JEN is:
1. an engineer
2. a Batman enthusiast
3. awesomely hot
4. loves science
5. all of the above.
If you guessed number 5, you're awesome and win my eternal love and devotion. I really love tea, here's my TEA WISH LIST .


One Of Us Is Going To Die Young (What’s In Your Blood Is On My Mind) 

Stiles scrubs at his head, his hitai-ite covering his eyes. It ends up around his neck, the symbol of the Hidden Leaf glinting in the sun. He closes his eyes and feels the itch of chakra thrumming against his eyes. He knows his dad locked his mother’s family’s blood limit from him. He’s seen the scrolls about the Rinnegan, hidden in his father’s study, and knows how it killed his mother. But some days, his chakra wants to break it. To see what his mom always saw through those rippled irises. Maybe it could make him a better ninja. Closer to her. He could protect his father. His village. Be a hero.

"And Jackson just ignored my suggestion! We’re going to fail as a team and I’ll be a genin forever," scowls Scott from the tree below where Stiles was lazily cloud watching and half-listening to his best friend. His voice snapping him from his angst filled musings.

"That sucks, buddy," sighs Stiles. It’s not like his team is any better. Lydia spends most of her time off with Morell honing her mind controlling jutsus. Stiles wonders why she’s still a genin when she clearly should be a jounin or higher. Maybe the next Hokage. And Danny is usually running crazy ass taijutsu drills with their team leader, Finstock.

"At least you’re with Allison," says Stiles. "And Deaton’s the best sensei you could get. He’s a legend."

"I guess," pouts Scott. "I’m never going to be a jounin at this rate."

"Well, you could, you know try to get along with Jackson," suggests Stiles and Scott pulls a dark pout making his eyes flash molten amber, a tell-tale sign of the Ōkami sealed inside him.

"Be the bigger wolf," smirks Stiles and has to dodge his friend’s fist when he growls out an attack.

Stiles leaps to another tree letting Scott chase him throughout the Forest, it soon becomes a game of tag. Stiles is distracted from avoiding Scott’s high kick that he nearly crashes into a warm body.

"Sorry," he tumbles back, only to look up to an ANBU nin. The porcelain wolf mask is familiar. Stiles’ brain recognizing it with a stutter from his father’s police scrolls.

"Uh," he manages, stepping back.

"This is private land," the ANBU all but growls, looking at Stiles and further back to where Scott landed in surprise.

"We didn’t know," stutters Stiles, backing away from the nin. But the nin has already disappeared in a plume of smoke.

"Dude," gapes Scott. "Who was that?"

"Derek Hale," says Stiles with wonder. "I thought he went missing."