, on the street they call me Cheshire.”

Her mouth popped open, and a few heads popped up from behind the jets in the hangar and turned around from where they were standing – mechanics, agents, and when I looked up to control, I saw Fury staring wide eyed.

“Wait, like, the Cheshire?” I heard, and I looked over to see a guy walking up to me. He was younger, maybe his mid 20s, with the same hair and similar features to Fury. “The same Cheshire that single-handedly took down an underground AIM group – with their own grenade launchers?”

“Well, one of them belonged to Hydra,” I shrugged.

“The same Cheshire that gave Baron Zemo the finger?” asked Daisy.

“I gave him two.”

“The same Cheshire that stole back the stolen Hydra files that were stolen from Leviathan that were stolen from SHIELD that were stolen from Hydra first?”

“Technically they were some Arizona kid's seventh grade science project.”

“But, you're so. . .”

“Young? Short? Pretty?” I joked, earning chuckles from the small group of agents around me. I think I liked it here.


Fury

“No, you're lyin',” I said. The Contessa rolled her eyes, tired of this game.

“Reagan is your granddaughter, Nick, look at her! Look at her face, look at her life, look at her choices – you stubborn old bastard, look at her eyes! She has your eyes. I have tests,” she paused to throw a folder down on the control panel, “to prove it.”

“That kid. . .”

“She's your granddaughter, Fury, and it's time you took care of her. I can't do it anymore. Nor do I have any interest in doing so. She's got too much energy, too much excitement. If there's trouble to be found, she'll find it. Put her to work as an agent. She can take care of herself.”

“ If she's the damn Cheshire, she won't want to be a SHIELD agent. She won't do regulation and she won't do --”

“If I recall correctly, you've got a special protocol for supers, Nicky. Are you going to take her, or not?”

I looked down at the kid again. There was no doubt in my mind that she was my blood – well, no. It was in my head that I fought it, but in my gut, I knew. “I'll take her.”

“Good. She knows all the accounts, I'll send her things along this evening.”

She stomped out the door, her pretty little boots clicking along the floor, down the hall, out of my life again. Good @#$%! riddance.

Leaning on the control panel, I looked down at the girl. The daughter of my daughter. The daughter I hadn't even known existed. Was it right to feel grief for someone I never even knew about?

She was charming, according to the speakers. Charming, pretty, and but not dangerous. She was a high-risk prankster. She liked games. She liked to play. She could never take a life, could never hurt someone beyond a six-week recovery, could never do what it took to really be an agent.

Though I did have to admit – she was ballsy. I knew about the Zemo incident, I knew about the Files, I knew about the AIM splinter cell. She was reckless. She either knew about danger and didn't care, or had no sense of fear.

Maybe she could be useful, at least.

If she'd grown up with the Contessa, then she was probably used to luxury. Used to sleeping on soft silky sheets and eating fancy food. I liked all those things as much as the next guy, but I could live without them. She'd just have to too.

“You'll bunk with Daisy so she can keep an eye on you, got it?” I said, maybe a little too harshly, since she flinched a little, just in her eyes.

“Got it,” she repeated, but I didn't hear any kind of whining in her tone. Not that I expected – she was probably a good actress.

“Breakfast is at 0600, if you don't eat then then you don't eat until 1300 hours at lunch.”

“Got it.”

“Dinner is at 1900 hours.”

She looked confused. “You do know military time, right? Railway time? Continental?”

“Yeah, yeah, it just takes me a minute to figure it out. Sorry.”

I thought about rolling my eyes, but didn't. There was a little tug on my jacket sleeve, and I turned around. “What are you, five? I have a name and I --”

“My name is Reagan,” she said, interrupting me. “Look, I know you don't want me here and, frankly, I know I'm going to be a crap agent, but, I'm going to give it my best shot, alright? And in turn, all I ask is that you call me by name and, y'know, talk to me every once and a while.”

Not unreasonable, not by any stretch of the imagination. She wanted a little attention, no doubt something the Contessa didn't know how to give her. She didn't look afraid, not to anyone who didn't know what they were looking for. But she looked around a lot, taking in the corridor, but looking for exits, weak spots in the walls and doors, and listening for anyone coming by, turning her head when she heard footsteps.

She was like a cat in a new house. She didn't know what to do. I sighed and rubbed the back of my head.

“Look. . . this is. . . I don't know what to make of all this. Can't say for sure what I'm willing to believe. I'm gonna level with you, since I can tell you ain't like a lot of agents out there, secret or not. And you just. . . you don't seem like you want anything. I don't know if I can believe this grandkid story until I see some clear, rock-solid evidence.”

She looked me right in the eye, and smiled, and said, “that's fine. I'm not asking you to believe it. However I am asking when 1900 hours is, because I'm starving.”   

7 Comments

Build me a playlist contest!

Hey guys! TK here!  
 

I think it's time for a contest, don't you? I thought so too ^^

So here's your challenge -- choose any of my established OC's, Anthy, Morgan, Emil, Katy, Reagan, or anyone else that I've forgotten conveniently, and build a playlist for them based on what you know and how you interpret the character. You have until Sunday, 31st of July to finish ^^   
 
Winners will be given the choice between a cameo in any of my current fics, or have a special chapter written about them or featuring any of their characters.  
 
Be creative -- mix up genres, artists, songs, indie or pop, Bach or Lady Gaga, anything. I love all musics ^^ 
 
Songs can be about multiple characters, situations in the stories, or about character relationships, so long as you still feel that their relevant to the chosen character ^^  Explain your reasons for choosing each song, or how the song fits the character/situation/relationship. 

Rules, gotta have 'em. . . 

1. Playlist must be between 10-25 songs 
2. You may not have more than five songs by one artist 
3. Please, no obscene songs with more than four swear words in once sentence -- I hate that x(  
4. Contest only valid on Earth.  
6. BE CREATIVE.  
7. Choose no music that slanders one group or race of people. I hate that too x(   
22 Comments

My reaction to the Legend of Korra

SO, I saw the new trailer for the new Avatar spin-off, and  
 

No Caption Provided
But seriously, I was made happy. Yes.  
 
The animation and the characters and the look of the whole thing and the concept makes me go like this.  
 

 
And also like this with fangirling and giggling. 
 
69 Comments

The Reagan Administration: Chapter One

All characters and settings are property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. This series is rated T+ for violence, suggestive themes, language, and Nick Fury being a bad@ss.  
 
Dear God. . . Why? Why is it that you keep giving me new ideas? Will I ever finish something? Amen.  
 
 
 
If there is one thing that people know me for, it's knowin' everything. Granted, I don't actually know everything – but I'm pretty damn close.

My name is Nicholas Fury. I've been a soldier all my life. I've been all over the world. I've been from the seediest slums in Madripoor to the glittering, gilded halls of the finest hotels in Dubai. I like to think I've learned a few things about the world in all those travels, but some things I just don't understand.

One of those things is teenagers. Another is women.

Now, women, you can chase them all over. You can say all you want, tell 'em how you feel, spill your guts to 'em, but some of them just love the thrill of a fight. They just want to be chased. To see how far you're willing to run, how long you're willing to wait.

One fine example of a woman like this is the Contessa Valentina Allegro de la Fontaine. She's been keepin' secrets from me – and that's something I just cannot abide.

 

Reagan Fury, codename 'Fury' as in 'white hot'. Yep, that's me. I know, I know, not exactly the best plan to use my own name as a code, but since I've had quite a few good ideas in the last few years, my lack of creativity is a little understandable.

My roller blades glided over the sidewalk as I took deep breaths, making sure the men tailing me didn't notice that I knew they were there.

The Contessa said I was born with the instinct of an agent. I called her on it, saying if I was, then why did I keep getting into situations where people would know I was a mutant? She said I'd understand when I was older.

Naturally, I get it now.

Whooshing around a corner, I stopped and ditched the blades, throwing them into my backpack and leaping up onto a ladder, climbing up, my heart rate racing. I dashed across the roof, stopping at the edge, where I turned and saw my pursuers climb up after me.

“Oi. . . alright, please God, let this work . . .” I breathed, then leapt from the edge, flying through the air, then hitting the next roof, rolling on my back then back onto my feet. Standing up and winking at them, I saluted with my first two fingers, then started running again, leaping off of a building and down into the canal, where I landed on a boat and tucked a stray curl away.

“That's how momma rolls,” I smiled, as I paid the very confused gondolier.

Che ?”

“Exactly,” I said, as I plunked down into the seat and spread my arms, looking around as the city passed me by, drifting along quietly.

The end of the ride came sooner than I would have wanted it to, and I got out and started down the street to the safest little cafe in the world, where the most dangerous woman in the world sat cradling a cup of coffee.

“A white trench? Really?” I asked as I sat, crossing my ankles just under the seat. “I thought you didn't want to get noticed?”

She looked at me through wide framed sunglasses, just before she pulled them up. “What is it you wanted?” she asked.

“Valentina,” I said with a smile, “You called me.”

“Right. Well, your grades are perfect.”

“Always have been.”

“You've been adventuring.”

“I always do.”

“The jet's mileage is. . . ridiculous, considering you're grounded from it.”

I grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Odd. Wonder who could have done it?”

“I seem to recall telling you not to wear those ridiculous clothes.”

“Excuse me, madame white trench. That thing is so tacky it hurts. But don't worry – I've been a good girl.”

“My television set started talking to me this morning – and asked if I wanted coffee.”

“You were at the townhouse? Amazing. I thought you were allergic to that place.”

“Your little attitude is either refreshingly reassuring, or terribly irritating.”

The Contessa flipped back her hair, the blaze of white at her hairline a shock against a raven black mass of curls. Her olive coloring had paled a bit, obviously she had news that was either really bad or just really unpleasant (there was a difference with the Contessa).

She wore no lipstick – now that was odd. She always wore lipstick, maybe she was making a very strong point to not be hot and sexy – not her shtick since she was fast approaching cougar age and definitely not as tight under the jaw as she could have been.

“Valentina. . . what's going on? What are you so reluctant to tell me?”

Sighing, the Contessa rested her chin on her netted fingers. “I'm sending you to America. To be with your grandfather.”

“Wait, you're sending me to live with the old Warhorse? So you told him about me then?” I realized with a doubtful grin.

“No.”

“He's not gonna like this.”

“Nick Fury doesn't care about mutant or human.”

“Well yeah, he's never had a mutant relative. And last I checked, he doesn't know he has any living relatives. Did he know about Anna?”

“He met her, once, but he didn't know who she was.”

“Does he even remember Karenina?”

“Nick Fury is not a callous man, no matter what you might believe. He probably remembers her better than her legitimate children do.”

“I don't think he's callous, Contessa, I think he's not gonna believe it when all of a sudden you walk in and you're all like, 'oh, yeah, Nick, here's your secret lovechild's secret mutant daughter, kaythanksbai'. Do you even think he'll believe you? He's as thick headed as most mountain goats and twice as stubborn.”

“Let me deal with him, you just make the arrangements.”

“Can I use the jet?”

“No, we'll fly commercial, together. Coach.”

“Fine,” I said. I know you won't believe me when I tell you that it wasn't the flying coach part that pissed me off – it was the being dropped into Nick Fury's life part that pissed me off.



I have a lot of issues in my life – not the least of which happens to be the fact that, once again, I can't have a decent retirement. Not that I'd want one, but still. If I did I wouldn't get one. It takes a helluva guy to head up SHIELD, or so I've been told, and apparently there is only one helluva guy in the world.

Me.

Still, after six months of being director of this shiny new SHIELD, I have to say, it ain't much different than the old one. Only now we're an instituition of the U.S government, directly under the President. But after that, there ain't much more difference.

“Director Fury?”

“What is it, Daisy?”

Daisy Johnson, AKA Quake. I don't know what's kept this kid at my side for so long, either it's blind loyalty, or an insane need to get yelled at constantly. I'm thinking it's a combination of the two.

“There's someone here to see you. Um. . . sir, she's . . .”

“Spit it out, kid,” I barked at her.

“She's the Countess Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine. . . and she has a kid with her.”

“A kid?”

What in the hell would she want with me? And who was the kid. . .


“Well well well, we meet again Nicky,” said the Countess, standing with her arms crossed, looking quite confident.

“I heard you had a kid with you,” I barked. I did not want to see her right now. I'd gone through enough grief because of her. She had that look on her face that meant one thing – trouble. But the face was changing – now it was business.

“Nick, I didn't come all the way up here for you or for me,” she said, in that slightly accented English. In another time and another place, that would have driven me wild. But now it just irritated the hell out of me. “I came here for her.”

She looked down to the platform, where a kid, maybe 16 or so, sat on the wing of a jet. She had brown hair, almost the same color as most of mine, and grey eyes. . . the same color as mine. Her skin was the same color mine used to be, a fair peachy color. Little differences stood out – her hair was curly, mine was straight. She was short, my mother had been tall. She was petite, my family had been stocky. Little hands with long fingers and nails held a Starkphone, nails painted black.

But those eyes. . . they were sharp, darting around, taking in everything from the locks on the door to the view from the windows that let in the sun – nothing but sky for miles around, the permanent view from the Helicarrier. They met eyes of the SHIELD agents that watched her, and those agents' stares were met with honest smiles.

“She's a mutant --”

“Who's is she?” I demanded.

“Her name is --”

“Who's is she, Valentina!?”

“Calm down, Nicky, she's not yours.”

Good.

“Not directly, anyway.”

“Talk.” 

20 Comments

When will I stop thinking of new OCs?

When MODOK isn't a creepy giant head.  
 
Darnit. . . yes, I thought of another OC for another fic that I'm never gonna finish. . . frick my life.  
 
But that's okay! Here's a game for you all!  Using hints in the picture, can you guess who this mysterious, pink-loving mutie is related to?  
 

Yes, it's very small. I shouldn't have cropped the image. . .  
Yes, it's very small. I shouldn't have cropped the image. . .  
There's no prize, but you can't know her name until either someone guesses it -- or I get tired of waiting to tell you xD 
 
The pic is painted in Paint Tool Sai, best program ever. I tell everyone just starting out to use it. It's the bomb. This piece is half-modeled on the style of Adam Hughes, half on Jack Cole, all modeled on awesome xD
28 Comments

New Sketch^^

Not that it's particularly impressive, but still. . . I'm pretty proud of it, and this is as close to daily sketches as I'm gonna get xD 
 

No Caption Provided
10 Comments

Aliens, Chapter 4: Fathers and Daughters, and Aliens

ALL CHARACTERS AND SETTINGS BELONG TO MARVEL INC. AND THEIR RESPECTIVE AFFILIATES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story has been given a T+ rating for mild violence, some sensuality, and gross overuse of cuteness and the phrase 'Imperius Rex!' 
 
Last time, in Chapter 3, we learned who Morgan's father was and our little heroine asked the question, "why do they hate me?" Meanwhile, Winn-Vell made landfall on an East coast beach and introduced himself to the Avengers and Asguardian, summing up his reasons for being there in one very odd speech peppered with the phrase 'Please do not attack me'. What happens now?  
 

Asguardian had known some oddballs in her time as a superhero, which wasn't much time at all, really, but this guy definitely topped the weird charts. He raked his fingers through his stark white hair, then when he saw her watching him, smiled a big, happy smile.

“I dunno, I really don't think he's gonna hurt anyone,” she pointed out to the tall Asgardian beside her. “I don't even think it's crossed his mind.”

“One cannot be sure of that, Anthy. Mar-Vell was unique among the Kree, but he was still a Kree. This Winn-Vell seems too cheerful to be genuine.”

“He says he's here to study Mutants. When will Mr. Stark call up the X-Men?”

“He already has,” said the charismatic Stark.

Winn-Vell had been on Earth for five days, and already he was fairly certain he liked it. He liked the colors in the sky and the way that humans dressed, he liked the city of New York but found it too loud, he liked the Avengers, who didn't like him, and he loved the cold air of this season of 'winter'.

The Avengers had a private meeting hall, with a large projector table in the center that created a large cylindrical screen when it was activated.

Winn watched as a human in a tight black outfit and silver visor that glowed red. “Hey, Stark, Avengers, what's the occasion?” he asked.

“Well, Cyke, it's uh, kinda complicated,” began Tony, turning and looking at Asguardian. She was oddly enough so much better at breaking weird news to people.

“We've got an alien here who wants to talk to Beast,” she said with a huff.

“Is that a Kree!?” shouted Cyclops.


“Honestly, if he's here on a peaceful mission to just learn about us then I don't see the harm in bringing him here,” said Morgan.

Beast sighed. “I know he says he's here in peace, Gee, but that doesn't mean he's being honest with us. He could be lying to us.”

Gee looked into the massive fishtank to see the giant grouper that could probably swallow her whole. Over the last five days, she had been ever so careful not to step on any toes, but with the suspicious attittudes of most of the students as well as the staff, she didn't find that she fit in very well. She had made a few friends, a girl with pink hair named Pixie, and a girl wearing a dark cloak and hood named Dust.

But for the most part, she just struggled to stay away from her parents. Namor and Frost both agreed on one thing – this girl was a problem neither wanted anything to do with. Not that this shocked Morgan, she didn't see anything about her that would make her any more appealing to them.

“Dr. McCoy, I saw him on the video when you did – and I didn't see one thing in his demeanor that hinted at him being dangerous.”

Hank looked closely at Gee and narrowed his yellow eyes. “You have a crush on him.”

“A what?”

“You like him.”

“I like everyone.”

Gee didn't understand – she hadn't hurt the Kree called Winn-Vell. Had he even seen her? He might have. Hank sighed in the way that meant that he was worried about her. “Part of your development is to have crushes, erm, to feel an affection for someone that you think is good looking, I guess would be the best way to explain it.”

“Yes, go on.”

“So, part of the responsibility that I have for you is to make sure you're hitting your developmental markers. Only, I don't know what those markers should be,” he added. “Your paperwork didn't give me much to go on. You're only six, chronologically, but you're 16 physically. Mentally, you're at least as intelligent as me, but emotionally . . . I've noticed lately that you're strong, bold, occasionally a bit temperamental, but also very. . . inexperienced. You have a vivid imagination. You have hopes, dreams, you don't seem to be, so far, particularly traumatized, although. . . your comfort in being examined in a lab setting is perhaps a little unsettling.”

Hank had a strange opportunity here, one he wasn't certain he liked – he had a patient that he could talk to. Gee had total trust in him, and no reason to lie. If she felt odd, she told him. If she felt sick, she'd tell him. If she was in pain, she'd tell him.

She was open, honest, and completely comfortable – so why did it bother him so much?

Morgan glanced around. Most people had become accustomed to her massive food intakes, but some just couldn't stop staring at the several trays of food she managed to pack away in her tiny little frame. She'd gained an appropriate amount of weight, the emaciated edges of her body softening up. Her elbows weren't so sharp and her ribs hardly stuck out.

“Um, Doc?”

“Yes Gee?”

“I'm gonna go to the pool. Let me know when the new guy gets here?” she asked as she stood up.

“Alright then. He should be here about four, so I might be a little distracted.”

“You're already a little distracted,” she giggled, as she balanced two trays of empty food containers on her left hand and carried them to the trash can.

She made her way down to the pool room, where a pool full of filtered seawater waited for her to dive in. Pulling off her baggy borrowed shorts, she looked over her borrowed black bathingsuit and smiled, then jumped into the air and flew up, before diving into the deliciously cool blue.

Giggling as she sank into the water, she straightened out and kicked around, getting a feel for the temperature and the water itself as it ran through her lungs and chilled her scalp.

Suddenly, she sensed it, a pressure on her sides and a fluttering in the water. She wasn't alone.

The pool was 25 feet deep, and at the bottom she could see what – or rather, who's heartbeat made the water pulse.

Should she swim closer or get out? No, she didn't need to get out. If he wanted to swim, he could go out to the bay. After all, wasn't he the 'king of the oceans'?

“They call you 'Gee' now,” she heard. Namor's voice sounded differnet underwater, but very much the same. He sat on the bottom of the pool, against the wall, looking up at her. Gee swam down, and her feet touched the bottom. “Yes.”

“Your hair darkens in the water.”

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

“Calm yourself, I will not strike at you,” he assured. “Your swimming leaves much to be desired.”

“Your attitude leaves much to be desired. I have done nothing to you save for exist. Yet you, and even Emma, behave as though I am a pest to be dealt with. I have heard rumors that I am to be sent away to another place across the continent, but I do not wish to go. What do you want from me?” she demanded.

Namor listened, as a king should, but he wasn't good at this business of 'parenting'. Where does one start? Especially when the child in need of raising was as stubborn and strong willed as yourself and the mother? he asked himself.

He stood, kicking off the wall and floating closer to Morgan, who smartly kept her distance. She raised one high brow, but he held out one hand. “I . . . I am not the sort of man who will admit to a mistake. But. . . striking out at you was not right. I will not lose another child to my own stupidity and failures as a father. Please, do not fear me.”

His mind flashed to one named Kamar, then back to what was at hand. Here was another chance. This was uncomfortable as it was, would she stop staring at him with those enormous blue eyes!?

She grinned, then clasped his hand, gripping it tight. “This is. . . this has made my day,” she giggled.

 

 Emma Frost looked down into the pool room, her arms and legs crossed. How could it be? That the thick-headed oaf had taken to the girl faster than she had? Frost wasn't so brutal as he was, not so stubborn and pig-headed and.. . . she was getting off-topic.

The girl had Emma in her, for certain. She had not had a reason to cultivate the same tenacity, but she was fiery. Though no one save for a few people knew it, she had been watching the girl.

“Never thought I'd see the day,” she heard. Frost tilted her head ever so slightly to see Logan walk into the box and stare down to the two.

This was a situation he knew well. Man meets clone, clone becomes less than genetic copycat and more like blood, then more like family, and then finally, man would do anything to protect family.

“They're blood, Emma. Might not seem like much t'you, but to him, he was raised to keep family close.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “It makes no sense – few things bother him as much as people invading his person. Mind reading enrages him the most, so I can't imagine that he's going to so easily forgive Shaw for stealing his DNA.”

“Sometimes a father don't think much about how their children come into the world – so long as they're his.”

Emma was quiet.

“I think your real problem is the fact that you don't know what to do with the kid. I think that you don't want to have anything to do with her.”

“Oh be quiet,” snarled Emma.

“Sounds like I hit it right on the nose,” he grinned, before walking back to the door. “Scott wants you to come back down to the office. Says Steve, Tony and Amber will be bringing that Kree boy down here.”


Winn-Vell pressed his face against the window of the Quinjet and watched as the land mass below streaked by. He loved it up here in the Earth's atmosphere, but it was hardly any time before he saw the sea on the other side of the continent.

“Is that it?” he asked Anthy enthusiastically. Anthy chuckled and nodded.

“You're like a little kid, you know that? Yeah, that's it. That's Utopia.”

“That may be true, but a scientist should never aopologize for having a childish curiousity, since a child will ask the hard questions, the ones that make you think, and--”

“We get it,” snapped Tony. “You're adorable and annoying. Anthy, no more showing him any more Japanese anime.”

“Hey, it's the 90210 he can't stop watching.”

“I enjoy the human program 90210. It is amusing how the humans displayed behave as though they were all petulant children. And I also enjoy the show the Gossiping Girl! Our programming is nowhere near as amusing.”

The quinjet began to descend, and when the door gave way and lowered, Iron Man was the first to step out. “Hey Scott!” he called.

Winn stood up, his gut fluttering in a nervous way, his heart pounding in a scared way, and his face calm in a lying way. He tried to pretend that he at least looked confident, but it was hard to. Meeting the Avengers hadn't been this much of a problem, he thought as he brushed off the human clothes he'd been lent. He wore them over the chestplate of his armor, just in case. He wasn't normally this careful, but precautions were prudent in this case.

Asguardian patted his back and smiled. “You'll be fine, Hank's a super nice guy and once they figure out that you're not interested in invading us, they'll take to you like white on rice.”

“Yes, well. . . I cannot be so sure.”

Winn followed Anthy out the doorway and down the steps, and paused as he looked around. He saw the faces of several older humans, all adults, and a few adolescents. But one pair of eyes caught his and held them still – a big pair of deep blue ones. They shined in earnest in the sunlight, and before he could stop himself, he was walking towards them.

“Hullo,” he smiled. “I am Helerin Winn-Vell.”

The little female smiled back, giggling, and her cheeks turned pink. “I am Morgan Frost-McKenzie. It's very nice to meet you, Winn-Vell.”

He took her offered hand, and felt his nervous energy drain away. “I am most pleased to meet you, Morgan Frost-McKenzie.”  

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TO everyone I owe commissions/art trades to. . .

Hey guys! TKira here :}  
 
Okay, so I thought I'd be able to finish one of my pieces today, but unfortunately something came up. I'm in the middle of what has proved to be an unusually busy week for me. I will do my absolute best to get all your pieces finished this weekend -- If not then, then by next week.  
 
I'm so, so sorry you guys, and please know that I am busting my butt on these :} 
 
Thank you for your patience! 

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