#scott and marion

[edutainer2022]

The tighter are my research deadlines the more my mind is willing to write pretty much anything else. I keep being infinitely fascinated by the character parallels and mirrors that Scott and Marion are - heirs to overwhelming legacies that drew different straws in the Brave New Economic Utopia. I'm also, of course, always on the record about their Shakespearian comedic potential. This is a glimpse into a near post Zero-XL future where almost nothing hurts (as much). BEFORE THE DARK is mentioned in passing. Jeff Tracy features briefly but meaningfully. He's extremely amused.

Many thanks, as always, to @janetm74!

CONGLOMERATE

Jeff Tracy's miniholo on the wristcom frowned, as the young woman obviously holding it put a finger to her lips in a universal shooshing gesture.

"Where's my son? What's wrong with Scott?!"

"Shhhhh, Mr. Tracy. He's asleep. It's alright."

The worried frown morphed into bewilderment.

"Asleep? I thought I told you two to cobble together a business plan and security protocols for those reactors. We would need to make a pitch at the Summit first thing Monday."

Lt. Van Arkle shifted her eyes down to her own watch.

"We were. Till about forty minutes ago."

"Well, in that case, please, tell my son that I'll be having company for the evening here at Tracy Tower - Colonel Casey is coming over, a couple of my old buddies from the GDF Headquarters here in NYC, Nik Bandranaik is stopping by. We'll be up quite late. You know how it goes - poker, scotch, cigars, talking ye olde times... It could get quite rowdy."

The name drop of the former World President, now Head of World Government, left Marion unphased. She was used to her late father's mixing and mingling in high places.

"I do, Mr. Tracy."

"Well then, I'll leave you kids to it. We DO need that pitch for the Energy Summit!"

"Understood, Mr. Tracy. We're on it! You have a good evening."

"Jeff, please! Oh, I'm looking forward to!"

The hologram winked out and Marion's gaze caught the incredulous disbelief in the blue eyes, now wide open, peering up at her from her lap.

"Did my Dad just tell me to get lost for the night?!"

"In so many words, yeah!"

It was hard to keep a straight face so she smiled down at him.

"Good nap?"

He was sitting up already on the edge of his jacket in the grass, in a brisk effortless motion that wasn't even a little bit for show. At all. The sheepish dimpled smile added to the boyish impression.

"Sorry about that!"

He gestured in the general direction of her legs tucked in on the larger square footage of the impromptu picnic blanket (Francesco the designer would have his HEAD for that suit!), marigolds peeking around the edges.

They were in Central Park. Declaring a temporary truce and needing more witnesses "not on the Tracy payroll" in case of a involuntary manslaughter, got them to leave the executive floor of the Tracy Tower after a day of "heated discussions" and relocate.

Jeff Tracy put an idea of non-uranium based power sources in the former hotzone areas on the table. It was up to the genius think tank to rescale something akin to a T-drive particle reactor, but nuclear power production and distribution was right up the GDF expert alley. The money, logistics, and security side of things were designated by his father to Scott in a rhetoric that left little room to negotiation. So Lt. Marion Van Arkle, D.Sc., suddenly found herself on loan to Tracy Industries, cramming ideas and protocols with the TI CEO in time for the Global Renewable Energy Summit on Monday. Well, SHE was definitely wasting no time, while he "closed his eyes just for a second" against the sun.

"No worries! But we DO need to get back to work!"

Scott stretched where he was seated mostly in the grass and blinked. A button popped off his shirt, strained to capacity.

"Damn!"

He looked comically bummed, raking the grass for the rogue button.

"Please don't tell me that was your favorite shirt!?"

"What?... Um, no! I mean... It's blue, so I guess. I need to look presentable if I need to rent a hotel room for the night. Since Dad effectively kicked me out."

She was laughing openly by then.

"Scott, you could walk in a Hilton in a beach towel and they'd still rent you a room! Or the whole hotel!"

"Not the way Mom taught me."

His whole face fell again.

"Ah! Bummer!"

"What's wrong?"

"Everything is booked for the Global Summit. Guess I'm homeless tonight. Well... there's a couch in the executive office. Wouldn't be the first time."

He stood up, reaching a hand to help her up, without thinking.

"Let's go!"

She took the offered leverage, but was chewing on her lip, thinking.

"Maybe we don't have to go back to the office. I own a brownstone here."

He never really did ask where she was staying. He presumed - GDF quarters. The quizzical look made the blue eyes almost round. She had already made up her mind and took charge.

"If you're open to the idea of a couch - I got one big enough downstairs. C'mon! We need to finish this!"

She was hastily picking their work tablets and putting her shoes back on.

Scott was still processing, towering over like a tree.

"You own a brownstone in NYC?"

She was all set to go and huffed.

"My brother went to Columbia - I tagged along. Y'know, nuclear physics program. We thought we would make a breakthrough and get the family fortune back on track. Father bought us a brownstone here. When Van Arkle Corp went bankrupt - I spent the last of the money to keep it."

She suddenly found the marigolds in the grass fascinating. There was a brush of warmth past her side as he reached down for the jacket, giving her room to compose herself. Marion was greatful for that.

"Lead the way!"

"You bet!"

***

The old Columbia U shirt was tight for him around the shoulders and a little short, but it was just as well. He took the idea of a quick shower gratefully to clear the cobwebs. The previous day was all a sinkhole in Mexico and an erupted electrical circuit fire. One was still cooling on the landing pad atop Tracy Tower.

He vaguely remembered the Van Arkle "son and heir" now, a year or so older than himself, from when he was very little. Before the Conflict. They were all running about with his own brothers in the sundrenched greenery of the Creighton-Ward estate grounds, while the adults takled in hushed, urgent tones he didn't know to heed then. He knew better now.

Speaking of brothers. No call from Virgil to check in was conspicuous. He was half of a mind to call Alan himself, too, but stilled his hand. The kid was at a sleepover with some gaming buddies at a Convention, taking the opportunity of being in the city for the weekend. Scott had a strong suspicion there would be very little sleep involved, but lots of killing virtual zombies and junk food. Which didn't bother him one bit, honestly. But there would however be a very rumpled mop of blond hair, bleary blue eyes, and a grumpy zombie of a baby brother come morning. Scott couldn't suppress a fond smile. They scheduled a couple of private visits to the universities in NYC and in the tristate area. Just the three of them for now: Alan, Dad, and Scott. Allie was to start school come fall. Which didn't bother Scott either. Not at all. Steeling himself in that resolve he headed back to the studio sitting room.

The sight made him pause in the doorframe. Marion had changed into an oversized knit sweater and curled up on the couch, heeding him no attention, focused on sewing the button back on his shirt. The staple braid to the side got loose through the day, wisps of hair falling over her face. For a moment air caught in his throat. He could see Mom, in the rocking chair at Gran Roca, mending Dad's plaid shirt or one of his brothers', or his own, that didn't make it in one piece through the day on the ranch. Evening light seeping through the windows. In a sudden dizzy flash he could maybe also see their lounge on the island. A red and blue ball and some toy planes scattered on the floor in the Pit. A high-tech crib parked by the desk, rocking gently. He had to blink, once, twice, before making his way to sit on the couch by her side.

"You didn't have to!"

"Ah, it's no problem. The shirt got soiled by the grass too. You can't very well show up to your Old Man like that. I'll throw it in the washer and it'll be as good as new in the morning. "

He had to chuckle at the truth of it. Jeff Tracy rigged a washing machine stranded on a planetoid half a galaxy away.

"Thank you!"

He meant it.

Changing the subject was in order if he didn't want his mind to helpfully draw him any more IDEAS that were never to come to pass. He looked down at the university logo on the shirt he was wearing.

"My brother Alan is considering applying for Columbia. John campaigns for Harvard, OF COURSE, but I guess the kid doesn't want to compete with the Ginger Genius legend. Besides, CU is in the city, he can live in the Tracy Tower."

Which was Scott's personal favorite selling point. Much as he'd love nothing more but for Allie to never grow up and stay where he could protect him.

Marion's face lit up!

"Really! Great choice! My brother and I loved it there. The best times of our life!"

She was silent abruptly. He knew by then, of course, from the files John pulled up the first ever time they "met" in the Van Arkle mine, that she had no surviving family.

"What happened?"

"When the uranium excavation got shut down, Peter wanted to mine deeper. Rare earth ores. He had a plan to get us out of debt! There was an underground explosion... The whole scout party didn't make it out. So, you're obviously NOT keeping the t-shirt, go get your own!"

The nonchance did little to cover the crack in her voice. He made a point to catch the tear-glossed gaze. Loving a brother he knew the insides of down to the finest strings of unspeakable pain and ever present fear of loss.

"Marion, I'm so sorry!"

He meant it too. She knew it.

The moment stretched to the limit he didn't know if he had a right to test. True to herself, Marion was the one to break the spell first. She stood up, balling his shirt and putting the sewing kit away.

"Alright then! I'll go sort this out. If you're any decent in the kitchen, you can put a pot on and start on a salad. We need to eat before we can go back to work!"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

He sketched her a mock salute, straightening up. That earned him a now tears-free brown glare. Well, some things in life were a given, at least.

He had a better idea than pasta and salad, though, by way of dinner. In no time delivery car pulled up and they had a whole sitting area stacked with takeaway containers of Michelin star dishes. He might have panicked and ordered one of everything, in case she didn't share his palate.

The evening was seeping into the night. Their energy pitch was not making as much progress as the surprisingly unchallenging chitchat. It might have had something to do with the bottle of wine sent in by the Chef as a compliment.

Marion stifled a yawn. Unlike Scott she didn't get an afternoon nap. He knew it was his cue to let her retire and take up the charitable offer of the couch.

"Maybe you could join us tomorrow to tour Columbia campus? Y'know, give Allie some pointers? He'd appreciate your input. We can then work on the project some more."

He knew he was scrambling. Quite pitifully so. As it turned out he was quite rusty at whatever it is he was going.

Alan was still calling her Murder Maid Marion.

She considered him over the rim of the glass.

"No."

"Oh..."

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Tomorrow's your day to spend with your father and your son."

Oh, indeed! She gave him a pointed Look.

"If the kid enrolls, I'd be happy to give him tips on how to hide from overprotective big brothers and even show him my favorite haunts."

He could feel a warmth wash over his chest. He hadn't felt such lightness in ears. Maybe prematurely, as she was moving to stand up again.

"Now, I think it's time we called it a night. Thanks for the dinner!"

Of course! What exactly was he thinking would happen. Maybe he wasn't. He stood up too, ready to help clean up.

"Leave it!"

He put a gold embossed cardboard box back on the coffee table and was at a loss, for a moment.

"Sure! Um... I guess, if you show me where the quilt is, I'll give the couch a try then. Thanks for letting me crash! Good night!"

She was at the bottom of the stairs by then, sizing him up with the expression he recognized all too well from the first ever time she climbed out of the downed mecha - equal parts exasperation and incredulity aimed at him. She even threw her arms in the air to accentuate disbelief.

"Scott Tracy! Don't be RIDICULOUS!"

So he wasn't.

[northameicanblog]

Death Dive, Abiqua Falls, Oregon, Unnted States: Asbjørg Nesje who travelled to Abiqua Falls in Oregon to set the world record for highest Norwegian Death Dive ever performed by a woman. The 92-feet-tall Abiqua Falls, located in Scotts Mills, has limited access but remains a popular destination for waterfall seekers. ...Scotts Mills is a city in Marion County, Oregon, United States. Abiqua Creek is a tributary of the Pudding River in the U.S. state of Oregon. Wikipedia

[lamentable-comedy]

I made a supercut of every instance of the word partner (or partnership) in Black Sails... mostly as a side effect of wanting to analyze how the word was used in the show. More information/breakdown under the cut.

"Partner", "partners", or "partnership" is said a total of 92 times in the show, not counting 11 times when it's part of a "previously on". Of those 92 instances, 11 are in Season One, 24 are in Season 2, 33 are in Season 3, and 24 are in Season 4. Some form of the word gets said at least once in all but eight episodes (1x01, 1x05, 3x01, 3x04, 3x09, 4x02, 4x03, and 4x05). The episode with most instances is 3x02 with a grand total of 7. In the video, the clips are arranged in chronological order according to when they appear in the show. I used the transcript site to double-check my work so I'm pretty confidant I didn't miss anything.

A lot of the time the relationships that get called partnerships also get referred to with other terms (friendship, alliance, husband/wife), either at different times than they're called partnerships or in conjunction with the term, but "partner" as a term interests me because it is non-specific in a way that allows for it to hold a lot of different meanings, sometimes all at once. Black Sails is clearly very specific about what terms are used for relationships, just as it is specific about what name a character is called by, and often there is significance placed on moments when a relationship is called a partnership. (Miranda and Flint in 2x06, Jack and Anne in 2x10, Flint and Sliver in 3x03, etc.)

SO I've made a full chart with details on each of the 92 instances which you can look at here. It has the episode each instance is from, who says it, and to what partnership they are referring. Generally this is pretty straightforward, though sometimes a character is directly referencing one partnership in a way that implicitly applies the label to another, i.e. when Silver says he's "not the first to have been a partner to [Flint] in this way", he is referring to himself as Flint's partner, but also implicitly stating that Gates and Miranda were each Flint's partner as well. Whenever this happens I've noted it in the chart. I've also noted when characters are speaking hypothetical partnerships that do not (yet) exist, or do not (yet) exist in the form they are currently discussed, and when partnerships are referred to in the past tense.

Highlights of some stuff I found interesting:

Silver and Flint are referred to as partners (or as having a partnership) a total of 7 times, and implicitly labelled as such once. This is more than any other partnership between individuals, and depending on how you count more than any partnership between groups, too (see below). The first time they're ever referred to as partners is by Silver in 3x03

Jack and Anne are just behind them with a total of 6, followed by Eleanor and Rogers with 5

The individual relationships between Jack and Max, and between Max and Anne are each referred to using some form of partner/partnership three times, and Jack, Anne, and Max a group of three are referred to using the term once by Max and once by Jack-- though when Jack uses it (while speaking to Marion Guthrie) he doesn't specify who he's speaking about could arguably also be including Featherstone, and possibly Idelle

The pirate and maroon alliance is referred to using partners/partnership 6 times (7 if you count one instance where Flint is used as synecdoche for the pirates as a group), and there are two instances of partner/partners being used when discussing another person or group joining the alliance (Jack in the first case, and Julius and his men in the second), for a total of 9 times that some form of the alliance is discussed using partners/partnership

Other than Flint, the only person who is ever referred to as Silver's partner is Max

Eleanor says partner (or some variation) more than any other character, for a total of 14 times. Runners up are Max (12) and Vane (9)

4 out of the 9 times Vane uses partner/partnership, he's talking about a partnership between Eleanor and someone, though that someone is not always him. Of the remaining 5 instances, two are in reference to his partnership with Teach and two involve Jack in some way (one with the two of them and Flint, and one in the context of Jack joining the pirate/slave alliance)

Max never uses the word partner to describe any relationships that she is not directly a part of, unless you count one instance of speaking broadly about her own experiences in a way that also includes Eleanor's (when she says the chair "demands you win partners" to get it)

Flint doesn't say any form of the word partner until 3x05, though before that point there are other people who call him their partner or apply the term to relationships he has

Thomas says "partner" a total of 3 times, two referring directly to Flint and one speaking generally but in a conversation about a partnership between him and Flint. Miranda says "partners" twice, both times about herself and Flint

"Partner" is used as a verb exactly once, by Madi

Madi, Mr. Scott, and the Maroon Queen each only say partner(s) once (they're not the only characters who only say it once, but i did think the family pattern was neat)

[vintagegoddesses3]

[vintagegoddesses3]

[vintagegoddesses3]

[syncenclosur]

Art collab with @fishwthatpencil ‼️🔥

Indy pulling the baddies and bitches even tho he’s like canonically malewife 💯💯

Also give @fishwthatpencil ‘s art a look and follow if possible

[vmures]

Art is a tool for expression and conveying emotions, ideas, and experiences. While art always carries seeds of its creator, it also becomes so much more than that once it is let free into the world. It becomes a conversation, a layered thing with different meanings and impacts on different people.

Humans are complex beings and everyone can create art. It can be heartbreaking and infuriating to learn that the creator of a piece of art that profoundly influenced you and changed you, that has become part of you, is a horrible, vile person. But it is important to remember that their art is more than the creator themself. Liking the art and finding meaning in it doesn't make you a horrible person.

It is also very valid to be unable to see the art the same way after you learn about the creator. Everyone has to wrestle with their own relationship to the art in question and how they know view it. You can still appreciate the meaning it had for you once upon a time while acknowledging that it hits differently now.

Often the hardest thing is not the fact that the creator is a vile person, but that they built a convincing mask of being kind and encouraging to others. While we often understand that public personas are not who people really are, when someone makes kindness their brand, it feels like a betrayal to learn that they have been using that mask to prey on others. I know for me, there is a part of me that is mad at falling for the con and that knows I would have been perfect prey because I fell for it.

So when such an unmasking happens, as it so often does, the best advice I can offer is this: be kind, to yourself and to others, as you all wrestle with this paradigm shift. Give yourself space and let yourself feel what you feel. Learn from it. Remind yourself that what we know of creators usually fills less than a thimble if we could distill knowledge into liquid. We know their art, but not them. We can appreciate that they make compelling art without putting them on a pedestal. Remind yourself that all creators are human and pedestals are dangerous places to put anyone, because inevitably you will be let down.

[edutainer2022]

This is for pure amusement (sprung off a prompt). I'm attached to the idea Scott and Marion share custody of Guard Cameron AND harbor a Shakespearean comedic potential. Jeff Tracy gets to be a keen Commander and a cunning father. Col. Casey is not amused. There's a passing reference to BEFORE THE DARK.

Many thanks to @janetm74 for incessant support!

FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VEIW

"Is.... is somebody there?... Hello?"

The kid's face was nearly drained of color and obviously scared. And oh so young! How early did the GDF enroll now?

The call came through directly to the island via a secure channel and Jeff switched the comm automatically, while engrossed in the backlog of reports at the desk.

"Hello! Mr Tr... Is Mr Tracy there?"

The connection was patchy. Jeff thought he could discern giant pine trees and snow in the background.

"It is I, son. Mr. Tracy. You called International Rescue - how can I help you?"

If at all possible, the boy's eyes grew wider and more anxious.

"N-no! Sc... Is Mr. Scott Tracy there?!"

"Cameron!?! What happened?!"

His eldest stepped back into the lounge, voice ringing with concern. Brown eyes lit up as the GDF kid saw a face he recognized.

"Scott! I mean... Mr. Tracy! I'm... not supposed to be calling you, but Lt. Van Arkle went dark and I..."

"Where are you!?! Sit-rep, soldier!"

Scott was already pulling the lamp handles of his chute down. A structured military address seemed to have pulled the boy on the other end of the call together a bit.

"Siberia, sir! Abandoned nuclear missile silos. Lt. Van Arkle went in to investigate a possible warheads sell-off. She gave orders not to call backup. I didn't know what else to do!"

"You did good, Cameron! I'm on my way! John, upload the coordinates to One!"

Scott was giving clipped orders already from the depths of the launch tube. A befuddled Jeff didn't have the time to wedge a word in sideways as One roared off from the pool and the connection to the hapless GDF soldier got cut off.

***

The rest of the impromptu rescue for Jeff was a jumble of thick worry and palpable annoyance of his sons, incomplete bits and bobs of data, grainy visual feeds from dark bowels of the missile launch labyrinth and a snowed in taiga, in the middle of what looked like a mayhem of a breakneck chase, flashes of shots fired, and at least on one occasion - a fistfight.

Next time he heard his eldest son's voice properly was from the elevator up from the hangars, once One completed the post flight checks. The strong, clear notes were vibrating with what Jeff was rather surprised to identify as distress, liberally overlaid with fury. The sentiment also came in stereo, fully echoed by an unfamiliar female voice:

"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!!!!!"

***

The remarkable cavalcade that subsequently entered the lounge area of the villa consisted of a visibly fuming Scott, his radiation grade uniform covered in muck and scorched areas grazed by laser fire, a young woman, carried in his arms, her GDF uniform in a similar state of dissaray, one boot off, replaced by a velcro sprain brace, and, peeking from behind them, a shy youth Jeff now recognized as Cameron, even paler than before and exuding profound misery. Scott marched to the couches and all but dumped his equally seething cargo on the cushions. Blue eyes were ablaze.

Virgil's move to offer a med scan and help was stopped on its tracks by the sizzle of silent daggers and lightning bolts exchanged between his brother and the Leutenant. In helpless confusion he turnied to Jeff, who was by then thoroughly amused by the whole pantomime. Scott eventually huffed and threw his arms up:

"Dad, meet Lt. Van Arkle, who thinks she could singlehandedly take down the Russian black market for nuclear weapons WITHOUT BACKUP!

"I HAD IT UNDER CONTROL!"

An attempt to jump off the couch was expertly stopped by a pillow, shoved under the injured foot, and an extra bright cerulean glare. Poor young Cameron, temporarily forgotten by all parties involved, was obviously trying to process the immediate proximity of THE Jeff Tracy in the flesh without hyperventilating too conspicuously.

Jeff did his best to stifle a laugh.

"Well, well... I do believe we've met, Leutenant! Albeit the last time around you tried to kill my son with a pool noodle."

The retort died out on the young officer's lips, as John's hologram in the center of the lounge enunciated a mumble maybe too intentionally:

"That certainly became a habit..."

Perplexed, Jeff was still quick to pave over the awkward pause.

"How's old Willem Van Arkle doing, Marion?"

The indignant stare up at Scott's full imposing height was momentarily deflated.

"Um... my father died... sir. After the mines were shut down he just... gave up..."

It was his turn to choke on the foot in his mouth. Blue eyes searched his gaze - free of ire and brimming with protective compassion. That definitely tumbled into a hole he didn't anticipate.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss!"

He meant it, of course. But Jeff Tracy also prided himself for nothing else if not quick thinking on the go.

"Now, kids, you need to get your reports straight for the GDF. Scott, do show the Leutenant up to the guestrooms at the Roundhouse. I insist you cross-reference your stories before the official debrief. Boys, would you show Cameron around the island? How do you like the pool, son?"

A half-nod from Dad was enough for Gordon to get the cue and drag Cameron and Alan out to the poolside. There was soon laughter and splashes and, possibly, a watergun fight. Jeff turned a pointed gaze at Scott, still towering over a notably subdued Marion on the couch.

"I suggest you get to it, Bluejay. You two don't have all day! We shall show our guests some patented Tracy hospitality, right? I'll let you know when dinner's ready."

Scott might have stifled an eyeroll, as he bent down to pick Marion up again and head for the elevator. Virgil jerked to the hidden closet, eager to offer the hoverchair or crutches Jeff himself had to use until recently, struggling against muscle atrophy. Dad's firm hand landed on the boy's shoulder and stalled the move with a squeeze.

At least there was no struggle or squabble that time around. Not till the elevator doors hissed shut, anyway. The whir of well-calibrated machinery was soon muted by overlapping shouts:

"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!!!!!"

Big, apprehensive brown eyes searched Jeff's face, full of doubt.

"Are you sure about that, Dad? They're gonna kill each other!"

"That's one way of looking at it, son."

The twinkle in his eyes was full of mischief.

***

Colonel Casey squinted at him, the hologram blue adding to the scorn. The dinner came and went and the lounge was, blissfully, quiet. The Tinies dragged Cameron down to the beach. John checked out to go over Scott's helmet camera footage - whatever was legible through heavy interference. MAX was sent up to the Roundhouse with a dinner platter once it was obvious the reports review took longer than expected. Or, maybe, precisely as long as expected. Gordon might have suggested to contract EOS for proof of life, which got poor impressionable Cameron to choke on a charred burrito.

"Is IR going rogue or are you trying to poach the GDF best and brightest to expand?"

The old friend's holo was burning a hole in his chest and Jeff felt himself smile into the sip of scotch. That was certainly one way of looking at it.

[vintagegoddesses3]

[hebuiltfive]

Once Bitten Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

AO3 link here!

Scott, one of the most excelled vampire hunters for the last century, has one last battle with the vampire who’s claimed him as her arch-enemy.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

I hadn't been sure if I'd be able to get anything out in time (October has been a wild month) but here we are! The morning of the 31st with a story I'm quite proud of for once!

There is a potential for this to be expanded upon, and I do really want to write more for this AU... I just have many fics on the go at the moment and no real time to get them written, so we'll see!

-------------------------

Scott hated a cliché. “Time heals all wounds”just wasn’t true, “thinking outside the box”was just dumb, and Gordon’s favourite phrase of “there’s plenty of fish in the sea” was so infuriating it often had Scott biting back sarcastic remarks in reply. Clichés were old and tiring. They were unoriginal and uninspiring. If he ever became president, an outcome that was unlikely despite his brothers constantly not-so-jokingly insisting that he “should run sometime”, he’d sincerely consider banning the usage of them. 

Therefore, walking into that disused mine and being greeted by sleeping bats had him understandably almost turning tail.

It was beyond ironic that he, a famed and skilled vampiric hunter, happened across such a scene. He didn’t dare count, cautious of losing time or becoming too distracted, but Scott estimated hundreds of pipistrelles, all handing upside down from the rafters. If he hadn't known better, he’d have called it a coincidence, but the tip-off they’d received earlier that morning suggested this was anything but.

Suppressing a shiver, he carefully passed the sleeping bats, ducking low to avoid disturbing them and being weary of where he was stepping. The floor was littered with old bolts and broken shards of glass. Every step he took delivered a crunch or a snap, and Scott winced each time, praying to an unknown deity that he wouldn’t awake the winged creatures. Night had already fallen and Scott was aware they’d be waking up themselves fairly shortly.

He had long since passed through the adit and had entered the mine proper. Tunnels had led him further and further, deeper and deeper, and the darkness was beginning to press in on him. When he had arrived, the sun had already long since set below the horizon. Cloud cover had meant there was no moonlight to help guide him, so Scott had made his way over to the entrance of the mine with the help of his torch. 

There was something about the mine that had him on edge, and it wasn’t purely because he was alone in the middle of nowhere.  His crossbow that hung over his shoulder was tugged closer, fingers biting into the leather strap that connected the weapon to the holster it was attached to. It was his most trusted trade tool and he never left for a mission without it. Scott trusted it so much, in fact, that he rarely brought another weapon out into the field with him, besides his basic hunting knife. Perhaps it was a foolish move during solo missions, but most of the time, on those specific occasions, Scott saw enough sense to carry extra weaponry.

It wasn’t needed tonight as this wasn’t a solo mission.  Virgil was on his way to provide necessary back-up, only Scott, as usual, had simply raced ahead. It was the arrogance of being certain he could handle whatever was about to be thrown into his face that had fuelled that decision, no matter how much Virgil had pleaded with him to just wait for once. If the tip-off was correct, Scott wouldn’t need back-up from his baby brother. It would be a simple retrieval mission. In and out, home in time for dinner…

Oh, he despised clichés! That was almost as good as nothing could possibly go wrong, and Scott knew how dangerous it was to say that line.

The further he went into the mine, however, the more Scott’s confidence waned. There was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind that had him questioning how wise it had been to bolt ahead. He tried to ignore the sceptic thoughts. There was currently no reason to have any worries about the mission, besides the bats perhaps, but even then, it wasn’t so uncommon to find the winged creatures in old mine buildings.

Before he’d left, John had run a full and detailed analysis of the message — once bitten, twice shy and all that. (Then again, in John’s case, thrice shy might have been more appropriate, though the less said about that, the better.) Nevertheless his brother was always thorough with his investigations, so when he returned to him with the licit figure of ninety per cent, assuring him that this tip-off was trustworthy and not a trap, Scott had no reason to doubt him.

He hadn’t doubted him at all… not until he’d entered the godforsaken place.

Scott ducked into a dug out side room. Inches of dust layered almost every surface, and chains and broken bits of wood strewn across the floor. A desk stood on one side of the room. Scott crossed over, examining the mountains of paperwork that had been abandoned when the mine had closed down decades ago. The sheets were tainted, soiled from time and grime. He began to leaf through them slowly, careful not to disturb too much of the dust. His torch shone beams of light onto the various pieces of parchment, highlighting scrawny handwriting and typed up messages. He didn’t read them, merely scanning the words and numbers for anything that might provide a clue as to why they’d been given the tip-off for here exactly.

As far as the data International Rescue had, the area was not known to be a vampire hot-spot. Being in the middle of nowhere, and thus without a steady flow of hot blood, it was not an ideal place for a nest. Experience, however, had Scott batting away the assumptions. It was never wise to lay any claim when it came to the Night Walkers. 

It wouldn’t have been too much to assume that this could be an elaborate trap of some kind. The thought had first crossed Scott’s mind the moment he’d set eyes on the hundreds of pipistrelles hanging from the ceiling. Nevertheless, he kept up his search. The clue had to be around somewhere, he just needed to find it.

The unbound sheets offered him no help and he dropped them to the floor one by one, dust particles rising as he did so. The specks irritated his throat and Scott found himself wishing he’d brought along a small bottle of water with him. He cleared his throat a few times as quietly as possible, still not convinced he wasn’t alone in the mine, but after inhaling a rather petulant granule, he succumbed to a violent coughing fit. His eyes watered and his breathing became erratic, but he soon managed to regain his composure. Scott wiped the tear trails from his cheeks with the back of his hand and continued on his search.

The dirtiest item on the desk was a large ledger. Scott opened it in a more methodic manner than he had dropped the parchment, fearful of breathing in another round of irritant dust. Yellowed paper greeted him, blank ink scrawling out lists of names. There must have been hundreds. Scott scanned them, the tip of his finger brushing against the sheets, collecting black dust. Some names had been crossed out with a simple line, while others had been violently scribbled. On occasion, the pen had clearly gone through the paper. 

“You won’t find the answers you’re looking for in there.”

Scott slammed the registry book shut and whirled around to face the newcomer. The shadowed figure stood in the doorway to the alcoved room, just out of sight, but he recognised the voice; cold, calculating and bitter. The words had been spoken in his head. She never did miss an opportunity to show off her telepathy skills.

“I can’t say I’m surprised that 47 sent you.” He replied, calm and casual. He’d be damned if he let the trepidation get the better of him, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her notice it.

“47 doesn’t know either of us are here. If I’m being honest, I’m hurt you won’t give me credit where it’s due.”

As the realisation clicked, Scott’s lips curved into a lazy smile. He shone the flashlight straight into her face, and Marion Van Arkel hissed and recoiled, momentarily blinded.

But Scott did not move to attack.

“He won’t be happy to know you’ve been planning your own missions.”

“He doesn’t need to know.”

“Still,” Scott continued, gesturing to the rotten rafters and girders, “you picked a nice place for an ambush. A mine? Nice touch, Van Arkel.”

Marion, her sight having returned to near perfect vision, advanced towards him. Her heeled boots clicked across the debris-littered floor and her lips twisted into a smug smirk. Whether they were red from paint or from blood, Scott couldn’t tell.

“I thought it would a fitting location to finally end this game of cat and mouse, no? Full circle, or whatever it is they say.”

God, how he hated clichés.

“Still hurt about your family going out of business?” To his credit, Scott attempted to sound as sincere as possible as he delivered the derision.

Marion, however, sensed his mockery and glowered. She stopped in her tracks, her arms folding across her chest in an overly exaggerated manner. “No thanks to you, I might add.”

He let out a low whistle, clearly amused by her discontent. “An heiress to a dead company. I'd offer you my condolences but I’m afraid I have no pity left to give.”

“You had plenty to give the humans—”

“They were innocent people!”

“They had no idea what was happening to them!” Marion retorted sharply. “Being enthralled means they know nothing.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” He frowned, scowling in disgust at her attempts to defend her family’s actions. “It’s a fate worse than death in some cases. They don’t call it Eternal Nightmares for nothing, you know!”

She caught sight of his altered demeanour, heard how his tone changed from taunting to revulsion, and Marion Van Arkel did what she did best; she pounced on it.  “Does that make you angry? To think about all those humans you’d failed to save from these Eternal Nightmares, as you put it?” She approached him slowly, her eyes glazed over with humour, laughing at his loathing. Some things never changed.

“You lured me here.” Scott changed topic, unwilling to allow her to jump onto his discomfort and use it to her advantage. “You lured me without the go ahead from your boss. Why?”

“I told you.” Marion lowered her voice to a whisper. “To end our game!”

“All you’ve done since you’ve got here is talk.”

“Do you not like talking?”

“Well, I fail to see how it will ‘end our game’.”

“All in good time, hunter. Patience is a virtue.”

Scott bit his tongue. If he heard one more damned cliché—!

His smile returned, easy and warm, without a trace of irritation. Marion’s words had left him feeling uneasy but all he had to do was wait, as she so instructed. Perhaps talking was good. It gave Virgil time to reach them… Not that he needed the back-up! Marion Van Arkel was a slippery vampire, one who Scott had been at odds with on a number of occasions over the last few years, but she was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Still, he’d have been lying if he said he wouldn’t have felt more at ease knowing there was someone else fighting in his corner.

“I’ve never been good at patience, Van Arkel.”

“So I’ve surmised. It’ll be your downfall, you know? You’ll rush ahead, just as you did tonight, so desperate to get the job over and done with, only one day you won’t get out of it. One day, you’ll lose.”

His cocky grin returned, full and flourishing. “And you believe today is that day?”

“I can hope.” Her finger, cold and slender, ran down the length of his jaw line,

Something twinkled in her eyes, something that made Scott feel uncomfortable, like he was left out of a joke and the punchline was soon to come and hit him unawares. 

“I can handle one vampire, Marion, especially if its you.”

He couldn’t let her think his guard was down for a second. Scott tilted his head, observing her curiously. If she hadn’t been a Night Walker, he might have thought her rather pretty. Indeed, he had tried to charm her the first night they’d met, before she’d attempted to eat him. The memory only made his smirk grow wider.

“Remind me again, Van Arkel, how many of our fights have you won?”

Scott paused for her to answer. Of course, she didn’t. He hadn’t expected her too. He watched as her twinkling eyes narrowed into a glare and refrained from chuckling, answering his own question for her. “Zero, wasn’t it?”

“That changes tonight!”

Marion threw the first punch. It was feral and angry, and it carried her forwards as Scott ducked out of the line of impact. She was quick to recover however, and before Scott had the chance to gain an upper-hand, Marion was lunged towards him again. Scott deflected every blow, attempting to land a few himself, but Marion was just as talented a fighter as he was. 47 trained his minions well, and Marion was no exception. She wasn’t as fast as some vampires, but she was still learning.

Legs kicked and bodies leapt, punches struck their marks and blood was left in their wake. Breathless but neither willing to back down, Scott and Marion continued their fight for minutes before she slipped up again, only this time Scott had been prepared.

As Marion stumbled, losing some of her balance after a particularly nasty hit, Scott circled around her. He caught her one of her arms and pulled it backwards, up her spine and into an arm lock. Then, with all his weight, he pushed them both forwards. Within seconds, Scott had her pressed against the rock-face, her second arm pinned at an awkward angle between her body and the wall.

“I don’t think it does.” Scott couldn’t help but smile arrogantly.

Though she was a vampire, and thus possessing vampiric strength, Marion was still classed as, what the hunters called, a Baby Vamp. Less than fifty years old and still learning and developing the traits that often gave vampires the advantages in a fight, Marion couldn’t struggle out of his hold, no matter how much she tried to.

“The night is not over yet, Tracy!”

“You don’t have to be like this. I know you know this is wrong. Marion, please.”

Despite his winning position, and at the risk of sounding like he wasn’t confident in his abilities, Scott had never been above begging. No matter who he was fighting, no matter what harm they had already done, he always gave them the option of redemption. He had seen vampires redeem themselves, albeit very few, and knew it was possible. Being so young, Marion was a prime contender for International rescue’s rehabilitation scheme. All she had to do was say yes.

She never did, however. Tonight was no different.

“You know nothing, Scott Tracy. Let me go!”

Marion struggled against his hold again, desperate to be free of him, but Scott held firm.

“No chance. All I have to do is keep you here until my brother arrives, and then—”

He was unable to finish his sentence. The sound of distant rocks falling echoed through to the alcove. The rumbling became closer and closer.

Marion, still struggling to free herself, began to laugh.

Capitalising on his momentary distractedness, she easily kicked his feet out from under him. To save himself from falling, Scott had no choice but to loosen his hold, but by doing so, Marion was able to finally slip out from his grasp. She delivered a swift kick to his exposed stomach, causing him to stumble to his knees and winding him in the process. As he tried to catch his breath, she sauntered over.

“You make my final win too easy.” Marion lowered herself to his level and pressed her rouged lips to his own. “I’d say let’s try again, go another round, but I’m afraid we’re out of time.”

Scott instinctively licked his lips. He stood to his full height once again, Marion backtracking a few steps. Her grin was wide and wild, not unlike it had been when she’d first entered. It was the smile of a smug winner, although Scott hadn’t bowed out of the fight just yet.

“Who said I let you win?” He slid his crossbow into position. Loaded with a single wooden dart he aimed it directly at Marion’s chest, above her defunct heart. 

To his surprise, she did not attempt to evade his shot.

But she didn’t need to.

In an instant, Scott’s vision blurred, his legs weakening. The crossbow was lowered before he even had the chance to fire it. He blinked, long and hard in hope that it would cure his bleary sight, but when his eyes opened again, Marion had become two fuzzy outlines. 

His fingers reached up to his lips.

His heart sank with dread.

“What did you do?”

“Alright, maybe you didn’t let me win, but don’t think I didn’t notice how easy you let me get the best of you this time. It’s a shame, you know? I had been hoping you’d best me just one more time, that our game of cat and mouse didn’t have to end tonight.”

The crossbow fell from Scott’s grip and dangled at his side. He crashed to his knees as they finally gave out and Marion, assessing it was safe for her to approach him again, did so. She unhooked the crossbow from his baldric and examined it curiously.

“This is such a funny contraption, so outdated. I would have thought you’re genius scientist would have created something more modern for you.” She threw it to the side, wood splintering as it hit the ground. “Still, it’s not like you’ll need it again.”

“What… did you… do?” Scott tried to ask her again but his words seemed to fade before he had the chance to fully realise them.

He started to sag to the side but Marion caught him before he fell. Helping to lower him to the floor, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “It’s just a mild tranquilliser, don’t be so dramatic! You’ll be back to your normal self again in around half an hour… not that you’ll live that long.”

Scott could feel his heart quicken. Her cold, slender fingers stretched out across his chest; of course she could sense his fear.

“What… does that… mean? What… have you…?”

“Shush, now. You know, I am sorry it had to end like this…”

“Marion!” Another voice yelled from the tunnels beyond. Scott barely heard them call out, his senses slowly fading. It was another female by the sounds of it, though one he hadn’t heard before… Or maybe he had? Thinking was becoming a problem.

“Hurry up before you get trapped in there!”

“I’m coming!” Marion yelled in reply.

Scott winced.

“Like I said, it is a shame it has to end this way, Scott Tracy.” Marion brushed her fingers gently across his forehead, causing him to shiver. “We could have had so much fun, you and me, but alas, it was not meant to be.”

She stood, blowing him one last kiss, before she sprinted for the exit.

Scott laid in the silence. His eyes slipped shut and he could feel himself slowly fading away to the darkness. Half an hour Marion had said… but why had she dragged him all this way just to send him to sleep? What did she mean he wouldn’t live that long?

By the time the realisation would have hit, as the mine collapsed in on itself, Scott was mercifully unconscious. He didn’t feel the rubble crash down on him, he didn’t notice the pain from the various injuries the accident had dealt him, and he didn’t hear Virgil calling out for him as he painfully dug through the rubble in search of his brother.

There was nothing, and that, he would suppose, was a blessing.

… Damned clichés!

[scott-tracy-1]

I love this ship. Hey thunderfam, how do we fell about the ship name nuclear rocket?

[hisfedora]

WILLIE SCOTT SLANDER / HATE ISN'T ALLOWED HERE!! I LOVE THAT WOMAN AND I DON'T CARE IF SHE DOESN'T FIT YOUR FIGHTER TYPE. SHE IS TALENTED AND BEAUTIFUL!!!

[edutainer2022]

In commemoration of the recent bomber drone hit on Chornobyl  reactor sarcophagus, I absolutely had to do a thing. The GDF ask Scott to step out of his comfort zone and are shady, undeclared wars loom treacherous and deadly amid Global Peace, Jeff is dealing with memories worse than I expected. The Radioactive Trio are my bosom darlings, so maybe there will be a Part 2.

Always hugs and thanks to @janetm74 for talking all the wayward ideas through with me.

DÉJÀ VU

His father's face was somber and taut in the bluish hues of the wrist com - a rare occurrence after his return to them. That alone made Scott speed up the jog back to the villa.

It wasn't unusual for Dad to be up early lately, to see Gordon off to his first swim of the day and to catch Scott back from the morning run. They'd share a coffee (decaf for Dad), a chat about orders of business for the day, maintenance or training plans, and a centering, tentative sense of normalcy that had just ever entered their routine on the island before Zero-X ripped Dad away from them for years. Things weren't the same - Scott was the one with more information now and a decisive vote on the agenda of their family, but it was a start. For the first time in almost a decade Scott felt like the day ahead wasn't about to swallow him whole, like he could share at least some of the burden without apprehension or guilt. Almost without, that is.

The pit of unease and worry was growing in his stomach now. Dad would never have called him through the run without good reason. At first Scott panicked it was Dad's health, still very far from pre Oort Cloud bottomline, but the monitor and Eos would have alerted him sooner. Dad's face was inscrutable, his words clipped and dry. He needed Scott in the study ASAP, not the lounge, for some reason, so Scott accelerated up the rocky path back to the villa. Shower was obviously not an option, although he was sweating buckets. Years of growing up in Jeff Tracy's household, however, made him pause a second in front of the door, wipe the sweat away with the hem of his old Yale t-shirt and attempt to comb fingers through the hair, damp and curling in spikes every which way. Not that it helped much.

The study, which first Jeff, and then Scott favored for important conference calls and other business matters that couldn't withstand the bustle and hustle of the lounge and other communal areas, was now dominated by a hologram of Colonel Casey. Dad's face was positively grim as Jeff stood up to greet him. The maw of anxiety was by then snapping with teeth of steel in his gut.

Dad clasped a hand over his shoulder, a brief but welcome comfort, as he steered Scott to take his place at the desk. Scott nodded in a brief greeting as his father repositioned himself with an effort in the armchair by the wall, suddenly looking older than he usually did in the mornings. It didn't help that Aunt Val's face was serious, edges of her face hard and sharp.

"Colonel Casey."

"Scott! I need to request your help."

"Sure, what's the situation?"

He glanced across the room at Dad in mild bewilderment, as typically the GDF would not hesitate to forward initial data and rescue specs to John up in Five. The need to know was beginning to unnerve him.

"There's been a localized breach in the dome of the outer protective sarcophagus over the fourth reactor of the Chornobyl nuclear power plant."

That was... not good, by any yardstick. The abandoned and sealed reactor had been a radioactive hotzone for almost eighty years by then.

Colonel Casey droned on, as if reading off a script.

"The repairs require high altitude certified responders with experience in contaminated areas."

Yep, that sounded like a job description for him, alright. Fly in One, seal the dome up top, submit radiation readings from the patch for inspection, fly back. If he left now, he'd be home on the island in time for breakfast. Worst case scenario, he'd have to wait around for Virgil in Two to help with putting out the fire. The hardest part would be to wake Virg up this early. He glanced up with a ready smile, but Colonel Casey wasn't meeting his eyes. His father was sitting ramrod straight and still, hands gripping the cane.

"There's something else, Scott."

There always was! He gave the Colonel room to continue with an expectant silence.

"I know you made your stance very clear on NOT deploying International Rescue as law enforcement and I respect that."

For some reason it felt like Casey was addressing his father more so than himself.

"But under the circumstances, I have to request that you assisted the GDF investigation on site".

The pit in his stomach grew wider.

"Under the the circumstances?"

Colonel Casey paused, as if weighing her options one last time. Jeff's death grip on the cane turned his knuckles white and skeletal.

"We have reasons to believe the breach didn't occur by natural causes... or a local sabotage."

He was about five when the Big War erupted the first time. He'd been to a warzone since then - memories he'd rather not touch willingly. He knew the dill. If it wasn't wear and tear, or a disgruntled extremist with a dynamite pack... it was...

"We suspect the dome was damaged due to a collision with a high velocity unguided aircraft."

A drone. To breach the layers of concrete, designed to contain radiation for centuries to come, the drone had to carry a hefty payload. To direct a bomber drone at the one object under protection of the Global Peace Treaty for the exact purpose of avoiding a continent-wide nuclear catastrophe meant one thing. A war.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut against a rapid onset of a headache and a creeping panic. He caught a glimpse of Dad doing the same in his chair. Five rhythmic breaths later - one for each brother and Dad - he ventured to face Colonel Casey again.

"How can I assist the GDF investigation, Colonel?"

Surprisingly, Aunt Val's face softened in a shadow of a smile.

"I need you to oversee our investigators and be a liaison between the GDF team and the local authorities and rescue services."

"Liaison?"

"Translator, Scott. You speak astronaut Russian and..."

Colonel Casey paused, but it was his godmother Val, who went a shade paler. Scott himself stifled a chill, although the study was perfectly climate controlled. He also spoke Bereznikian. He was semi-fluent, through no will of his own, in the crude amalgamation of Ukrainian, Polish and Hungarian. That Place was still reaching back to haunt and taunt him. To reassert its grip.

In the chair across the room his father hunched in on himself.

"I don't have to tell you any findings of the investigation are strictly classified. We need to keep it all under wraps, for now."

He could guess as much. Same as he was having a very good hunch who the GDF expert investigators in the radioactive exclusion zone would be. Maybe Aunt Val expected him to do a bit more than just "liaise with local authorities". "Keep an eye on young Cameron and make sure Marion doesn't do anything hasty and reckless, that could cause another Global Conflict", more like. Easier said than done. But he had never backed off a challenge in his life.

"Copy that, Colonel! Forward me the rendezvous coordinates and I'll be there in One. It'll be fastest."

Aunt Val was obviously pleased he was quick to read between the lines.

"You'll meet Leutenant Van Arkle and Corporal Ortíz at an airbase in Katowice, then fly from there to Chornobyl."

Scott frowned for a second. His father's face a mirror of his own concern. The GDF were willing to draw attention to the impact site with One of the IR fame swoooshing in over the megapolis to the Exlusion Zone, but not advertise the involvement of their own officers. That could never point to anything comforting. Two tagging along for the ride was out of the question now too. So Scott would have to prepare for any eventuality without backup.

He was up on his feet in time for Colonel Casey's hologram to blink out. Dad was getting up too, a lot slower. Jeff's eyes were ill, haunted, hoarse voice thick.

"You don't have to do it, son. You don't have to go there."

As far as Scott was concerned, he didn't really have a choice. Someone attacked a still hot, faulty nuclear reactor. Scott wanted to reassure Dad it wasn't That Place. Only it was a demilitirized zone in Eastern Europe, several miles away from the border with a rogue dictatorship, in the middle of a forest still rigged with field mines and littered with undetonated missiles, with multiple unknown hostile factors and agents on the ground. The parallels were hard to ignore, so his own fingers were going numb with long repressed dread.

Scott stepped around the desk and gave his father a swift, fierce hug. For a brief moment it felt like Dad wouldn't let him go. But arms, suddenly frail, fell back and Scott hurried out. He still needed a shower before heading to his macabre destination. "No thieves or dangerous radiation" was, apparently, not in the cards. Again.

[now-and-4ever]

Some relationship and child headcanons for OLBA side characters.

Terry and Miranda do not end up getting kids. However, they do give tons of gifts to Cove's kid every Christmas.

I am almost certain that Liz is somewhere on the aroace spectrum. She never gets a boyfriend or married, but Shiloh becomes her platonic life partner.

If Lee's singing career takes off she gets together with an actor while working on a song for a film. They have a wonderful relationship and have two kids.

After Liz and the MC leave home Pamela and Noelani seriously consider adopting a third kid because they miss having one in the house. They ultimately decide against it, but when the MC has a kid they become the ultimate grandmas.

Jude and Scott adopt a kid one day. You better believe they raise that kid to be a gamer.

Nicolas ends up being part of a polycule. It just feels right.

Jeremy eventually gets together with JB. If I knew more about XOXO I'd be able to elaborate.