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Canon: Power Rangers
Wordcount: approx. 400
Prompt: Power Rangers, Kimberly Hart, Balance
There are thousands of people watching the floor. They try to be silent but every move they make, every breath they breathe, every beat of their collective hearts resonates through her like a gust of wind. It’s deafening. Then there’s the pressure of their eyes, each trained on her, watching every graceful move of her hands and feet, probing for what is real but stopping at the stereotype they find so appealing. The knowledge that millions more are represented by each dark and shining camera is like a weight on her shoulders.
She rolls them back, mentally brushing away the roar of sound and the judging weight. They don’t bother her. She’s worked half her life for this moment and nothing will shake her calm.
A girl from her own team fell only moments ago. The commentators make no excuses, accepting it as a fact of the event. Kim doesn’t agree. The girl lived her whole life in the sheltered world of her mother’s arms, going to gymnastics practice every day for long hours and coming home to a nice warm bed. Such a steady routine is a recipe for safety and contentment, but that won’t win anyone gold.
With almost no thought to what’s about to happen she moves, performing what will no doubt be deemed a difficult maneuver. She trusts her body, it has its own instincts that this life of training and competition could never have taught her. It’s her other life, the one of battle and pain and silent cries in the night that has readied her for this day.
Her coach spent hours trying to break her of the risks she takes during the high jumps, the twists and flips that are more dangerous than they have to be, but he never understood. She’s flying. In that moment when she’s suspended between earth and sky she’s a graceful arch of a creature, long lost to this world and rejoicing in this precious reawakening; she’s a bolt of pink on the bright blue sky, showing off to all the land-bound creatures.
And then her foot hits the beam and she’s a girl again, nothing more. But that’s boring and the warrior within her makes the next move, longing for the sky and the danger that comes with it.
When it ends she’ll be stuck on the ground, the hero trapped behind a mask of her own making, but for now she’s content to let the two balance.
Canon: Star Trek (TOS or AOS)
Wordcount: approx. 750
Prompt: Star Trek (XI/TOS); Janice Rand; Anything can be a weapon if you're holding it right.
She’s been up for exactly thirty-nine hours when she finally, blessedly, reaches her quarters. This little skirmish with the Klingons had amounted to nothing more than one of their ships showing up on the edges of their sensors just often enough to cause a new alert. She swears, if she had to bring Kirk one more report today she would feed it to him.
She rests against the door for only a moment before pushing herself upright and blindly stripping off her clothes. Even if she cared enough to turn on the lights it wouldn’t matter, her eyes aren’t opening again anytime soon. The zipper of her uniform slides gently open and she lets the small dress fall to her feet, stepping out of it on her way to the dresser.
She’s always been good with spaces. She could walk every hall in the Enterprise blindfolded and has no trouble avoiding the few obstacles in her room.
The pins from her hair - the ones she finds before another wave of exhaustion hits her anyway - scatter on the dresser top and the mass of curls falls down her back. Belatedly, she remembers that she’s still wearing her bra and smiles in anticipation of the feeling of freedom that always comes from taking it off. She reaches for the clasps at her back and red light peeks past her eyelids.
One moment of self-pity is all she allows herself, laying her arms on the dresser with a low moan. She opens her eyes and turns to gather her fallen uniform. She doesn’t reach it though, before sparks fly near her door and someone pushes into the room.
They’ve been boarded. And she’s in her underwear. Of course.
The Klingon pauses in the darkness, his eyes unused to the light. She has no such problems. She hasn’t yet taken off her boots and thanks whatever brilliant soul decided heels were a good addition to Starfleet uniforms. She drives her heel into his stomach and then drives her pointed toe up into his chin when he doubles over. One roundhouse kick to his reeling head is all it takes to put him on the ground.
Before she can celebrate the small victory she’s hit from the side with so much force that she flies onto the bed. Dazed, she finds herself underneath a Klingon, his eyes fixed squarely on her chest. Ugh.
Instinct tells her to fight back but she forces it down, running a hand through her hair vulnerably and putting on her best doe eyes, the same ones that she gave Bruce van Meck that night in high school after drinking a bit too much. The Klingon makes much the same sound van Meck did, when his lust distracts him and she drives one of the remaining hair pins into his ear. Van Meck just got a knee to the groin, but the sound is still somehow the same. She doesn’t pause to wonder at the oddity of men’s vocal patters - though she’ll discuss it with Chris over drinks when this is all over - but springs over the edge of the bed, tumbling over and coming to her feet, her uniform in her hands, just as the bastard gets up.
He lunges at her, the movement disjointed due to his sudden loss of equilibrium, and she dodges easily aside, wrapping the red fabric around his throat as she does. He grunts and chokes and scratches at her exposed arms, stomps on her feet, but she doesn’t let up the pressure. Her hands are fisted in skirt and sleeves, twisting incrementally as his body writhes against the solid force hers provides. When he finally drops she waits, counting out seconds until she’s sure he isn’t faking.
His body falls to the floor with a dull thud and she makes for the desk across the room where she keeps a phaser hidden.
She glances back and sees Kirk standing in the doorway, phaser in hand. The light flows around him to illuminate the fallen two invaders. He turns to her and shock turns to a comical grin.
“Did you just kill a man with your uniform?”
She smirks and grabs the phaser from a drawer. “If it’s the first time,” she says, closing the drawer with a jaunty pop of her hip, “then I’ll be very ashamed.”
She steps towards him, slipping the uniform back over her head and turning in a silent request that he zip up the back. “The other one’s still alive,” she says when she's fully clothed once more. “Orders, sir?”
Title: Love Without Limits
Wordcount: approx. 550
Prompt: Roswell; Maria Deluca; When you love without limits then you shall be free.
“What are you thinking about?” Liz asks.
They’re laying on a blanket in the sand, the fire long since dead behind them, their companions nearly all asleep. The two of them have been content to watch the endless desert sky in silence up till now.
“Don’t start,” Maria says, more out of exhaustion than annoyance.
“Don’t start what?”
“If I tell you that I’m just looking at the stars you’ll start in on who’s up there and we’ll spend all night worrying about who else might be up there and odds are they'll want us dead. Even if we are just making them up.”
There's a long pause and then, “You’re probably right. Sorry.”
Maria sighs, she didn’t want to make Liz feel bad. “What were you thinking of?” she asks.
“How we got here.”
Maria hears her shift and turns her head to see Liz on her side, staring at her.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“And miss out on all the fun?” Maria asks with a laugh. They left New Mexico two days ago, their flight up till now too hectic to stop and talk about what exactly they were doing.
“You know what I mean,” Liz says seriously. “You’re the only one here who’s not -”
Maria can see her wince in the moonlight, ashamed of what she hasn’t yet said. She’s not sure how to answer, because Liz is wrong. Sure, Maria doesn’t have alien powers and she’s never been healed so she’s not gonna get any, but she’s still one of them. She’s still changed.
She’s here for the same reason she didn’t walk away years ago when all this started. Her heart held her there. She couldn’t walk away from her best friend, the closest thing to a sister she was ever going to find.
Over the years they each got a bit of her heart, as much as she tried to fight it. Isabel’s a pain and Max broke Liz’s heart and Kyle is like the puppy that wouldn’t leave them alone, but she loves them despite all that. She’s been through hell for this family of hers and she’s not about to let it go now, when it’s at its most vulnerable.
If she rolls over and lifts up on her elbows she could see him, keeping watch atop a nearby ridge. But she doesn’t. She can feel Michael, like a low murmur beneath her own heartbeat. He’s the most annoying one of all, not in small part because he’s got more of her than any of the others and she’s not sure just when she gave it to him or if he stole it away some dark night without her knowing. Regardless, she focuses on him and swears she can feel him turn to look at her. Annoyed, naturally.
She smirks at the stars and turns back to Liz, who by now is worrying her lip and watching the sky turn above them. What can she say to relieve Liz’s worry? Yes, they’ve left behind every ounce of security they ever had. Yes, they’ll probably spend the rest of their lives running like animals. No, they never can go back to Roswell or ever see their families ever again.
Maria reaches out and touches Liz’s shoulder, startling her. She holds her gaze for several moments before steadily saying, “This is home.”