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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years ago

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Happy Birthday, alepaolvi!

Apologies for the delay on your birthday gift, @alepaolvi! We hope you had a wonderful day on October 2, and got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To bring your party back around, the lovely @norbertsmom has written a story just for you!

Author’s Note: Happy belated birthday, @alepaolvi. Sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy your arranged marriage fic with a jealous Gale. This is set in Panem au. The revolution happened a few years before it did in canon. You may notice several lines are taken directly from the book, and tweaked to fit this new timeline. Special thanks to my bestie, @mega-aulover for her help. Rated T.

A Different Kind of Reaping

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When I wake up, I reach out for Prim but find the other side of the bed is empty. Prim has her own bed now, but sometimes I forget we’re no longer in the Seam. I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enough light in the room to see that she’s not in her bed. Of course not. She’s been so excited to help me get ready for today. I’m sure she and mother are up prepping my clothes and making breakfast.

The two of them are so alike, with their blond hair and blue eyes and perky attitude. At fourteen, Prim is fresh faced and as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother is still beautiful, if not a little weary in her grief at the loss of my father. Even seven years later, his absence is still felt, especially today.

I get out of bed and pull on trousers, a shirt, and tuck my long dark braid up under a cap. I slide my stocking feet into my leather hunting boots and grab my bow and sheath of arrows along with my foraging bag.

On the table is a feast fit for celebration: eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. All luxury items just a few years ago, before the war. Now a gift to me on my reaping day.

Reaping day is so different now. Before the revolution, reaping day was the day all district children between the ages of twelve and eighteen had their names put into a drawing. In punishment for the failed first uprising, each of the twelve districts had to provide one boy and one girl, called tributes to participate in the Hunger Games. The twenty-four tributes would be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last standing tribute won.

“Sit down for breakfast, Katniss,” my mother says. “You’ll need your energy today.”

I set my hunting gear down and sit, loading up my plate and tuck into the meal. I want to go out into the woods one last time before the ceremony. Who knows if I’ll be able to go back out after today?

Prim plops down in the chair beside me. “Are you excited, Katniss?” she asks as she loads up her own plate.

“Um,” I hum around a mouthful of food because I really don’t know how I feel. “A little scared, I guess.”

When the revolution was won by the districts, the Hunger Games were abolished. But soon after it was discovered that the population was critically low, and at risk of extinction after all the loss during the war. The new senate that ruled the country with one representative from each district, came up with a plan to help repopulate the nation: arranged marriages.

They decided to reclaim the reaping day as a day to bring new families together. That first reaping day after the war, men and women eighteen and older were matched to form new families. I wasn’t old enough then, but I am now. I don’t know how I feel about having my future decided for me.

I think back on all of the questionnaires we had to complete in our last month of school. We also had to list the names of those we would be happy to be matched with. We weren’t allowed to leave it blank, so I wrote down the one name I secretly wish for, but I’m sure I won’t get.

I may not even be matched this year. Not everyone is matched in their first year, so they have to go through it again the next year. Special deferment was granted for those who fought in the war to put off their reaping a year or two.

“Leave your sister alone, Primrose. She has a big day ahead of her,” mother says as she joins us at the table. She pours herself a large mug of coffee and cups it with both hands, holding it under her nose to breathe it in. She closes her eyes before taking a sip.

I’m the first to finish and get up to leave. “Thanks for breakfast,” I tell them as I grab my gear and head toward the door. I’m in a hurry. My old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne is back in the district today. I haven’t seen him since he went away to fight in the rebellion. After the fighting was over, he stayed in the military and moved to district three so he could study under the victor Beetee Latier.

“Don’t forget your cheese,” Prim says as she gets up from the table and hands me a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. It’s been a tradition since she started making goat cheese to give them as gifts on special occasions.

“Thank you,” I tell her with a hug as I pocket the cheese.

“Don’t stay out too long, Katniss,” mother says. “You need to report to the Justice Building by one thirty. We need time to get you ready.”

“I won’t,” I tell her as I slip outside.

Our part of District 12 is the merchant quarter. My mother and Prim run the apothecary, but we didn’t always live here. I grew up in the part of the district nicknamed the Seam, where the miners live. The apothecary had been vacant since my grandparents died when the mayor’s mansion was bombed at the start of the revolution. After the war, my mother applied for and was granted permission to take it over.

As I’m skipping down the back steps, I look over to the bakery next door. Peeta Mellark is walking toward the trash bin with a bag in his hand. He looks up at the sound of our door closing. “Hey Katniss,” he says with that contagious smile of his. “Heading out to the woods, I see.” He nods to my hunting gear after placing the bag in the bin.

“Yep,” I tell him with a smile of my own. “Gotta catch dinner for tonight.”

“Ooh. Wild game, that’s one advantage you have over the other girls in the reaping today,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against the small fence that divides his yard from mine.

“Whatever you say, Mellark,” I tell him, shaking my head. He’s always teasing me about how different I am from the other girls who live in town. Not because I’m from the Seam, but like I’m some unique creature he’d never encountered before.

As I walk down the path I wonder who Peeta will be matched with. He’s such a kind person. He was the only person to help me and my family after my father died. He gave me bread that helped us survive and gave me hope to go on. I’m sure he’ll have no problems finding a match today. Lots of girls will be hoping to be the next baker’s wife. Peeta lost his mom at the start of the war. She was one of those lost in the bombing of the mayor’s mansion.

Even though there’s an entrance to the wood close to home, I make my way through town toward the Seam to the entrance by my old house. It makes me feel closer to my father. That’s where he would take me into the woods when I was a child.

The streets of the Seam are empty today. Usually, the workers would be out heading to their morning shift at the mines or the medicine factory, but the ceremony isn’t until two. Might as well sleep in if you can.

Our old house was almost at the edge of the Seam. I only have to pass a few gates past it to reach the scruffy field we call the Meadow. The barbed wire loops that used to top the high chain-linked fence that separates the Meadow from the woods are gone. The fence remains to keep the wild animals out of the district, but gates have been installed at several locations around the perimeter to allow citizens access to the woods.

As soon as I’m in the trees, I look around for signs of a threat, like packs of wild dogs, bears, venomous snakes, or rabid animals. Inside the woods they roam freely, but there’s also food if you know how to find it. My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Seven years later I sometimes still wake up screaming for him. But since Dr. Sidney, the head doctor, came to the district after the war, I’ve learned how to deal with my grief. My nightmares aren’t as frequent. Dr. Sidney helped my mother as well. She no longer lies in bed staring at the walls.

Before the war, trespassing in the woods was illegal, and poaching carried the severest of penalties, but the woods belong to us now, the citizens of District 12. Still, most people aren’t bold enough to venture out unarmed. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father along with a few others that I keep well hidden in the woods, carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. If my father was still alive, he could have made good money selling them, but before the rebellion, if the officials found him selling weapons, he would have been publicly executed for sedition. Which is kind of ironic since the mine explosion that killed him was one of the catalysts for the rebellion.

We were never prosecuted for poaching back then because most of the Peacekeepers had turned a blind eye to the few of us who hunted. They were as hungry for fresh meat as anybody. Now we get food shipped in from other districts regularly, and I can sell my game openly to the other merchants at their back doors, and at my booth in the open-air market called the Hob.

In the woods waits my hunting partner Gale. I feel myself relaxing and quicken my pace when I think about seeing him again. I only got a quick chat with him yesterday when he arrived, mobbed by his family. He asked if we could meet up to hunt this morning like old times. I climb the hills to our rock ledge overlooking the valley. A thicket of berry bushes keeps it hidden. The sight of him brings on a smile. We used to be the best of friends before he went away.

He looks different than I remember. Not just older; he stands different, ridged and yet alert as if he is waiting for an attack from a wild lone wolf. He’s wearing gray uniform pants, and a faded black shirt. His eyes are sharper; they scan the area, before settling on mine.

“Hey Catnip,” says Gale. He knows my real name, but I had whispered it when we first met so he thought I said catnip. It stuck as a nickname even after all this time.

“Look what I shot,” Gale says as he holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it. I let out an uncomfortable laugh. It’s fine bakery bread, the kind used during a toasting ceremony.

I’m not sure if he’s trying to impress me with what he can buy with his fancy new job, so I take the bread in my hands. I pull the arrow out and hold the puncture in the crust to my nose, inhaling the fragrance that reminds me of the blond haired, blue eyed son of the baker.

“Mm, still warm.” He must have been at the bakery at the crack of dawn to buy it. “Prim gave us cheese,” I tell him quickly as I pull it out of my pocket.

“Thank you, Prim,” Gale says as he pulls out a shiny knife from a sheath on his hip. I watch as he slices the bread. He could be my brother, same straight black hair, although his is cut short in a military style, same olive complexion, we even have the same gray eyes. We’re not related, at least not closely. Most of the families in the Seam resemble one another this way.

That’s why my mother and Prim, with their light hair and blue eyes used to look out of place when we lived in the Seam. They were. My mother’s parents were merchants. They ran the apothecary. That’s why she got it after the war. Now I’m the one out of place. I have the look of the Seam, but I live in town.

My father got to know my mother because he would collect medicinal herbs and sell them to her shop. She really loved him to leave her home for the Seam. Back then, the homes in the Seam were nothing more than shacks really. We had to boil water from the spigot in the yard if we wanted it hot. After the war, all of the squat gray houses in the Seam were replaced with new homes that are well insulated with running hot and cold water and reliable electricity.

Gale spreads the bread slices with the soft goat cheese, carefully placing a basil leaf on each slice while I strip the bushes of their berries. We settle back in the nook in our rock. I don’t eat much, since I already had breakfast, but it’s a nice treat. Everything would be perfect if all this day off meant was roaming the woods with Gale for a casual family dinner tonight, catching up on how our lives have changed since the war ended, but instead it feels awkward, like I’m here with a stranger instead of my old friend Gale.

“What’s it like in District 3?” I ask quietly to break the awkward silence between us. It was never like this before. He would rant about the unfair treatment the citizens endured, and how we should rise up against them. But now that the revolution is over and won, we don’t really have much to say.

“It’s alright, but I’ll be moving to District 2 after the ceremony. You’ll love it there. Mountains bigger than these. Lots of woods to hunt in.”

“Why would I want to go to District 2?” I ask. The idea is preposterous. I can’t leave my sister. Before the war, the fantasy was to run off, and live in the woods, but this conversation feels all wrong now. There’s never been anything romantic between Gale and me. When we met, I was a skinny twelve-year-old, and although he was only two years older, he already looked like a man. It took a long time for us to even become friends, to stop haggling over every trade. Then he went off to war and moved to District 3 as a hero. His hero status gave him the option to postpone his reaping until this year.

Gale’s good looking, strong from his time as a soldier, and he has a good job in another district. He will be a desirable match at the reaping today. I don’t know why he would want me.

“Forget it,” he snaps.

I let out a breath and ask, “What do you want to do, hunt, fish, or gather?”

“Let’s fish at the lake,” he says. “We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight’s betrothal meal.”

Tonight, after the reaping, everyone is supposed to celebrate, but I’ll be betrothed. I’ll be spending time with my intended. He and his family will come to my house so we can get to know one another. Does Gale hope it will be him?

We fall into the comfortable silence I remember from hunting with him before he left. By late morning, we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens, and best of all, a gallon of strawberries.

On the way home, we swing by the Hob and trade half the fish and greens for fresh vegetables. Greasy Sae gives us a nod as we walk by. Even with the beef and chicken coming in from other districts, her wild game soup that she calls beef is always a hit. The customers around her booth are talking away about today’s reaping.

When we finish at the Hob, we go to the back of the mayor’s home to sell half of the strawberries. The mayor lives in a modest house not unlike the others in the district. After the war, the residents of the district realized that the old mayor’s mansion was just another tool the Capitol used to keep us in the district divided. The poor people of the Seam resented the wealth the mayor and the merchants had. So when the mayor’s home was rebuilt, he had it built the same as all the others.

The mayor’s daughter Madge answers the door. She was in my year at school, and my closest friend since Gale left. Her everyday outfit has been replaced by an expensive white dress, and her blonde hair is done up with a pink ribbon. Clothes fitting for the betrothal reaping.

“Pretty dress,” says Gale.

Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it’s a genuine compliment. He used to antagonize her when we were younger, but now that he’s been gone for a few years it’s hard to tell. She presses her lips together and smiles. “Well I have to look nice for my reaping today, don’t I?”

“I’m sure you’ll have the match you want,” Gale says with a scoff.

Madge’s face has become closed off. She puts the money for the strawberries in my hand. “Good luck, Katniss.”

“You too,” I say, and the door closes.

I turn to Gale, “What did you mean by that?”

“Her father’s the mayor. People in power can influence the outcome of the reaping,” Gale says.

Madge’s father isn’t just the mayor. He was quite influential during the war. He was able to convince the residents of District 12 to join the revolution by bringing in Annie Cresta. Then he became our district’s liaison with the rest of the rebels.

Annie Cresta was the last Victor of the Hunger Games,and the spark that started the rebellion. She won the summer after my father died in the mining explosion. During her interview, after winning her games, she started screaming about her father and brother who were lost at sea with a whole ship full of fishermen just before her games. The Capitol played it off as her going mad. But during her victory tour she was more subdued, she would compare her district’s loss to the loss each district had suffered from a tragedy that same year.

The rumors started that perhaps the mine explosion that killed my father wasn’t an accident, but a sabotage to take out the rebel miners who had been planning an uprising. While in District 11, she talked about the silo collapse, in District 10 the stampede, and so on until she had rallied half the country behind her. Before her tour reached the Capitol, District 13 re-emerged from the ashes to sweep her off to be the face of the rebellion.

District 12 was one of the last districts still neutral to the rebellion even though the mayor tried to get our residents involved. He asked Annie Cresta to come back, to rally us to join the cause. Most of our Peacekeepers were recalled to the Capitol to fight off the uprisings in other districts. Those who stayed behind were sympathetic to the districts’ plight. The residents of District 12 wanted to wait out the war. If we didn’t join in, nothing would happen to us.

After the rally, while most of the residents of the district were at home debating why we should join the rebellion, the mayor hosted a dinner for Annie with the most influential Merchants and Seam residents. After the dinner was over, the mayor, his daughter Madge and a few others were seeing Annie off to her hovercraft back to District 13 when the mayor’s mansion was bombed by the Capitol. All those still inside were killed, including the mayor’s wife, his staff, my grandparents and many others.

The rally that day, along with the bombing that took out the mayor’s mansion, is what finally convinced the residents of District 12 to join the rebellion. We couldn’t stay neutral. The war came to us. Gale, among others old enough, went off to fight in the war. Not everyone came home. The baker’s oldest son died. Gale stayed in the military.

As we walk back toward my house, I glance over at Gale, still wondering why he came home this year. He could have participated in the reaping in his new district. I hope he didn’t come back here for me.

Gale and I arrive at the divide between the Seam and town and split up our spoils.

“See you in the square,” I say.

“Wear something pretty,” he says flatly as he walks towards his mother’s house in the Seam.

When I get home, Peeta is in the yard next door, feeding the pigs. “Hey, Katniss,” he says. “Good day hunting?”

“Yep, got some fish and greens for tonight,” I tell him.

“I’ve got a few recipes you can try out on your new family if you want?”

“Sure, that last one with the nuts was nice.” Curious I get closer. “So are you ready?”

He stops feeding the pigs. “I’m nervous,” he confesses.

“Nervous?” Peeta has nothing to be nervous about. He’s good like my sister Prim. Any of the women today would be lucky to have him.

“Well, what if the girl they pick for me doesn’t erm,” his face turned pink. “Well, like me.”

What he is saying is impossible.

“My parents didn’t have the best marriage, you know.”

I nod. I can see why he would be anxious. His parents did not get along; they hated each other but miraculously, had three boys.

I wish I had the words to be able to tell him that he had nothing to worry about. But nothing comes.

"Listen, I'll see you at the reaping. I've got to get ready. Don't want to scare my bride away by smelling like a pig pen."

I shake my head and laugh. When I go inside my mother sets aside her knitting and jumps up from her chair. “There you are,” she says as she helps me remove my hunting gear. She hands my bag to Prim and ushers me into the bathroom. “Get yourself a shower. You need to start getting ready.”

I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the woods and wash my hair. When I’m done I find my favorite dress from my mother’s collection laid out on my bed. A soft orange, with white lace insets near the collar, and a tie at the waist. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“Of course. I’ll fix your hair,” she says.

After I’m dressed, I sit at the vanity as she towel dries my hair and I watch as she braids it up into a crown on top of my head. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” says Prim in a hushed voice.

“And nothing like myself,” I say as I hug her. Things are going to be so different after the reaping today.

Prim and mother get dressed. We have a quick lunch and then it’s time to go to the Justice Building to check in.

As we head toward the square, we are joined by others headed that way. Attendance is not mandatory like it was for the Hunger Games reapings, but most people show up anyway.

Mother and Prim hug me goodbye when I go into the Justice Building. After checking in, I’m ushered into the women’s waiting room. I find Madge and join her at the refreshment table.

At precisely 1:45, our escort, Effie Trinket, comes into the room. Miss Trinket was on track to be an escort for the Hunger Games, but she was actually a rebel working inside the system to help bring it down. After the revolution she became our escort for the betrothal reaping. Her bright pink clothes and makeup, while much more flamboyant than what those of us in the district would wear, is nowhere near as garish as the makeup and outfits worn by our last Hunger Games escort.

“Ladies, it’s time to follow me out onto the stage,” Effie says and we all line up to follow her out.

As we go out onto the stage, a cheer begins to rise from the crowd gathered in front of the Justice Building. Effie escorts us to the several rows of seats arranged on the left side of the stage. Madge and I sit next to each other.

Once we are all seated, Effie goes back into the building, but comes out a few minutes later followed by the group of men for the reaping. She escorts them to the seats on the right side of the stage. They are all wearing their best suits. Peeta gives me a wave before he sits in the second row. Gale sits in the front row in his military uniform.

At precisely 2 o’clock, Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and begins his speech. He talks about the history of Panem: the dark days, the first failed rebellion, the 70 years of the Hunger Games, and then the revolution that freed Panem. He talks about how we have to rebuild Panem, the population lost from the Games and the war. Which brings us to today, the Betrothal Reaping. He then introduces Effie Trinket.

“Welcome, welcome,” Effie says. “It’s such an honor to be here, to help bring together the families who will be the future of our country.” She goes on to explain how the selections are not random. The answers we gave in the surveys taken during school, as well as our DNA were used to determine the matches. “Now, onto the pairings!” she says, and with a flair of her hand pulled out a stack of envelopes.

She plucks the first envelope from the stack and calls out, “Delly Cartwright!”

Delly jumps up from her seat, and quickly walks up to stand next to Effie. Delly is practically vibrating in anticipation. I wish I could be that excited. I just hope I get someone I can stand.

“And your match is,” Effie pauses dramatically, “Thom Davison!”

Thom, one of Gale’s old classmates who didn’t get matched in his previous two reapings, looks around bewildered. He gets a nudge from the person sitting next to him before he gets up and walks up to the podium to formally meet Delly.

Delly and Thom are ushered to the back of the stage where they stand next to each other whispering, with big smiles on their faces. I guess that means they are happy with that match.

“Very good,” says Effie. “Our next match is the mayor’s daughter, Madge Undersee.”

I squeeze Madge’s hand and she stands and gracefully walks up to stand next to Effie Trinket.

“And your match is… the local hero, Gale Hawthorne!” Effie exclaims. A quiet murmur goes through the crowd. That pairing was unexpected. I think everyone expected me to be paired with Gale, but I know it would have never worked out, we’re too alike.

Gale doesn’t look very happy at his selection, but stands and walks up to meet Madge. They stiffly shake hands, then walk back to stand next to Delly and Thom. It’s quite the contrast between the two pairs.

“Wonderful!” Effie says with a little too much enthusiasm. “Next up we have, Katniss Everdeen.”

I stand up slowly, then stiffly walk to stand next to the podium.

“And your partner is… Peeta Mellark,” Effie calls out.

My eyes go wide as I think, Oh, it’s him, my neighbor, my friend. The boy, no man, I correct myself, who saved my life and gave me hope. The man who reminded me that I was not doomed. The man who’s name I wrote on my questionnaire. I feel a smile come across my face as I watch Peeta get up and walk toward me. The smile on his face matches mine.

When he reaches me we stand and stare at each other for a moment before Effie Trinket clears her throat. “Go ahead, shake hands,” she urges. Peeta's large warm hand engulfs mine, and he gives me a reassuring squeeze. “Go ahead,” she tells us, nudging us toward the back of the stage.

When I drop Peeta’s hand, I feel the loss of warmth immediately, but I feel his hand at the small of my back as he escorts me to join the others. “Told ya I’d see you at the reaping,” Peeta whispers in my ear, and I can’t help but laugh. After that, I’m in a bit of a daze and miss most of the remaining matches.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, Effie dismisses the few remaining people who didn’t get paired up and calls the matched pairs to the front of the stage. Delly and Thom lead the way, arm in arm. Madge and Gale walk stiffly side by side. Peeta takes my hand and leads me toward the front of the stage, and the couples behind us follow suit. When we are all lined up, Effie calls out, “District 12, I give you your new couples. Please join us in the reception hall for family introductions.”

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That’s the end of part 1. This will continue as a work in progress.

A few notes: Dr. Sidney is named after Dr. Sidney Freedman from the final episode of the TV show M*A*S*H. He helped the main character work through his PTSD. Thom Davison is named for Dave Thomas of Wendy’s fame, who seemed like such a sweet man. The character Thom in canon is only mentioned a few times, but he is such a great guy. Gale’s friend who helps carry him back after the reaping, and then after the war Thom comes back and takes on the task of clearing away the debris so the district can rebuild.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by norbertsmom

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7-wonders · 6 years ago

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Shatter pt. 7

Summary: It’s time for your second interview Langdon, and luckily for you, you’re finally going to get some answers.

Word Count: 2338

A/N: Hey hey welcome back to another part of Shatter! Hope you guys enjoy; like, reblog or leave a comment if you liked it. My inbox is always open if you want to drop me a message or chat.

There’s a certain phenomena that occurs whenever thunderstorms roll into an area. Of course, there aren’t any thunderstorms anymore, and if there were, the rain is probably acid or something. When there used to be thunderstorms, though, a person could tell almost before the ominous clouds even formed. The electricity that builds and builds in the air reaches a point where it’s a palpable feeling, one that raises the hair on your arms and leaves you feeling nervous towards something that you can’t yet see. You have an odd sense of deja vu right now, but there’s no thunderclouds around.

The adrenaline that came from volunteering to sacrifice yourself still hasn’t worn off, leaving you jittery and restless. Knowing that you have to meet with Langdon in a matter of minutes makes it basically impossible for you to sit still, so you’ve been pacing back and forth down the hallway in front of Langdon’s office for an hour. Thirty minutes into your nervous pacing, the doors had burst open and Mallory ran out of the office, eyes wide and body shaking.

“Mallory, what’s wrong?” You had asked, grabbing your friend by her shoulders as the doors closed behind her.

“I shot fire and Langdon’s a demon!” Mallory stuttered out before stumbling away and leaving. You wanted to ask her more questions, but the wild look in her eyes had you wondering if she was just finally cracking under the pressure.

Even when there was yet another perimeter breach, Venable and the Hand were too preoccupied with whatever had gotten past the gates to worry about chasing residents to their rooms. After eighteen months of absolute monotony, the past two eventful days have left your head slightly spinning. Finally, the large sliding doors open themselves. You’re not sure if it’s because Langdon trusted that you would be here at the appointed time or if he knew you were outside for the past hour, but you enter anyways.

He’s not sitting at the desk like he was yesterday. Instead, Langdon’s standing in front of the fireplace, and you watch momentarily as the shadows of the flames make his face look even more severe than it already is. He doesn’t turn around when you start to approach him, but his posture does change as your shoes click against the floor.

“I am glad to see that you made it here without attempting to save the day again.” Langdon quips, his large rings clacking against each other as he clasps his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, well, couldn’t find anyone in need of saving.” You fire back, standing a few feet away from him. “Thank you, for stepping in earlier.”

He’s silent for a few moments, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to think of something to say or if he just enjoys making you squirm. Probably the latter. Eventually he turns towards you, those cold blue eyes making all of your tensions melt away.

“It was nothing, truly. It seems that Venable has been creating her own rules, and though I am certainly not opposed to people being killed, I would prefer that there be a reason behind said killing.” He says nonchalantly.

“How did Timothy and Emily find out that she was making rules up?” Langdon’s lips twitch in a mixture of amusement and disdain.

“Those two have a penchant for searching through things that do not belong to them.” A smile fights its way onto your face at the knowledge that they must have gone through Langdon’s personal items.

“Can you blame them, though?” Langdon stares at you, and you’re more than surprised at the appreciation in his eyes.

“No, I suppose I cannot.” He extends an arm towards the chairs in the middle of the room, both facing each other. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

“I already had my rations for the day.” You explain before taking a seat in the armchair.

“Hmm, but I was not offering you your rations.”

Langdon turns around with a smirk, holding two cups of steaming tea. Your eyes widen in delight when the scent of your favorite tea hits your nose. He hands you the cup, your hands warming from the heat transfer. You can’t help but to inhale deeply, closing your eyes and momentarily letting nostalgia take over. The first few weeks after you woke up with no memory, Gallant tried anything to cheer you up and make you feel better. He had wanted you to try a new tea that he picked up and thought you would like. To the shock and surprise of both of you, the smell was extremely familiar. It brought tears to your eyes for the memories that you didn’t have, but the tea was desperately trying to conjure up for you.

“I apologize for the lack of choices, I hope that this is sufficient.” He watches you closely as you take a sip, smiling at the familiar taste.

“This was my favorite tea before the blast.”

“Remind me,” Langdon takes a seat opposite you, placing his own cup to the side before he even takes a sip. “Where had we left off last night?”

The smile falls off of your face as Langdon gets down to business.

“You were telling me that I know who I really am, and I was asking you if you knew who I was before I lost my memory.”

“And have you discovered who you truly are?” He asks.

“No.” You mutter angrily, looking down at the liquid moving in your cup.

“Would you like help?” You sit up straight before leaning forward in your chair, intrigued.

“You can help me? How?”

Langdon holds his hand up, a small vial suddenly appearing within his grasp. It’s filled with some sort of silvery powder, and it sparkles intoxicatingly at you as you study it. The mere sight of it is tantalizing, even though there’s a part of you that scolds you, telling you that there’s no possible way that this powder can help you.

“What is that?” You ask.

“The key to unlocking your memories.” He tosses it from hand to hand, and you’re sure he’s deliberately teasing you. “That is, if you would like to.”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I want to.” You scoff, rolling your eyes.

Langdon chuckles before falling to his knees in front of you. Enraptured, you watch as he uncaps the vial and pours the powder into the palm of his hand. He draws a foreign symbol into the substance before reaching with his free hand and drawing what you assume is the same symbol on your forehead. He smiles at you, reassuring you when he senses your sudden nerves.

“I’ll be right here, don’t worry. Are you ready?” You nod, gripping his free hand tightly.

“Do it.” With that, Langdon blows the powder into your face.

You gasp as the powder invades your lungs, coughing and hacking in an attempt to remove the foreign substance from your body. Your eyes go wide and your body stiffens as your mind is assaulted with images, before you fall into Langdon’s arms.

The scenes play before your eyes like a movie. Suddenly you can see the faces that have been hidden from you for years, names being matched and relationships being reformed. The white house surrounded by cast iron gates is Ms. Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Women, otherwise known as your second home. You remember your friends: Madison Montgomery, the so-called ‘bitchy’ former movie star who was actually just in need of love and support. The kind young woman with the honey hair and soulful eyes, also known as Zoe Benson. Queenie and Nan, Misty and Mallory, all of them come back to the forefront of your memory.

With these memories comes the memory of the woman who got you into this predicament in the first place. You can see Cordelia Goode’s patronizing smile as she assured you that she knew best multiple times throughout those tumultuous last few weeks. It was Cordelia who assured you that cutting off all contact with Michael would be for the best of the coven. Cordelia had been the one to tell you that Michael was pure evil, and had been the reason why you were kidnapped in the first place. The rift between you and Michael had been caused by Cordelia, who had then decided that it would be best if you just lost all of your memories too. Her reasoning? So that your bond couldn’t be used for Michael to find you.

Michael.

The man who had haunted your dreams for years turned out to be the love of your life. With the perspective that you’re now gaining, you really don’t blame him for kidnapping you. You would have preferred that he not kill your friends, but that was a conversation for another time. You watch all of your memories with him; the quiet days spent together in his dorm, the spontaneous adventures, the kisses and the cuddles and the pure, unadulterated love that the two of you shared. Your mind, which is working overtime to compensate for the sudden influx of information, connects the dots between two sets of the same icy blue eyes and the two heads of beautiful blond curls that you so vividly remember. Langdon and Michael are one and the same, although the last name is now a dead giveaway for you.

You come back to the present with a loud cry, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You’re shaking like a leaf from the immense amounts of power suddenly flowing through your veins where you lay, which turns out to be in Langdon--no, Michael’s arms. He’s staring down at you, a disbelieving smile on his face while tears make tracks down his face. You reach your hand up to touch his face, fingers reflexively remembering every inch of his face.

“Did you not think it would work?” You tease, surging up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“A part of me didn’t think it would.” He admits, holding you tightly. “I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N). I never stopped looking for you, even after the bombs dropped. I knew you had made it to one of the Outposts, but I didn’t know which one or if you were still alive after so long.”

“I missed you too, Michael.” He hums happily, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Say my name again.”

“Michael.” You coo while running a hand through his hair. “Michael, Michael, Michael.” His name comes out of your mouth in a sing-song tone, both of you giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of this situation.

“You have no idea how hard it was to keep myself from holding you and never letting you go when I first saw you again.” Michael finally kisses you, and you sigh into the gesture. It’s just as sweet as you now remember, and his skilled lips mold easily against yours.

“You’re such a drama queen!” You laugh, remembering his nighttime visit last night. “You came into my room in the dead of night to give me a dream of one of the times we snuck out to the forest just to make sure I wasn’t lying?”

“I had to see you! Besides, that’s one of my favorite memories of the two of us.” He defends. You roll your eyes jokingly, but let the dramatics slide.

“You let your hair grow out!” You note in appreciation, leaning your forehead against Michael’s.

“Do you like it?” He asks shyly, and you’re suddenly reminded of the unsure boy you first fell in love with.

“I love it.” You grin. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’m so sorry for running away from you.”

“I don’t blame you for running away. I shouldn’t have kidnapped you, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Michael, I know you have a vendetta against all the witches, but Mallory wasn’t involved in anything. She was as clueless as I was when it came to Ms. Mead and their plot to take you down.” You explain, eyes silently pleading with him to drop this grudge.

“She won’t be harmed for the actions of your coven, then.” You sigh in relief, kissing him gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“That does lead me to an important question, though: do you know what Cordelia’s planning? It would make sense if she had just erased your memory, but to erase Mallory’s as well? There’s got to be a bigger plan that this ties into.”

You have to think for a moment, wrinkling your nose while you try to figure things out.

“Right before she blew the powder in my face, she had mentioned that mine and Mallory’s powers were too strong and that they would act as a beacon. That’s why we couldn’t be buried in the swamp with the surviving coven members.” Michael’s nose wrinkles in disgust as he nods slowly. “What?”

“Cordelia and her accomplices survived the blast.”

“Which means?” You ask for some clarification.

“They’ll be coming to ‘free’ you and Mallory and give you back your powers. After that, I assume they’ll try to kill me or attempt a spell to reverse the apocalypse.”

“I won’t go back to them, not after what they did to me and you. Mallory won’t, either; they held her down and took her memory against her will, too. I love you, Michael. It’s the two of us now, always.”

“Always.” He repeats, kissing you again.

“Can I stay here with you tonight?” You’re not willing to leave your lover now that you’ve found him. The mere thought of it physically makes your heart hurt.

“Oh, my darling, now that I have you again I’m never letting you leave.” If it was anybody but Michael saying this, they’d sound like a creepy stalker. Instead, it brings you immense comfort, and you giggle when he stands with you in his arms and walks with you towards his bedroom.

Tag List: @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom@pastel-cloudz @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @lichellaw@ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75@trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @langdonsdemon@langdonslove @kahhlo @omgsuperstarg

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon imagine #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #AHS #ahs imagine

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soulbore · 5 years ago

Text

“Alright.” She calmly stands up, fingers wiping down pants, wrists still sore from handcuffs and eyes still weary from too little sleep over the past year. What else is new? It’s a shame she couldn’t get a decent cup of coffee before all of this. “Danvers Big, Luthor, Teal’c. C-4. A lot of it. Plant it around as many key points of the ship as possible. No arguments from any of you, set a timer. Keep Teal’c close, he’s the only other one that knows around a Goa’uld ship.” Cat pops open another crate and starts tossing out a few zat guns. At least these will do some damage, swinging her own gun around her shoulder to rest along taut shoulder blades. “If any of you are idiotic enough to get caught, we’re making sure this overly tacky ode to Liberace is blown to high hell. Kara, Junior--” Lips thin, thinking that there’s likely only one other person other than herself that might be able to get through to Skaara. “You’re with me.”

Kara literally lost it in a laugh cause Ken'tha was only a foot or so long. Kara was always amused when she was with the team as well, as she was the tallest, next to J'onn of course. Kara moved over to sit down on a log that was made to be her bench, watching her dig.

The envelope wasn’t what she was expecting, but she took it from Cat’s hands as she opened it and glanced over to Cat. The information was intriguing, though she couldn’t help but wonder what a mirror had to do with anything, especially in a warehouse. Kara pulled out the pictures and information on it, noticing the scribble of Lena’s writing and looking over each picture.

“This… This isn’t goa'uld tech,” Kara said, as she looked at Cat. “Ken'tha said its nothing made by Goa'uld knowledge,” Kara stared at the large mirror, enraptured by what she was gazing at. “This is… nothing like I’ve ever seen. It’s clearly something ancient, look at the stonework around it, and look at the other items here in the picture,” Kara said pointing to the objects. “This is…these are artifacts from different time periods, this is… its a collection. A laboratory of some sort.” Kara clearly loved what she did, even if she hadn’t been on earth, her clear excitement never died. “This could be some culture that use to study our ancient cultures. Just like we are studying other cultures across the world now. The mirror, it could be some sort of device, like a TV or hologram. If we could just figure out how to activate it. who knows what they might know!” Kara said as she looked at Cat, pausing for a moment.

Maybe she got a little too excited…

━━━━

Cat's eyes have long since settled in the girl instead of the photographs, watching the way her brows raise and her hands move. Watching the way her eyes light up underneath the sunlight of another planet, painting her features in the hue of a forest. It's been a long time. "What makes you think they're studying us? What makes you think they're artifacts from Earth and not just other gift from the gou'ald?" Cat leans up against the nearby wall before holding open the door for Kara, curious if she's here to see the rest of it. To see what kind of life Kara has made for herself.

She imagines it, sometimes. Coming back here. Going anywhere. But it's not exactly kismet so there's nothing wrong with a living a little vicariously.

"Because of the other useless trinkets throughout the room? I know people would love to see me on TV, Danvers, but a mirror being a set is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" Still, it's a further theory than anyone in the mountain had grasped at.

━━━━

Kara paused as she looked over to Cat at the question. For a second thinking it was clear but then remembered every time Cat always told her to explain. “Okay, see how the objects are positioned on the table,” Kara said, putting the picture in her hands. “A collection would often been seen on shelves, perhaps behind something to keep its value protected. Or even positioned in a way that was near something else that is religious, like a greek statue with offerings around it. But this,” Kara pointed toward each artifact. “They are on a table, positioned in a line. You see it often when studying other things, like rocks or some sort of scientific study.”

Moving into the house, she sat down at the table she had, spreading out everything that had been in the envelope. “I would know more if I could go there. See it for myself.” Kara turned to look at Cat and then back to the picture. “Well, these objects here. This one is a statue of Bastet, an ancient greek artifact, probably belonging to a family who might have paid homage to her. This is an african mask, around the 15th century. And this, this is a medieval Aberdeenshire Game Board. Pretty much things of everyday human life. But the mirror, the symbols, its not of any human earth linguistics I have ever seen, but its not goa’uld either. It must be part of the race that once lived on that planet, or perhaps they still do and no one saw them.” Kara put her hand up against her mouth, thinking carefully back to all her studies on Krypton and then everything she had done on earth and what she had learned thus far from the stargate program.

“It looks like a mirror, but it could have knowledge locked inside of it, like we found on the island before, when we saved Earnest. It might have something that could help us against the Goa’uld. Or it could be some sort of ancient dialect, or… it could be so many things! Honestly, its astounding,”

━━━━

“Uh huh. Yeah, no where,” Cat drawls, “In there did you clearly state, ‘Oh, yes, Cat, this is obviously a weapon of mass destruction that’s going to eradicate our enemy before the war’s even touched our soil’. No offense,” Cat drops the bag on the ground with a heavy sigh, shoulders barely slumping before they straighten, hand coming up to tap at cracked lips, desert-scorched. A little pale now that she’s not underneath the warmth of the sun. Arms cross now that they’re free. “To junior. Because I would much rather it be a defense system.” A low hum, looking over Kara’s shoulder, “Not that it seems to have done them any good given the fact that the entire floor was empty. Maybe the Goa’uld wiped them out, too.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, brows barely knit before she looks back up towards Kara, tongue tracing her lower lip. A swift nod.

“What are the chances of it actually being useful? We’re tugging at scraps, here, already.” And she can feel it, crawling up her gut--settling between her ribs. That sixth sense of we’re fucked that’s already gotten her through enough life and death situations to where she immediately listens to it. “If I get you there, would it actually help you tell what it is?”

━━━━

"What?" Kara said, confused for a second before it dawned on her what Cat meant. Man, its been awhile since she's done this, but it did feel like old times. "No, no, I don't think its a a weapon or a tool of any sort of destruction. It not even defensive, by its look. If it was, I believe it would have be out somewhere else, like a protective shield or something like this. I think its something else..." Kara said, as she tilted her head slightly. "Ken'tha has never seen anything like it, its got to be something..." Working with pictures was difficult. She could get an idea, but it just wasn't as good as in person.

"Perhaps, but if it was something that could hurt the goa'uld or destroy them, they would have taken it, or destroy it themselves," Kara pushed her lips to the side, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear thinking. Studying the symbols she could see. But the dialect wasn't anything she had ever seen before, it wasn't goa'uld, nor was it egyptian or latin, or any base language. Not was it Kryptonian or Callicite, it was racking her brain to try and go through every language she knew. "I can't say for sure," Kara admitted, looking at Cat. Because she didn't know if it would be useful.

"I think I could know more, if I was there. Pictures only do so much, but being there, I could definitely get more information."

━━━━

“We’ve been there.” Cat shakes her head, trying to make her point clearer: “If it’s not a weapon or a shield, it’s not worth going somewhere we have a direct line of contact to. The SGC might find you. No, probably will find you, and trust me, in a strained environment where we keep not running into weapons or shields��where it’s just thousands of artifacts we don’t care about because it’s not the next atom bomb—you’re the last bet they have against figuring out how a Gou’ald ticks. And I don’t mean,” It’s not sharp, just factual, fingers barely curling into her elbows, leaving small moon-circles of dirt in their wake before hands fall. “In the promotion kind of way. Forget it.”

She shrugs, fingers brushing off the dirt on her arm like it’s the most casual statement of the day. Because she hasn’t spent a year in a glorified prison just to throw Kara to the wolves on a hunch.

“I’ll have Winn poke it again and stare blankly at it for a few more hours. He’s particularly good at that.” Eyes flick down to the picture, lips barely pursing, “It’s a shame we don’t know who it’s from. Who built it. Maybe we could find them. Hmm…” Another shake of her head, sliding the cap back over damp hair, offering a slim smile, “We could use a bigger bully on the school yard in our corner.”

━━━━

“You’ve been there. Your team. Not me,” Kara reiterated, as she pointed at the picture. “This could have valuable intel, intel you haven’t had. For all we know, this could be a key to a tool you could use. I need to go! And if you won't take me, then I’ll go myself. I’ll just send whatever I find through the stargate and then come back here. But I’m going,” Kara grumbled as she pushed her lips together. “I don’t care what they do to me, Cat. But this is our…. Your world we are talking about. If this has something, anything, to help save it. I’m going to do it, even if earth thinks I’m an enemy of the world,”

Kara put the stuff into the envelope as she got up and found the bag she needed and was starting to pack things into it. “No,” Kara said, as she looked over at Cat. “He’s goods with computers, he’s not an anthropologist, he won’t know what to look for,” Kara finally finished gathering the few things and looked over to her. “That’s EXACTLY why I need to go. If this is the key to a new race, a race that could put up a fight against the Goa’uld, like the Asgard, then we have to try. I have to try!” She left the envelope for Cat and glanced over to her.

“If I find anything, I’ll leave it there at that planet. Look in the same room you took this picture on the table. It will be there. But I have to go,”

━━━━

Shoulders lean into the wall, looking seemingly nonplussed by Kara’s sudden enthusiasm. An eyebrow slowly arches to touch the dip of her sunglasses, letting out a slow hum before she slides them down and then figures if she’s here she might as well look to see if Kara has any food. Is the food on this planet even edible? She’s been to so many, now, it seems a little negligible. It hasn’t killed her yet—

She pops up something that looks almost like an apple…if a cheap off-budget props department on a B Sci-fi movie made it.

“Love the enthusiasm, honorary flygirl.” The apple pauses over her lips when she remembers that time she was suddenly forty going on one-hundred and twelve and figures she’ll wait. The faux-pple is settled back in its happy little home, twisting around to fully face Kara with a hint of amusement clear on lips, even though her eyes are shaded.

“I can’t wait to see how you get there without the dial address. You don’t mind if I wait here to hear how that little adventure goes, do you? It was a long trek, I could use a nap. Not beauty sleep, obviously, I’ve got that in spades.”

━━━━

Oh… She hated that. She paused as she let the bag slowly slip from her shoulder and refuse to look at Cat just yet. “That’s not fair,” Kara whispered as she took a deep breath and turned around. “Really, that’s not funny. At all,” Her arms crossed over her chest, looking at her even though she had this amusement in her eyes as if she had done something humorous. Kara wasn’t humored.

“Please, Cat,” Kara said as she leaned against the table. “I don’t care what the people of earth do, but we aren’t going to earth. If I can figure out what this is about, if it can help you, isn’t it worth the trip?” The question lingered as she let a breath slip from her lips. “Look, I’m useless out here. Why is it going to hurt to go and see what this can do. If its pointless, you can just tell me ‘I told you so’ and bring me right back here. If its not pointless, what is there to lose?”

━━━━

"Oh, it's funny." Cat leans forward just a little, fingers curling, but the smile falls in lieu of something serious, coming a little closer. "You say that because you've never been tortured." There's a weight to it, the sort of comment that might be bright any other day if it wasn't so true--something a graveness that comes from experience. It's a romantic notion, fighting for freedom and truth and the people you care about, until you're faced with the repercussions of it. "You'll care what the people of Earth do. Your people."

Cat will care. Bigger Danvers will care. Luthor--J'onn--Marsdin. The idiot Winn kid. There's a lot more to lose than a stir crazy archaeologist puts weight on, likely.

Curling fingers flex--stretch--curl--and then stretch, again, before she suddenly dips down to pick back up the pictures, not wanting a trail to where they're going, or have been. All she has is a hunch. "You're right, what's a little treason between old friends." The dryness is back, lips thin as she once more shoulders her bag, idly wondering the chances of enjoying the sunshine on the way out before nodding towards the door. "Just because I clearly thrive on telling you I told you so. Let's go, march."

━━━━

Quiet settled on Kara’s lips as she wondered if she had pushed past the wrong boundary. Cat wasn’t smiling any longer, she looked took a breath. “Being tortured scares me, more then anything, but what scares me more… is losing you, Alex, Lena, the whole team,” Kara sat down beside Cat, quiet for a moment as Cat seemed to let it twist inside of her head. She grabbed the other papers and pushed them over to Cat as well.

“There’s Colonel Grant,” Kara commented, leaning up against the table staring at her when she reached over and tried to take her hand but stopped and just took a breath. Kara wasn’t sure what boundary she crossed, she had done something wrong. But she really needed to do this. Kara reached over and gave her a small bag. “Here, some food,” She said, as she picked up her gown and moved out of the house, letting Cat lead the way now.

━━━━

"You had that too conveniently at hand. I knew you were waiting for me." It's a dry quip, fingers tucking open the small sack and eyes lingering before she follows after. It's a shame, she thinks, that she doesnt have the opportunity to see Kara's life here. But maybe there's no other Grant than Colonel Grant, after all, rifling through.

There's no comment on what Kara might lose, or what Cat might imagine loss to be. Instead, she plucks up faux-pple number two in front of Kara and smirks. "Chances of this killing me? Hmm, well, what does it matter, anyways? I like to live dangerously." A fact noted by the obvious: they're heading back towards a Stargate she was being fired at right before entering maybe ten or so minutes ago. She takes a bite. Hums at the unusual taste, letting it sink on her tongue, ignoring how close Kara's hand has been. "We'll have to take a detour before going there. If anything does happen, we're going to make it hard for anyone to be able to track you back to the Nox." Cat has a few planets in mind. "How have you been?" Eyes stay forward, "Really."

━━━━

Kara smiled, as she gave a small shrug. "So, I had a feeling someone would come by sooner or later, at least I hoped. But, I have a huge store of food so, I eat a lot," Kara chuckled as she glanced back. "Next time, let's stay a little longer and talk about domestic things." A little comment, cause honestly, she wanted to just have a moment of normal.

then again when was any of this normal??

"Its not, would I really let you eat anything that would kill you?" Kara questioned, shaking her head in amusement. She paused at the stargate, staring at it for the first time in a long time. She hadn't been this close in awhile, taking a breath. She opened up her bag, looking at the weapons she had that Ken’tha had taken before she ran with Kara’s body. “That’s good. They don’t deserve to be harassed, they are a kind people,” She moved toward the dial device (seems the Nox already knew they were leaving) and paused as she looked over to Cat.

“Really?” Kara repeated as she took a breath. “I want to go home. I just want to have everything go back to how it was. But, honestly, I’m fine. I really am, I’m making this work. The Nox help, honestly. They’re very empathetic,” Kara won’t mention how many times she’s cried because she lost Krypton, then she lost Earth, she lost her family and friends, and then her second family and her friends. She was tired.

Rao, she was really tired.

━━━━

"You might let me eat something that turns my head...oh, I don't know. Perpetually blue. Makes my lips swell up like Pam Anderson. Who knows." But Cat takes another bite, regardless, twisting around on her heel to gesture towards that vague blur of...whatever it is hanging in the distance, a silky cloud of opaque a little far out of eyesight. Maybe that's how they do it. They're always just a little farther out of eyesight. "Hmm, maybe. Next time. Gun?" The last part is called out into the sky, gesturing with her hand for a few seconds before it materializes next to her ankle. "Thank you." A little short--huffed through nostrils before she moves over to the DHD, palm pressing until the chevrons engage, the loud whir familiar. Distracting enough.

It's been a long time since cat's been the 'talk about domestic' type. The thought make her chuckle, continuing, "Maybe I'll bring over an issue of Vogue. It's been a bit since I've had an excuse to wear a dress." Normally, these days, her finest accessory is around her ankles. Thanks to Luthor, its tucked on the edge of camp a few planets away. "But if we're being optimistic, a girl can dream." The final Chevron engages, finally taking looking back over at Kara, watching muted sunshine paint her features. "I'm...glad." She settles on, voice calm and humming. Maybe just as glad that glasses are tucked on her nose, obscuring her eyes from an ever-observant pair. The last thing she needs is Kara reading her like some ancient Babylon manuscript. "That they've made it easier for you. Who knows, maybe we'll find something that wins the war." Cat tucks her newly materialized gun by her hip. A chuckling laugh, "Sounds about as likely as me getting the chance to wear a dress, anytime soon, doesn't it? But, hmm...a chance is better than none, isn't it?"

━━━━

“No I wouldn’t!” Kara nearly spoke up without thinking when Cat took another bite and realized her leg was probably being pulled. That is what the humans called it, right? “Promise, I’m not going to turn you into a blue blueberry like willy wonka,” okay, the thought made Kara giggle a little bit, because it was one of the movies that Eliza showed her when she was a kid. She looked over at Cat as she had her gun back and she was sure her sense of security returned. Though here on Nox, there was nothing to worry about.

A grin crossed her lips as she looked over to her. “I’m sure you look great,” She said and then raised a brow. “One day, right?” Eyes watched each chevron entered until the bright blue wave erupted and Kara stared for a moment in awe. It never ceased to amaze her. “I’m sure the Nox wouldn’t mind if you stayed for a little bit, if you ever get a chance,” Kara chuckled and gave a shrug. “I’m going to hold you to that. When we win, you get to wear a dress. There’s always a chance,” A simple challenge, but always something that she enjoyed. “Come on, let’s go!” Kara said as she stepped through the gate, a little too eager to travel again.

━━━━

“Stay on some peaceful, non-violent planet where I don’t constantly have to look over my shoulder? Sounds a little.” The gust of wind dances up hair, fingers curling around metal, lips barely twitching upwards, settling the half-eating faux-pple in the bag. Leave no trace, Thoreau would be proud. “Boring, don’t you think? Even at Thanksgiving I have to step around a landmine or two, no--no. I’m not the type the Nox are looking for. But I could always call Stevie Nicks to fill in--she’d love it.” There’s something about the wind here that reminds her of the softly settling breeze in green trees in Istanbul and it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch of the imagination to feel like she’s home. No guns, and all.

She steps through before Kara can and raises her own, ready, feeling the chill of ice on her bones. The immediate snow whipping through the air--wind. Something undoubtedly boring and full of science about the displacement of thermodynamics that she could just hear Luthor prattling on about in the background, a small little bubble of warmth following them past the explosion outwards before blue sinks back into the portal, both of them on the ramp.

The warmth doesn’t last long. It’s immediately freezing and Grant tosses Kara her gun, casually shouting over the wind and ice, knowing they have a few pit-stops to pluck back up her gear — “Hope you remember how to use it—” before she rushes over to the DHD, slamming in coordinates before her hand can freeze to the platform, dipping down to knees in order to roughly knock off the platform in front of it, sliding a small little hanging device off of the edge of the plug-in for the panel before replacing it. Slipping it into her bag, cooling fingers untangling that rope. Waiting until that boom happens one more time, a rush of blue expanding outwards before it settles, a shimmering portal once more highlighting the darkened snow—

One down, three to go.

Cat pushes Kara through it since it’s hard to see in the settling flurry of snow, not really giving her the chance, otherwise, really. A little like old times.

The next planet’s heat is enough to cause whiplash in nerves and Cat nods towards a small little clearing of purple trees down ahead, “Pit-stop.” Continuing, tugging up the rope and leaving mini-Danvers with the gun. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your real desire to help is the opportunity,” In the time she’s talked, she’s popped open this panel, as well, hissing at the heat of whatever kind of metal this is searing the edge of her fingertips underneath the sun, rummaging around for a few seconds before the small little black attachment has disappeared inside. “To see me in a dress. Oh, not that I blame you. Annie Lennox and I have several things in common, Kara—a questionable phase in college, a distaste for producers--” She hops upwards, slinging the rope around her shoulder, “And we both look fantastic in dresses and suits, alike. Dress blues do great things for my bedroom eyes.” For the first time, she moves forward to pat Kara’s shoulder, hand lingering, suddenly serious, “You alright? It’s been a while since you’ve been through.”

━━━━

"After being constantly busy, a little peace never hurts," Kara said, as she looked at her. "Don't tell me you haven't enjoyed a moment of quiet just reading a book or sketching or anything?" She questioned, almost baffled and then stared at her. "You...what?" Sometimes, Kara forgets that Cat isi n the military. "Well, you deserve a normal thanksgiving. Though I do not quite understand why humans do Thanksgiving," Kara moved as she followed Cat through at first.

The gate was cold, once again, as she took a breath letting the warm air warm her lungs again. Except when she breathed in it was freezing cold and Kara wasn't prepared or dressed for this. She caught the gun, and nodded, shivering within seconds as her outfit was think and ill crafted. Before Kara had a chance to think she was pushed through the gate and tripped onto the metal platform, staring up at the gate as Cat came through.

"Next time, warn me about the cold. I'm not exactly dressed for that," But what was a chill was now sweat as she turned to look at the purple treeline (it reminded her of the forest of Krypton) and shifted the gun in her hands (she was always better with a pen rather then a weapon). A blush came to her cheeks that she hoped would be an excuse that the planet was so hot, and chuckled. "I didn't mean, its not like, its just...." Kara stumbled over her words, as she reached up and rubbed her temple a little. "I, uh, da....what?" Kara nearly fell over if not for the fact she was on her two feet. Every inch of her paused as she felt her shoulder touched and shook her head. "I'll be alright, its a little dizzy, its has been awhile,"

━━━━

A slow eyebrow arches upwards at the impressive tongue tie and it's this moment that Cat will never admit she missed Kara, a little. It's not like she made Luthor or J'onn nervous. Or...have emotions. She forgot how easy it was to rattle the other woman and wonders, not for the first time, what kind of weapon of mass destruction that gou'ald could really be with this as its cover.

But, then again, Cat also knew Kara Danvers was more than met the eye.

Fingers curl--squeeze around the shoulder--before she pulls away. "Breathe, Kara. I can't have you hyperventilating." The hand moves up to pat her cheek twice, as well, before pulling away, entirely, heading towards those trees with rope in hand. "I left a few things I have a feeling we're going to need." Their emergency button, return home button being one of them. She'd rather not meet the other end of the eye without it opening if they do wind up having to go back to earth. "You didn't exactly give me much of a chance to warn you about packing before you started leaving. Someone had cabin fever."

Cat knows what that feels like. Which is likely why she doesn't linger on the subject of relaxing very long.

"No, I've been stationed away the majority of the year." But Kara doesn't have to know the why. Need to know. And Kara likely carries enough guilt for both of them, already. Cat doesn't want to pile onto it. And she doesn't linger on that, either. "But I'd still rather be dodging actual landmines than having a conversation over martinis with my mother. And I thought you were the archaeologist, if you suddenly can't tell me the extensive backstory of a holiday, I've lost my faith." Lips twitch, heading towards the trees.

━━━━

"I never said I didn't understand the background and reasoning behind Thanksgiving, just it seems a little irrelevant at the same time. But then again, Americans do love their food," Kara mused lightly, and then shrugged. "And I like the food to so... Apple pie is the best home cooked desert I have ever tasted in my life." Hence the apple-like fruit she loved to collect on Gaia while she was there and living.

Kara shifted her dress, moving with her toward the tree as she shifted the gun to hang off a strap on her shoulder. The first thing she did was pull out her gou'ald weapon instead, fitting it onto her hand, each gold tip on a finger as she looked over toward Cat.

A breath came from her lips, one, two, three. "What can I say, I was ready to go do something. Even when I do have to go back, at least I had one more adventure," She smiled, and she truly meant that. Kara wasn't one to just sit at home, pick plants and live in the forest house. It was nice, but it wasn't something Kara could do forever.

━━━━

"We love our food, guns, and occasionally pretentious nationalism and freedom--it's what we're fighting for." Her voice might be dry, but her eyes haven't fallen from their surroundings for a moment, listening. Watching. When their feet crunch along underbrush, there's something familiar in it and cat is quietly thankful for each side step in count because it's just two sets of footprints, each time.

Any soldier who claims they like a fight hasn't been in enough of them to understand how exhausting they are, and after enough detours to find the federal DOT a run for their money, she'll avoid them as much as possible.

Shoulders tense for a moment at the sight of the glove before fingers flex around the rope, the trees coming a little clearer into sight, the scent of an unfamiliar forest settling in lungs. Right. Kara supposedly knows how to use one of those. The last couple of times cat had been close enough to see one, it wasn't pleasant. "You know, if you don't come back…" Lips part. Purse. The smallest sigh before she continues on, serious, "If Earth is stupid enough to shun you, there are other places you could go. We only took you to the Nox because we knew they would keep you safe and wouldn't let anyone take you back to Earth. It was our only option. It doesn't mean it's yours."

━━━━

Kara didn't know much about the guns and nationalism, she was never truly a part of it here. But perhaps in Krypton, she understood that before. It was a long time ago, it almost felt impossible to remember. She was silent from that moment, just letting the sentence hover on the air instead. She followed her to the area, watching her pull on the rope, gathering what she needed.

A breath sucked through her lungs at the fated words. Kara really honestly didn't want to think about that. Honestly, there was nowhere safe. The Nox was the only true safe place at the moment. Ken'tha told her about the assassins, and each world she has gone to, the distaste of goa'uld anything was pretty much hated .

"It is," Kara stated, nothing else to truly be spoken. "Its okay, I've accepted it. Like I said, they are kind, far kinder than any other planet could be," She took a breath, pushing a smile to her lips to prevent any show of sadness behind it. It's the last thing Cat needed to worry about, and there was no point in worrying about something that couldn't be fixed.

━━━━

“That’s what happens when an entire planet turns away from violence.” Cat hypothesises, anyways. Back still tighter than it ever used to be when she was younger. But it’s not like she has to explain that to Kara, of all people. She can’t quite remember how the air in any room might feel, anymore, without eyes that immediately snap up to the exits. Eyes linger on Kara for a long moment before she tugs off the rope from her shoulder before wrapping a round of it around her wrist, “Peace is a luxury we can’t afford.” Her voice is quiet, that crunching of her boots stopping next to a tree, hefting up the edge of the rope before tossing it over a branch hidden by shimmering, purple leaves. The rope is a hefty, familiar weight as warming fingers start to work the end she just tossed over into a harness by her hips. “And neither can you, right now, since you’re officially guarding my six. Try not to stare too hard at it.” A sharp tug on the rope before she’s climbing up both hanging strands, disappearing up into the tree for a few moments before a bag suddenly appears next to Kara, falling from one of the higher branches, and Cat once more materializes next to it, this time with hair tucked inside her hat and a familiar jacket curved around shoulders. Fingers curl upwards in gesture, “Alright, I want my gun back, since you’ve--have you had that this entire time?” The rope is shoved into the second bag. What a few bigwigs wouldn’t do for that tech, alone. Forging ever on-wards: “If you were someone that could stay on a peaceful planet for longer than anyone told you to, you would have stayed on Krypton. It’s funny what a good heart and an unwillingness to stand aside can do.” It’s hardly a judgmental statement, even as the eyebrow arches upwards. Because Cat, clearly, would prefer Kara stay on whatever planet the Nox homeworld is without the P in front of it, but that’s the funny thing about injustice and believing that the universe would benefit far greater with Kara Danvers’ contribution in it instead of without it. “What about the Tok’ra?”

━━━━

Kara smiled softly, the comment something she agreed with. But the other thing made Kara nod her head. "I know," Her fingers flexed with the device on her hand, and while she had the gun, she's had more time with this one rather then the gun (plus she was never a fan of the sidearm). "I got it,"

After a few minutes, Kara gave back the guna and then looked down at her hand. "Yes?" Kara said, not quite sure why it was a surprise. A little thought passed her mind and then gave a shrug. "I... wear my heart on my sleeve." The thought brought a small smile on her lips before thinking about that. "I'm not sure the way the Tok'ra work is something I can work with myself," Kara said. The Tok'ra were very much the kind of people of the ends justice the means.

Including some of the things they have done. Kara wasn't sure she could deal with living among them with some of their views. "Its fine, Cat. Really, don't worry," Kara smiled as she touched her shoulder.

━━━━

“Cute.” Lips barely twitch upwards underneath the familiar rim of sunglasses. It seems to dance up her cheeks like sunshine might, if the shade wasn’t obscuring it beneath the rims’ lofty weight and though the flicker is imperceptible in eyes behind their shield, it’s evident in the faintest way her shoulder tightens and then relaxes underneath Kara’s hand. “You know,” Her hand comes up to a wrist, curving around the faintest dip of a pulse beneath unfamiliar metal. If the goa’uld’s tech is even made from metal. “It’s funny.” She squeezes before hefting up the gun, “I remember saying the same thing to Olivia about the Air Force. It seems like we all do things our conscience wouldn’t allow under the guise of the right thing. I don’t like the Tok’ra, either.” She acknowledges, humming, “But you don’t have to like yourself in a war. We all just do the best we can. There’s always a better to strive towards, don’t get me wrong. I could never just sit by. But if you want to,” A shrug, starting the trek towards the gate, “Enjoy the fake apples. The peace looks like it’s done you well.” For once, it’s not sarcastic. “Come on, we’ll gate to that mirror of yours.”

━━━━

Kara barely caught the smile, just barely there as she shifted back to her side, moving her hand away as she noticed the tension at first. Kara had always wanted to talk about it but she doesn’t. It's just...Cat. Though Kara still wonders. Kara pushed her lips to the side and nods a little, because Kara wouldn’t change herself just to fit in somewhere. What kind of person would she be, and what would that say about the way she wanted to do things. But honestly, she was learning things from the Nox, and when they had visitors as well.

“It's not about liking myself. It's about keeping my morals intact. If I waver on that, I lose who I am, what I stand for. Maybe I’m being too stubborn, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too young,”

But Kara paused, looking at Cat as she walked toward the gate not quite sure how to respond to that. Because while the peace was nice, she was still itching to help. To get back out there and help. She didn’t want to….just sit around and do nothing. That’s why she was doing this. Kara nodded her head as she followed, watching Cat enter the new gate dialup

━━━━

“Clearly just too young!” Cat readily agrees over the boom of naquadah flooding the space in front of them in a large puff of blue before it retracts, a shimmering pool of something not at all close to water hovering in front of them. “That’s what the Nox say about all of us humans, isn’t it? Or, hmm, well,” A gesture towards Kara’s stomach before realizing Junior’s probably wrapped around her spine, instead. It’s not the first time she’s wondered, since she found out, just how much of Kara she knew, and how much of it was...Ken’tha. It’s been a year, and she’s still getting used to the idea. A little faster than the rest of the SG had, but it’s admittedly taken time, whether she admits that, or not. Even now, she can’t help but wonder--

Well, that’s a little pointless, isn’t it? Wondering doesn’t do anyone any favors.

What does liking herself mean to Kara--to Ken-tha--to a Kryptonian, or a Goa’uld, or a human.

“I’m sure they’d say it to you, too. Not the Kryptonian. Or the Goa’uld. You’re not really like either side, are you? Either of you...both of you. Whatever you, you are.” A huff through nostrils at her own words being minced, a rarity. Continuing, “Maybe everyone’s young, outside of the people who refuse to enter a war, even when there’s a choice to. I don’t see the Nox standing here willing to help. You’re leaving, aren’t you? Young. Unwise. Uncultured. How brutish. Or...maybe,” It drawls out, “You’re just holding onto that idealism of yours. Nice to see it hasn’t changed, apparently. That’s fine, the rest of us are completely content living in a universe full of grays and good intent that falls on its face the moment we pull a trigger. Alright, ,” She hefts up her favorite method of good intent, metal glistening under sunlight. Her wrist gestures towards the portal with a flick of the gun, calmly walking up the ramp, jacket once more settled on shoulders--unscuffed as much as the rest of her outfit is. “Lady with the gun first.” Muttering before she disappears through the portal, maybe a reflection of her own: “I always get the fun job.”

━━━━

Kara had to hold back a laugh, the fact that Cat readily agreed with that thought a little too fast. When Cat gestured to her stomach, it confused her at first before it clicked what she was meaning. Honestly, Kara didn't know about herself. Kara knew she was Kryptonian. Her psyicology said that, and her religion and concepts and culture was all sitll Kryptonian. But Ken'tha, she was goa'uld, but she wasn't like the goa'uld. She was something else.

They, were something else.

Could Kara even claimed to be a Kryptonian anymore? Honestly, it was something she tried not to think about. She didn't fit into a pretty box, but then again what world, what culture, what customs and traditions truly fit into a box when they were all ever changing? "Its hard to say what we are. Ken'tha and I, I think we are something that has never happened before. The Tok'ra aren't really goa'uld, though scientifically, they are the same species. But Ken'tha wasn't born into their world. Nor was she truly a part of the Goa'uld. She's...different." But that was another story for another time. Focus on one concept at a time, Kara. A chuckle left her lips as she followed her toward the stargate, once more traveling through it, this time it not bothering her as much.

Kara's eyes honed in on their surroundings, jumping back into old habits of being alert and trying to learn the surroundings quickly. "Where are we now?"

━━━━

Boots are tilted on the ground, crouched near the DHD by the time Kara follows through. The gun is tucked up in her palms, at the ready, hand up in a signal before it lowers. Habit. A habit that doesn't really die, stomach clenching and unclenching when all she hears is silence. There's no guarantee, after all, that this is as abandoned as they're now assuming. Cat doesn't like leaving things up to chance unless she's three glasses in at a roulette table.

But, then again, one of the perks of being under constant lock and key is that she's horrendously sober all of the time.

"That's on a need to know." The comment is flippant--smiling--rising up when she's positive that nothing is about to shoot either of them. The bunker is expansive and still mostly empty, sheets covering various artifacts they haven't bothered devoting time to studying. "P3R-233. This way to your museum. Hopefully some of this is actually useful." And there's that clenching, again. Her gut taut, anxious. The same reason she thought it was a hunch in the first place. A serious question. A hint of a well-buried journalist peeking through Atlanta the edges. "What makes you think you're both different?"

━━━━

Kara glanced around, a smirk on her lips at the comment before pausing as she moved over and lifted up the canvas over the other artifacts. Kara’s eyes were bright, filled with amazement because all of this was like an archeologist’ dream. But against all want, she put the cloth down and moved over back to Cat’s side, ready to see the bigger thing, the mirror in that picture. “Well, think about it,” Kara said as she looked for what might be similar to the picture. “Ken’tha is a goa’uld,” She paused as Ken’tha still didn’t like being called that anymore. “But, she’s not really a goa’uld anymore. Kind of like the Tok’ra do not see themselves as goa’uld anymore either. Been they became Tok’ra hundreds of thousands of years ago, and have since deviated from that past, changing. Ken’tha was born into the goa’uld ranks, she was the greek goddess, Ken. The Goddess of Love, but she was to take on the new godhood of… ironically my namesake. Kara, the Kryptonian Goddess of love. Except she didn’t. She revolted. She’s not a Tok’ra, but she’s not part of the Goa’uld culture either. She’s… different,” Kara wasn’t even sure if any of this was making sense, but she was trying her best to explain.

“And I’m Kryptonian, by body, yes, and I still follow my culture even now. But, I’ve lived on Earth for so long, and I’m bonded with Ken’tha. We are one of the same, in a way. So, she is neither goa’uld nor am I fully Kryptonian anymore. I guess, basically, we are what we want to be.” She said finally as she paused at the doorway.

“Wait, isn’t this the room in the picture?”

━━━━

“The one and only.” The gun is tucked against her hip--never very far from her person, these days, unless she’s apparently traipsing through Nox-guarded meadows--and it stays that way, even as she comes closer to the mirror. Anyone who thinks she doesn’t have a reason to be apprehensive about things like this hasn’t been stabbed through the stomach by a sentient crystal being from another planet. She’s a little rightfully leery, in her book. “It’s almost like we can’t all be chalked up to where we were born.”

How many years had Cat thought Kara was human? How many years would it have mattered? There’s a long, lean alligator of a woman a few planets or so away whose fingers are slender when hidden and eyes nearly red underneath shadows but the colonel is left wondering if she’s ever known any of Kara, at all. Maybe she has. Maybe she hasn’t. But maybe no one knows much of Cat, either.

But that’s a little pointless to wonder, too, voice calm and a little carefully bored despite the firm grip on her gun. “So...what do you think about your brand new television set?” Without a word, she tugs off the cloth over the mirror, eyebrows raising. “You know, there’s a chance it could just be that everyone else is as vain as people on Earth everywhere.”

━━━━

“I’m still Kara,” She looked over at Cat, as if reading her mind. “I know there is no way to prove that Ken’tha isn’t in control, but it really is me.” Kara wondered if perhaps that was a stupid thing to say. By saying that, she might just instill doubt into the woman more. But, she had been working with them for a year, and Ken’tha preferred to stay quiet. Ken’tha didn’t like to take over, anything she had to offer she did so by their mind blending. “Okay, maybe that was dumb. Since I have no way to prove it…” She whispered to herself, because now she wondered how many thought that.

Did her sister think it?

That thought just made it hurt more.

She paused as she moved toward the mirror, staring at it with awe intent. “This, is amazing,” She said, as she turned and looked at the table. Her eyes scanned everything, but one thing stood one. She picked up the device, her hand brushing over it a few times, as the light turned on briefly before fading. “This is not like any of the artifacts here. And the entire room, it's definitely a lab. I have one back at the institute,” She said, looking all around but then back to the mirror. “But these two things, there the only ones that aren’t connected to them. This is amazing, it must be some sort of device, perhaps a recorder, or something else,” Kara started talking as she walked around the large stone mirror, and paused in front of it, leaning forward just slightly, and waving her hand over it. “Huh, but it's not a mirror at all,” She spoke more to herself, as she was better at thinking out loud.

She looked down at the device that was still powered on, looking much like the blue glow of the stargate. Then she reached up to touch the mirror, wondering if it would do anything. “I think that, that dev--” When she turned around, no one was there. “Grant?” She questioned, stepping away from the mirror, and searching around, stepping out of the room. “Cat Grant!” Her voice echoed, confused. What had just happened?

What transpired left Kara stunned, confused, but mainly, knowing she had to tell General Marsdin. She had to tell Cat. She had to tell them all, otherwise…

Earth was doomed.

Traveling back was a bit more difficult then coming through, and when she finally came through the mirror, her ivory outfit was tarnished with her red blood. HEr arm was severely wounded, the side of her face bleeding as well. Even with Ken’tha, this would take time to heal, and any regular human would die from it. She held the piece of paper in her hand as she looked around, not seeing Cat. If it had been the full day as she had in this alternate reality, then Cat would have had to leave. She held no fault. But she was about to do something that Cat would most likely lecture her on. There was no other choice. Her hand left bloody prints over each symbol. Earth. She was going back to earth. She reached into her bag, pulling out another thing she conveniently didn’t turn over and punched in the digits that she was a friendly. However, she collapsed to her knee, as she took a breath. Resolve the only thing helping her move forward despite the amount of pain she was in.

The chill of the stargate only lasted a second as she tumbled out the other side, her bag rolling down the metal ramp, and the hand holding the piece of paper in hand. Her vision was fuzzy, she could barely see anything, but she could make out the silhouettes of her former team. And then everything simple went black.

━━━━

Final straw. It’s a cute little two-word phrase Colonel Catherine Jane Grant is intimately familiar with. The last day a haze. Her fingers are bloodied and hair still strung with grease, but the rest of her remains hunched on the bed, fingers twirling a fountain pen between tips above her palm.

The position she’s currently in is familiar, too, given the fact that chains are hanging from her limbs, body curled on the edge of a cot. Her cell and home for the past year.

“You tied my hands.”

“Well that’s a shame, Olivia. I didn’t even buy you dinner first.”

“Cat, for fuck’s sake, this isn’t a game—”

No, it’s definitely not a game. They’re closing down the Stargate program, Cat’s being shipped to something close to Guantanamo, Kara is still missing and despite her immediately coming back to try to mobilize a unit—

“You could stare harder, Luthor, or just snap a polaroid and put it on your wall.” Cat calls from the bed, feeling the Captain lingering. Hesitant. But there’s no sign of a smile, or a sharp quip, or anything short of something pressing.

“It’s Kara.” Luthor offers and Cat immediately sits up on the bed, handcuffs rattling in a way that makes the airman to the right stiffen.

“At ease, bagboy.” Her voice is sharp and at least Lena has a little bit of sympathy because she returns the phrase loud enough for it to actually matter, the airman turning the other way. Cat’s fingers wring knees before she shifts closer. As close as she can, anyways, because Luthor shouldn’t look so pale, unless they found her and— “Is she—”

And then Lena explains the rest of it. Which is how Cat finds herself, an hour and a half and a fidgety airman unusually compliant later, sporting a black eye in the middle of the medical bay next to Kara’s bed and Danvers. Who should probably be recused from duty, but isn’t, despite the fact that Kara’s tied to the bed far tighter than Cat is.

“How’d you get the black eye?” Marsdin asks from the doorway, the room clear in medical save for the three of them.

“I’m told I’m mouthy, but I have no complaints other than this raging migraine. Imagine that, I didn’t even get to see who did it.”

Maybe it’s the final straw of Liv’s that allows her to stay in the room until Kara wakes up, Cat’s arms crossed as she twirls her pen, chained to the bed next to her.

“Must have been some hell of a television.” Cat greets. No longer caring that the room is bugged. That all the rooms are bugged. That knot in her stomach taut and…furious and far too glad to see she’s alive to care. “Why the fuck did you come back here?” Comes out before she asks, “What the hell happened?”

━━━━

It took some time for her body to recover, that she was unaware of what was even happening at first. Her head was pounding, the headache must have been from hitting the metal so hard, or just the pain she had to deal with. Kara blinked her eyes, when everything came rushing back. Cat, Alex, Lena, Teal’c, they were all… dead. No, not here, but there. Whatever that world was. Her arms jerked up, before realizing they weren’t going anywhere. She was pretty much locked down in the bed, and it took a few seconds to put two and two together.

“Cat, you have to tell them!” Kara tried to speak quickly but all she got was a groan after her lips, as her shoulder was still sore. “It wasn’t a TV. Why would you… It was a plane of existence. Like, you were there, and Alex, everyone. Just, not the way you are here. It was some sort of different world, an alternate world unlike this but… Cat, they are coming. The Goa’uld, they are going to make a strike.” Kara looked down toward the restraints (why did they think this was necessary? She’s never tried to kill any of them!) as she threw her head back, clearly annoyed with her situation. Alex was already by her side, as she looked at her sister, and she could see the worry in her face. And then she noticed Lena across the bed as well.

“You all have to believe me. That piece of paper, that’s the key. I don’t know what it is, I didn’t have time. The Goa’uld…. they killed everyone. All I know is that, what they were saying…” Kara paused as she stared at the ceiling, closing her eyes. “It translated to ‘They are coming’.” She curled her fingers into a fist as she took a breath. “I know what my sentence is,” she looked at all of them, because Mayborne and whoever else would love to get their hands on them. “But it won’t matter if there is no Earth to come back to,” Kara stared at the entire team, then looked back at Cat.

━━━━

“Kara--” Cat tries to interrupt, but she just keeps on going and Cat finds her lips pressed thinner and thinner. Pale underneath the garish contrast of her eye. “Slow down.” Her voice has dropped any sense of nonchalance, something sharp and steel in her gaze and jaw. The sort of thing that might make both soldiers by the bedside thoughtlessly tighten out of habit, and her own chains don’t rattle, this time, as she sits up. “You’re telling me you transported somewhere--to somewhere where we all died which, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re all here--and you think this is going to happen to us because…?” The question hangs in the air, a hint of frustration barely peeking through underneath it. “What, like the mirror sent you to an alternate universe? We’re not in an H.G Wells novel, Kara. Ignoring the...particularly large space portal outside.”

“Well, it is possible--” Luthor supplies and Cat holds her groan behind teeth, holding up a hand that rattles underneath cuffs to stem it.

“Who is they?” She cuts over before she can get a science lecture, focusing solely on Kara. “For all you know, you just got knocked out, teleported somewhere by someone like the Asgardians, and all of what you saw was some kind of freudian nightmare dream. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, has also almost happened to us, before. Without the teleporting.”

━━━━

“Thank you,” Kara said toward Lena, at least she seemed to follow what she was talking about. “I’m not talking about some story or book, Cat. I literally went to a different world in a different time. That wasn’t a mirror, it was a transportation device.”

A pause in her voice, as she leaned her head back (she couldn’t do much when her wrist and legs and neck was strapped down against this bed like she was some serial killer). “I don’t know ‘who’ is they. Just that it was said, over and over on a message. And they were repeating those symbols on that piece of paper I brought back.” Kara turned her head, giving a look to Cat as if she had just said something that made no sense. “A nightmare dream. A nightmare dream that caused me to pretty much bleed out and pass out?” She pointed her hand toward her arm which still hurt, but her finger was directed toward that direction.

“It wasn’t a dream Cat. IT was real, I was there. You have to trust me. Please,”

━━━━

“What piece of paper? What symbols?” Eyes flick up to Luthor, an eyebrow arching. That information was decidedly lacking before the black eye.

“I believe Kara Danvers refers to this piece of paper.” Teal’C—because of course he does, since he loves withholding information until the last minute, apparently—performs some kind of magic trick, a piece of paper suddenly held up between them. Cat’s eyes flick back to Luthor, who immediately grabs it and starts pouring over it, before Cat calmly looks back towards Kara. “It was clasped in her hand before she lost consciousness. I did not see the benefit of leaving it with Senator Kinsey.”

“No one sees the benefit of leaving anything with Senator Kinsey, Teal’c.” Grant agrees, gaze still settled on Kara. Assessing. Thinking, despite what follows. “There’s nothing we can do, Kara. There is no SGC. No stargate. The program is being dismantled, Teal’c over there—you remember Teal’c, don’t you? Wave, Teal’c—“ Teal’c, obviously, does not wave, “Is going back to Chu’lak, Luthor over there is going somewhere I no longer have clearance to know about, and your glaring, delightfully broody sister is probably going to have the benefit of watching you be tortured because you were too stubborn to stay on planet Flower-child.”

Cat doesn’t point out where she’s going, instead continuing, seriously:

“They’re not listening to reason. Or me. You should be focused on getting out of here.”

“What was the recording?” Luthor asks, paper practically glued to her nose it’s so close, clearly not listening to the conversation. Cat’s glance upwards is as dry as her voice might be and there might be a mumbled response quietly to herself of “Sorry...ma’am.” And damn if the curiosity didn’t kill the Colonel, those thin lips pressing thinner. Sighing.

Oh, what the hell.

“Let’s say, against, oh…all.” A heavy-winded sigh, Cat’s eyes moving up to the ceiling before looking back, once more, “Better judgment and common sense, I trust you…why. “Pointed. “ Do you think something bad is going to happen here?”

━━━━

Kara had to take a breath, because her mind was reeling over everything that had happened and all she can do think that they had to do something. And they had to do something now! While they discussed the whole paper, she just laid there, trying to let the previous hours come into understanding. Alex’s hand touched her shoulder, as Kara looked over at her, worry on her mind. Kara would have touched her hand, but there wasn’t anything she could do besides look at her.

Eyes turned back toward the group. “No stargate...What…” Kara pushed her brows together because this was their number one defense against the goa’uld and shutting it down…. “Stop,” Kara said, not wanting to hear anymore about where everyone is going. “It kept repeating they are coming,” Kara said, looking at Lena and then over toward Cat. “Yes. What happened in that alternate universe. The Goa’uld ships came to earth, and they were destroying ever human life on earth. They weren’t taking prisoners, they were simple eradicating everyone and everything. Starting with the big cities. Washington, Philadelphia, even Egypt,” Kara thought back to it and finally spoke again.

"It was a transmission that came from their earth, the alternate one. They said they received it 3 months before the invasion. It said "Beware the destroyers. They come from-- and the rest is broken." She looked over at Cat and pointed at that. “Whatever it came from, whoever it came from, it came from the planet where that mirror was on. They know something that we didn’t know. But I’m pertty sure what I saw, the invasion. Its coming to us. So, screw any court martial that might be coming your way, screw the senator, I don’t care about any of that. If we don’t do something, maybe go through the stargate with those symbols I wrote down on that paper, then all this experimental, court martial, going to a different unit. It won’t matter if we are all dead,” Kara said, as she threw her head back, ignoring the headache she was getting.

“I don’t know how, but we have to go. That is the key,”

━━━━

Cat is quiet, lips still pressed in that thin line, eyes tracking every dip and valley of Kara's face that she had only just seen for a minute before she was gone for a minute.

The empty planet. The planet that they were just on that didn't have a single soul, with no transmissions, no fancy symbols, no one there warning them. There was no radio crackling on their Earth, and Kara was recently discovered to be a goa'uld, a viable national--global--threat of species who impersonate, infiltrate, and twist the world's best until they're bent at their knees in subjugation.

"You expect me to tell everyone on this team to ignore a presidential order--to go against everything we respect on some fever dream you had on another planet regarding an invasion that may, or may not happen." It's drawled, face unmoving before she sits a little further upwards, cuffs rattling as she looks between her team.

Risking everything on a hunch? Betting on the fact that Kara is not only of sound mind, but that it isn't just a trap to lead the goa'uld right to them? Betting on Kara, period.

"Well, you heard her, let's go." She gestures towards the cuffs and then Danvers, the only one here with the keys. "I'm not ordering any of you to do this. I can't order any of you to do this, anymore. We don't know what will be on the other end of that gate, but you bet your ass I'm not going to risk it being true. It's likely a one-way mission, either way. No one here has to go." Eyes flick up to Luthor--Teal'c, whose brow arching matches her own--Danvers before settling on Kara.

They could tell everyone Kara and Cat escaped, overpowered them. But Cat has every intent of going to the guns locker. If they're heading towards a fleet--an army--an...anything that isn't a High school dance, she's going to be prepared to save Earth from it.

She hopes there's nothing on the other end. That it's just a wild goose chase.

But if it's not--

Her voice is strong, firm. Unwavering. She'll bet every hunch on Kara Danvers and her little tag-along. What else does she have to lose?

"I'm with you and Junior."

━━━━

Kara looked over at Cat, waiting quietly as she didn't seem to speak. Only the clink of the cuff as Kara knew she passed the wrong boundary. "Um... When you put it that way..." Okay, maybe that wast stupid. She didn't have proof, she was just going on what she saw. She didn't know why, but she was just absolutely sure those charons were where they had to go.

She expected a shout of no. Instead, she got something completely different. Alex was already smirking, working on the straps and releasing Kara, tossing Lena the key to release Cat at the same time. Kara sat up, rubbing her wrist, her hand pressed against her shoulder which was pretty much healed now. "Thank you, Cat" She silently thanked Ken'tha for helping her heal, as she got up, and grabbing a jacket and a change of clothes that was in the corner. "Col Grant, with all do respect, your crazy if you think I'm going to let you and my sister go without me," Major Danvers responded, raising a slight eyebrow toward Grant.

"I'm good with a gun as I am with medical," Alex added and moved over, standing next to the bed and Kara came back changed in something a bit more ready for a mission then the gown she was stuck in. "How do we get out of here? You guys help me escape last time,"

━━━━

"In my experience, Major." Lips twitch upwards, "The words 'with all do respect' are a politician's and soldier's way of saying 'fuck you'. Hopefully," Grant rolls now-free wrists, nodding up at Luthor without another word, pointing, signalling towards the door. Luthor immediately moves. Now that they've decided, they won't have time for anything else. First step, make it through the gate. Second step, blow everything up on the other side, likely. They're good at improvisation. "You won't have to showcase just how good you are, Danvers. Tactical espionage 101, Kara. Have someone on the team accidentally, or intentionally, who knows with Luthor, flirt with that nerdy IT guy of yours for months." She probably just smiled at him. "And happen to have enough brains to get us through the gate. Danvers, take care of your sister, bring her to the gate. Call in a medical emergency two floors up, that will clear the bay. Teal'c, we're loading up. Explosives, the big kind. If you're good to go, all of us load and stay in formation to the gate. No one hurt anyone on the way out. We're all the good guys. Questions?"

She hops up like it's just another Tuesday, slipping the pen into her pocket before moving towards the exit, not actually waiting for a rebuttal, tossing over her shoulder before popping into the nearby armory unit, tossing a few guns back. "Good. Clock's ticking."

━━━━

Alex pushed her lips together and shrugged a little. So maybe that was a bit of a fuck you, but in a way that she would never let these two out of her site. She was their doctor, Kara was her sister, and she would protect them at all cost. "Wherever you two go, I'm going," She nodded. "Yes sir," Alex added.

Kara listened in as the two agreed with the plan. Easy enough for Kara, she wasn't exactly what you called Stealthy. "Find my bag," Kara said to Cat, because the items she had in there would be useful for all of them. Alex glanced at Kara, knowing what she meant and looked at Cat. "They were put in the armory with the rest of the weapons. Not hard to find," She added. Once everyone had the job figured out, Alex reached over, grabbing a medical bag she could take with her.

Both Kara and Alex headed down the hall, Kara had her hair pulled up and under the hat, making it less lightly for anyone to notice. Alex put her hand on Kara's shoulder, as the door open. The gate was already starting to move, knowing any second that the alarm would be going on.

━━━━

Being a still-respected individual stripped of title and prestige wasn’t as big of a band of red as it used to be. People are so used to her barking orders at them, by this point, that the majority listen before hesitation kicks in--logic. Memory. All of them going ‘oh, yeah, Cat Grant saved our lives, that one time, but she’s an enemy of the state, now’ a few minutes too late. Enough minutes that both Teal’c and Cat have managed to get into the armoury by the time an alarm sounds above them, lights flashing. Enough that she can toss a few guns a few airmen’s ways so that even when they hesitate, they keep moving.

“Look at me, later! We’ve got a base to defend! Move!” A smirk towards Teal’c a few moments later, “I know, I’m good at that. I like to think in that alternate world of Kara’s, I was constantly yelling at people, it’s really where my management skills shine, don’t you think?”

Teal’c’s eyebrow raise.

The sound of boots continuously passing them by is music to her ears and it’s not long before Teal’c is hefting up two bags and Cat swings by to grab not only Kara’s...but a hat, as well. There’s no telling what planet they’re about to wind up on, after all, tucking the hat down and calmly starting to walk towards the gate room.

Having to knock out two soldiers before they can shoot Luthor is small play given the fact that they’re essentially trying to jailbreak the most defended national secret in the States.

Which they’re doing, exactly two minutes, later, listening to the sound of Marsdin and Senator Kinsey in the gate room behind them, locked in, as Grant blockades the door and Luthor gets their authorization device ready.

The gate’s opened with a boom and Cat tosses Kara her bag, saluting towards the open windows in front of them before the windows slam down.

“No second guesses, SG-1.” Grant pats Danvers’ shoulder--solid--a member, now, if there ever was one, before curling fingers over the other Danvers’ shoulder. The one that’s not wounded, anyways, as a welcome back.

Before pushing everyone towards the open gate because she has no intent to get shot at by the airmen and marines on the other side of the door.

━━━━

And, if on cue, there went the alarm. Kara felt her feet itching, looking up and mouthing a small sorry to Winn, because he didn't deserve this. Maybe she could make it up to him one day. If they made it out of this. With was a big if. Eyes looked up toward Marsdin, not sure what to do at the moment so instead focused on the gate. Both Kara and Alex looked at each other and then at Cat with one single movement. A nod of agreement.

They were sisters, and blood didn't matter. Moving through the gate, they all moved through and then Kara looked behind, watching it closed. This... wasn't like any gate they had gone through, and then Ken'tha whispered into her mind.

Goa'uld ship.

"Its a ship," Kara said, as she stared at the area and then behind her at the stargate. "A goa'uld ship," She didn't know how it was possible. From what the others had said about the stargates, is that all coordinates could only be accessed by a specific location. If it moved at any point, the charons wouldn't work anymore. She reached into her back, grabbing the golden hand device, pulling it onto her wrist and fitting each finger and looked back at the others. She didn't have to say it, she was sure they all knew.

This was bad.

━━━━

A ship.

Cat immediately moves towards the nearby window, space expansive and endless with its cool, creeping touch. The walls around them are practically cavernous and shining in their dramatic hues of golds and reds, excessive and decadent and cold. Sterile. Space actually seems more welcoming in comparison, lights twinkling, unfamiliar, behind thick, thick glass.

Definitely a goa’uld ship.

“Luthor.” It’s drawled out, as much of an order as it can be, the sound of Captain Science scurrying towards the stargate immediately, sending back through the MALP before the ship jerks forward and the gate cuts off. Suddenly intent on getting her people off this floor. “Luthor.” Repeated.

“It’s not working, ma’am, the chevrons--”

“Quiet!” A noise. Loud. The walls open suddenly, swiftly, and Cat hates the Goa’uld’s dramatic flair for design and secret entrances, tugging Luthor down and gesturing to the Danvers to do the same, fingers rifling through a nearby crate before people get closer.

It only gets worse from there.

A meeting of Goa’uld. A succession--an heir. And, worse, Skaara. Innocent, kind Skaara, who’s now holding Apophis’ son around the thin glass of his neck, voice deep and eyes cold. They’re invading Earth.

Cat’s forehead rests on the crate for a long second until the gate once more de-activates, knowing it likely won’t work again and, after another long moment, they’re all alone in what’s likely a loading bay for a military ship, again.

#pulitzerpanther #→ kara / replies.#→ general / close starter.#→ EV 01. kara and cat.

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 6 years ago

Text

I Got You (Tony/Rhodey secret service AU) Chapter 3

For the purposes of this chapter, I borrowed a bit of dialogue from... well, you’ll know where I borrowed it from ;-) Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Links to chapter 1, chapter 2

Tagging @jamesrhodey @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell

Chapter 3

The next time he runs into Stark it’s at the hospital in an ICU cubicle – a fittingly surreal diminuendo to a harrowing nerve wreck of a day.

Happy. Happy is in the hospital. ICU. Barely clinging to life after getting thrown halfway across the parking garage by a bomb that tore apart the presidential limo and damaged the nearby vehicles. A bomb he’s pretty sure was meant for him. And James can’t process it, hasn’t even begun to process it, what with being whisked away from the scene by overeager agents and all but hauled down into the bunker while the police, ambulance and security stormed the scene. And it isn’t until much later, until after things calm down a bit, his own minor cuts have been tended to, the scene is secured and plans are being discussed (nay, shouted) all around him about increasing security and possibly putting the entire White House on lockdown for the time being until the perpetrator is identified and neutralized, that he announces loudly and unequivocally that he will agree to whatever security measures they deem necessary as long as he can get to check on his bodyguard.

A cacophony of outraged worry meets his request, but he stands firm on that, he won’t budge. Because it’s Happy’s crumpled, bloodied form he sees whenever he closes his eyes. Because he can’t help thinking that if he hadn’t stopped to answer his mother’s text, leaving Happy to go on ahead of him, he would have been the one spilling blood all over the floor of the parking lot.

He has to go check on the man. He owes him at least that much.

Surprisingly, it’s Obadiah that comes to his defense, bringing up the point that another attempt in such a short time span is unlikely, that the perpetrator has probably gone to ground, waiting for things to settle down, that nobody would be expecting the president to be out and about so soon after this incident.

It’s settled after that, and James spares but a cursory glance to his Chief of Staff, who shakes his head in disapproval before walking off to the side, phone glued to his ear, and then he’s off, huddled between two stone-faced agents in the back of a nondescript sedan on his way to the hospital.

It’s well past visiting hours, but his office carries a certain clout and he is led through to the ICU without much hassle and directed by a sleepily flustered nurse to the room that has two security agents posted outside the door. He nods to them as he approaches, motions for his own detail to wait with them, and walks inside, allowing himself the barest of hesitations to prepare for what he’s about to find there.

The room is quiet save for the faint whirring of medical equipment, the comfortable semi-darkness broken only by the flickering of a muted TV screen on the wall opposite the bed. It strikes him as odd –having the TV on when the person for whom it is intended lies there so completely unaware of the world around him. He reaches for the remote, intent on turning the useless device off.

And whips around, nearly dropping the remote, when a slightly raspy and vaguely familiar voice calls on him to stop.

“Leave it on, please.”

The shadows behind the bed move, a human shape molding itself out of the blackness, stepping forth into the feeble light.

“Stark?” he blinks, trying to reconcile the rumple-clothed hollow-eyed man before him with the sharply dressed confidence exuding professional that had sauntered into his office a few days ago. “What–?”

“Sunday nights. PBS. Downtown Abbey,” Stark continues as if James hasn’t spoken, arms crossed with an almost defensive awkwardness on his chest. He looks tired, drawn, a suspicious glint in the dusk-hooded eyes. “It’s his show. He thinks it’s elegant.” There’s a barely audible catch in his voice, and Stark covers it up with a cough, hitches his shoulders up in a shrug that seems a bit too forced to be nonchalant.

It unsettles James seeing him like this – so uncharacteristically vulnerable, so decidedly human. He wants to say something, to reassure the man, to apologize for getting his friend hurt. But something in the way Stark holds himself, in the tension James can feel emanating from his body, stops him short.

“How did you get in here?” he asks instead. Because there are agents posted outside the door, and he can’t imagine them letting anyone in.

“I have ways,” Stark replies enigmatically. Throws an almost derisively disapproving glance in the direction of the door. “Your agents aren’t as good at their job as they believe themselves to be. If they were, your bodyguard wouldn’t be lying here right now with a fucking tube down his throat.”

James flinches at the barely disguised venom in the man’s voice, bristles at the unprovoked affront. “I’ve always been under the impression that secret service agents are the best of the best,” he counters coolly, hoping to rein the man in with his words. Because, yes, Stark is upset, understandably so. But that is no reason to take it out on his men.

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

Stark takes a step toward him, eyes flashing hot with fury. Stabs a hand blindly in the direction of Happy’s bed. “You just lost your best man, Mr. President!” he hisses, chest heaving as he sucks in a sharp breath, as if preparing to say more.

And then he stops, steps back, blinking as though coming awake after a trance. Snaps his mouth shut, visibly forcing himself to relax. A mask slides over his face – cold, calm, professional.

“That’s why I’m here,” he says simply, and James gapes at him, brow furrowing in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I don’t–”

“I’m taking the job, Mr. President,” Stark cuts him off bluntly. “I’ve changed my mind.”

James considers him silently for a long moment, trying to get a read on the man before him, to gauge what his motives might be. He comes up blank.

“Why?” he wants to know.

Stark shrugs, looks over at the bed, seeming to study Happy’s slack face, half obscured by the breathing tube. “Because that bomb was meant for you,” he responds, fury still thrumming a quiet beat through his words. “Because this person, whoever they are, will try again, and if they succeed,” he points at Happy again, “then he went through all of this for nothing. And I can’t accept that.” He pauses, fists clenching at his sides. Takes a deep breath. “Whoever this person is, they made it personal now.” He turns his gaze back to James, the dark, menacing intensity of it nearly causing him to recoil. “And as far as I’m concerned, they’re already dead.”

James swallows tightly, finding himself completely at a loss as to what to say. On the one hand he’s thrilled to have this guy finally come around, especially now that these death threats he heretofore considered a mere annoyance, a product of someone’s sick imagination, have suddenly become all too deadly and all too real. But Stark seems to be wound up so tight that he wonders if the man is even gonna be up to the task.

He is about to express his concerns when the door to Happy’s room opens and his Chief of Staff walks in, a small bag in hand.

“Ah, the ever-unruffled Agent,” Stark enthuses before James can even wonder out loud what Phil is doing here. “Just the man I wanted to see. Did ya bring what I asked?”

Coulson nods, face unreadable as ever. Opens up the bag to pull out a credit card, a flip phone and a set of car keys. “Untraceable prepaid card,” he recites as if checking off items from some invisible list, “clean phone with new SIM card and no GPS tracker, and a car parked out back.”

“Good boy,” Stark praises with a smirk, pocketing the items. Pulls out his own cell phone and drops it into the bag still held open by Coulson. “Your turn, Mr. President.”

James shakes his head, puts up both hands like a shield. “Would someone, please, explain to me what the hell is happening here?” he snaps.

Coulson cocks his head at him, throws a mildly disapproving gaze Stark’s way. “You didn’t tell him?”

“You interrupted me before I could… Agent,” Stark defends, winking at the man, and grins at Coulson’s exasperated eye roll.

“I called Stark earlier, Sir. Asked him to take over,” Coulson explains, and James thinks back to that moment in the bunker when he watched Phil walk away, phone pressed to his ear. “He was already at the hospital, so it worked out.”

“Take over how… exactly,” he wonders, scowling at Coulson’s bag.

“I’m gonna take you to a safe house, Mr. President,” Stark cuts in, all business. “This person that’s after you, they know your schedule, they know your itinerary, they have access to your office. That leaves too many suspects that are in too close of proximity to your person. Trying to protect you in Washington would be like trying to protect a bucket of chum in shark-infested waters. I wanna increase your chances of survival.”

“By making me go on the run.”

“By making you disappear,” Stark corrects patiently, reaching his hand toward him. “Your phone, please, Mr. President.”

“I got everything under control, Mr. President,” his Chief of Staff intervenes once more. “The media will have a cover story – you’re taking some personal time in the wake of the tragic incident. Vice President Stane will temporarily take over your duties. All you need to do is follow Mr. Stark’s direction and stay safe while we take care of things here. The police and secret service will continue their investigation and we’ll hopefully have our guy behind bars or on a slab before you know it.”

James gapes at the two of them, his head spinning from the unexpectedness of it all. It’s madness, he thinks. Utter madness. Woodenly he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, placing it in Stark’s waiting palm. “How do you even… how do you propose we disappear? There are agents all over this hospital, I-”

“The hallway and the stairway are clear,” Coulson interrupts, and Stark nods to him in approval as if he was expecting this exact response. “The cameras will be down in exactly…,” he glances at his watch, “one minute thirty-two seconds. The cameras at the parking structure will be down exactly 5 minutes after that. You will have about 7 minutes altogether to get out unseen.”

“This is insane,” James huffs out, feeling a stab of irrational anger at such definitive loss of control. “You two, you’ve got this whole… this thing plotted out behind my back and you never even bothered to…”

“All due respect, Mr. President,” Stark steps closer, pushing far into his personal space, “you wanted to hire me because you heard that I’m the best at what I do. Right now you’re the guy with a large bullseye on your back and I’m your only chance of surviving into your next term. So it’s up to you, Mr. President. If you want to live, you come with me, you do as I say and when I say it. No questions, no arguments, no complaints. If not, you walk out of here with your man Phil and you take your chances in the shark pool. Understood?”

James grits his teeth, struggling against a near-overwhelming urge to break Stark’s nose.

“Twenty seconds, Mr. President,” Coulson calls out, and James closes his eyes briefly, forces himself to exhale, to relax.

“I don’t seem to have much choice at the moment,” he grinds out, admitting his temporary defeat. Takes a deliberate, threatening step toward Stark, bringing the two of them virtually nose to nose. “But let me make something clear, Mr. Stark: I don’t like your attitude and I don’t like you. And if you overstep your bounds with me one more time, I will not hesitate to punch you in the face. Understood?”

Stark flashes him a plastic-looking smile. “I think we’re gonna get along great, Mr. President,” he asserts with enthusiasm that seems entirely out of place. Heads to the door, pausing in front of Coulson. “You take care of my boy Happy there, alright?” he tells him, and it sounds more like a warning than a request.

Coulson, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye. “You take care of mine, I take care of yours,” he deadpans and Stark grins in response.

“It’s a deal.” He grabs the door handle, motions to James over his shoulder. “Mr. President, follow my lead.”

#tonyrhodey #ironhusbands #secret service au #special agent tony stark #president james rhodes #hurt/comfort #angst #intrigue #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes

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thornbolts · 6 years ago

Text

Things About the Gunslinger

(Finally got enough of a break from studying to do this!)

Basic Information

Height: 5′6″ (1.67m)

Weight: 110 lbs (~50kg)

Ethnicity: Forsaken (formerly Stormwindian Human)

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Asexual

Romantic orientation: Panromantic

Alignment: Hovers between Neutral Good/Chaotic Good

Occupation: Mercenary, merchant, vagrant, Argent Crusade veteran, Unseen Path veteran

Specifics

Favorite Food: "Beans and any kind of steak loaded up with hot sauce.”

Favorite Drink: "Prairie Fire Moonshine and hot sauce shots!”

Favorite Hobby: “Noodlin’, trick shootin’, huntin’, six-string playin’!”

Favorite Artist: “Uh... I guess them folk that write Steamy Romance Novels?”

Favorite Musician: “ Ol’ Sam Harper’s my favorite musician. He’s teachin’ me everythin’ I know about the banjo, fiddle, and guitar. I swear that boy was born with an instrument in his hands. He can play the trumpet, banjo, guitar, fiddle, and piano!”

Favorite Scent: “Gun smoke, roastin’ meat, Foxflower, Pa’s cigars and pipe tobacco”

Favorite Person(s): “Each and every single one’a my folk in the caravan, my pops, my ma, Gramma Ash, Grandpa Julian, Yanele and Atal’ser, Lynae, Iri, and Brassy.”

Five things…

Things they like:

Moxie and Bravery

A willingness to break away from rules for the sake of good

Optimism

Open-mindedness

Honesty and good-natured folk

Things they dislike:

Scarlet Crusade, no exceptions

Intolerant/bloodthirsty folk

Blind fanaticism

Arrogance

People who try to be the ‘Alpha.’

Good habits/traits:

Honest: “Lyin’ ain’t ever worth it.”

Fiercely protective of friends and family: “I don’t care how beat up or bloody I get, I care for my people, because I know they’d do the same fer me.”

Confident: “I don’t give a rat’s ass what ya think, I’m goin’ my own way.”

Assertive: “If’n somethin’ needs done, I never got a problem rollin’ up my sleeves.”

Responsible: “Work before play. That’s how I raised. Don’t matter if’n yer tired or hungry. Can’t do tomorrow what needs doin’ today.”

Bad habits/traits:

Vengeful: “If I’ve got ya in my sights, I’m gonna keep shootin’ until one’a us is dead.”

Confrontational: “If you’ve got a problem, say it to my face. If I do, I’ll say it to your face.”

Worrywart: “Shit. I ain’t ever do this before. Am I doin’ good?”

Uncouth: “I’ll put my elbows on the table if’n I damn well please.”

Tendency to grow extremely violent if she feels she’s justified: “Hurt me or my folks, I ain’t gonna stop kickin’ yer teeth in until you’re shittin’ out crowns.”

Personalities/traits they gravitate towards:

Working-class folk

Bravery/Moxie

Lightheartedness

Travelers

Storytellers

Personality/traits they avoid:

Edgelords

Closed-mindedness

Arrogance

Hatred of Living

Haughtiness

Fears:

Weakness

Removal of Personal Freedom

Loss

Betrayal

Becoming mindless

Ten Facts:

She abides by her code: “Never fire the first shot unless provoked or otherwise shot at.” She literally has never fired the first shot or thrown a punch unless she thought it was justified in some way.

Remy, before she joined the Argent Crusade, hunted down people who hunted down animals for sport. She had a seething hatred for folk like Hemet Nesingwary, and it’s likely she’s tried to hunt him down at one point.

Despite her sense of touch, pain, and taste being muted, Remy’s sense of hearing and smell has been amplified to compensate for the others. She can accurately tell the composition of a mixed drink by smell alone or even hear distant footsteps by putting her ear to the ground. This has largely eliminated the need for a hunting dog. She instead opts for scavengers like hyenas and carrion birds as companions.

She dabbles with Drust death magic and Gilnean witchcraft. While she’s not an expert in either art by any means, she can use them to remove curses from objects or even amplify the latent energy some items hold. This is how she creates her curios and bone charms to sell under the caravan. She’s also used the magic to peer through the eyes of her hunting companions as a way of scouting. (Who here misses Eyes of the Beast?

She’s moderately known within the Argent Crusade and folk from the crusade speak fondly of her. She’s made friends with crusader Leonid Bartholomew, “Leo” as she calls him. The two are pen pals and exchange letters from time to time.

She was born on the Thornbolt Hunting Lodge, a home that has housed the Thornbolt lineage of game wardens, hunters, scouts, fur traders, butchers, and pathfinders for generations. Remington is listed as the heir to the estate and land, and Stormwind hasn’t had the time to demolish or potentially reclaim the estate and land, given the war and all. Remy hopes to live in it again some day, and she still holds the deed to the estate.

While she believes she would be a terrible full-time mother, Remy is great with children! Children bring out the kid in herself, and she’ll happily spend a day goofing off. She makes it a priority for the caravan to help out during Children’s Week, and the Fence Macabre is on the list of trusted benefactors for the Orgrimmar Orphanage.

For eating and drinking, Remington keeps a fake waterskin stomach in her body to catch most of the food and drink she ingests. While she can’t taste it, she can feel the texture and smell of it. She also keeps a sponge or rag in her side, just in case that food and drink leaks out from the fake waterskin stomach.

She’ll never admit it, but she’s absolutely fascinated by Void and Fel magic. Remington never had a talent for the arcane arts, and she couldn’t even cast the most basic prestidigitation spells. Fel magic is tempting. She sees her talent with a rifle as lackluster compared to stuff that can quite literally smash craters into things and make fire that burns hotter and longer than arcane magic. But she doesn’t trust herself to stay herself if she begins to dabble in Fel, so she currently avoids it.

She’s hollowed out the fingertips on her left hand, and she can unscrew the fingertips for extra things she may need. They house ink, gunpowder, an extra bullet, a tiny flash bomb, and birdseed respectively going from the thumb to pinky.

Tagged by: @the-real-arcanist-val

tagging: @bluexepher, @belnorem, @glitchphil, @lynaeclarke, @bigdumbchicken, anyone else who wants to do this!

mentions: @fence-macabre, @belnorem, @irielle-firine, @manclamps, @lynaeclarke

#ic #tag meme #remington thornbolt #world of warcraft #forsaken #undead

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years ago

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I saw this first meeting au: “My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back” on a list and I just… couldn’t resist XD So you get a modern Au that’s half crack and half steam with a small amount of feelings on top. I don’t really know what this is but hopefully, some of you might like it!

[FF] or [ao3]

Buttercup, The Cat Burglar

Haymitch tossed his coat on the closest armchair, grumbling under his breath about how cold it was, both outside and in the house. The first thing he did was add a few logs in the dying fire and stroke it until it was a decent size again. Then, he turned around with the firm intention of pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

He hated market day.

He hated it with a passion.

He wasn’t sure if raising geese he had no desire to eat or sell so they could become food would be considered a lucrative business. As it was, he sell the eggs twice a week and the feathers he collected every couple of months, it didn’t make a fortune but added to the money he still had from his time in the military – because doing special secret operations for the government paid better than his birds – he got by easily. He wasn’t a great spender anyway now that the girls were both gone. A bottle of whiskey now and then – not enough to get irremediably addicted as promised to his surrogate kids – some books, and he was good.

He didn’t startle when he turned round to find the ugly ginger cat comfortably lying right where he hadn’t been a second ago. One would think he would have gotten used to the presence in his house but one would be very, very wrong. It was hard to get used to the muddy yellow tomcat, with its missing ear and mashed-in nose, jumping from every shadow to either hiss at you or rub against your legs lovingly, depending if he was in the mood for mayhem or food.

“What did you do now?” Haymitch asked with a resigned weariness. “Please, tell me it ain’t Greasy Sae’s stocking again…”

Ever since Prim had left for college, the cat had more or less moved from the Everdeens’ house to his. He figured that it was because Katniss had moved in with Peeta and Aster was still fragile and could barely take care of herself. He had never extended an invitation to the stupid cat but Buttercup seemed to have decided that with his owner gone for an extensive amount of time and his owner’s sister – who he hated – at the other side of town, Haymitch’s couch was the next best place to wait until Prim came back for the holidays.

So the fact that the cat seemed to have become kleptomaniac since Prim left seemed to fall on him – at least, according to the neighbors.

It had started with socks. Various sizes and colors, although almost always from Beetee Latier’s house – he knew, because after placing traps and catching the cat in a box, Beetee had knocked on his door with the culprit effectively jailed. Socks were handed back against the cat, promises were made that it would never happen again.

Of course, it had happened again.

Except not just with Beetee.

Lately, Buttercup seemed to have developed a liking for old Sae’s support stockings. The number of times he had strode back into the house with one of those dangling from his mouth…

Greasy Sae wasn’t someone who liked to joke around and he didn’t enjoy when she came around to lecture him on how to raise cats. She wasn’t moved when he pointed out Prim had done the raising. He was just… cat-sitting.

Whatever Buttercup had stolen now, it didn’t really look like a sock and Haymitch took a step closer, not frightened by the low grumbling of the clawed monster. They had an understanding the two of them. If the cat attacked him, the cat would go back to his own house and try his chance with Aster for a few days. A week of irregular meals that were never his favorite treats usually brought him back much easier to deal with.

At first, he almost concluded it was another of Sae’s stockings because of the fabric. It looked a little like nylon. Except it was an undefined color between green and blue. A pretty color, truth be told, that didn’t really fit Sae. Then, he realized it wasn’t nylon at all but lace and that the cat had already destroyed a good portion of it.

With the dexterity brought by experience, he snatched it away, tugging when Buttercup’s quick paw made a good job at trying to reclaim it by stabbing the delicate fabric with its claws.

Eventually, he managed to free it and let out a low impressed whistle once he figured out what he was holding. Lacy see through blue-green panties with a cheeky little golden bow on the back.

“Hope you didn’t get that from Sae.” he snorted, glancing at the cat. “You’re gonna get me in trouble again.”

Buttercup kneaded the couch with his claws in answer, a glint of murder in his black eyes. He was still staring at the ruined panties and Haymitch shook his head before going to the kitchen to throw them away, wondering if living with him had turned that cat into a psycho or if he had already been one before and just behaving for Prim’s sake.

Sae never came raging about an alleged panties theft so Haymitch forgot all about the matter.

At least until three days later when he found Buttercup very busy nuzzling what looked like a frilly pink thong on their kitchen’s table.

“You dirty, dirty old boy.” he accused, snatching the piece of clothing away. This one hadn’t suffered like the last one, which meant the cat hadn’t gotten around to playing with it yet or that he hadn’t been hungry enough to try and eat it. Or that he was more into nuzzling it but, really, that was pushing boundaries he didn’t feel comfortable exploring.

He studied the soft piece of fabric, unable to stop himself. It was delicate and just as see-through as the blue-green one had been, except for two thicker lines of lace at the seams that wouldn’t hide anything from view. Pretty.

“Wonder where you find this stuff.” he mumbled, his mouth suddenly a bit parched.

It had been quite a while since the last time he had let Chaff convince him to go into a bar to pick up someone and… He cleared his throat and put the thong in the box full of stolen items he kept on top of a cupboard, telling himself he would go out and find someone soon. Clearly, if he was turned on by the pink thong of a random stranger who could be absolutely ugly for all he knew, he needed to get laid very badly.

The next theft happened two days after that.

This time it was a burgundy thing in between a thong and panties, still see-through, with a triangle hole on the bottom. He figured the hole would fit right on the small of the woman’s back and…

“You started stealing in town, yeah?” he asked, his voice tight.

He didn’t know a single woman in their immediate neighborhood that would wear this sort of things. They were all either very old women or frantic mothers who were always late for something. He couldn’t imagine any in that sort of expensive kinky lingerie. Not one.

Buttercup was very irritated when he confiscated his new toy and tried to scratch him. After a couple of hours though, Haymitch was apparently forgiven on account of the cat’s empty stomach. It was almost funny to watch the animal roll on his lap and purr like a turbine, trying to get back into his good grace.

“Stupid cat.” Haymitch mumbled. “Stop stealing this stuff. I’ve got enough ‘you need a girlfriend’ bullshit from Finnick, I don’t need you jumping on that wagon. I sure don’t need a woman anyway. Though, can’t say I’d say no to a good fuck.”

He hadn’t called Chaff yet. Because Chaff, like Finnick and the rest of their friends including Prim and Katniss, were of the opinion that since he was done playing full time mentor-slash-unofficial-guardian to his neighbor’s daughters, he needed to find something else to do on the side. And by something else to do, what they really meant was someone else. Peeta had even tried to create him an account on a dating website, he had lost count of the number of blind dates he had narrowly escaped in the last couple of months… No, it was much safer to stay home, filter his calls and avoid his friends as much as possible.

He could go to the bar by himself and find a willing woman but with no one there to keep him from the edge, it would most likely end up with him getting wasted than with a one-night-stand. And if he called Finnick or Chaff… He needed to get laid, true, but he didn’t need – nor wanted – a girlfriend. No matter what his friends thought.

His last serious relationship had ended up with the girl dead along with the rest of his family while he was on the other end of the planet for a stupid mission – the one that had cost him half his team and during which he had been forced to witness forty-eight kids dying when a school was accidentally bombed. A success all around.

He would probably have ended up a waste of space, a cliché drunkard vet who could barely function, if he hadn’t met Katniss a few years after he had come back. Eleven and an orphan with a defiant attitude, a stubborn streak that was far too endearing, an adorable little sister and a depressed mother – and so very much in need of help, he had been invested before he had even realized it. Prim often said he had saved them but, really, it was the other way around.

And now they were both gone because that was how those things go. Children left the nest. And he was lonely and bored and, sure, Katniss checked in every two days and he liked her boyfriend a lot because Peeta was a sweet boy who always made sure he had fresh bread and didn’t forget to eat but… It wasn’t the same.

He didn’t need a girlfriend though.

That was just his stupid friends projecting their own life goals on him.

He jumped with a curse when Buttercup bit his hand and he glared at the tomcat on his lap.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s get you fed, you monster.” he spat, chasing him from his knees.

Routine, he told himself, routine was good. Feed the cat, grab a book… Maybe a good jerk off before bed…

Routine.

A routine that was disturbed the next morning, while he was checking on the geese, by Buttercup dashing down the street and straight through the open kitchen door as if the devil himself was hot on his heels, something red dangling between his teeth. Haymitch followed after him because the red thing looked much bigger than panties or socks.

The cat was out of breath, huddling in the corner of the kitchen, and it took Haymitch almost a whole minute to snatch the piece of fabric Buttercup had stolen this time. Lace again but not panties… He turned it around a couple of times, trying to make sense of it. Was it a bra or a top? It looked far too… slutty for a top so it must have been lingerie, a bra, yeah… Two triangle of lace that tied around the neck and the back, with a very big diamond-shaped hole in the middle that couldn’t hide much at all.

The bra’s cups didn’t look big… He was about to guess at the size by trying to fit his fist there – scientific curiosity and nothing else – when the doorbell rang. Three times in a row.

Haymitch glared at Buttercup because he had a good idea what it was about and tossed the bra on the kitchen’s table before making his way to the front door. By that time, whoever it was had rung it two more times and he hated that sound. Most people knocked around there. It wasn’t that big a town, after all.

He brutally opened the door, a scowl on his face.

The woman was… Gorgeous, was a good word for it. Posh, was another one. He didn’t think he had ever seen someone so posh in their little corner of the world before. She was wearing a soft grey high-waist pencil skirt, impossibly tall heels and a blue blouse that made her eyes look even bluer than they already were. The legs were endless and the eyes were very blue, her blond hair was pinned high in a severe bun that reminded him of Tinkerbell – because Prim had had a phase around ten when she wanted her hair just like that all the time – and didn’t suit her at all.

She looked uptight – which he hated.

Except he had a good idea of what kind of stuff she was wearing under those strict clothes and that wasn’t uptight at all – which was interesting.

“Yeah?” he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance at being disturbed.

She pursed her lips but forced a pleasant polite smile when she outstretched her hand. “Mr Abernathy, I suppose? Effie Trinket. I recently moved in a little further down the street.”

Damn but her voice was high-pitched.

And her accent… Clipped vowels and an affected tone…

The airs she was giving herself.

He folded his arms in front of his chest and ignored the hand, a little disappointed. Not that he had been fantasizing about the kinky panties’ owner but… Well, he had been a little. Maybe he had let himself picture a nice woman with a generous laugh, glossy dark hair and easy to get along who would have joked the whole criminal cat off.

And instead what he got was…

What even was she to dress like that? An accountant? A lawyer? A secretary?

“And?” he prompted when she simply stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge her words or welcome her in the neighborhood or whatever people did those days.

She pursed her lips even further and narrowed her eyes, letting her hand drop back to her side. He had to give her that, when she spoke, her voice was perfectly controlled, not a hint of irritation came through. “Do you, by any chance, own a cat, Mr Abernathy?”

“Nope.” he shrugged.

Her jaw clenched, her blue eyes glared daggers and he found himself shifting because…

She was very, very hot.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about the red bra on his kitchen table and how he had been right, there wasn’t much up there but enough that it would fit perfectly in his hands and…

Her next words jerked him off from the fantasy he was quickly falling into.

“How peculiar.” she hissed. “You see, I asked around and the consensus seems to be that you own a particular ginger cat with a missing ear.”

“That’s Primrose Everdeen’s cat, you’re looking for.” he told her, glancing around behind her.

The street was calm and deserted but he knew there would be at least one or two old women behind their curtains, spying on them. After all, Sae’s stockings weren’t the only ones that had been stolen and that Effie Trinket looked like the kind of person who give him a good run for his money. He supposed old ladies had to find their revenge where they could. Unless it was Beetee who still hadn’t forgiven him for his favorite socks getting ruined who had directed her to him.

“Primrose Everdeen.” she repeated, clearly not convinced.

He helpfully pointed at the right house, thinking it was only right Aster had to deal with this. It was her cat too after all. “Next door.”

He didn’t feel very guilty about it. Aster would probably not even answer the doorbell. She never did.

Effie Trinket – and what kind of name was that ? – didn’t even glance in the direction he indicated. She placed her hands on her hips and studied him.

She was aggravated, that was plain to see. She was also very much checking him out if he wasn’t mistaken.

He lifted his eyebrows, his lips stretching into a smirk.

She ignored it.

“Everyone seemed to agree the cat was yours.” she remarked.

“Everyone’s wrong.” he shrugged.

“Then, why did I see him dash into your backyard just a few minutes ago?” she retorted with a sweet, sweet smile that promised a thousand torture wrapped in a nice little bow.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t feeding him.” He smirked harder.

She blinked twice but he couldn’t really guess at what was happening in her head. She had a very good poker face.

“Do you train your cat to commit burglaries, Mr Abernathy?” she asked.

How she could word that question with a straight face, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help a chuckle. “Ain’t my cat, sweetheart. I’m just making sure he doesn’t starve.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it only to open it again, her tone suddenly more chilly. “My name is Effie Trinket. You may address me as Effie or Miss Trinket but you certainly cannot call me sweetheart.”

“Sure.” he agreed easily. “Sorry. Princess.”

If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead.

It really shouldn’t have been that attractive.

But maybe if she would stop sneaking glances at his mouth…

“Your cat repeatedly broke into my house.” she accused.

He rolled his eyes. “Ain’t my cat and it ain’t my fault he likes socks. Take it up with Prim when she comes back from college.”

“Oh, I think we are both aware he did not steal socks.” she snapped. “Now. Do you have my belongings or should I simply go to the police station and report you for…”

“For what?” he challenged, amused.

“Feline mugging!” she exclaimed, poking his chest with an accusative finger. “You trained that beast to sneak into innocent women’s home and steal their underwear! Probably for your twisted enjoyment!”

He snorted at that. “You know, I’m half tempted to go with you just to see Cray’s face if you try to report that.” He shook his head, eyes twinkling in amusement. It had been a while since someone had bothered to keep up with him in that kind of banter. And he wasn’t the only one that the conversation had amused. He could see it under her irritation. She was enjoying this too. Maybe a little too much. Her finger was still poking at his chest, less too accuse and more to… check firmness. He batted it away. “Come in. Your stuff’s in the kitchen.”

He stepped back but she didn’t move.

She lifted perfectly shaped eyebrows. “You expect me to walk into the home of a possible pervert?”

“My cat’s the pervert.” he mocked, heading to the kitchen, leaving her to follow or stay there.

“I thought it wasn’t your cat?” she retorted.

Still, after a few seconds, he heard the front door closing and the echoing sound of her heels on floorboards. He tossed her a glance over his shoulder, not quite surprised to see her less than impressed with his house. It was a mess and not as clean as it should be. Hazelle did her best but even the most awesome housekeeper couldn’t match his natural tendency for chaos.

“Holding your nose?” he taunted. “Smell that bad?”

She looked horrified at having been found out.

“I would never!” she protested with a huff. “How rude do you suppose me to be?” She pursed her lips, looked around again and then… “I do not mean to offend you in any way but why does it smell so much like poultry?”

“’Cause some of the geese wandered in this morning.” he shrugged. He tended to leave the backdoor open and that sort of things happened more than he wanted to linger on. Hazelle always complained about having to clean geese poop from his floors.

“Geese.” she repeated slowly, understanding quickly dawning on her face. The honking had probably puzzled her. “Do you own any normal pet?”

“Normal’s overrated, sweetheart.” he dismissed.

Her face hardened again. She really wasn’t keen on pet names.

Which only made him all the more determined to use them.

Riling her up was fun.

“There you are.” she scowled once she stepped in the kitchen and found Buttercup sitting in the middle of the table, relaxed as you pleased, his butt on the red lace Haymitch had tossed there earlier. “You are a very naughty cat, mister.”

Buttercup flicked his brushy tail one way and then the other, eyeing her with obvious disdain.

Haymitch privately thought he looked less proud of himself earlier when he had been running like hell from her fury.

He grabbed the plastic box from the top of the cupboard and handed it to her. “Take whatever’s yours.”

She looked stunned at the number of pieces of clothing in the box. Socks mainly, a couple of stockings, a few half-eaten tights and, of course, her underwear.

He kept his eyes averted because now that she was standing right there in his kicthen, he felt bad.

It wasn’t that she was embarrassed exactly but she did blush a little when she quickly snatched her thongs. Her previous indignation wasn’t so funny anymore. After all, she didn’t know him and he had seen something private he hadn’t been meant to. She had every right to be furious. After the cat and after him for not controlling the furry pest better.

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I tossed the first one in the trash. He had eaten it.”

“I see.” she said flatly before clearing her throat. “My bra, if you will? I dare not approach this cat, he almost clawed my arm off earlier.”

The blouse’s sleeves covered any possible injury from view but Haymitch winced, knowing just how vicious Buttercup could be. He didn’t escape unscathed when he rescued the bra but he didn’t think it warranted her shocked gasp. The scratches on his forearm were bleeding but it wasn’t that bad. He opened the cold tap and let water stream on it, watching her ball her underwear, probably hoping it would make it less obvious what she was carrying.

“There are trash bags in that cupboard.” he offered, pointing to a low cupboard.

“Thank you.” Her smile was relieved and grateful and, for the first time since she had rung that doorbell, genuine. It was also breathtaking. Not that Haymitch would have had admitted that. She quickly hid everything from view in the trash bag and then approached him to peer at the wound on his arm. “Do you have a first aid kit? I think you need a bandage at the very least.”

He was half tempted to let her play nurse.

“Ain’t that bad.” he denied, turning the water off and flicking his hand a few times before wiping it with a dishcloth that had been abandoned on the counter. “Look… I’m sorry, alright? For real.” He wasn’t really good at apologies and he felt awkward now. “I know I should probably have tried to find you to give it back but… He’s only stolen socks and stuff like that before, never…”

“Well… He has good lingerie taste.” she joked. “There is always that.”

Her eyes were riveted on the floor and there was a soft blush on her cheeks. It was obvious she was uncomfortable and that made him feel even worse because… He didn’t want her to feel that way. It wasn’t right.

“I didn’t look.” he lied.

She shot him an incredulous look and he winced.

“Not much.” he amended.

Her lips twitched and while the awkwardness didn’t completely disappear, she looked more amused than ill-at-ease. Confident again. He liked that, he realized, the charisma she had.

“Can’t promise it won’t happen again.” he warned. “He’s been acting out since my kid left for school.”

She frowned, curiosity written all over her face. “I thought you said it was the neighbor’s cat?”

“It is.” he confirmed and then rolled his eyes because he was so used to everyone knowing the story that it was odd to have to explain it. “The girls next door are kind of my kids. Raised them. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“I see.” she said. She studied him for a second and then flashed him a polite smile. “Well. It was nice to meet you, Mr Abernathy, but I am afraid I must dash. I simply must get to work.”

“Okay.” he shrugged, walking her back to the front door. He watched her strut down his lane and then called out, just as she was opening the gate. “Name’s Haymitch, by the way.”

She paused, looked back with another of those blinding smiles, and then continued on her way down the street.

He found Buttercup sulking on the couch.

“Fine.” he snorted. “You’ve got taste.”

The cat growled in answer but Haymitch dropped next to him anyway, ignoring his bad mood. Buttercup was always in a bad mood.

He spent the whole day in a weird frame of mind, unable to shake off the memory of Effie Trinket staring him down. Fuck, but he had forgotten how hot a fiery woman could be.

It was all it was, of course, and he told himself that firmly.

She was witty and beautiful and clearly had no trouble flirting with strangers who owned a pervert cat…

And he had a bad case of blue balls.

When he kicked his sweatpants off that night and wrapped his hand around himself, it was just to relieve some of that tension. So, sure, he first started thinking about glaring women and, sure, those women soon turned into one gorgeous blue-eyed blonde. It wasn’t right to jerk off to the thought of the new neighbor he had only met because his cat had stolen her – kinky – panties but he was too far off to care at that point…

He couldn’t stop imagining her, what she would look like… How it would feel to rip that skirt and blouse off her, too easy to picture the red bra or the pink thong on her… None of that tight bun on her head either… Her blond hair sprawled on the pillow under her head… His fingers tangling in the strands…

His hand was rough and almost brutal as he stroke himself to relief.

Would she be rough or sweet? Soft or violent? Shy or passionate?

The possibilities were endless and by the time he made a mess of his sheets, he was out of breath, delirious with lust and half-hoping Buttercup would steal from her again just so he could have an excuse to approach her.

Not that he would ask her out…

He didn’t ask women out.

He didn’t date.

He didn’t…

But maybe they could…

Yeah, a sarcastic voice at the back of his mind mocked, a woman like her, she’s clearly into one night stands. Sure. Tell yourself that.

“Shit.” he muttered.

He hated to think the voice was right but he wasn’t very talented at hoping or lying to himself. He flopped on his stomach, firmly told himself to stop being an idiot and forced himself to go to sleep.

He went out into town the next day.

Because he was low on groceries, not because he was hoping to bump into her.

If he had hoped to bump into her, he would have been disappointed anyway because she was nowhere to be found.

He stopped at the bakery last, happy to find Katniss there so he could lecture her again about what an inconvenience her stupid cat was.

“It’s Prim’s cat, not mine.” was the only answer he got out of the girl.

Two more days passed without any burglary – although he did have a moment of hope when he found Buttercup munching on a black fabric but it turned to be one of his socks – and Haymitch pretended very hard he wasn’t disappointed with that. He wondered if she had found a system to keep her underwear a little more secure than previously or if she had just gotten better at making sure the cat couldn’t get in at all.

He wondered a lot about her.

It was ridiculous, of course. He had seen her once. Utterly ridiculous. And he was done with this weird obsession. Completely done. He was over it. Absolutely over it.

From Hazelle – who he subtly interrogated while she was doing the cleaning and complaining about how he couldn’t keep his house spotless for three bloody days straight – he got that she had moved in a little over two weeks earlier from a big city. From Sae, he figured out she wasn’t much of a cook because either she came to the restaurant – and mostly ate alone – or she ordered take out. From Peeta, he learned that she had bought the empty building at the corner of the street from the bakery and was planning to open a lingerie shop – which explained a lot if not everything. From Katniss, all he found out was that the woman was odd – which probably meant too eccentric and posh for her tastes.

After a week of heavy denial and quite a few evenings spent pretending he wasn’t jerking off to fantasies of her touching him, he finally admitted she had caught his eye and that he should do something about it.

A resolution that was quickly forgotten when he realized he hadn’t seen Buttercup in a while. He hadn’t been immediately worried because the cat came and went as he pleased and it wasn’t unheard of for him to go back to the Everdeens’ house for a night or two or even to Katniss and Peeta’s but it was odd for him not to come back and ask for food three days in a row.

He refused to admit being worried because it wasn’t like he cared about the cat – it was well known Haymitch Abernathy didn’t care for anything or anyone after all, or at least that was what he liked to pretend – but it was Prim’s cat and Prim would be devastated if anything happened to him. He looked everywhere for the stupid animal. At Aster’s, at the bakery, in the meadow, in every street and dark alley…

So, in the end, it was a bit anticlimactic when the doorbell rang, just as he was about to call Katniss and beg her to help him hunt Buttercup down, to find Effie Trinket standing on his doorstep with a slightly displeased expression on her face.

He had been imagining that very scene for a while now – and in every version of it, he was quite the charmer and it ended always ended with a kiss – but now he had more pressing concerns.

“Buttercup didn’t steal anything.” he snapped defensively before she could open her mouth. “He’s gone. I can’t find him.”

“Oh, I know.” she breathed out with obvious irritation. “He is in my bed.”

He had to do a double take at that. “What?” He frowned, taking in the short tight red dress she was wearing. It was the complete opposite style of the skirt and blouse she had been wearing the other day and he wondered if that was her being relaxed or if… “Is that a come-on?”

Because he was tempted.

But the missing cat…

She lifted her eyebrows, an amused smile floating on her lips. “Not quite. Your cat is literally in my bed and I cannot shoo him away without him hissing at me. I thought about just… bundling him in the sheets but I do not want to hurt him, no matter how rude he acts. Could you…”

“Yeah.” he said at once, puzzled by what had gotten into that tomcat now. He had never done that before. Sneak into a neighbor’s house, yes. Steal stuff, yes. But just settle there?

He followed her down the street, trying not to be too obvious when he stared at her ass. It was impossible not to stare. It was right there and that dress clung to it like a second skin and she kept swinging her hips that bit too much…

“If you are quite done ogling me…” she grinned and he realized he had been so lost in his silent contemplation he had missed them reaching her house and her unlocking the door. She was waiting for him to come in, eyebrows raised.

“Wasn’t ogling you.” he muttered.

“You are not a great liar.” she snorted.

“Arrogant much?” he scoffed, annoyed at being found out so easily.

She thought she was in control here and that, that he didn’t like at all. He liked calling the shots. He liked being in charge. He liked…

“Perhaps.” she challenged. “However that does not mean I’m wrong.”

He ignored her smug face and stepped inside.

Challenging.

That was a good word for her. She was challenging. And fuck if he had ever been able to stop himself from raising to one.

Her house couldn’t have been more different to his. It was… colorful. Bright artworks on the walls, furniture made of dark cherry wood, colors everywhere else… Curtains, rugs… He glimpsed a red fridge and matching appliances on their way past the kitchen…

The layout of the house was similar to his though, so he wasn’t surprised when she led him up the stairs and to the left. The master bedroom was all in pink and cream tones. It was ridiculous but not without its charm, he figured.

Given that everything seemed to have its proper place in the house and that everything was meticulously clean, he very much doubted she had left the bed unmade that morning so he deduced that Buttercup had been the one making a mess of it. He had made himself a nice little nest with the bedspread and the sheets.

“He has been coming and going for the last couple of days.” she explained. “I think he spent the night downstairs once or twice. We had an agreement that as long as he did not steal my underwear again he was welcome.” She pursed her lips at the cat. “But this is taking it a bit far.”

“You could have said.” he spat. “I’ve been looking for him.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “What do I know of your cat’s habits? Trust me, I did not ask him to stay.”

He studied her with some mistrust. He wasn’t going to explain to Prim that a stranger had stolen her cat.

“Get your own pet.” he warned.

“Gladly.” she huffed. “Perhaps I will get a dog. It should keep your cat from breaking and entering.”

He looked her up and down and then smirked. “You ain’t a dog person. You’re high maintenance. Like a cat.”

“Oh, you think you have me all figured out, haven’t you?” she hissed.

“Not yet.” he shrugged. “But that’s the fun part.”

He half-expected her to blush or stutter but she stared straight back at him instead, her chin jutted high, a hint of defiance in her blue eyes… At least until her gaze darted to his mouth and she licked her own lips.

His smirked widened.

Had she been thinking about him too?

All the flirting didn’t mean she wanted more but…

“Get that cat off my bed.” she ordered.

“Bossy.” he commented.

“In everything.” she remarked in a casual way that was not casual at all. Her voice was just that little bit lower and…

“What do I get out of it?” he asked, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Buttercup was eying both of them in turn with very obvious annoyance.

“Your cat back.” she deadpanned.

“Maybe I don’t want him back.” he challenged.

“You wanted him back two seconds ago.” she remarked.

“Maybe I’m fickle.” he shrugged.

Her grin was slow and almost predatory, her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “I sincerely hope not. Fickle men are not worth my time.”

Suddenly the pink and cream tones of the room didn’t look so ridiculous. They look intimate. He wanted to step closer to her, maybe to kiss her just to erase that taunting grin from her lips…

He didn’t move.

If he moved first, he lost.

And he was very much enjoying the game.

“Maybe I want something more than just the cat.” he stated and he barely recognized his own voice. It was rough and just as predatory as her grin.

Another woman might have been intimidated or scared by a virtual stranger making that sort of heavy flirting in their bedroom, she barely blinked. She simply tilted her head to the side. “Name your price.”

“Maybe I want to see what you’ve got under your dress.” He waited a second, just to make sure he wasn’t pushing it too far but when she just stood there and stared back with the very same glint of lust in her eyes, he licked his lips. “Maybe I want to see how this frilly stuff Buttercup stole looks on you.”

“That is assuming I have any underwear on.” she hummed.

A sound escaped his throat, halfway between a groan and a whine.

He wasn’t sure who moved first.

All he knew was that one second they were standing a respectable distance apart, the next her mouth was crushed against his, hot and demanding, and her hands were ripping buttons off his shirt. The kiss was almost brutal, dirty in all the right ways, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulled… He fumbled with the zipper of her dress, he tried to shove it down but it got stuck around her hips and she stopped him to slip it over her head instead…

She had a black lacy bra on underneath and the matching panties to go with.

And she was even more gorgeous than he had thought she would be.

He wasn’t sure how they ended up against the wall or where she had been hiding the condom she rolled on him.

They were kissing again, then she was tugging him and then he was pining her against the hard surface…

It was rough and frantic and he briefly wondered if she had been having a dry spell too because she looked as desperate and eager as he was…

The noises she was making though…

Fuck, but he could get addicted to those.

Moans and sighs and whimpers and whines…

It was over far too fast. Her strangled cry of pleasure brought him over the edge and he lost his footing frantically thrusting his release into her. They collapsed on the floor, half on the bedside rug, out of breath and a little sweaty.

It took him a good minute to get rid of the condom, knot it and carefully place it aside, too dizzy from his climax to properly compute. He didn’t even try to stand up. He was pretty sure his legs would have protested.

It could have turned awkward really fast – because what the hell had even just happened? – if she hadn’t started laughing.

“See… When a woman laughs right after I’m done with her, it doesn’t do wonders for my ego…” he joked.

She rolled on her side and hooked a leg over his hip, propping her head on her hand and patting his chest with her other one. “I have a feeling your ego doesn’t need any stroking.”

“I’ve got something else I’d prefer you to stroke anyway.” he smirked.

She glanced down and bit down on her bottom lip in a thoughtful way. He was almost scared by what her brain was imagining now. Almost. He was also excited to find out.

“Perhaps later.” she hummed. “Once you have chased the cat from my bed.”

It was a dangerous assumption. Later. He didn’t usually stick around long enough with a woman for there to be a later.

But she was gorgeous, feisty, very naked, very willing and still something of a riddle. He had never been able to resist a good riddle. Or a challenge. And she was both. She was both in a very appealing package.

“You’re a weird woman.” he told her.

She was so different from any he had met before… He wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing yet.

“Says the very puzzling neighbor.” she chuckled instead of taking offense. “Do you know nobody I asked could give me the same explanation about you? According to some, you are a recluse, to others you are a secret millionaire or a generous sweet man with a boorish exterior I should definitely consider going out with…”

“Let me guess…” he snorted. “That was Sae.”

“Peeta actually.” she corrected. “Sae’s suggestions were more… akin to what we just did.”

He lifted his eyebrows, not sure if he should be surprised or disgusted by the idea of the old woman making that sort of implications. He chose to ignore it altogether and focus on the main thing. “So. You asked about me.” He probably sounded far too smug about that and maybe the taunting was a little too much but he couldn’t help it. “Liked what you saw the other day, sweetheart? Couldn’t stay away?”

“Well, you were conducting your very own investigation.” she teased. “It seemed only fair I enquired in kind.”

“How do you…” he frowned.

“People talk.” she dismissed. “And you are quite handsome despite your rude cat. I was interested anyway.”

The way she said that scared him a little.

She didn’t say it as if she intended this to be just a fun night. She said it as if she intended to have fun nights quite a few number of time in the near future and maybe some serious stuff in between the fun too.

He wasn’t sure he was up for that…

Of course, it was the moment Buttercup jumped from the bed directly on his stomach, leaving claw marks on his already scarred side, and sauntered away with his tail high, hissing for no particular reason.

“I think the cat has a crush on you, sweetheart.” he scowled, glaring at the retreating butt of the animal.

“Poor thing.” she laughed and then she got busy kissing up the side of his neck. He guided her leg more firmly over his hips so she was almost straddling him…

“He’s a fragile cat, you know.” he commented casually, running his palm up and down her thigh. “Looks all tough but… He’s been hurt pretty bad before. Made him a bit wild. Ain’t quite sure he’d known how to be tamed.”

“Some untamed animals can be very loyal pets.” she retorted, letting her lips travel to his collarbone. Her tongue found a small scare there and retraced its length. “It takes time to win anyone’s trust. I am quite… fond of him too, for what it’s worth. Despite our short acquaintance.”

How she could talk so fancy when she was doing unspeakable thing to his nipple – sucking and licking and… – he didn’t know.

“Just… Don’t toy with the cat’s feelings, yeah?” he insisted, guiding her head up to capture her mouth in a violent kiss.

“Never.” she promised, her hand wandering down his side only hesitate on the big swollen scar. She kept her eyes averted and her voice sounded more fragile than he had ever heard it. “But I hope he won’t play with mine either.”

“That’s not his style.” he snorted, brushing his fingers along the length of her spine. “He’s more into collecting your panties.”

“What a naughty cat.” she chuckled. “Is his owner just as naughty?”

He rolled them over and started kissing his way down her stomach, intending to show her just how naughty he could be.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #thg modern au #1st meeting #hayffie pets #fighting hayffie #crack #teapot #HBIC effie #not established

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sweetbyte · 7 years ago

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So maybe this 3 shot is going to turn into a 4 shot?, even though it was meant to be a oneshot. I dunno.

Title : Say When | Part I

Pairing : Shouto Todoroki | Momo Yaoyorozu

Rated : T

Part II

Momo feels like she’s in the bathroom for ages. Her head is ringing and she’s not sure how to process anything. She’s been juggling the idea on what her mark could be since she was little. As soon as she came to this school her mark has been acting up, is it merely a coincidence, possibly. But this couldn’t be one. Is her soulmate really Bakugou? They haven’t talked other than her thanking him that time he opened the door and he brutally ignored her. Her mark hadn’t reacted then. What made it react now? She tries to compose herself and exits the bathroom.

As if it’s some sort of sign, the moment she steps back into the arena to take her seat, Bakugou’s face is on the big screen being declared the victor. He’s furious though, so it shows him screaming and being restrained, and Momo can’t help but think that she’s mistaken as she rubs the mark.

Time after the tournament is pretty boring, they are sent to do internships and Momo’s couldn’t be more of a let down. It was fun, sure, but not something she could use to strengthen her skill. She’s been feeling down as of lately, and she hasn’t even been talking to Shouto.

Just thinking about him makes her heart ache. She’s such a disappointment, she doesn’t feel like she can face him. When they get back, she steers clear of him as much as she can. Him and Bakugou. It’s silly, but she’s not ready to face the fact that Bakugou just might be her soulmate either. Even if he was, nothing could ever come out from it, she is engaged, and it’s not like he’d want to be her friend. She groans and rubs her temple. Her head is killing her. “Yaoyorozu” She jumps in her seat, and turns to Shouto who’s staring at her. “Yes, Todoroki-San?” His stare is unnerving, and she wants to tell him to look away. “Are you not feeling well?”

She shakes her head, and assures him it’s nothing before turning her attention back to the front , shutting down the conversation. She feels awful doing it, but she just can’t bring herself to care.

This goes on for a couple of weeks, her avoidance. He must get the memo, because soon he stops talking to her too. And it kinda hurts, but she has no right to feel that way, she’s doing it to herself. She wishes her mother would come back, so she could ask for her advise. This isn’t something she could talk about with her father and even if she could, he’s almost never home.

Soon enough the finals are around the corner, and she volunteers to help her fellow classmates with studying for the written portion, the only thing she’s good at she thinks bitterly. Though she does this out of the goodness of her heart, she is also doing this for her own benefit. She needs distraction, she needs company, she needs to feel useful. The invite is open to the whole class, but she’s relieved when the two people she’s avoiding don’t take it up.

When the study group shows up, she’s overjoyed. She’s prepared everything for the best possible outcome. The session goes by fairly quick, at least for her, and soon she’s bidding her guests farewell as they file out of her home thanking her. After the last is gone, she closes the door and sighs. She’s left alone again in a house too big and goes to clean up the room she used, not even bothering to call the housekeeper.

The written exam is a breeze. She finishes it easily and quickly. She’s flattered to hear the gratitude of her study group, who are all confident they did better than they would have otherwise.

Her stomach flops when the details of the the practical exam are given. She has to try to go up against Aizawa and his strong quirk. It flops again when she find out she’s been partnered with Shouto.

Shouto’s noticed Momo’s deflated mood as of late, and not really knowing how to offer support, he gives her space, assuming that’s the best thing to do. She obviously doesn’t feel like talking to him, so he respects that decision. When they are paired up to fight Aizawa, Shouto takes the lead, naturally, and is trying to make it easier for the girl. She appears jittery, and he asks her if she’s nervous. She shakes her head, but he understands, they are up against a strong sensei.

He comes up with a plan, and tells Momo to create anything she’d like in hopes of avoiding being taken by surprise by the teacher who can erase their quirks. His plan is simple, when Momo finds she’s unable to create things, they’ll know the Aizawa has them in sight and Shouto will hold him off while he sends her to run for the gate. He tells her to stay close while and he’s focused on being alert, that he doesn’t realize what she’s creating until he sees a little red object fly past his view.

This makes him ask her what they are, because he swears he’s seen it before. She shows him her dolls, calls them matryoshka dolls. This is a sucker punch to the gut for Shouto because while she’s talking he can’t help but stare at the dolls she’s stopped creating. His wrist pulsing and it clicks. That’s the doll he’s been covering up all these years. That’s the his mark.

As soon as he has this revelation, he can’t help but speak. “Yaoyorozu, your matryoshkas…” He curses realizing that he’s forgotten completely about Aizawa the moment she shouts an apology and is captured in a matter of seconds. He yells at her to run, which she does, and he’s being hoisted up a pole.

“You know I can burn or freeze these” He’s trying to buy time.

“You can do what you want” Aizawa responds smugly while scattering spikes on the ground beneath him. “I’d just be careful landing.”

“What are you a ninja?” Taken off guard by his cheap trick.

“I understand your consideration towards the girl, but you might want to talk things over more with her.” He gives Shouto a knowing look before taking off towards Momo. Shouto is left dangling mid air, not bothering trying to free himself, thinking. Thinking about how it did look like she wanted to say something. Thinking about how he was doing her more bad than good. Thinking about how he hopes she escapes. Thinking about anything other than the girl’s matryoshka dolls, the one that’s undoubtedly pictured on his still throbbing wrist.

She comes running back, Aizawa not far from her. The guilt comes back in waves at the frantic and lost look on her face. When she sees him, she immediately starts to apologize again and he can’t see her like this. “Yaoyorozu, you have a plan, right? I should have asked you before, but you have one right?” She looks down and he can almost barely hear her. “But your plan didn’t work, how could mine-” “I’m saying you’re better at this stuff! I’ve known from the start! Remember the two votes you got for class rep? One was mine! Because I thought you’d be good at it!” He doesn’t mean to shout, but they don’t have time. His words seem to finally sink in just as Aizawa is about to reach her, and she yells at him to close his eyes.

She throws her matryoshka’s up and they open to reveal flash bombs, blinding Aizawa just long enough for her to lower and free Shouto. She confirms that she does have a plan. Aizawa tries to attack again, but she’s pulling Shouto’s hand to run. They have to put space between them and the sensei. She tells him to use this quirk as soon as he can to create the wall of ice he made in his tournament match against Sero at the sports festival. At this Shouto finds himself a little skeptical, since Aizawa is hot on their trail and they cannot use their quirks, and she announces that it’s only a matter of time. She’s right. As soon as he feels his quirk, he doesn’t even think and creates the ice wall she requested, efficiently putting a barrier between them and Aizawa.

He feels like he can finally breathe with the return of their quirks and turns to face Momo to get the details of her plan. He finds her creating what seems to be like Aizawa’s binds from her chest. He freezes before turning back around to give her privacy. It’s the first time he’s seen a girls chest, and is embarrassed that he’s somewhat engraved it to memory, especially considering that it’s not the time or place to think about her like that. She’s just efficiently using her quirk.

She explains her plan to him while she keeps creating the props she needs, and he takes this time to look at his wrist. The mark isn’t pulsing anymore, the ink however has changed from black to a deep burgundy, confirming that Momo is indeed his soulmate. She lets him know that she’s finished, prompting him to push all thoughts aside and turn around. When he faces her, he sees all of the items she’s made set up and an accomplished look on her face that accelerates his heartbeat. She looks cute when she’s determined, he decides when she turns to him to ask if her plan was ok. He looks away as he replies because he can feel himself heating up. He really can’t believe what’s happened in the past couple of minutes, and it’s ridiculous that it’s affecting him so.

Her plan is carried out, he thinks almost too flawlessly, and she later admits that there was a moment that she had made a mistake. The outcome is a win for them, nonetheless, with the capture of Aizawa who compliments Momo on her plan.

Her face reddens and she suddenly has her hand over his mouth. He asks her if she’s nauseous, she did create multiple items, she might have over exhausted herself, and she assures him rather forcefully that she was fine. He doesn’t believe her, but drops the subject as they free Aizawa and exit with the passing of the practical exam.

He waits for her and they walk back together. It’s a quiet walk, Shouto is caught up in his thoughts and doesn’t know what to make of the information he has. Does he tell her? Does she know already? Does this change things between them? Why should it? He slightly frowns and thinks that the mark still means nothing. If he likes her, it’ll be out of his own will, not because a mark has determined so. He decides to treat this like the engagement, and ultimately says nothing about it.

When they part at the end of the day, he thanks her and lets her know she did a great job. They would have lost without her thinking and she deserves to know. She turns a light pink at the praise and Shouto’s determined not to feel anything. He’s lost when she smiles at him, assuring him that it was a team effort, without him her plan wouldn’t have worked. Her smile is sweet and sincere, like her, and his body feels light. They bid their farewells and as we watches her go, he thinks that he’d like to see her smile everyday.

When Momo gets home, she’s almost in a daze. Things are finally getting better with Shouto, she thinks, maybe their future marriage won’t be so forced. At the thought of this she remembers her predicament, Bakugou and him possibly being her soulmate, and sighs. She shakes her head and makes up her mind. She’ll have to confront Bakugou about this. She has to know and she won’t know for sure without asking him.

A/N : confession. I don’t know what I’m doing, but if this had a plot, it would be thickening.

#todomomo #todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #jots #my fics #soulmate au #phone post #say when

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newflanagansonthebloch · 6 years ago

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Day 7, April 13 Hoi An and My Son

We wake up early again (Kerran is getting used to it!) and are impressed and surprised to find a comprehensive breakfast spread on the ground floor of our hotel. I tried a Vietnamese pancake, enjoyed the roasted tomatoes everywhere else in the world seems to serve (among other stuff) and Kerran has his typical feast. My arms are a touch sore from the lifting we did two days ago but my legs are fine from the 30miles of riding.

At 8 we met Hoai and a new driver (who was no Huy!) and drove about an hour from Hoi An toward My Son temple, eBay some refer to as Vietnam’s answer to Ankor Wat. This is a Hindu temple complex belonging to the Cham Dynasty. The Cham Dynasty was a powerful matriarchal kingdom that predates the Vietnamese in this area. The temples date from around the 4th century but we’re continuously built upon over time by subsequent rulers. The Cham ultimately were pushed out of Vietnam in the 13th century, well before the French discovered these abandoned temples in 1885.

After passing through two reddish brick arch ways you board a golf cart like shuttle (but bigger) further showing how far this is from anything else. A few years back Hoai tells us that you wakes this long path and there was no road. Now, Kerran and I are far from lazy, but with burning sun on our backs we are incredibly grateful for the electric car. Sweat is easy to come by here!

In the early 19th century after the French discovered this space, together the french and Vietnamese studied this place and captured photos. During WWII, the franco-Vietnam war and of course the Vietnam war, fighting and bombs further destroyed the site. Bombs from the American war topped a 28 meter tower. Today there are remnants of nearly 40 buildings at different stages of reconstruction. Where possible they will rebuild building to look as they appeared in the original photos captured by the french. Of course by then much was ruined as well. It’s interesting because you can also walk in these ruins. It’s also interesting that the bricks are held together by a glue made from nearby trees, and these have held for centuries!

My Son is situated in a beautiful lush mountainous area. The scenery alone is stunning. We choose to skip the traditional dance offered in an outdoor theatre—we’re melting.

We head back toward Hoi An for a day of exploring the old city. Our first stop is back at A Dong Tailors as we promised Huong that we’d be back as early as possible. I try on my dress and we take it in a bit more and Kerran his suit. He’s so pleased that he is moved to order three more casual shirts. It’s so impressive that both our suit and dress were started around 6am and finished at 10am. Huong asks us to come back between 4-5pm for what she hopes will be finishing touches.

Around the corner from the tailor Kerran and Hoai grab a famous Bahn Mi from the “Bahn Mi Queen.” I have a bite and can’t deny that it’s delicious—it has tons and tons of food inside like hm and meat and chili sauce and aioli and vegetables and more items than I can name. We walk through the old quarter and I order ice cream for lunch at the cargo club where we’re permitted to all eat upstairs overlooking the river. It’s so incredibly hot I can’t possibly fathom eating anything else. Across the river where the night market now sits, Hoai tells us that just a few years ago was hardly anything. Rapid growth has occurred due to tourism. However it’s imperative that all buildings in this area are constructed or refurbished in the same style to maintain the historic look and feel of this UNESCO World Heritage site.

After a quick lunch we head to the sites of Hoi Ann’s old town. Here you purchase a UNESCO ticket that affords you entrance to up to five monuments within the city. We cross the small Japanese covered bridge which dates back to the 17th century and joins the historic Japanese and Chinese sections of the city. Monkey statues guard one entrance and dogs the other. There is a small temple adjoining the bridge which was not built by the Japanese, but later by the Vietnamese. Inside are pictures from the 1700s and later when the french came. The french nicknames this city Fai Foo because those are the Vietnamese words they used to ask “is this the city?”

We then visit our first ancient house. A niece of the man who currently lives here shows us around and informs us that the house was originally constructed in 1780 and has housed 8 generations of her her family. 80 columns hold up this house and sit on top of marble to avoid damage from both humidity and termites. We don’t linger long here as the whole family seems to be selling something. The architecture has influence from Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese styles.

Later we visit a second home, the Tan Ky home which is about 200 years old. Here you can see how high the river has flooded the homes each year—well above my head. The family moves all its belongings to the second floor during the rainy season through a kind of trap door. You can also see photos of the generations of families who inhabited this home and you walk right through tot he river side.

We also have an opportunity to visit two different Chinese Assembly halls. Each hall is from a different Chinese province and thus reflect slightly different styles. The first is the Cantonese assembly hall, or temple really. The giant dragon sculpture in the middle foyer is the standout here. There is an even large more impressive multi dragon mosaic sculpture in the back!

The second assembly hall belonged to the Fukien or Fukien people. It opens up to a beautiful garden adorned with flowers and even a model of the Great Wall. This temple dates from the late 17th century and was completed in 1757. Three main alters are found inside, the middle of which includes Fujianese mandarins. There is also an alter for the god of prosperity and one for the goddess of fertility surrounded by many midwives. This hall, like the last, features a replica of a merchant boat which honors all those who do not come back from the sea. Hoai also informs us that many Vietnamese share the same last names. Anyone of Chinese descent often has the last name Minh and even has an image of china on their government ID. Hoa’s ancestors are from both Vietnam so his license has an image of Vietnam.

At this point we have used all our tickets and are drenched in sweat from the heat. It’s early afternoon so we make our way back to the hotel and take a short swim in the hotel pool. We honor Huong’s request and are back at the tailor before 5pm for final fittings. We have a few final adjustments to make (bringing Kerran’s shirt out a bit, adding buttons to his suit, and making a last minute change to the hem of my dress.) It’s crazy how fast they do this! 10-15 minutes later the clothes magically reappear perfectly. After bidding farewell to my Hoi An Tailor fairy godmother Huong and A Dong Silk we pick up Kerran’s dress shirts down the road at Be Be Tailor.

After this we head back toward the river for our final Hoi An dinner at Morning Glory. This restaurant is named after the typical vegetable dish served here which is basically just spinach and garlic. The service is pretty bad here but the food is good. I order Banh Xeo which is a hybrid of a pancake and a make your own spring roll. I got the traditional Cao Lao for dinner and Kerran got the (better tasting) mackerel. People sweat by Cao Lao, a meat and noodle dish topped with fresh greens, wontons and spice, but it’s not my favorite of the trio. We end there meal with bananas drenched in coconut cream. We wander a mile or so back to our hotel and stop at the tourist stalls for a needed purchase: Kerran gets a defective Nike shirt for $9 and I replace what I’ve been calling my “beach or travel pants” for 12 bucks. The 15 year old pair was overdue for retirement...plus I stained them with mouth wash on the way here!! After our successful shopping trip we packed up our things and called it a night in Hoi An.

Ps there are also beaches here but we just didn’t manage to get there this time!

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cantstopthesignal2005 · 5 years ago

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Back Into It

Roman Morrison lied awake on his twin bed, the unforgiving autumn wind blasting through the window, leaving a thin glaze of frost in its wake. He wrapped his comforter around himself like a shawl, though it did little to protect him from the cold, and rose from the bed with a shuddering start, shuffling to the thermostat to crank up the digits. Grabbing a towel from the top of his dresser drawer and some warm clothes, he ran the water in his shower, the steam rising to create a fog. He stayed in the shower a little longer than necessary for the warmth it provided. Stepping out, he dried himself and rubbed the towel against the thin veneer of moisture on the mirror and was embarrassed by the patchy beard which had grown from neglect. Applying a few dabs of shaving cream, Roman ran the safety razor through the unkempt thickets of facial hair he let accumulate, his smooth brown skin able to finally breathe. Feeling accomplished, he dragged the towel along the mirror again, to fully appreciate his newly fresh appearance. The proud smile on Roman’s face was soon broken, as he confronted the laughter lines creasing his cheeks and bags beneath his eyes; flaws in an otherwise, he could admit, decent looking face. It wasn’t the tides of old age ravaging his body that so perturbed Roman. It was the uncanny ways in which he began to resemble his father. He’d always had his eyes, but now his cheeks were sinking the same way as the old man’s. Roman had contempt for his father Julius who, despite his love of the poison (tequila being a favorite,) was neither a very cruel nor gregarious man. Roman considered his father’s life and legacy and realized the worst thing one could say about him was that he was absent. Absent in the upkeep of his house, absent in the lives of his children, and absent even in the company of others. Worse still was Julius’s lack of fight regarding his own life, simply allowing things to happen to him, being taken advantage of, never actively involved with the world around him. As a result of their father’s milquetoast personality, Roman and his sister Jenny led a hand-to-mouth existence until they were old enough to get jobs. He tried his damnedest to replicate none of his father’s appalling behaviors, remaining sober, working, being a somewhat bristling character. It occurred to Roman that his spartan existence—owning little more than clothes, groceries, and furniture—could be traced back to the scarcity and impermanence he suffered in his transient youth. Consequently, he had little need or tolerance for frivolity and tchotchkes. Roman, holding a disgust for Julius in the pit of his stomach, was bringing his father back. And now, he would have to confront him whenever he looked in the mirror. Following a protracted study of his features, Roman walked to the living room wearing only his towel. Seized by nerves, he stared ahead vacantly. Not much had been done much to improve upon his standards of living, never accepting invitations to socialize, never looking to spend more than necessary. A beer or a joint wouldn’t allow any comfort that he couldn’t gather from a good night’s sleep. The wallowing had to stop, he realized, if he was to make the six-a.m. bus; hastily dressing for work, he ran down the stairs and just barely made it, smiling with a racing heart. Roman, following the unwritten rules of public transit, knew to avoid eye contact with fellow passengers. He would reflexively stare out of the window or stare at his restless feet to deliberately avoid offense. Roman worked at a local deli as a prep cook. Cutting, curing, roasting, five days a week. He liked the job, as it afforded him space. He worked alone in the back and therefore wasn’t occupied with any workplace drama or politics. He swiped his employee ID card on the punch-in monitor, grabbing the checklist for the day, scavenging the cooler shelves for the items. Wesley, the first cook, walked into the prep kitchen with a shit-eating grin. “Hey, Roman!” “Hey, man,” he modestly replied. “Doing alright?” “Can’t complain.” “Love to hear it. So, you know it’s slow lately, so I think today’s a fucking cakewalk. Donnie’s gonna join you today.” “Donnie?” “New kid. You’ll show him around, let him know what’s up, ride his ass if need be.” “I think he’ll play the game, it’s not a hard job.” “Just keep saying that shit I love hearing. Be easy, brother.” Roman went through the grunt work, mindlessly chopping, flaying, and marinating the food he had to prep. Donnie, late by forty-five minutes, came in through the door with a forced huff of breath, feigning exhaustion. Roman came to see that no one respected their In or Out times, though he was often expected to extend. After going over the expectations of the job, Roman took his break and ate a chicken salad sandwich in the dining room on a two-person booth. He answered his sister’s essay length texts regarding her struggles with imposter syndrome. Jenny had just been accepted into her first choice for university, she expected a sense of pride and community. But now, she found it to be worse than waiting for it. She saw that it was a rat race, one where she could barely keep pace with her peers. Her sleeping schedule was shambolic, confidence plummeting as the days dragged. Roman consoled his baby sister, being empathetic with her struggles to maintain a sense of worth. Their identities having been cradled by a catatonic father and a wrathful mother, a sense of self-regard or esteem did not come naturally. Bombing Jenny with several messages reassuring her of her merit was an exercise in futility, Jenny replying only with more uncertainty and dread. Sam, a bespectacled, cashier with long strawberry hair and freckles, sat next to him. She was a sweet girl, just out of high school. She would join Roman for lunch breaks when it was slow. Sam came to depend on his quiet, reserved tendencies for some peace and quiet. Conversations between the two, while never significant, grew to be even more sparse of late. Gathering the braves, Roman mumbled, “How’s it going?” She was somewhat startled, her attention snatched from her notepad. “Oh, uh. Yeah. I’m good. I’m good. I mean, no, no I’m not. I’ve got to extend because Josh got fired.” “Josh is that pale, white kid?” “Yep. Smoked himself incompetent.” “That’s pretty wild.” “Yeah. How’s training that new fuckhead going?” “He’s doing his job.” “Yeah?” “Mmhmm. How’s art school going?” “Not bad. It’s stressful, but it’s worth it.” Roman nodded, and Sam pursed her lips in kind. The connection petered out but despite the brevity of their interaction, Roman felt a swell of pride in his chest for having circumvented his laconic, withdrawn tendencies. He returned to work with a grin, going through the remainder of his tasks before checking out with Katie, the current manager on staff. Katie had cherubic cheeks and eyes like tundra ice, which went well with the jet-black hair she clearly achieved with a dye kit. Katie and Roman got along fine; much like any other relationship in Roman’s life, theirs could be described as “cordial.” Katie, while never abrasive with any of her crew members, was particularly ebullient towards Roman. He always appreciated the kind, inviting disposition she maintained. “Hey, Katie,” he muttered. “Roman! What can I do for you, my man?” “Just need to get checked out, is all.” “Any snags with stock?” “No, everything’s solid.” “Hmm. I’m gonna say you’re good, I trust you.” “You sure?” “Should I not be?” “Well, I didn’t mean it like that.” “Then I trust you, I’m sure, you’re good, and you can trust that I’m sure you’re good.” “Thanks, Katie. Take it easy.” “You too, Mr. Roman. Catch you on the flip side.” Roman clocked out and braced himself for the gusts of wind whipping through the air outside. He made it to the brass bus stop, where he would sit and wait on the unreliable bus drivers, usually arriving well past their set arrival times. He contemplated the options for spending his evening. He could rent a film. He could power through a few television series. He felt a bile rise in his throat considering those thoughts, and his reflexive pivot towards them. How would that be any different than the past five years of his life? How had he fallen in such a deep, sickeningly clockwork routine? He could predict interactions down to the parting sentiments. He was going through the motions and living his life like he was painting by numbers. Every fucking night, he would turn on that television, recline, maybe eat some high-sodium takeout and die for six hours, closing the blinds and shutting it all out. All this comfort for what? The pursuit of an unmarked grave? For him to die as he had lived: unremarkable and anonymous? “Hey, you okay?” a familiar voice asked. Looking up, he saw that it was Reenie, one of the bussers. She was the only other worker in his age bracket, getting off the 405, likely making her routine off-day visit to work friends. “Yeah, just, long day. Thanks, sweetheart.” “You need some water, amigo?” “No, no, I’m . . .I’m alright. Thanks.” “Yeah? That’s good, dude. Who’s working today? Do you know?” “Katie and Kenneth are heading the shift. Sam, Jeremy, Nat are all on cash.” “Nice.” His heart palpitated, his breathing still irregular, as he was able to ask, “Hey, did you want to hang at all this week?” “You know, I’d uh, I’d love to. But, uh, I’m fucking super slammed with work and all.” “Oh, no, that’s, yeah, no I get it.” “Wait, are you going to Allison’s coffee shop tonight?” “Allison? Oh, wow, she got the shop?” “Yeah, she and Darius got the loan, infrastructure all that junk. Opened up the coffee shop like a month ago.” “Good for her.” “Yeah, she’s doing an open mic tonight, Xander’s gonna spit some bars. You should come.” “Yeah? Yeah, for sure that’ll be great.” “Great. Let me get your number so you know the addy.” The two exchanged phone numbers and parted ways. He boarded the bus and was rejuvenated, smiling as he occupied his spot on the back of the bus. Roman had life surging through his veins, a stark contrast to the opposing passengers who were dead on their feet. The maids, getting off their double shifts, were eating their dinner from a brown bag which was lousy with patches of grease spots. This was not for him, this life. He would be devoted to thrusting himself out there, taking chances, experiencing things, loving people, getting his heart broken, making awful mistakes. He wouldn’t be reduced to this cold, empty life of routine. He returned home and began his process of fretting over what to wear. This anxiety was not unfamiliar, though it hadn’t been present in his life for some years now. He hadn’t needed to contend with another person’s expectations, let alone those of an entire group. This anxiety he learned to appreciate. It meant only that he had something to lose or gain. It meant that he was participating. Breaking him from this rumination was a phone call from Jenny. Answering the phone, he heard only sniffles and shallow breathing. “Hey, Roe,” she began, congested. “Can you talk?” “Of course, Jen,” he demurred, gentling his voice to soothe his baby sister. “Yeah, no, it’s just all kind of fucked. Just, shit’s bad, dude. These roommates I’m with, they’re just, they’re getting so much done. They’re getting double majors, they’re all in constant communication with their professors, they have mentors. And they’re just so fucking nice. And I feel like I’ve just been this total bitch. And they’re just so sweet, you know? I feel like I’m so mean. I’m so sorry if I was ever mean to you when we were kids, Roe. You know I love you, right?” “Of course, I do.” “Good. Good. I just, you know, I see how far they’re getting, their drive, the way they already have a fucking lane . . .” Roman’s phone began chirping. Checking the messages, he’d seen that Reenie had messaged him the address, informing him of the expected meet-up time. He agonized over the undue burdens he accepted. He would be the rock for the limited amount of people in his social orbit, the shoulder to lean on, the wall at which they could throw their primal screams and neuroses. Was this going to be his life? Eating everyone’s sins, their trauma and panic gnawing at him, until he was a bloated carcass with poison for blood? No, he thought. He could be there for them, but it wasn’t going to consume him. Julius and Katherine might be his parents, but he didn’t need to be their son. It wasn’t necessary for him to die for the sins of his parents. “. . . and I feel like I don’t have any of that. And I’m thinking, maybe this isn’t the right choice for me. Like, maybe I don’t have it in me . . .” “Jen, we’ve been over this. You’re gonna be fine. You are fine.” “How do you know? How are you this certain?” “I think you’re looking for reasons to worry because there aren’t really any.” “Ugh, I fucking . . . ugh . . . you’re right. You’re right.” “Look, I’ll check in on you tomorrow, but I’ve got plans, I gotta get going.” “Oh my god, of course. Of course, oh, god, yeah, thanks for talking. I love you!” “I love you, too, Jen. Take it easy.” Roman became sick with anticipation as he took the subway to the upper crust, hipster area of Wisteria. He periodically looked at the address on his phone, making sure the route he was taking was the proper one. He deserved to be happy, didn’t he? To share his life with others. These years of self-loathing and melancholia, to what purpose? Was this worth his identity and security? No, he wouldn’t waste any more years prostrating and self-flagellating at the altar, hoping for forgiveness from some imagined saint, absolving him of the transgressions of his youth. Roman reached the store, which had a small spearmint colored awning above it. In gold, bright, loud letters, it yelled: Aunt Allison’s Coffee and Books. The fear began to hold him, but he had the choice to confront it or to remain its limp, quivering victim. He swung open the glass door and walked softly inside, methodically observing the worn, wrinkled spines of books. Books made by fearsome, angry, vitriolic, eccentric people who wrestled with life, wearing fresh bruises, ensuring the world heard their voices as they roared. He walked over to a corkboard which was, he surmised, the bulletin board. It was dressed with overlapping flyers: business opportunities, local shows, rooms for rent. Flyers made by young, hungry people who lunged after what they wanted, never stopping until they achieved their goals, subsisting on ambition and instant noodles. The store he was admiring came about because Lizzie wanted it, worked at it, clawed out her eyes at three in the morning over it. He smiled as he heard the rapturous conversations held by passionate people, who would wax poetic with bloody throats and bulging eyes. Allison, without the messy bun and baggy eyes for which she was known at the deli, approached Roman with a warm, inviting smile. “Reenie said you were coming, and I called bullshit.” “Hey, Lizzie.” “You’re hanging out with the cool kids, now?” “Yeah, I’m the chaperone.” “Hmmm. Everyone’s over there,” she said, motioning to a ramshackle assortment of mismatched chairs centered around a coffee table, which collected several magazines, saucers, and cups. “Yeah. Hey, congrats.” “Thanks.” “The name of the store is interesting.” “Oh, god, do you love it?” “Hmm,” he nodded. “Very familial.” “Ha! Yeah, that’s true. Hey, I gotta check up on my crew, but have fun with the party over there.” “Yeah, good night.” “Good night. It’s nice seeing you.” Roman took a few steps, hesitating, trembling. The group had him in their crosshairs and whipped their heads almost in harmony. “Hey!” Reenie exclaimed. “I told ‘em you’d make it!” “Hey, guys,” Roman nervously stammered. “Hey, so, Roman, you’re a movie guy, right?” Emmanuel, from deliveries asked. “Okay, so there’s this documentary my little brother was showing me like a couple months ago. It’s like, these girls in New York, and they like, follow them from junior year of high school all the way to college, right? And we can’t remember the fucking name.” “We’ve been telling him he dreamed that shit up,” Greta the cashier quipped. “Hmm,” Roman mumbled. “I don’t know it.” “Oh, man, if I find it out, I’ll let you know. It’s fucking wild, they’re like, drifting apart, doing drugs, or freaking out, going to parties, one of thems moms is like, mad unstable. It’s crazy. It’s so sad, but like, real. You know?” And Roman did know. Pain, love, estrangement, anger, sadness, joy. That’s what a life is. And he was ready to embrace it.

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