#just ‘I’ve been studying how to make bombs out of house hold items.’

[lizzie-and-chip-swap-au]

More evidence of Jay being unfairly put in the brain cell slot: remember in City of Steam when she just straight up offered to build a bomb and blow up a casino?

[obeymeluv]

You Steal the Boys’ Clothes

Something I’ve been thinking of for a while.

Lucifer

It was rare the eldest was without his cape, as everything seemed to be a formal event and he must be dressed to impress. Being dressed to impress, however, means being clean so he gets it cleaned from time to time

Lucifer is a very organized, practical man. Constantly towing the line of obsessive for the sake of orderliness.

He knows where his cape should be, and that it’s not there

With a demon’s-only screech that warns Mammon to stretch his calves and run, Lucifer hunts down the three most likely suspects to interrogate them (Mammon, Satan, and Belphegor).

He tries to get a two-for-one by dragging Mammon into the study where Satan sits smugly with a book (because he knows he didn’t do it but MAN is he enjoying this!)

Imagine surprising not one, but THREE demons when you come shuffling down the hall with a Lucifer’s cape wrapped around you like a blanket.

It whispers and it drags and it absolutely DROWNS you.

Very charming. Ethereal, almost like some sort of wedding wear

Lucifer would’ve never imagined you’d be the culprit, and now his poor brain is trying to save and process the idea of you looking so sleepy-happy in his clothes

And the ex-angel falls all over again.

He catches the little cheek nuzzle and way you bunch it around your body, a foot poking out not to get tangled

Satan and Mammon will probably die laughing instead of at his hands, but Lucifer could really care less

Lucifer idly wonders where you’d curled up that he totally missed you, and escorts you gently but red-faced to your room

Satan and Mammon tag along, and when they see Lucifer come out with his cape they can only deduce he put you to bed.

Mammon

With no homework to do and some money in the bank, Mammon was ready to spend the weekend tearing up the town with you!

He was fresh out of the shower and mostly dressed, searching feverishly for his beloved white and brown jacket

Mammon wasn’t the cleanest person by nature (hello, money hoarder and collector of interesting/valuable things) so he tidied up as he went

As he started to suspect one of his little brothers was holding the jacket for ransom, he sent out a group text asking about it

There were several typical smart-ass responses (Lucifer, Asmo, and Satan) and he was in the middle of a snark fight when you showed up at his door somewhere between bashful and chill

In HIS jacket

Mammon’s brain shuts down.

HIS baby in HIS jacket? HELL YEAH! OH GOD, IT’S TOO PERFECT!

FIEND, TAKING HIS HEART!

“It’s kind of a human thing,” you explain. “There is a one-jacket fee among couples. Usually it’s a hoodie.” you tease, reluctant to shrug it off, “But this seems to be your only jacket so I guess I could give it back.”

It’s very subtle, but he’s worn that jacket for centuries and no amount of detergent can disguise the scent that makes his heart skip a beat

Something about the smell of your skin and a hint of his has him purring

You hold the jacket out to him. Mammon wraps his fingers around it and swings it around until he’s holding it over one shoulder

The yellow takes over in his eyes a little more. Gets a little brighter and intense.

“You want to take anything else off?” he husks playfully

Your day out turns into staying in and Mammon is happy to trade his jacket for a shirt you can sleep in (like, forever. It’s fine. Whatever, dummy.)

Leviathan

It was actually really hard to steal Levi’s clothes because he lived in his hoodie and turtleneck. His RAD uniform was really just for show and that wasn’t what you were looking for, anyways. You didn’t want to chill in uniform.

He was very particular about his merch because certain shirts were collector’s items and he didn’t like people messing with his folding patterns

You went to Asmo with your dilemma and he found it absolutely ADORABLE. It was almost enough to make him jealous, really

Somehow (Asmo being Asmo?), the fifth- born was able to swipe one of the green button-ups Levi wore under his RAD uniform

His first thought was to alter the garment to make it fit you (matching outfits? YES!) but Levi would probably kill him. His big bro hated shopping for clothes unless he HAD to have them.

Asmo gets the bright idea to magically/temporarily alter the fabric to fit you. Maybe Levi will like it so much he’ll just give you a shirt! 💖 (Or get some fucking outside time and go buy more shirts!)

Levi catches his own scent somewhere outside of the door and his brain goes off. He hits the pause button at lightning speed.

No one else smells like him! They haven’t shared bath products in centuries! He already finished his laundry so what’s happening?!

His first thought is: Mammon broke into my room while I was in the bathroom and stole something to pawn!

Levi doesn’t even think to take inventory of his stuff, barging out of his room to hunt down his big brother

He’s yelling and whining before he even sees him. Then he sees you. In his shirt.

All the angry words die in his throat as the absolute mortification and adoration sets his face on fire

SO KAWAII! It basically makes up for your normie-ness.

Levi’s stuck standing there, blushing his head off and unable to say anything as his fists shake with joy and nervousness

He gets a nosebleed. One of his brothers are laughing at him.

You guide him back to his room to take care of him, Levi lets you and becomes very fascinated with the idea of you in his clothes .Lots of petting and figuring out you look DOUBLY MEGA CUTE when the magic wears off and you’re just in a pool of fabric.

He’s totally down for matching clothes and definitely lets you keep the one you’re wearing.

Satan

His wardrobe is very...interesting...to say the least

Colors and personal combinations aside, Satan actually has a very smart wardrobe. Lots of basics and easy layers.

You can’t steal his signature green sweater or the blazer he seems to live in, so you settle for an emerald knit sweater that has a bit of a v-neck/university feel to it

It takes Satan a while to notice, as he’s buried in a book. You two tend to gravitate towards each other and just enjoy a cozy, companionable silence

He’s just finished a book and is debating cracking open one from the stack to his left when the color catches his eye

The smooth, sly comment dies on his lips when he realizes he likes the damn thing because IT’S HIS

You look very cozy and warm. It’s a very ‘cuddle me’ kind of look.

Perhaps you could warm his lap? Or give his poor hands a rest under the hem?

Very cheeky and clever. Grabs you by the sleeve of it just to ‘answer his curiosity about whether it matched his nails’.

Does he have a cute university student kink? If he didn’t, he does now?

There’s a 50-50 chance of you guys having sex.

Will definitely want to hold you and cuddle you close, petting the fabric and whispering compliments into it.

If you don’t already have a business/academic attire, Satan will definitely suggest a few pieces because YES. This is a thing he loves and it DOES things to him.

Asmodeus

He’s the type to let you think you stole something

Probably stages what he wants you to steal just so you take it

Honestly, I could just see him dumping some of his clothes on you because you’re dating now and this is a cute thing he read about!

It’s super likely he’s into couple outfits or coordinating outfits, so he’s either spent time in his closet pre-planning or asked you to try on a million things just because

This cutie pie purposely orders THE BIGGEST thing he can find so you can both fit in it at the same time

Asmo loves you to pieces no matter what, but seeing you in his clothes makes him squeal and hit a note Mammon has threatened to murder him over

Ever dramatic, this is like, THE BEST THING EVER

A MILLION Devilgram posts about it (safe ones, of course)

Do you guys spark a couple’s trend and spade of lover’s stealing each other’s clothes to snap a victory pic? Maybe

Probably fake faints at the sheer glory of you in HIS bomb ass clothes. Definitely fans himself

Spoils you rotten with compliments

This man is weak. “Gorgeous! Smother me.” as he falls back on the bed and gestures to his face

He won’t turn down the idea of sexy times (depends on your libido, comfort, etc.) but sometimes he makes raunchy jokes just to be funny. Smothering could also mean using him like a body pillow (which he’s totally okay with).

You get max cuddles and WILL be the envy of Devilgram

Beelzebub

Beel felt a little guilty for leaving you at the House of Lamentation with his brothers

You guys were supposed to hang out after school but there was an emergency practice. The coach always got pre-game jitters and demanded a few last runs. He showered and ran back to the House, hoping you still had time for him.

He tiptoed quietly into his shared room, unsurprised to find you waiting there for him. You’d been caught in Belphie’s sleepy little aura by the looks of it,

Beelzebub couldn’t help the grin or little hum that made it past his lips. Your eyes were open but he didn’t know if you actually saw him. You looked super cute in his humongous bed though

You were getting sleepier and sleepier, your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Beel pulled the sheets over you and gentle untangled the arm you managed to latch on to

Maybe waking up to a bit of food would make up for everything! Beel toiled away in the kitchen, making a cute little snack tray for the two of you.

In reality, it could probably feed at least twenty, and he ate at least half of what he prepped.

Beel returned to the room with what he considered a decent amount (scraps, kind of, but enough variety! He tried! It’s the thought that counts!) and was surprised to see his sheets all tangled and half-kicked from the bed

You were wearing his jacket now, passed out and turned into the furry lining that usually went across his shoulders and neck

DId you sleep walk? He was trying to understand how you’d gotten into his jacket

Beel realized it was the first time you’d been in his clothes and it was enough to make his heart melt

Super huge on you, obviously (extra fabric everywhere), but so cute! He could basically swaddle you in his jacket

“They’re a restless sleeper,” Belphie yawned. “I thought it would help them calm down.”

It used to work on Belphie, so Beel could see why he resorted to it

Beel offered his twin some food, sitting carefully on your other side.

He shifted some of the parka fur away from your face, trying to fix your hair and nudge your chin up so your nose wasn’t buried in anything. He stroked your cheek a little, mesmerized by the sight of you and how you felt.

Belphie declined, muttering something about, ‘Stop looking like that and eat your food! Gross!’ before Beel settled for patting your head one last time and eating quietly

Belphegor

He’s another one that’s hard to steal from

You’d think it’d be easy since he sleeps all the time, but Belphie really only wears 10% of the clothes he buys

Yes, he’s a pajama snob and has all things comfy and cozy, but hardly any of them smell like him because he falls asleep anywhere with little issue (no special clothes required!)

You thought about stealing his blue cardigan with the pocket, but he’s always sleeping in it!

Belphie picks up on your train of thought, and the frustration, because you fall asleep thinking about it. Dreaming about coyly stealing his cardigan and being all cute and snuggly in bed

It’s enough to wake him up, shuffle to you, and break your sleep. He flops down on your bed with his cardigan unbuttoned and says ‘climb on’ while patting his chest

You’re obviously sleepy and confused and he loves it. Belphie slides you onto his chest and wraps his arms around you, resting bits of the fabric on your back as you settle into him

It’s not the same but it’s close enough

Would you be offended if he got you cow pajamas so he could snuggle you like his favorite pillow? He falls asleep wondering about the answer

He wakes up to see that Beel has covered the two of you with his favorite blanket.

You in his blanket? Against him? Slowly smelling of him and his clothes? It’s the best thing to fall asleep to.

Makes a joke out of your clothes-stealing quest by stripping one of his pillowcases off and putting you in it like a little sack. You have to stay on his bed now because you’re his pillow and all pillows stay on the bed.

“What? You wanted to smell like me! It’s something I use!“ Belphie defends as you wonder whether or not you like this human pillow thing while he snuggles you.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH49

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 149: Purgatory Reunion (I) {cw: misgendering}

[Player Qi Leren has completed the task Star Death Reality Show. The task completion rate is 77%.]

[A reward of the base 15 days survival days has been given. 77% of task completion rewards 31 extra survival days. Best of the Day ranking was received 3 times, earning the reward of 15 survival days. Eliminated all amphioctopuses for the reward  of 30 survival days. The proportion of the audience who questioned you was 47.8%; the reward is retained.]

[Data synchronization countdown, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, synchronization complete.]

　　&&&

"Aaaaah how could they kill us!" As soon as he came back, Qi Leren heard Dr. Lu’s screams. "It's really crazy! Blowing up the four of us together to destroy the octopus! Is this something that people do?!”

Du Yue was also very depressed: "That, how can it be like this..."

Qi Leren thought that this was unexpected. Looking at the strange things done by the copy’s cast, and how many strange alien creatures existed in the universe, the future interstellar world was probably not a civilized world ruled by law. In order to avoid future problems, it had bombed the planet, destroying the humans and the threat together… If the military in the Alien movies was so decisive, the Alien series wouldn’t have been able to go on for so long.

He just didn't know how the audience felt. But as for what kind of "audience" existed in that copy, Qi Leren couldn't figure it out now. He guessed that there may be no "audience" at all, and the Best of the Day and questioning rate were just a set of data simulated by the system.

Qi Leren took a look at his survival time. He had had 147 days at the start of the copy, and his survival time would not pass while the task was in progress. However, because he had used that bug-like card [Sophisticated Lawyer], he’d consumed 130 days of survival time all at once, and only 17 days remained at the end of the task.

This task had rewarded a total of 91 days, so now he has a total of 108 survival days, which sounded good, but... Qi Leren looks at his missing left hand. He would have to pay at least one hundred survival days to make it grow back—he had come back to life, why couldn't his missing hand grow back as well?

Qi Leren has many speculations about how he had been resurrected from a pile of meatloaf. He vaguely felt that he was different from before. He could feel a huge energy, but he didn't know how to push open the heavy door that blocked him from it.

Dr. Lu wanted to take Qi Leren to find the player who could regrow limbs. Qi Leren refused: "I’m in a hurry now, I’ll come back to you later when I’m free."

Saying goodbye to Dr. Lu and Du Yue, Qi Leren rushed to Chen Baiqi.

When Chen Baiqi saw Qi Leren, she was really surprised: "What happened to your left hand?"

"It's a long story, listen to me first! Is it safe here?"

"...Come with me."

In the basement that usually acted as their training ground, Qi Leren spoke quickly about what had happened in the task, and also told Chen Baiqi about the laptop.

Chen Baiqi listened to him quietly until she heard the news of Ning Zhou's death.

"So I have to go to the Underground Ant City’s Purgatory as soon as possible, and I don't have much time left," Qi Leren worried.

"Yes, but I'm afraid it's dangerous for you to go alone. You’ve broken your shell now, and you’ve already sensed your original force. Although a half-field hasn’t yet been completed, you’ve been much faster than I expected... We’re not ready, tsk, it’s troublesome, and you survived falling into a mess of meat. I’ll go to see the Prophet later and ask his opinion." Chen Baiqi's slender eyebrows furrowed. It was rare for her to have an uncertain expression. "Forget it, I can’t help with anything right now. When you bring Ning Zhou back, we'll think it over again. Wait a minute and hold your horses, and I'll ask if anyone at the Court will go to the Underground Ant City. If so, they can take you there."

The next few hours were as busy as a fight. Qi Leren took the time to recover his left hand. Dr. Lu volunteered to help him pay all the medical expenses. Qi Leren was very moved and then refused him: "Forget it, I’ll be going somewhere dangerous soon. I may not be able to come back alive. If I owe money, I won’t be at ease when I die."

"...This is the first time I’ve seen someone curse himself so bluntly." Dr. Lu looked pained. "You have to cherish your life, isn't it good to live?"

"This is only the worst case scenario," Qi Leren said calmly. He had realized that whether he raised flags or not, his lucky value wouldn’t change from E to S, so it didn't matter.

"But treatment takes 100 survival days at once. This is still the value of friendship given to you by your cute peer... Hey, shouldn’t you have a lot of survival days from the previous Holy City task?" As soon as Dr. Lu counted the time, he felt that Qi Leren’s survival days weren’t quite right.

"I encountered some things and deducted 130 survival days... I will come back and tell you in detail next time." Qi Leren felt depressed when he thought of Su He’s face.

"Did you have it deducted because too much of the audience questioned you?" Dr. Lu said doubtfully.

"No, it's something else." Qi Leren said anxiously, "Don't talk about this right now, talk about the treatment."

"Oh, then I'll pay some of it for you first. Give it back to me when you have more time next time," Dr. Lu said generously.

"Well, I'll sell this to you." Qi Leren remembered the reward he received after killing Leviathan, and showed the item [Lucky Revolver] to Dr. Lu.

[Lucky Revolver: There are six slots in this gun’s chamber, one of which is loaded with a bullet. Shooting at one's own temple can give one minute of absolute defense within a radius of 500 meters around the locked target, but the absolute defense is invalid for this bullet. Even if you are lucky, God will only give you five minutes. If you are not afraid of death, you can continue for another minute. Locked target: not set.]

"Oh, this is good!" Dr. Lu picked up the revolver and said happily, "You can get five minutes of absolute defense in a critical moment!"

See, this is the confidence of a European emperor. When he looked at it, he felt that he would not be shot, while Qi Leren felt that he would absolutely be shot! If it had to be used, it could be paired with S/L Data, but Qi Leren was short on time now, so he chose to sell this item to Dr. Lu.

Finally, this item was given to Dr. Lu for 20 survival days. After deducting the treatment cost, Qi Leren had 28 days left, which was enough for him to go to Purgatory deep in the Underground Ant City.

After his limb regrew, Qi Leren, who was sweating profusely, rubbed his newly grown left hand and hurried to Chen Baiqi's house.

"Why is it you?!” Qi Leren saw the Illusionist drinking tea with Chen Baiqi, and he had a bad feeling in his heart. After asking, his hunch came true. The Illusionist just wanted to go to the Underground Ant City to perform his mission, and promised to take Qi Leren with him.

"Can you fly an aircraft? Do you know the way to the Underground Ant City? Do you know how to deal with demons? Do you know anything about life in the Underground Ant City? Do you know where Purgatory is in the Underground Ant City? If you don't know all this, do you dare to go to the Underground Ant City? Kid, do you think the world outside is as peaceful as the Village of Dusk?" the Illusionist mocked Qi Leren with a smile.

Qi Leren didn’t dare to refute. Although he had gained a preliminary understanding of information about the Underground Ant City when acting undercover as Red, after all, he had never been there, and his understanding of it was very superficial, so it was very dangerous to rush forward.

"Time is of the essence, you should set off tonight. Take this material and equipment, Qi Leren. You can use them on the road, and ask the Illusionist directly if you don't understand anything. Although he talks a lot of shit, he’s still reliable," Chen Baiqi said concisely. She threw a big bag of things directly to Qi Leren.

"I have no money now, after coming back..." The poor Qi Leren said sullenly and was interrupted by Chen Baiqi: "As long as you bring Ning Zhou back safely, these are all free."

"I’ll definitely bring him back!" Qi Leren said firmly. Even though he was still sitting in the cottage in the Village of Dusk, his heart had already flown over the vast wilderness and arrived at the distant Purgatory.

Chen Baiqi smiled, and uncharacteristically did not refute him: "Well, I know."

The senior single dog Illusionist’s face shifted, turning his eyes away with an unbearable expression, then turned his head to continue drinking tea with a straight face.

　　&&&

At 23 o'clock that night, the Court’s official aircraft took off. The driver was not the Illusionist, but an executive officer of the court. He gave a gift to the Illusionist and was very respectful.

The Illusionist and Qi Leren sat in the back seat of the aircraft, and both of them were very silent along the way. Qi Leren studied the information about the Underground Ant City and watched it for more than two hours at a time, until a faint headache worsened to the same pain as electricity drilling into his brain. He retched a few times and felt sick.

The Illusionist said with a look of disgust, "If you dare vomit here, I will throw you out."

"Don't worry... There’s nothing in my stomach to vomit." Qi Leren covered his throat and poured himself some water.

Qi Leren hadn't had a rest for a long time. Except for his death in the underground glacier, he hadn't slept for more than 48 hours. His body protested physically and mentally. He could still hold on under tension, but now he was sitting in the aircraft and forcing himself to watch the information intently for more than two hours. He couldn't hold on.

He also knew that he should have a rest, but the urgency of time that waited for no one spurred him on, leaving him with constant fear and uneasiness.

He was really too scared. When he closed his eyes, the figure of the black dragon sinking into the lake of flames would emerge in his mind. Just imagining the pain and fear of losing, it felt like the string of reason in his mind was broken.

But he had to rest. Qi Leren himself knew that he couldn't meet the next challenge in this state.

"I'll sleep for a while," Qi Leren whispered.

"There is a bed in the back, go and lie there," the Illusionist said without looking up, pointing behind him.

"Thank you." Qi Leren gave thanks, climbed from the seat to the back cabin, and pulled down the bed curtain that cut off light and sound. Although it was just a cot narrower than a college dormitory bed, he felt satisfied when he lied down to rest for a while.

Qi Leren, who had a splitting headache and was exhausted physically and mentally, took two pills, which were the sleeping pills he had asked Chen Baiqi for. Before they kicked in, Qi Leren took out Ning Zhou’s life crystal. It was intact, suspended in his hand safe and sound, and there was a small drop of blood in the center of the crystal, which was surrounded by the slowly rotating bright spots of gold and silver.

He just looked at it gently and quietly, letting his overflowing thoughts hover in this narrow world.

At the moment of reunion, he thought, he would have to give Ning Zhou a hard hug, hard enough to convince him that they would never separate again.

The roaring mechanical sound outside the aircraft faded away, and the exhaustion began to emerge. Qi Leren carefully returned the life crystal to his item bar and slowly fell into a deep sleep.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[dansantat]

NOW WE ARE TWO: A Eulogy for My Father

Adam U Santat (October 21,1943 - April 27, 2021)

Today is April 27, 2021.

When I was very young and we lived in New Jersey my father took us to the beach and he lifted my tiny frame over his neck and we walked out into the ocean together. My mother watched us from the coast as we wandered 50 yards into the shallow sea. I was terrified of whatever lurked in the water convinced that sharks would come and eat us. My father gripped my legs and whispered, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

I don’t exactly know why this particular memory rests so clearly in my mind, but it’s a good one. That was my father in a nutshell.

I interviewed my parents for a memoir I’m currently working on. This is what I know of my father. 

He was born in the small village of Khlong Dan, Thailand on October 21, 1943, though the official birth certificate indicates October 27 because of a typo (21 sounds like 27 in Thai)  He was the youngest of nine kids. His parents immigrated from China and started a merchant business. For fear of being racially ostracized by the local Thai people the oldest brother changed their name from “Lim” to “Santativongchai” (he found the word in an old book)

They collected rain water off the storm gutters in order to drink. He didn’t get hie first pair of shoes until he was 10 years old. They were sandals, really. Knowing facts abut Western culture was cool and he had an insatiable desire to learn everything he could about America. Coming to the United States was a dream of his obsessed with Elvis Presley, Paul Anka, and movies like “Shane” He admits to being spoiled by his mother and says he was lazy during most of his childhood, but was gifted in math and science. And he truly was. He attended medical school, paid for by his older sister, Yawanit, and he came to Newark, New Jersey in 1969 to do his internship.

My mother followed a year later

His first car was a Red ‘69 Camaro. No air conditioning. He ran the car into the ground because he was unaware of the fact that you had to change the oil. He never owned a car before then.   

This was the American dream.

I was born in 1975 and they soon made a mass exodus to Southern California along with many of their Thai doctor friends with brief career stops in Wykoff, New Jersey and Hopedale, Illinois until we settled in our newly built four bedroom home in Camarillo, CA. 

He worked for the state of California as a pediatrician, and eventually as a cardiologist, and then a psychiatrist continuing his education over the years to fill the needs of the state. He was an accomplished man in his field.

He loved golf, tennis, and buying things he would see on TV. He loved Ralph Lauren clothing, he owned one of the first Apple computers, and he loved making weekly trips to Los Angeles to buy classical CDs and audio equipment.   

Three weeks ago I stepped inside my parent’s home for the first time in over a year. The COVID-19 Pandemic had kept us apart . “Stay at home. We’ll see each other after this is all over.” my parents told me. 

Under normal circumstances I would happily avoid their company for fear of constant nagging about a plethora of reasons which mostly dealt with my weight, or my political views.   

But this was different. 

My father had been diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer and he returned home to hospice care. My mother was helping him get situated on his favorite couch because he refused to use the hospital bed that hospice had offered him and recommend that he use.

They say that doctors make the worst patients. 

Besides his stubbornness my mother was angry at him for not putting up a fight, turning down Chemotherapy and Immunotherapy and opting to just let the cancer take him. She herself having been a breast cancer survivor over 25 years ago (along with living with lupus for 45 years) could not comprehend the thought of just giving up. But my father knew the odds. He had taken one look at the CT scan and he knew the primary source was in the liver and it has metastasized to the lungs, his jaw, and his pelvis. 

His body was dying but his mind was still as sharp as a tack.

I understood the diagnosis, as well. When speaking to the doctor on the phone he did not mince words by emphasizing quality of life. My father’s days were limited, and I was there to make the most of the time that was left between us before he departed. 

“I have one last question for you before I go.” he said to me.

“Anything. What’s your question, Dad?”

“How much....do you earn annually?”

My mother and I quickly glanced at each other and we both immediately let out a huge laugh. “HA HA HA! You have one last question and that’s what you want to ask me?!”

He was always curious about my finances. 

He is my Asian father. 

Normally, this type of question would be a point of heated contention and it would typically result in an argument at a restaurant, and yet, here he is living his last weeks and he STILL wouldn’t let the question go. And this time, without argument, I simply tell him. 

Why deny a dying man his last wish?

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” he shouts as we all share in a good laugh.

“I have one more question...”

“What is it, Dad?”

“Why do you always get upset when I ask you that question?”

This too would have normally resulted in a heated discussion, but I simply gave him an honest and simple answer, “Because you taught me that it was rude to ask people that question.” And I left it at that.

My mother gets up and heads to the kitchen and it’s in this moment that my father pulls me in closer to discuss more pressing matters. 

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ve accepted my fate and I’ve lived a good life. I’m worried about your mom. I want you to take care of her after I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve saved up a lot of money. Use it to buy a house with a guest house for her. Make sure it has a big yard so she can do her gardening and she’ll be fine.”

 “I promise, Dad. I’ll spoil her.” 

“Good.”

My mother returns to the family room with an assortment of shirts for my father to wear. I grab a blue button up collared shirt from Tommy Bahama. “This shirt actually isn’t too shabby.”

“It was originally $125 and I got it for $90!”

Always in pursuit of looking his best while also landing a great deal.

He is my Asian father.  

“If you like the shirts they’re yours now. All of this is yours.”

None of the items that my father owned interested me. What interested me was giving him one last amazing experience before he was gone. The one thing my father truly treasured among all his possessions was a one of the finest wine collections I had ever seen. It contained over 500 bottles of wines he had collected over the course of twenty years housed in three separate wine refrigerators, which were spread throughout different rooms in the house and sent their electricity bill skyrocketing to the moon, and my mother’s nerves to the very edge of insanity. 

“Hey, what do you think about going into your wine collection and we drink the most expensive wine you have?”

“No,” he says hesitantly.

“But don’t you want to know what you bought? Don’t you want to at least know what the best wine you own tastes like? I don’t think you should leave this world without enjoying your one great vice in life.”

My father looks away from me and mutters, “No...It’s yours now. All of it.”

This is not how I want it to end. I want him to have one last good memory.

My mother interrupts, “I’m hungry. What are we having for lunch?”

I try to keep my father focused on his bucket list. I’m hoping for just one last memory, “Whatever you want, Dad. My treat.”

He looks at me and says, “I want a Pink’s hot dog.”

My mother and I look at each other in shock. This request from a man who was obsessed with his blood pressure. A man who constantly avoided salt like it was Kryptonite to Superman was now requesting for one of the saltiest most nitrate rich foods in America. 

“With mustard and relish.”

25 minutes later I returned home with three sodium bombs per his request. My father, who hadn’t eaten in three days, grabbed a hold of his hot dog, and ate the entire thing. My father, a man who did everything in his power to stave off death by cardiovascular disease to the point of obsession, was indulging in the one thing he avoided like the plague. 

SALT. 

As I sat on the couch and watched him eat his hot dog I could see the look on his face as he solemnly took each bite thinking, “What was the point of being so scared for all these years?” I took solace in the fact that for the first time in my life, I saw him as a person unafraid.  

 Later that day, a few of his closest friends came over to wish him well. I met them at the front door, “Hey, do me a favor. Can you see if you can make him agree to having one last glass of wine?”

It was a good idea.

HIs friends all walked in, paid their respects, and then peppered him with little hints like, “Hey, how about one last sip of wine before you go?”

My dad finally agreed.

“That fridge has the best stuff!” my dad shouted as he pointed to the fridge closest to the door. 

I was not as knowledgable about fine wines as my dad and his friends were. That’s what Google is for.    

I reached into the back of the fridge and found a bottle of Opus One from 1995. 

This was $600 bottle of wine. It wasn’t his best but it it would do nicely.

The room let out an audible “oooooh” when I entered the room with the bottle.

His best wine glasses were brought out, we each poured a glass, and we toasted my father. We share stories about his life, he boasts to his friends about my accomplishments, and we are basking in a moment of complete harmony.

For this moment in time, I was his perfect Asian son.

He thoughtfully studied the peaks generated by the swirling of the wine on the edge of the glass

“It’s been a good life. No regrets.”

I was glad I could give him this.

This week I bought that house for my mom. I told my father this as I fulfilled his last dying wish while I held his hand.

“I’ve got you, Dad. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’ve got you.”

[7-wonders]

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. 

Read Part One HERE | Read Part Two HERE | Read Part Three HERE | Read Part Four HERE | Read Part Five HERE | Read Part Six HERE

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 

[soulbore]

“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.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

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.”

[thornbolts]

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

[ellanainthetardis]

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.

[sweetbyte]

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.

[newflanagansonthebloch]

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!

[cantstopthesignal2005]

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.  

[toddmichaelrogers]

Letter to You

Time continues to march toward nothing. I pass along with it, happy to see currents ripple and shift until I find my reflection marked by tell-tale signs of fear and what some expressionists (scientist who study faces) might call “pretty gay”--but I myself learned to accept as “mostly straight, don’t mind seeing a dick though” a long while ago.

(READ MORE)

The world is falling into the sort of post apocalyptic chaos our stories have been worried & also warning us about for several ages. I’m pretty excited for the 80s again (who knew far right fear tactics, dance music, cocaine and a cold war would ever come back in style?) If you’re reading this as a printout in some sort of home-fashioned bunker, the year is 2017, the American President is a reality star billionaire who was elected by people (both good and bad) in an effort to clear out the politicians in the country’s capital. 

One dear friend of mine referred to it as “burning down the house” which is all well and good, unless of course there are people living in that house you have attempted to burn down. 

We are three weeks into an uncertain world, run by a puppet of far worse men, a puppet who is obviously, quite clinically insane. I actually worried about typing that for an instant, here, in the “land of free speech”. That’s how bad it is. The people surrounding him are open racists / enemies of the LGBTQ community, and misinformed religious fear mongers. This week airports across the country were shut down by protesters after refugees and travelers from several foreign countries were banned from entering. I saw a picture of Muslim people praying in an airport while an American crowd cheered them on and it nearly moved me to tears. (And I eat a lot of salt, so if I cry it burns and I fuckin’ feel it). I will not leave this country. So what am I to do? Should I write politicians? Call them? Does this matter at all, or has it ever? I have lists of resources on Tumblr, saved between gifs of cartoons and porn searches. What am I to do? Also what gets the best results? “NSFW” or “Boobs very humungo gifs”?

I don’t know what to do. But I am grateful for the art and politicians this horrible world is about to create.

EFFORTS the band I am in was asked to play a show. This is nice as no one has heard our music. We have declined any other opportunities to perform, but a few weeks into this political fuckquake was the right time to ask, I guess. So tomorrow we have band practice, and then we’ll be playing our first show ever, later this month. I definitely want to puke but in like, a good way. Like prom nerves. Prom puking.Like a  Prom-Puke-Posal

We’ve been recording our first album since November 2015. Back then it was just me and Zach. Then a guy named Geoffrey heard our demos and asked to play bass for us. No one else was asking, so we eventually said yes. Nearly a year later Zach and I tracked most of the album (there are maybe 5 songs still missing) and Geoffrey had sent us his bass demos for each. It was October 2016 and the album has been taking so long that I started pulling demos together for some other sort of release. I was going to call it DAMNSEL & THE EUTH GROUP and Geoffrey said he would produce it, but a few songs in it became obvious we were just making another EFFORTS album and now Zach is involved as well.

xxxxx

New future efforts stuff @thisisgeoffrey and I fucked with last night.

A video posted by Todd Michael Rogers (@d_a_m_n_s_e_l) on Jan 3, 2017 at 12:40pm PST

xxxxxx

The plan is to finish our first LP (I Bought You A Coffin) and then either license it to a record label, preferably in the UK (Plan A) or just do it the fuck ourselves (Plan B). Then when that’s all said and done we’ll have the next bit of music ready, which will be released as two EPs (2.1 Sorry Everyone Disappoints You) and EP2 which I have a name for but it’s not official or anything (2.2 Mean Songs to Hurt People). After we release the 2 EPs-- each holding 6 songs--we’ll smash them together for our second album (2.final form May The Eyes That Rise Upon You Never Know (Your True Heart). I even have album covers for all three but I ain’t showin’ em here yet. So far the first EP is missing 1 and a half songs, and the second is all in demo pieces.

A lot of these plans seem fanciful at best but it’s sort of how I always work on things, ‘shoot for the stars and hope you don’t put a bullet in your own boot’.  A lot of it came about one night when Zach and I stayed up drinking as we concocted a five year plan, should anyone ever ask us if we had one.

But it all start now, with finishing this album, making our facebook page (LINK), playing our first few shows, and releasing our first single (May You Absorb all Evil) But look, we even have a cover for it, granted to us by the artist Liam Barrett. We’ll release this baby sometime this Summer, along with a music video I have been meticulously planning for over a year.

*

I miss writing the novel. It’s been over a month since I touched it, but printing out my progress from the start of 2016 to the end was amazing.

I think the time away from it will be good, the fear, the worry, the feworry is leaving it for too long, allowing it to get lost in the current of the sea (see opening paragraph, this blog).

My plan is to look at what I’ve done (dangerous) do a quick edit job upon it (also dangerous, but hopeful/most/ly this is just a grammar bombing), and then see where the first 200 pages are at. I hope I’m doing the right thing, the bow of the ship needs to be set through some very particular territory, and even I know I’m telling a strange story in a weird way. I could smashed to bits upon the rocks of those who would never publish it.

But I miss it.

*

WHYLC is a comic book I started writing 10 years ago next month (Jesus Fucking Christ) and which I eventually self published online after taking it upon these keep-it-100 hands to illustrate. Issue 2 will take even more time, but for those of you who read it, the work shall continue. I reallllly like making comics and it was sort of the first thing I ever wanted to do writing wise. 

PS Issue 1 can always be found right here (LINK)

*

Spell Saga could destroy anyone, at any given time, if they saw the scope and horror of the project, stretching like ley lines backwards & forwards, away from my heart. I’ve spent the better half of a year working days and nights to pay for both a) my cool ideas and b) my dumb mistakes. This has resulted in many more cards being printed than initially anticipated, and most of my ‘money bucks’ being sent out as packages of said cards to patient wonderful truly unbelievable fans across the globe. 

(Meagen Crawford took dis pic)

Do you know how long it takes to package something? Or even double check and print the correct address? Let alone figure out a packaging solution after the US Postal Service gave you the WRONG information? It’s been a fucking nightmare--but a super neat problem to have. I can panic and smile, I do both all the time.

The next step of the process is sort of manifold:

First I have to finish sending packages to places like the UK, Singapore & Brazil. Then I have to wire the final amount to the manufacturer which was delayed by all the changes we made during initial production. THEN I have to finish re-designing DECK 2 (it’s just a new Photoshop HD makeover, no rules changes). THEN I have to get the packaging for deck 2 finalized (make sure everything is the right size, get UPC code etc.) THEN I have to wire the manufacturer to print this deck and ship everything out together from Hong Kong to any US coast and down to me in lil ole Tennessee.

Then I get my shit together. Spell Saga has been bruised and hidden away while the manufacturing continued. Having Decks 0, 1, and 2 printed and at my fucking door (taking up most of my living room) will give me the privilege and honor of sending everyone another deck for free (thanks for waiting) along with sending out marketing packages to game reviewers across the Earth. It will coincide with the continued but stalled development of the Spell Saga library (a web page of game resources formerly known as the wikiFAQ).

Getting the game back up to good standing is a very real priority for this lonely designer. When I have all that cooking at the right degree I can finally finish the main game by Designing DECK 3 and the Ending with Cousin Lauren. (Then I’ll have to pay for that one to get printed too. That’s 10 grand. Right there.)

PS Cousin Lauren has a page for her art now. Check it out (LINK)

In the INTERIM. The Meantime. IN the age of Meanness: I’ve been designing a new SPell Saga deck, called 1.5 The Under Sky. It’s a sort of bridge between decks 1 and 2, that also acts like a warp into deck 3 if it’s played right. The Look, Feel, Story, and emotional journey of this Deck matches the others--it’s still the story of The Last Minstrel--but while decks 1,2, and 3 were created with the emotions of a bad marriage and a young man afraid of what his life might have become, this DECK is sort of based on how it’s felt to publish the game and everything that’s happened to me in my own journey. Making things is hard. It’s so hard. It’s super terrible and impossible. But getting to the end is the whole point of a journey, and this deck celebrate that.

In The Under Sky, you play as The Last Minstrel, but you’ve sort of lost your way to The Forest, as well as your friends. It’s the idea of knowing exactly what you want, until a sort of early 20s suburban existentialism hits like a storm to blow you so off course you aren’t even sure who you are anymore, much less where you’re going. During the game you’ll explore the insides of living keeps called Castle Crashers, making friends with mirages and using a creature called the dark pixie to pull magical items out of ordinary places. There’s also a river of blood that’s spilling out from a talking disembodied head of a fallen god. It’s pretty cool.

If I’m nervous about anything it’s that the mechanics are advanced to say the least. It’s still the same old Spell Saga but there’s new ideas there too. Like, imagine five cards that are in a circle. The hero token (representing your character) can move left or right on the circle visiting each card (each representing a different place to visit) if you’ve played Spell Saga before, the idea should seem familiar, it’s the main and most basic mechanic of the game. But now, imagine each card in the circle is a stack 5 cards deep, and when you move from one stack to the next the cards in each stack are shuffled, the order they rest in dependant upon how you enter or leave the stack with your token. That’s some scary shit to try and “make a rulebook out of” but I think it’s going to work. I want every Spell Saga deck to kind of have it’s own vibe going on, each playing off the mechanics you may have learned in the previous deck.

There’s other Spell Saga news too:

If anyone is reading this Realmwalker ~ Science//Armor//Romance will be republished with typographical errors removed and a new box sometime near March. This was a game I released a year ago (Judas Iscariot Priest!) on The Gamecrafter, and then removed until i had time to fix it.

The next Realmwalker ~ The Discordant Shore is half designed and really a very exciting game. I think it should be done by June, and that one will also be on The Gamecrafter. The Reason this one took so long is half the cards are also copies of special handmade cards I’ll be sending out to people who spent dat ca$h on the Kickstarter, y’know, back in 2014 (Satan’s Red Mouth!).

Are you still here? Are you still reading this?

French Toast Gaming Co.’s next game, something I first worked on twenty years ago, and then spent the better part of a decade worrying about is about to be released this year. EPIOCH was supposed to come out last August, but many delays pushed it away. Now my good friend Weshoyot has nearly finished the art, and all the game needs is more playtesting and a rulebook before it pops up on The Gamecrafter. Here’s an art peek, and you should check out her instagram. (LINK).

That’s everything I needed to type out to stay sane. Thanks for following along all three of you. I appreciate it. There’s been other things too of course, lost jobs, another concussion, dreams where I tell my secrets to people who look disappointed. But you don’t need to know any of that. Not really. It will all come out in the artwork anyway.

OR THE patron page PODCAST, I GUESS.

-mE.

[graciedroweuk]

5 Ways to Make a High-Quality Music Video for Under $1,000

Listed here is just how to use assets available to produce the perfect task for less than K. 

[Editor’s Note: No Film-School requested Oren Soffer to create about his encounter capturing a micro-budget music-video.]

“Low-budget” is just for great reason—filmmaking is definitely an expensive method, as well as an expression that becomes lots of people down, which is frequently very difficult to attain top quality outcomes with assets that are restricted. Nevertheless, so long as you realize just how to use restricted assets and accept these restrictions when picking out ideas for low budget tasks, you are able to maintain expenses low and never have to bargain on quality. Fundamentally, these low budget enthusiasm tasks would be the types that come out because you will find several exterior influences leading the innovative choices to become the absolute most creatively gratifying.

A couple of months before, I had been triggered panel whilst the cinematographer on the music-video for Amy León, a poet/singer/songwriter. The tune, entitled “Burning in Manchester,” may be the to start of Amy’s debut recording Anything Melancholy. Amy had an extremely formidable and daring perspective for that movie (under), that was impressed from the 1963 Al church bombings.

But a warning is: Amy is definitely an up-and-arriving performer, hence didn’t have use of a sizable budget. Since the director Rabinowitz noticed the enormous potential whilst the energy of her tune and efficiency in eyesight, we attempted to discover a way to produce the perfect movie we’re able to using the restricted assets at our removal.

Listed here are five methods we contacted developing a top quality music-video for the budget—which that is restricted wound up being under $ 1,000. This really is among the tasks I’m many happy with and it has resulted in compliment more achievement, and careers than the larger-budget tasks I’ve shot previously.

1. Develop an idea around issues you’ve use of

This might appear to be a no brainer, but several administrators toss low budget audio movies with formidable (study: costly) ideas with out for just how to perform their eyesight a possible arrange. This method usually eventually ends up resulting fundamentally discouraging the representative, in huge compromises.

On ” Manchester,” nevertheless, the inverse strategy was taken by us: Amy built the video’s idea based on individuals and places to.

First of all was the place: Amy’s scarves on Schermerhorn Road in Brooklyn towards the Baptist Forehead acquired us use of their chapel room that is amazing, that was an ideal thematic environment for that tune. The chapel actually had a fireplace within the bell-tower this year, providing the area a burned out, destitute quality that more increased its thematic importance towards the item. Amy employed a-team of fellow-artists and buddies who offered to greatly help make it for recording and cleanup the area. Most of them continued to look as accessories within the movie itself.

We discovered a tough training with this blast about practical arrangement. 

The concept’s remainder was constructed around performers whom Amy had recognized and caused during her period at School of the Disciplines and a choreographer. It had been there that she was consequently in a position to gather a primary group of innovative collaborators who noticed the potential and decided to function together—for free—in purchase to produce a significant thing of beauty, and fulfilled equally myself and Tyler aswell.

2. Understand when to call-in favors

It’s frequently stated that the film-industry is made around associations; this really is never truer than when you’re putting a love task together. Since we worked with this type of restricted budget but nonetheless didn’t wish to bargain about the piece’s quality, it had been the best time for you to call-in several favors. 

Although requesting a benefit from somebody could be a really effective device to create a small budget proceed quite a distance, you’ve to construct that connection before you bypass wondering individuals to contribute their period and abilities to some task and generate the benefit. Since I’d pre-founded associations with crewmembers that were really experienced with whom I worked through the years on the normal schedule on numerous careers, I thought comfortable requesting them in the future help to get a morning on the number-budget enthusiasm task. So that as an effect, we got really a excellent group to give their knowledge towards the task, including gaffer Rachel Adkins, important hold Dexter Dugar, and 1st AC Kelsey Brown, in addition to publisher Zach Terry and colorist Nick Metcalf in The Generator about the post production aspect.

We understood we’re able to never manage a complete-price camera and illumination bundle to ultimately achieve the visual that was preferred.

Our gear bundle was put on by exactly the same theory. We’d some formidable objectives for that search of the item; we were determined about firing about the Alexa to be able to capitalize about the stunning sun light within the area (without endangering diminishing the picture by coming out shows). Nevertheless, we understood we’re able to never manage a complete-price camera and illumination bundle to do this visual that was preferred, and so to get a pair favors, I requested. Through the years, I Have created a connection with Panavision Ny, that was prepared to assist us and supply contact bundle and a complete camera in a seriously discounted price. A great connection with Xeno Lights netted hold assistance bundle and us a seriously discounted dolly. Should you maintain getting leasing homes complete-price careers down the road and proceed building the connection equally on a professional-level along with an individual, they’ll often be prepared to assist you on enthusiasm tasks that are smaller.

Your ultimate camera bundle was an excellent-stripped down ARRI Alexa vintage with Panavision Extremely Speed primary contacts. To maintain along expenses, we just hired one Television Reasoning 5.6”, and three central lengths—17mm, 29mm along with a 17” Panasonic for on set checking. Within the hold division, we’d to lease a 6500w Ford turbine to supply capacity to the place (which inturn didn’t have any energy) in addition to these Dana dolly and only a little number of hold assistance products: a few C stands, two apple containers, some wedges for progressing the Dana dolly and sandbags to consider everything along. The ultimate bit of the problem was a DF-fifty hazer, my personal favorite heavy duty haze device.

For illumination reasons, we just had four 1K Par Containers provided. The piece’s remainder was shot completely throughout the day with sun light. (This provides us back again to the very first stage: use that which you curently have!)

3. Routine reasonably

Section of dealing with restricted assets demands knowing the limitations of these restrictions. In this instance, due to our restricted budget, we understood that people might just have the ability to draw this down, lease the gear, access the place, and draw in most the favors in the team if we stored the blast restricted to oneday. This more strengthened our choice to take completely in one single area, because organization techniques could be among the big style -wasters on lower- projects.

We discovered a tough training with this blast about practical arrangement. We’d initially prepared to take the whole video providing each chance and picture cinematic, an, and constructed feel and look. Nevertheless, a few hours in to the evening, we discovered ourselves behind plan, because shifting and re setting the dolly took way time than we’d anticipated—along with nailing the choreography.

We-didn’t recognize how impractical it had been, routine-smart, to take the whole video and stays. 

Consequently, we created the phone call to consider the camera to be able to transfer faster through the pictures and begin firing more of the protection portable. It was not our unique perspective for that movie, but fundamentally the item advantages of this choice, which gives a far more immediate and powerful power to the video. Having said that, this can be a choice we’re able to came to earlier along the way if we’d recognized how impractical it had been, routine-smart, to take the whole video and stays. 

Fundamentally, we wound up receiving everything we needed—including evening and day looks—in just 10 hours, which offered us sufficient time for load-in and load-out and also to get everybody house in a sensible time.

4. Be sure you plan for the inevitable expenses

Regardless of how low budget your enthusiasm task, there are certainly a several immovable hills so far as budgeting moves that you simply need to bear in mind before aiming (and especially before you request individuals to seriously panel free of charge or to get a really low price). 

The very first is transport. The apparatus, props, and manufacturing equipment all want to get from numerous roots towards the firing area, as well as for that, you’ll probably have to lease a freight vehicle (or vehicle, when you have lots of gear). There are numerous providers that lease these automobiles for fairly effortlessly, including Leases in Ny. The prices for freight vehicles from U Haul and other businesses that are moving will also be frequently extremely aggressive.

Another thing to plan for is food. When you yourself have throw and team employed by free on the interest task, it ought to be important to supply great food on-set, equally for foods in addition to handy. Espresso and water really are a must, along with a good handle (for example cookies, which we’d) or drinks at cover (although not a minute before; I don’t excuse drinking while on-set!) WOn’t ever get unappreciated, possibly.

5. Get it done in article

This could be regarded as a blasphemous factor to express within the film-industry, nevertheless when you’re capturing a low budget enthusiasm project—particularly anything more freeform, like a music-video or perhaps a documentary—often occasions a good thing you can do is increase your restricted firing period by obtaining just as much diverse protection while you may, even when a number of it’s unfinished. Confidently comprehending that history or a-wall that’s only a little vibrant could be introduced along within the colour quality isn’t just like creating an error that you simply presume you are able to repair later-but fundamentally can’t. That’s why I favor to express that people may “Do it in post” in the place of “Repair it in post”—it suggests preparing in advance to make use of post production resources in the place of repairing an error.

I favor to express that people may “Do it in post” in the place of “Repair it in post.”

Another section of course, of this formula, is making certain you’ve a post production group arranged about the back end whom you are able to depend on to provide an ultimate item that is really excellent. When I mentioned we were really lucky to work well with editor Terry and colorist Metcalf In The Generator who, like myself, thought within the task and noticed power and the potential of Amy’s eyesight. They certainly were prepared to contribute assets and period to produce an item that is powerful. This group permitted Tyler and that I to become assured within our choices on-set regarding just how much protection to obtain of particular occasions of choreography, once the illumination was “good enough” that it may be more modified within the colour quality, as well as when to grab an unexpected chance or two that people believed might be helpful within the change. (Obviously, almost every additional unexpected chance that people got wound up within the ultimate item).

Would you any extra suggestions on the best way to be proper and wise about attaining top quality outcomes with reduced finances and restricted assets? Please participate in the discussion within the remarks below!  

from network 4 http://www.brownandbrownrecording.com/5-ways-to-make-a-high-quality-music-video-for-under-1000/