blake nguyen is an omega-level mutant with the ability of war embodiment. she’s been in new york for twelve years where she spends most of her time as a movie stuntwoman & combat choreographer and mutant rights activist. when i think of her, i think of clothes on the floor covered in grit, childhood trophies gathering layers of dust, and the sharp scent of gunpowder. she is affiliated with no one ( neutral ). || ( levy tran, thirty-three, cis female, she/her ) [ alex, 30+, they/them, cst, n/a ]
At 5, Blake's ability manifests. For the next 13 years, she collects forms of combat (and tournament trophies). Eventually, she turns to MMA.
At 21, Blake outs herself as a mutant a couple of years after the presidential address. She's expelled from the MMA circuit, and a whirlwind and very public legal battle follows.
At 25, she watches as the health of her childhood friend, Iditri, deteriorates. Towards the end, she also has an affair with Iditri's husband, Hriday.
At 31, Iditri passes away and Hriday, now Louis, drops out of Blake's life.
At 33, Blake has been working as a movie stuntwoman and combat choreographer for 11 years. She is also a vocal mutant rights activist.
I.
Blake is born with fire in her veins, a sweet child with a surprisingly violent streak. Her parents, supportive but confused, put her through more mundane attempts at management — meditation, therapy — before they hesitantly let their child lean into the impulse. They enroll her in jiu-jitsu, figuring Blake could do worse than a focus on subduing over attacking. The girl falls in love with the sport, and meets someone who should have become a lifelong friend: Iditri.
II.
Iditri is the calm to Blake’s storm, the light to her dark. Her tranquility is paramount to the person Blake grows into: strong but kind, a protector instead of a bully. Even if her temperament evens out, Blake never stops fighting and never stops learning how. She burns through every form of hand-to-hand combat she can, picking each up at breakneck speed. Every tournament she enters, she wins. Her parents think she is talented, gifted; eventually, they will learn she is a mutant.
III.
As Blake grows older and more facets of her ability develop, her home life becomes strained. Her fears and frustrations no longer just affect her, spreading to her family — her parents and her brothers — with less than a thought. Blake begins to need bigger, more challenging outlets for the fight roiling in her chest. She abandons stuffy, organized martial arts tournaments and enters the MMA circuit practically a child still, dubbed a prodigy, and she loves every second of it with bruised knuckles and bloodied smiles.
IV.
Everything evens out, for a while. Blake has her niche, and Iditri finds hers in schooling. The two remain on close but parallel tracks, always different but always together. Blake crashes parties on a college campus that doesn’t belong to her, stirring trouble and prompting chaos just to see her friend smile. Together, they meet Hriday, and their duo becomes a trio. Never one for jealousy, Blake loves Hriday as much as she does Iditri, and wouldn’t do anything but encourage and nurture their fledgling relationship.
V.
Blake has some difficulty growing up, but Iditri never does. She and Hriday marry, and eventually, albeit accidentally, along comes Khevna. Three is now four; Blake is named godmother, and for a time, everything is blissfully perfect. But bliss never lasts forever: the presidential address exposes mutants, and people begin to talk. Blake fends off the rumors for as long as she can — how she rose through the ranks of her fighting class so fast, so young — but ultimately sees no choice other than to get out in front of them. She exposes herself as a mutant, and is immediately dismissed from the MMA circuit. A lawsuit promptly follows, whirlwind and agonizingly public, and Blake ultimately loses — the battle, but not the war. Her open and unapologetic nature unofficially nominates her as a prominent mutant rights activist, and Blake takes up a different kind of fight.
VI.
The painful irony is that Blake’s body only grows stronger as Iditri’s begins to deteriorate. They both feared this time would come; they had only hoped that if it did, it would be later. Iditri is young, Khevna is younger, and there’s nothing anyone can do. Blake hates that, for all she can manipulate fear, she can't take away her own. She can’t fight what she can’t see.
VII.
███ ██████ ████ ███ ███ ████████ ████ ███ ███ ███████ ████ ██████ ██████ █████████ ████ ████ ██████████. ████████ ████ ██ ███ ████████ █████████. We all know how this part of the story goes. ███ █████ ████ ██ ████ ██ ████████ █████ ████████, ██ ████ █ ██████ █████ ██ █████ ██ █████████ ███████.
VIII.
Iditri passes away, as they say: not with a bang, but with a whimper. Blake isn’t there when it happens, and maybe that’s for the best. She doesn’t have to taste the bitter-sharp tang of fresh death at the back of her throat, not radiating off of her best friend. Hriday disappears from her life just as suddenly, and Blake doesn’t have the heart to stop him; it’s selfish, too, entirely selfish not wanting to face what they’ve done. She misses him and she misses Khevna, but understands that this is a path they have to face alone — and so does she.
“Hi, yeah, let me save all of us some precious time on this—” Blake leans in to grab the man’s card — she can see it has ‘Brad’ scribbled at the top, which seems too on-the-nose for the beefcake ( barely ) dressed as a Chippendale dancer. “—Brad. You’re not her type.” She scribbles in the ‘no’ box across from Stevie’s name, slaps the card against his muscular chest with a patronizing smile, and then shoos him out of the chair before he can gather the brain cells to protest. “Yeah, and I’m taking your time. Thanks, sweet cheeks.”
Dropping herself into the now-vacant chair as Brad wanders off in a dull confusion, Blake grins as she leans over the table and pecks a quick kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. “Hey, babe. Some real winners tonight, huh?” She holds up her own card, pointing across from Stevie’s name. “I’ve preemptively marked you down as a ‘yes,’ but you can still try to impress me, if you want.”
“I need you to know that I’m doing that ‘helloooo-ooo nurse’ thing in my head, but out of respect of your profession, I’m keeping it to myself.” Blake smiles broadly, straightening up in her chair and giving the ears of her costume a little tug so they stand up, if only for a moment. “But maybe what I need is more of a vet.” Is that even supposed to be a pick-up line? If so, it’s not exactly her best work.
31st October, 1998; Boo’ed Up || @atticus-bellefield
Blake’s still penciling down a few ( unflattering ) notes about the last idiot that vacated the seat across from her when it's already got a new occupant, and she has to do a double-take at his costume before she laughs. “Hey, check us out! Points for unintentional coordination, right?”
“Well, well!” Blake beams unabashedly as she settles herself into the seat opposite Jackie, leaning back with the weight of earned confidence and a couple of drinks. She brings the mental tally of ‘people here I’ve already slept with’ to three. “I think we might be doing this whole thing a little backwards, don’t you?”
31st October, 1998; Boo’ed Up || @persuasivewhispers
“Damn, girl,” Blake says with a grin as she slaps her card on the table, giving Tenzin an all-too-obvious once-over. “You’re looking fine as hell, which, get it? Vampire?”
She makes a sweeping gesture to her own costume, clearly quite proud of herself as she sits down. “I hear animal blood isn’t as tasty to your kind, but maybe you can make an exception for tonight.”
“Minh,” Blake snapped, able to sense him far before she was able to see him — not to mention the air that billowed from the open portal, caustic and lukewarm, a feeling she was exceptionally familiar with. “Get your hand away from my hair. And you,” she pointed across the room at Minh’s brother, Ty; his mirror image. “You’re gonna have to be smarter about your portals if you wanna use them in combat. I can always tell exactly where they’re coming from.”
But maybe Blake had the advantage, of both ability and knowing these two idiots for their whole lives.
“Bô bô,” their mother chided, and Blake automatically softened at the nickname, even as she wrinkled her nose.
“I’m just saying,” she muttered under her breath, attention turned back to the next dish she was being handed to dry. She felt the strange feeling of Ty’s portal vanish, and heard Minh’s snicker cut off as it snapped shut.
“They will not be using that for combat,” Hien pressed, and Blake held her free hand up in obedient acquiescence.
It was a touchy subject amongst their family, and had been for years since the full breadth of Blake’s ability had been discovered. Blake’s parents had always been the peaceful, quiet types; Blake had well and truly ruined that for a while when she was little, and her aspect kept overflowing when she experienced even the most minor of inconveniences — as toddlers had a tendency to do. Most toddlers, however, didn’t have a tendency to incite riots.
“They don’t have to, but they should learn how to protect themselves with it,” Blake pressed in return, reaching up to the highest shelf to set aside the vase her aging mother couldn’t normally reach. “The world is scary. Their portals are useful.” She knew the twins didn’t feel the same way, thanks to the… uniqueness of their situation, but Blake couldn’t help but see the inherent value.
“Being normal boys is useful,” Hien began, then pressed her lips into a thin line when Blake banged the cupboard shut with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
Blake took a breath, then another. She crossed back to the sink and accepted the next plate to be dried. “We’re not normal, ma. None of your kids are normal.”
“But you could be.”
“Do they want to be? Or is that just what you want.”
“Bô Bô—”
“Serious question.”
Their mother sighed, resting her hands in the soapy water for a moment and gazing out into the backyard. Minh and Ty were practicing. Blake watched with no small measure of pride as Ty formed a portal Minh could reach through to pluck a crab apple from one of the highest branches.
“I want what’s best for all of you. That’s all a mother ever wants.”
“I love not being normal,” Blake murmurs; not a challenge, just a simple statement of fact. “Ma… getting to use my ability every day is something I love. I think they could love it, too. And they don’t have to do what I do,” she added quickly, since she could see her mother already gearing up in protest. “They don’t have to fight. God, I hope they don’t have to fight,” she said more to herself than anything else. “But you should let them be… them.”
“I do,” Hien started defensively, but could obviously feel the weight of Blake’s skepticism. “I try. But I worry. They show off for other kids at school, and then what? One of their teachers gives them detention for being dangerous, because another boy didn’t understand he couldn’t use Minh’s portals like Ty can.”
Blake reached up to rest her hand on their mother’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “And that sucks. I know it does. But at the end of the day, we’re not responsible for what other people don’t understand about us. And they shouldn’t have to stop doing what they like doing because of it. Just like I shouldn’t have to.”
Hien glanced up at her daughter with a smile, but it was bittersweet. “I know. I promise, I know. But I just—”
“Want what’s best for us, yeah.” Blake wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders, giving her a gentle half-hug. “You just gotta trust me when I tell you, letting us be us is the best thing. They’ll figure it out eventually. I figured it out eventually.”
“After your father and I almost divorced,” Hien pointed out with mock-sullenness. Blake simply laughed. It was good to joke about it now, with over a decade of hindsight behind them.
“Yeah, yeah. And you know what else would be best for me? If you let that die.”
“Absolutely not,” Hein decided smugly, and Blake had no choice but to grin and shake her head, and accept the next plate.
“No. I just like my privacy. Why? You gonna get jealous?” She smirks, promptly stepping on and over a body as she walks through the alley. Jackie, even if she was surrounded by friends and students was always feeling the specter of solitude, of being alone when there was no reason to be. Perhaps Blake, a stranger could always help her with that. There’s nothing for her right now, except ash and bone and the horrible rattling in her chest that signals grief. It all goes to the back of her mind, though, as she focuses on Blake.
Crossing her arms and gesturing towards her leather jacket, there’s a moment of intrigue as she talks about her motorcycle. “Took apart a couple. Don’t tell me you got a Harley stashed somewhere there.”
“Sweetheart,” which Blake only called her because it seemed like the utter antithesis of what this woman was, and Blake liked that. “You haven’t even told me your name, and I’m still inviting you up. Does that make me sound like the jealous type?”
Blake turns lightly on her heels with zero disregard to the mess they're leaving behind, fixing her companion with a mischievous smile. “Kawasaki, actually. The ZX-10R. I prefer something a little sportier.” They exit the alley and Blake gestures to the left, the matte black powerhouse of a sport bike parked unassumingly at the curb. “Trust me, though, you’ll still look amazing sitting on the back.”
As Stevie sighs, long and drawn out, she allows her body to slide down deeper under the covers. When she rolls onto her side (a half-hearted attempt at ‘escaping’ her problems) her nose bumps up against the skin just under Blake’s exposed collarbone. Another sigh escapes her lips before can form enough of a coherent thought together to speak. “I know.” She starts, her arms snaking around her girlfriend’s waist. “You’re right.”
“I can’t fight him tomorrow– it would be a dick move.” Blake was right about everything else, too– but Stevie’s not ready to fully admit to that. “But I can’t really win a physical fight with him any other time, you know? He’s got the advantage there.” Thanks to his one-touch-KO power. “Unless I get some kind of.. slap.. stick? A slapping stick? Is that a thing? Oh! Or one of those really obnoxious clapper toys!” Stevie grins, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and angles her head up from Blake’s chest to meet her eyes in the dim light. “You don’t happen to have some kind of studded.. No.” The sentence is left to drop as she catches the mildly serious glint in Blake’s eyes, her own softening in response.
“I hear you, babe. I really do. The silent treatment isn’t working for anyone. Me, him. Probably not Riley. Apparently not you, either. No one.” The voice that comes out of her next is.. strange. Uncharistically uncertain. Small. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” Stevie goes quiet for a moment; then, eyes meeting Blakes, voice still soft and unsure, “What would you do? In my place? What would you say?”
Blake lets Stevie ramble her way through abuses she can inflict on her brother with a smile that’s equal parts patient and amused, only half-interrupting to brush some of the wayward strands of hair from her forehead. She understands, she honestly does; she has two shitty younger brothers of her own, with their own very specific capacity for destruction. Maybe that’s why Blake believes the Crowes can get through this; she understands exactly why Stevie’s upset, and she agrees, but it’s also hard to imagine anything — anything — ever coming between herself and her brothers, not permanently. Blake has to hope Stevie will ultimately feel the same way.
“Well, first I’d take two shots of whiskey,” Blake starts, and as soon as Stevie is smiling or rolling her eyes ( or both ), she adds, “And I’d be completely fucking honest with him. It’s what he deserves, it’s what you deserve, and it’s the only thing that’s gonna fix this. If you’re upset with Levi because he held some very relevant info back, then he’d have every right to be upset with you if you did the same thing.”
With one arm looped comfortably around Stevie’s shoulders, Blake brings her hand to settle comfortably against her girlfriends face, thumb sweeping softly and reassuringly back and forth. “The truth will set you free, and all that good bullshit. What the two of you need is a good old-fashioned lay-it-all-on-the-table, and then you can both step back, take stock, and get to what needs to happen to fix things.”
A proposition? After a bloody fight? Jackie can’t help but smile at the proposition, a stilted, feral little thing as her eyes scan over Blake and gauges whether or not it was worth it. To go over, to pretend like she’s half-normal. To have a life, however shit it is. A second. Then two. A long thought, before she exhales and relaxes.
“You better have good booze, princess.” She kicks one of them again, probably catching a tooth as he tries to get up. Wiping her knuckles against her jacket, she shoves them back in her pockets, the intrigue in her face all too prevalent. “And I need to clean myself up before I get back to my place.”
There’s a pause as the woman glances Blake over, and Blake simply waits, unapologetic. An exhale comes like an admission, and Blake tilts her head curiously, still smiling. “Full bar, of course. Pick your poison. On the off chance I don’t have it, we can pick it up on the way.”
‘Before I get back to my place.’ Curious. “Got someone waiting for you who doesn’t like the fact you go to town on muggers every now and again?” Blake starts taking a few backwards steps towards the mouth of the alley — at one point she has to step over an arm — and gestures over one shoulder with her thumb. “How do you feel about motorcycles?”
Royal can tell that this runner is seriously sizing him up as she approaches. She’s brave, getting closer than most people would. The keenness in her eyes tells him she’s not some dumb city person though, she just knows how to handle herself. He sniffs the air curiously, but the only scent that grabs his attention is peanut butter – ooh, protein bars.
At her question, he drops his paw, huffs loudly, and gives a very distinct nod. He’s always nice to hikers. It’s hard to smile as a bear without seeming threatening, so instead Royal meets her eyes with his and wiggles his pompom-shaped ears a couple times.
Very slowly, Royal stands. This is always the best part. He pushes off the ground to stand on his hind legs and slowly bows, gesturing with both paws like some sort of doorman urging her to continue on down the trail. He makes sure to hold the pose for a few seconds, long enough that it can’t be passed off as a trick of the eye. Then, he drops back down to all fours and winks at her.
Okay, she knows she’s not imagining it when the bear nods, grinning broadly and watching those fluffy little ears twitch. Well, relatively little. Absolutely nothing about this bear is little, and Blake is used to being one of the taller ones in the room.
The feeling is only amplified when the bear stands, and in spite of herself, Blake gasps. Not because she’s afraid, just because she’s impressed. She approaches with far less caution as the bear drops to all fours again, but not to continue on down the trail as directed. No, her curiosity is way too piqued for that now.
She snorts indelicately when the bear winks. “I bet you’re great at parties, huh? What’s your secret?” Blake starts to reach out to touch what looks like incredibly soft fur, but an ounce of self-awareness ( and self-preservation ) stops her right before her fingers make contact. “Escaped from a circus? Are you one very intelligent animal friend, or are you… something else?” Blake might feel like an idiot for talking to a bear like this alone in the middle of the woods, but hell. She can make crystalline weaponry from her own body. Weirder fucking things have happened in this world.
who: @the-amazing-blake
what: ur typical cofee/tea/etc starter only the connection isn’t typical :\
where: some coffee or tea or whatever shop ! whatever she would have !
a familiar voice. instinct almost caused him to hide, to avoid seeing the source… but growth kept him in place, their last conversation playing in his mind. between the two of them, there were so many ‘would’s and ‘could’s…
at the front of the line, he overheard that familiar order that belonged to that familiar voice. and after a few moments of repetition and no response ( for literally whatever reason maybe the employee is literally whispering ), he broke from the line and swooped up the drink. all courage built, his eyes finally fell upon her – upon blake. steeling his nerves and trying to relax his demeanor, he walked to her table with her order in hand.
with a slight, unsure grin, he recited the order and held it out to her: “ i believe this is yours, yes ? – the man was rather quiet. ”
.
Blake’s personal assistant was an actual, verifiable saint for ever dealing with any of her bullshit. Blake would try and make sure she got canonized someday. Today, though, she was rapid-firing messages to the beleaguered woman that yes she was running late but yes she’s on her way, she just needed a triple-espresso redeye to get her ass out the door.
Hriday’s voice broke through Blake’s concentration like a shot, unlike that of the soft spoken barista. Maybe she should’ve made it a quadruple.
Blake fired off another quick text that she might be even later, actually, before she snapped the flip phone shut and shoved it into her back pocket, ignoring the immediate, persistent buzz of an incoming call.
She hated the weird little butterfly twist of her stomach as Hriday recited her order to her. It’s stupid to be flattered he remembered, Blake told herself. It wasn’t exactly a difficult order. “Yeah. … thanks.”
There was an inevitable guardedness in Blake’s demeanor, but it was nothing compared to the stone walls she’d thrown up the last time they’d seen each other. “Are you, um.” Blake gestured vaguely around them, even with the enormous to-go cup in her hand. “You hanging around? Can I…” She trailed off. Unlike last time, Blake didn’t want to run away. Hriday could’ve, too, rather than personally delivering her order. “Can we sit?”
“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” Hale doesn’t often care about her clients, but she does care about Blake. If anything terrible happened to her, it would be upsetting. “I think your weapons are fun! It’s a shame I missed that,” she says, teasingly, trying to keep things light and playful between them. Nobody wants to pay for a depressed sex worker. “How many people did you hit?” she asks, curious about how good the other woman’s aim is.
She nods, running her fingertips along her tail. “Yeah, I do. It doesn’t turn me on, but it feels nice.” A lie. The truth is that it only turns her on when Tiff does it, but she can’t tell Blake that. “I should probably tell you I don’t have control over my tail. It kinda… does its own thing. I think it’s linked to how I feel, but I’m not really sure. Are you okay with that? It won’t hurt you, but it might try and restrain you or spank you,” she shrugs.
‘I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.’ Blake finds herself softening at the sentiment, quietly touched. She’d like to think she knows Hale well enough to know that’s not a line, not something that’s being said just because she thinks Blake would want to hear it. She finds she does like to hear it, though, maybe only because she knows it’s genuine. “Honestly? I lost count. There were a lot of those buggers running around.” Blake wrinkled her nose. “The most I can hope for is that I left a lot of ‘em questioning their life choices.” Because she did leave them alive, even if she’s questioning her life choices now that she knows what happened to Hale. If Blake had been there, whoever had done that wouldn’t have been so lucky.
Blake doesn’t bother to reign in an amused smile when Hale admits her tail seems to have a mind of its own. “I’m okay with that,” she promises, with no shortage of enthusiasm to back it up. “And I promise not to be weird about it.”
Not like Hale’s other clients, the ones who only look at Hale’s horns and other stunning features as something to fetishize. “I’ll be careful. And if it, uh. Wants to restrain or spank me,” Blake continues with a short laugh, like she can’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth. She reaches over to brush the barest tips of her fingertips to Hale’s tail, curious to see if it’ll react. “I’m more than okay with that, too.”
“Usually I’d put a bullet in them, but honestly? They’re lucky I don’t kill anymore.” She wants to, of course. It’s an ache to the hurt—the bullets and the anger, mostly reserved for CEOs with black books too large to wipe clean or dictators who entrench themselves in politics with heinous force. That anger spills over in her life now, the unjustness and unfairness of living making hard to even live without being angry. Her eyes turn to Blake, and nod.
She puts her hand out to shake, and Jackie grasps it firmly, no slack and no give. “Pleasure’s all mine, Blake.” The first eddies of emotion trickle out again, and she gives her a smile. The blood hasn’t washed off, but for Jackie, she hopes it never will. At least then, she can understand that she has something in her hands.
“I think Princess has a nice ring to it, personally.” Her hand doesn’t let go, and she stares her down, inky black void against brown eyes. “You wanna grab a drink or something? I think one of the nastier bars here won’t mind the blood on my hands.”
Blake’s newfound friend, because that’s immediately what she’s considering her, doesn’t offer a name in return. Blake doesn’t particularly mind, since the offer for a drink comes after anyway. “I would love a drink,” she decides easily, glancing down at her hand once it’s released, lightly smudged with blood. She doesn’t balk; she’s seen much, much worse.
“My place isn’t far, if you’d prefer somewhere more private.” It’s not a line. Okay, it’s a little bit of a line. It’s a line if her companion wants it to be. But Blake won’t pressure if the woman brushes her off. “It’s also seen its fair share of blood, real and fake.”
Samson’s almost envious of the casual ease Blake has simply existing. Walking into places like she belongs, and she does, because she decided she does. Pacing around, slow, quietly, he can feel her slowly winding up to the real reason she’s here. Whatever is on her mind. Thankfully, just as she doesn’t pull punches in any sort of arena, she doesn’t wait to ask what she’s here for. Saw Cherry the other day… Samson’s shoulders sag. It’s for her safety, it’s just temporary. “Some stuff’s come up it’s… ” He’s such a shit liar, jaw tensing, that same feral rage bubbling in his chest, “ Complicated. How’s—how’s she doing?” He knows it’s cruel to ask, that he should be talking to Hale, himself, not going through someone else. He just needs to make sure he can get the right people on his side. Or even tolerate him before… before he tries to live a life. A paranoid thought ticks over. He can’t let it go. “‘she put you up to this?”
‘Some stuff.’ Blake almost laughs at the obvious understatement — ‘some stuff’ is reserved for, like, an impromptu grocery run or having to take care of your neighbor’s pet, not whatever the hell is going on that drove Samson to pummel his opponent into a bloodier pulp than usual. But she keeps her reaction toned back, save the obvious look of disbelief. The expression heightens when he asks how Hale is doing, which should be his answer, but Blake clarifies, “That’s her business to tell you.” Ask her yourself. “Because, no, she didn’t ‘put me up to this.’ I didn’t even expect to find you here.”
She frowns now, facing Samson head-on and crossing her arms over her chest. “Trying not to get involved in other peoples’ business is my specialty, but I gotta say, the two of you have me intrigued.” Blake pauses, considering, then adds: “You can tell me, if you want. Or not. But I wouldn’t tell her any more than I’m gonna tell you what’s happening with her.” Roundabout, but it gets her point across, she figures.
