#if you still want to follow me elsewhere on this site just shoot me another ask and I'll private answer you

[dmmd-color-theory]

Hey! I... Guess you'll never see this post, considering your old post was made so long ago... But I just stumbled across this blog and thought it was a great idea. I know you've never seen me before, and I probably shouldn't care, but after reading your last post... I can only hope you're doing okay. And if you have any other blog where you're still active, it'd be cool to follow you there!

*throws confetti up in the air bc social distancing means I can't get someone to help with my dramatic entrance*

Hi, hello, admin here!! Thanks for your concern and your ask, I've been sitting on this one for a while because I was still processing the fact that someone out there found this blog years after I made it and cared enough to come check on me. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

If you're adjacent to or new to DRAMAtical murder, have a belated welcome to the fandom (or at least a wave on your way past)! I know you said that we don't know each other and maybe you shouldn't care, but I'd like to respectfully disagree. I'm very happy (and touched!!!) that a stranger on the internet saw I was struggling in 2017 and took the time to come drop something into my ask box even though they knew there was a high chance I might never see it. That year was a low point in my mental health journey and I've never quite hit that level again until this pandemic. I wish I could tell you with confidence that I'm okay, but that would be very close to a lie. I don't think anyone right now is truly "okay," but wherever you are I hope you are doing well and you have a good 2022. ♥️

If there's anyone else who's still following this blog and active on this site, I hope you don't mind the random post on your dash. I saw that @dmmdresources had a burst of unexpected (though very welcome!) activity recently and it caused me to think of this side blog and this ask.

This isn't really an update but more like me gauging how many people on here still want DMMD content on their dash in 2022. I've some things to say so this will be a bit longer than I'd like.👇👇

If there's enough interest I may reconsider my decision to stop posting on this blog, though I will caution y'all that it'll take a while to retrieve my thoughts and meta before I make another post proper if that's the case. Disclaimer: this is not a guaranteed return, I will only consider it if this is something someone other than myself is invested in and wants to see. If there's anyone out there that wants this, let me know by reblogging this post or shooting me an ask directly! Since my last post I have developed chronic pain issues and I can't afford to put all my eggs in one basket.

So if you've missed this concept and want to see more of it, you can thank @javitaxy789 for the nudge, reblog or hit up the askbox. If not, then have a good one and thanks for giving this a bit of your time. It'll be sad for me to close the chapter of my life that was centered on this fandom, but I feel like if it ends this way then at least I'll have had some closure.

[madswonders]

A Lesson In Romance #10: Thoughts

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Implied anxiety, Mentions of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they're paired together on a case.

A/N: I know that the BAU's conference room has big-ass glass windows but just imagine that the blinds are closed for the entirety of this chapter aha. Also this chapter is a doozy... like 1k words longer than usual, so enjoy!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

---------

As Peter Gizzi once described the phenomena of love, "About you there is nothing I wouldn’t want to know / With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler."

In high school, your reputation always preceded you. The cynic that never had a boyfriend, much less a drunken one-night stand; a prude who waited over ten dates to have her first kiss; or the "ice queen" who kept her emotions locked up and threw away the key.

If they saw you now, you wondered if they would laugh at how you've changed; because these days, you looked like you were keeping the best secret in the world, one that threatened to burst from your lips every time you smiled.

What you didn’t know, is that you didn't need to be a profiler to see it. From the bubbling laughter and whispered conversations, to the not-so-secret longing glances. You and Spencer disappeared into your own world when you were together, and everybody knew it.

And for the first few weeks, that was enough. You found it easier than usual to ignore the thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind. That is, until you couldn't.

"... I want you and Spencer to work on the geographic profile." Hotch had announced, and you remembered the feeling of your blood running cold.

There were two reasons for this. First was the fact that this case linked twenty homicides across three years to a single unsub. If there was any case that required the two nerdiest members of the BAU to team up, this was it.

Unfortunately, that fact was closely followed by an overwhelming fear — and you wanted to preface this by saying that you were usually a woman of logic and science — but, somehow, you couldn't shake the thought that something bad was going to happen to you and Spencer, and you weren't ready for it.

Leaning against the cool conference room wall, you tapped your toes in an impatient rhythm against the carpeted floor. You were trying to recite what you learned from your PhD; that your mind was jumping to conclusions and that it was normal to be nervous. It was normal to feel this way. You were normal.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, jolting you out of your mantra.

You realised your boyfriend had been talking to you for awhile now, but clearly, you weren't listening. You shook your head apologetically.

"Sorry, I was just thinking. Could you say that again?"

"I was just saying, you can start by pinning the names and locations of the victims, and I'll put up the crime scene photos... but are you sure you're okay?" He asked again, this time shooting you those puppy dog eyes that made you weak.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Let's get to work." You said firmly, grabbing the box of push pins. You felt his gaze linger on you for a second, before he began picking up his own stack of pictures.

The first hour sped by quickly as you and Spencer listed out all of the unsub’s possible motives and next victims. At the half hour mark, Hotch dropped in to check on your progress, bringing takeaway coffee and leaving with a rare smile.

At the second hour, the rest of the team returned with some new leads, and unfortunately, new bodies, but nothing that helped solidify the profile any further than what you already had.

At the fifth hour, there was no denying it. The team had hit a wall. While the rest of them were back in the field investigating more leads, you sipped on your second cup of coffee while staring at the evidence board. Spencer paced the room behind you.

"The messy dump sites. The carvings onto the victims' chests. One points to the unsub being disorganised and inexperienced, but the other is a clear, almost narcissistic ritual." The doctor thought aloud.

"Usually that means the unsub is trying to make a statement, but he killed his first ten victims before the police found out, then killed another seven and three right under their noses before going dormant. If he wanted to make a statement, why wouldn't he tip off the police or media sooner?" He grumbled.

"Are we sure it's not a taunt to the local police’s competency? Many of his first victims were found in secluded areas with limited police support." You pointed out, tapping the edge of your cup in thought.

"No, the victimology and locations are too wide spread. A taunt would present a clearer message." He said.

You turned around suddenly, causing him to halt in his steps. "Here's something completely off the wall — but what if the unsub was trying to achieve a specific pattern with his kills?" You said, gesturing with your cup.

Tap, tap-tap, tap, you created the rhythm with your finger.

"That would explain why he isn't acting like a narcissist. Maybe he's suffering a mental condition that compels him to complete a certain pattern, and subsequently, ritual with his kills. Could be rhythmical, musical, numerical..." You explained.

"Numerical. That's it!" Spencer squeaked, rushing to the board with a marker. "I thought these numbers seemed familiar earlier, that's because they make up prime numbers!"

He backed away from the board to reveal what he wrote. The numbers 2, 3, 5, 7, and 11. A lightbulb turned on in your head.

"2, 3 and 5 make up the first ten kills. 7 is the next, which he managed to complete perfectly, but something happened to the unsub at 11." Spencer voiced your thoughts.

"He might have been incarcerated, or injured. But we can't rule out the possibility that he might have moved out of town and resumed the pattern elsewhere. So either we can expect 8 more victims here, or the unsub has already moved onto the next number: 13." You quickly finished the train of thought.

"Love, you're a genius!" Spencer rushed over to pick you up by the waist, twirling you as you laughed in relief. But the relief turned to surprise when he kissed you deeply.

God, he was good at this. Even when your feet touched the ground, it felt like you were seeing stars. Though it was only when your lips parted that he had the decency to blush.

"Love?" You breathed.

Spencer's cheeks turned crimson in embarrassment, but he didn't back away. Instead, he leaned forward, bumping your foreheads together gently.

"I didn't know you had that in you, doctor." You teased.

"Well, my mother did school me in classic romance literature from a young age. Not to mention, I happen to be a genius at most things..." You could hear the smile in his voice, and you giggled.

The doctor pulled away then, an adoring smile still plastered across his face. "Are you fee—" He began, but his voice died in his throat as his gaze fixated on something behind you.

"Ooooh, am I interrupting something?" You turned around to see none other than Penelope smiling coyly from the doorway, and the two of you jumped apart.

"N-no, nothing!" Spencer blurted out.

"All fine and dandy here." You added on, blushing furiously.

The tech analyst smiled deviously. "Well, I thought I'd come and check on my two favourite lovebirds. Anything else from the case for me to chew on? Except whatever that was earlier." She teased.

"Actually, there is." You cleared your throat awkwardly, while the good doctor looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.

"We need you to search up murders in neighbouring cities that match the mutilation by our unsub, then cross-reference the time frame with any new residents. We suspect he might be trying to complete a pattern, and that he may have done it somewhere other than here." You said.

"On it, future-Mrs-Genius. I will get back to you so fast that you won't even have time to get down and dirty." She half-yelled that last bit, heels clicking as she walked back to her office. Before you could even formulate a response, she was gone.

You felt your boyfriend wrap his arms around you from the back. "Now, where were we?" He whispered.

You giggled, leaning back into the doctor's chest while he rocked your bodies side to side. "Are you feeling better now?" He asked.

"Next time someone says it's not as intense in here as it is out there, I'm going to give them a stern talking to." You joked.

"You know what I mean, love." Spencer reiterated gently, the pet name falling from his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world. "If you tell me about it, I can help you. You know I'm always here for you."

You sighed softly, blinking back tears that threatened to spill.

"It's something stupid. I-I'm fine."

He turned you around, brows furrowing in concern when a tear rolled down your cheek. "What's wrong?" He asked, wiping it away tenderly.

"I— I was worried about us working together." You admitted. "And it's not because I don't like working with you, but I just— I just couldn't—"

"Take a deep breath, love. Slowly." He held your shoulders as you breathed in and out, once, twice.

"I've been afraid this whole day — no, for awhile now — that something was going to happen to our relationship." You confessed shakily. "And it's not about our jobs — although I worry about that too — but I'm scared that one day you'll wake up and realise that I'm not worth the trouble."

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop the next wave of tears.

"A-and it's only gotten worse because I've never been so h-happy with another person before. Only you've made me feel this way, and I'm t-terrified that I'll lose what we have."

There was a brief silence as Spencer pulled you close to his chest, one hand stroking your hair carefully. You could hear his heart beating fast.

"Do you remember when the team tricked us into sharing a bed?" He whispered, a hint of a smile trickling into his voice. "I think about it every single time we're about to go into the field. Because you said you'd never leave me, and now, whenever we're out there, I know I'm not alone."

He breathed in deeply, your head gently rising and falling together with his chest.

"You've given me someone to come home to, love. What we have, you'll never lose it, okay?" He whispered.

"Baby, I—" Your voice halted. Crap.

"Wait. Baby?" Spencer repeated back to you, a teasing lilt in his voice. Your face flushed, and you unwinded your arms from your boyfriend to cover your face.

"Oh god, can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

"I have an eidetic memory." He pointed out. You let out a watery laugh, knowing when you had lost.

"Alright, alright. But I do have another ide—"

Then, the conference room phone rang. It was Emily. "Hey guys, Garcia managed to narrow down the unsub and we're 10 out, but we'll need some back-up."

"Be there in 15." You replied, while Spencer shot you an amused look, Luckily, he waited for the call to end before saying the next words.

"Let's go, baby." He wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, already strapping on your kevlar. "That's it. You're not driving."

"Aww!"

---------

After the major breakthrough in the case — all thanks to Nerd 1 and Nerd 2, as Derek fondly called the two of you — the case managed to wrap up neatly and the BAU found themselves in a rare position. Ready to end the work day, on time.

Not that anybody was packing up to leave just yet, although you wished they would, because Penelope had decided to start enthusiastically retelling how she found the BAU's resident lovebirds in the conference room, unable to keep their hands off each other.

"Last I heard, pet names aren't a crime — and how long were you standing there anyway?" You accused, blushing.

"Firstly, they are. Criminally cute, that is!" Penelope squealed, while the rest were in fits of laughter. "And secondly, you should never underestimate my awesome ninja abilities, because I heard everything that I needed to hear."

"Do I even want to know?" Spencers winced.

"I don't think you do, pretty boy." Derek laughed, clapping the genius on the back.

"Wait, wait, wait. Can we go back to how Spencer's pet name of choice is love?" Emily gasped in laughter.

"You've got to admit it's kind of cute, Emily." JJ smiled.

"Sure. If you're courting Mr. Darcy and attending cotillions."

"C'mon, Prentiss. All that means is that our boy's got style." Derek added to laughter, while Spencer whined in protest.

The door to Hotch's office opened suddenly, both him and Rossi stepping out with expressions of urgency on their faces.

“Sorry to break up the fun, kiddos. But there's been an update to the case.” Rossi announced, following right behind Hotch to the conference room.

The laughs were wiped off everybody's faces as you traded concerned looks. As you filed into the room, Hotch had already begun speaking.

“Another body was found half an hour ago. Same MO, same random victimology, and same kind of dumpsite. And the unsub just told us where to find his copycat.”

“Wait, we never profiled a second unsub.” Derek interjected.

"It doesn't makes sense — the first unsub is a control freak. He didn't like the idea of anybody messing with his sequence. Wouldn't he have done something if he knew somebody else was copying his pattern?" You asked.

"We profiled that he wouldn't be able to deviate from his pattern. What if he had to continue, even when somebody else was committing some of the crimes for him?" Spencer countered.

“Hold on, you said the unsub gave us a location?” Emily asked.

"And a time." Rossi voiced up. “8pm tonight at The Basil. The first unsub claims that's where the copycat finds his next targets."

"How do we know if we can trust him?" Derek asked.

"We don't. But he didn't display any telltale signs of doubt when he told us, and this is the only lead we have." Hotch's frown deepened. You had a feeling he didn't like the idea of this either, but the team didn't have a choice.

"Okay, if we're doing this, he can't know we're onto him," Emily thought aloud, "and we'll need precautions in case it's a trap. That means..."

"Undercover agents... and the bait." Hotch said with finality.

“And who did you have in mind for that?” You piped up, and everyone turned their eyes to you.

“You and Reid.” He stated the obvious.

“B-b-but, I’ve never gone—"

“You’ve more than proven your abilities in the field since you joined us, and having natural chemistry will make it less suspicious to the unsub.”

You opened your mouth, but no words fell from it. Hotch was right. Of course he was right.

As if hearing your thoughts, Spencer took your hand in his and squeezed, and you felt a little calmer already. “Ok, I’ll do it.” You said determinedly, while the doctor echoed your sentiment.

Hotch nodded, beginning to assign roles to the rest of the team while you squeezed your boyfriend's hand tighter, a new mantra forming in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay.

----------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @mellowalieneggsknight @kenny-0909 || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

________________________________________________________

There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

[qqueenofhades]

It's so good to have you back! I actually went and got myself a tumblr account in the meantime, so now I can properly follow you instead of just lurking anonymously 😄 Don't have an actual prompt for you, although I saw that you've been watching shadow and bone, and I'd certainly love to read anything you write about those guys if you happen to feel like it 😇 In any case, welcome back, and it's great to hear that things are looking up for you ❤

Haha, thanks! Since you didn’t specify a prompt, and because people seem very excited about this Helnik modern AU that is, to nobody’s surprise, becoming a full-length fic, I will give you an excerpt from chapter one for Important Reasons.

Nina boots up the secured OS, opens Tor, and navigates to a secured messaging site, accessed via a one-time key that will deactivate when used (another one of Jesper’s inventions) and randomly generate a new encryption code that she has to access elsewhere. The Crows have gotten very good at not putting all their eggs in one basket, but when you run a successful grey-hat hacktivist collective that has made a specialty out of pissing off powerful people (including in this very country), it’s a necessary fact of life. There are five of them: Nina herself, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, and the boss, Kaz Brekker. It took a long time for them to reveal real names; for the first few years, they communicated only under pseudonyms. Nina is “Heartrender.” Inej is “Wraith.” Jesper is “Sharpshooter,” and Wylan is “Runaway.” As for Kaz, their mysterious, mercurial man-in-charge who was teaching himself C#, Java, and VBScript at twelve, running Nazi-doxxing ops with Anonymous and Bellingcat at sixteen, and establishing himself as the head of his own feared gang of cyber-criminals at eighteen, he’s “Dirtyhands” or sometimes simply “The Bastard.” The epithet is apt. You don’t survive in this life by making friends or trusting your enemies, and Kaz has a knack for not doing either. Not that Nina’s about to complain. God knows, especially now, she could use a little ruthlessness.

She signs onto the Crows’ dedicated chat channel and sends an innocuous-looking phrase about bad weather which actually means, “I am in deep shit and need to talk to someone right now.” Then she waits, staring at the screen, wondering how long it’ll take to be answered. Kaz and Inej are currently based in Amsterdam, an hour behind, which isn’t too bad. They’re probably awake, not least since neither of them keep a remotely standard schedule, but there are any number of other things they could be doing, most of which are flagrantly illegal. But it’s only ten minutes or so until Nina’s notifications ping, and a message pops up:

Wraith: I’ll call you. Give me a couple min.

Heartrender: Primary phone got snatched. Use burner.

Wraith: Oh shit. Nvm. Calling now.

With that, it’s no more than a few seconds until Nina’s burner phone starts buzzing, she fumbles a little as she grabs it, and tucks it under her ear. “Inej?”

“Nina?” Her best friend sounds understandably worried. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”

“I – ” Nina’s relatively sure that the FSB doesn’t have a fix on this crappy throwaway phone, since she changes the SIM card every month, gets a new number, and otherwise does her best to make sure they don’t, but deeply ingrained habits are not easily shaken. She shoots a glance at the door, making sure her parents aren’t listening. Finally, having been assured that this call is as free of outside interference as can ever be assured in the modern world, she says, “I got busted last night. Big time. They meant business.” There’s a quaver in her voice. She chokes it down.

“Oh Nina, no. Did they hurt you?”

“No, but they – like I said, they were not screwing around. They openly threatened to send me to IK-2 if I kept doing my stuff, and – I’m not giving up. You know I’m not. But it might… it might be time to get out of Russia for a while.”

“Where are you now? Are you safe?”

“At my parents’ house. My backup gear is here. But there’s no way I can work here. They don’t know the half of it, and if they did, they would hit the roof. I don’t have anywhere else I can think of, and…” Nina trails off. “Is there any way I can come to Amsterdam with you?”

“I don’t know.” Inej is clearly thinking hard. “The Crows aren’t exactly a registered company that can offer you a work visa. Kaz is Dutch, obviously, but he could probably only sponsor you for permanent settlement if he married you, and I doubt you want that – ”

“I doubt you want it either – ”

“I have right to remain, at least until Brexit goes through,” Inej says, evidently deciding to power right on past that comment and pretend she didn’t hear it. She and Kaz might be living together, and obviously devoted to each other, but they’re still not yet at the “actual relationship” stage of things, and for all Nina knows, they might never be. “Unless – wait.”

“What?”

“I was joking about Kaz marrying you,” Inej says slowly. “But what if it’s not such a bad idea?”

“What? No. I am not marrying Kaz!”

“Not him,” Inej says. “Someone else. Someone with a non-Russian passport who could theoretically get you out of there. It would be hard, and we’d have to do some work to make the relationship look real, but Jesper could help with whatever we needed forged. Have we ever mentioned Matthias Helvar to you?”

“Matthias who?”

“I’ll take that as a no. He’s another one of Kaz’s… contacts. Norwegian. We helped him get out of jail a year ago, and he owes us a big favor. He’s also stupidly honorable, unattached, and probably pathologically unable to resist helping a lady in distress.” To Nina’s horror or her hope, Inej sounds like she is actually considering this. “If he married you, he might – ”

“If he what? He was in jail?” Nina is aghast. “So he’s a criminal?”

“You know,” Inej says, bone-dry. “We’re all criminals.”

“Yes, but if he was in jail, that means he got caught, and that means he’s a stupid criminal. I could marry a criminal, but I draw the line at a stupid criminal.”

“He wasn’t – it was complicated.” Inej’s tone portends a very long story they definitely do not have time to get into. “Anyway, Kaz helped get him out, and he lives in Oslo now. You could do a lot worse than Norwegian spousal citizenship.”

“This is insane,” Nina says weakly. “Is he ugly? He must be ugly.”

“Really.” Despite the gravity of the situation, Inej is definitely trying not to laugh. “That’s your objection? For the record, no. He’s not ugly. He’s just your type.”

“Oh. Oh, like that’s any better. He can’t possibly be my type. Inej – ”

“Look,” Inej interrupts. “Do you want to get arrested or not?”

“No,” Nina says meekly. “No, I really don’t.”

“So should I ask him?”

This is nuts. This is nuts this is nuts this is nuts this is nuts. Especially since Nina genuinely is starting to play the idea around in her head. Just for a moment. That’s all.

“Maybe,” she says, after a very long pause. “But I am not necessarily agreeing to this.”

“Of course not.” Inej sounds annoyingly smug. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[thesandersinitiative]

Chapter Four

Logan Ackroyd-Hammer Jr. walks through the SHIELD base like he owns it. His gait is perfectly even, his face is schooled in an expression just shy of a scowl, and he’s iconic enough that when leading the rest of the group through the halls to the bridge the lower level SHIELD agents threw themselves out of his way regardless of what they were doing prior. 

Although that could be because of the accumulation of people that were following him as well: Thomas Sanders who appeared to have lost a fight with a wrecking ball, Joan Stokes who kept the ship in ship-shape, the Captain Morality that everyone learned about in high school, and then, of course, Dr. Virgil Storm. 

People toss themselves away from Logan’s cool glare, but they keep their hands on her gun holsters while Virgil glides by, which truly was more annoying than anything else. What were they expecting? To shoot him? Preposterous. They’d be dead before they clicked their safety off.

“I triangulated the position based on the gamma radiation data left in the servers that weren’t fried by the electromagnetic interference or crushed by the cave in--” Logan explained, glancing back at Thomas, “Which I’m glad to hear you survived, Agent Sanders. Congratulations.”

“Asshole,” Virgil mutters and Logan isn’t petty enough to respond in the slightest.

On the bridge, he strolls over the series of computers that he had taken over for his work. Or rather, the one that Joan had elected to give him and the three others that Logan had commandeered in the process. With a swipe of his fingers he brings the screens back up in their usual glowing hues, except it also brings back a familiar emerald colored AI.

“Oh I know you did not just mute me, gurl!” 

“Is that…” Captain Morality, Patton Hart, said full of childish wonder, “...a man in the computer?”

Logan sighs at the glowing digital aid, “Goodbye, Remy.”

“Gurl! I did all the work! Don’t you be taking my credit!” REM1 complains, but with a simple swipe Logan removes him from the current screen and settles him elsewhere in the digital space. Logan turns back to the group, and resizes the map for the SHIELD agents to see.

“Apologies for the interruption,” he says, “After a refresher course on Gamma radiation, I had Remy borrow the code that SHIELD used previously to track terrorists and threats to society such as Virgil, and I set it to track major radiation sites. Then I manually checked each site with SHIELD records for possible positions, refreshing the map every few minutes to keep track of the ones that moved--” Logan paused just long enough to glance towards Storm’s murderous expression and feel satisfied with himself.

“Where did you get the records to check these sites?” Thomas asks, “Some of these are sealed with level 9 clearance.” 

Logan rolls his eyes, “I had Remy procure them for me. And once again I’m offering to help you update your cyber security defense, Thomas, but that is a discussion for another time, I believe.” 

He taps the screen allowing the map to switch to highlighting just the few areas that SHIELD wasn’t supervising.

“You might want to keep an eye on these two locations,” Logan adds, pointing to a couple spots in the US. “But by process of elimination on the rest-- I had Remy hack into the nearby street cams and run the footage through facial recognition. I had a 78% hit on a quarter shot of a man in Siberia, with a cross reference match that lined up nearly 98%.”

“Oh yay,” Patton says, softly, not-very-excitedly at all, “Siberia.”  Virgil scowls darkly at the map, shoulders pinched all the way up to his ears. 

“You’re sure it’s him?” Joan asks.

“And not some unfortunate sucker that looks like a psycho?” Virgil adds.

“Well,” Logan says, pleasantly, pulling over the digital live feed of the news from Siberia. “There’s also this.”

The feed thankfully, is still going. Although Logan had never taken upon himself to learn Russian, he can make out the distressed voices and the screams well enough. The sky is filled with dark clouds of ash and the horizon lights up with random flashes of light. Right next to the camera man one of the beams slams into a building and sends exploding outward. A chunk of concrete misses the camera man by mere inches and the camera shakes so hard that just watching it makes Logan’s stomach lurch.

“Yep,” Thomas says in a small voice. “That looks about right for an Asgardian god.”

“Technically he’s Vanir,” Joan says, sounding a little sick.

“Logan, get your suit,” Thomas says, “Patton… can you…?”

Patton smiles brightly, possibly too brightly, and hefts his iconic shield up just enough so that he looks like every printed poster of himself, “As long as we stay away from the trains!”

Logan is Now Available For Questions!

Previous Ask || Rules || Masterlist || Next Ask

[riverdalesfangirl]

Melody Andrews (FP Jones)

Melody Andrews  ~ Home Sweet Hell ~ Drinks  ~ You Need A Break ~ But A Number

~Trouble~

I drive to Jackson's house knocking on the door. Suddenly he comes out with a gun pointed at me. "Woah!" I scream crouching down. "Shit Mel! What the fuck! I could have shot you!" "Why the hell are you coming to the door with a gun?" I ask shocked and confused. Jackson puts the gun in his waistband sighing. "It's been a little rough. I got into some trouble, and now it's... bad." I walk into his home throwing myself onto the couch. "What kind of trouble?" Jackson walks back and forth nervous. "You know the whole Blade situation?" "That dude is still alive?" I ask laughing. We use to party with him back in the day. 

"He's...got into some business, and asked me to do a couple of runs for him. I got hit by a car and I fled. Left the entire shipment there. Now he's going to kill me! I lost so much shit!" Jackson flings his arms around crying. "Hey! It's alright. You're going to be fine." "No! I-I'm going to die Mel!" He cried into my shoulder. "No, you wont. I won't let that happen." Jackson laughs. "Yeah? Please enlighten me how you're going to stop a fucking drug lord." "We pay him back." Jackson pulls away fully looking at me shocked. "Mel! Do you really think I got that much money? You're fucking crazy!" I shake my head. "I didn't say you had to pay them." I go to walk out of the house and once I do I'm met with a group of men. Scary looking men... with guns pointed at me. I look in the middle and see Blade standing there, arms crossed, stern face. "Hey there Blade." He tilts his head confused. "Do I know you?" "Melody Andrews. Nice to see you again." "Shit girl. We thought you died. Everyone did." I nod sighing. "Yep. Been around just moved away alone." "Well good to see you, but I've got some business with your friend there." I turn to see Jackson as white as a ghost. "You know what. You don't. I'm taking care of it. You're not going to hurt him." They laugh at my statement. "What makes you think you're going to stop us?" I whip out my wallet and open it pulling out hundreds of dollars. "This enough?" I ask throwing the stack of cash at Blade. He looks up at me shocked. "He lost a shipment. Money isn't the issue." He tries to push past me but I shove another couple hundred at his chest. "Leave Blade." He smirks and sneers in my face. "You think you're tough little girl? How about I show you-" I cut him off punching him as hard as I can knocking him down the steps and at his follower's feet.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" I scream at them. Blade hides his fright and leaves with the payment. "Melody." Jackson calls from the door. I turn to see a couple of Serpents staring at me. "I've got to go." I get into my car and drive around the town without a real destination. I pass Pops, the school, a couple of playgrounds, and then I finally pass my childhood home. I pull off on the side of the road and stare at the house. My old room lit up by lights. I smile when I see the glimpse of orange hair just like mine.

"I've waited long enough." I mumble and step out of my car. I walk up to the house and begin to softly toss pebbles at my brother's window. He opens it and peers down at me. I wave at him nervously. He just stares at me with wide eyes. Seconds later he is out the front door and just looking at me. Suddenly a full grown Labrador retriever bolts out towards me. "Vegas!" I praise and hug the dog that was just a puppy when I left.

My brother smiles at me and rushes into my arms. No words exchanged, only tears and huffs of breaths. I pull away looking at him. "Oh my gosh,  you're so old." I laugh admiring his face. He has gotten so handsome. "You're back." He speaks in a shakey voice. "Melody. Where did you go?" He asks burring his head in my neck and holding onto me tightly. "I can't stay long Archie, but I promise to tell you everything soon." He looks at me with serious eyes. "Are you in trouble Melody?" I smile at him kissing his head. "No Arch. I'm safe. I'll be back don't worry. I love you." My brother smiles wide and hugs me as hard as he can. "I love you too Melody."

~

-FP-

Fred and I walk into the office trailer of the site and see both our boys sitting there tossing a ball around. "Oh, how was your first day back?" Jughead asks me with a small grin. "Oh, it was great." I say my mind running elsewhere. Like Melody for instance. She doesn't know that I've taken a new job. She doesn't even know I've been thinking about her day and night, regretting telling her we didn't belong together.

"Your dad is the hardest-working guy on the crew, as always." Fred laughs patting me on the back. "Oh, in that case, why don't we celebrate to mark the occasion?" " Yeah, Juggy and I were thinking the four of us could have dinner or something." Fred looks at the boys. "Uh, tonight? I don't know." I shrug looking at my old time friend. "I'm game if you're game. On me." Fred nods and we all soon drive down to the local diner.

"Anyway We spent the whole summer fixing up that old VW bus. Yeah. Remember what we called it, Fred?" "The Shaggin' Wagon." We say in unison laughing. "This was before your dad had game. Senior Year, he started a band, and then the girls were all over him." I explain to the boys laughing in the memory. "We were awful." Fred says. "Yeah, yeah, we were."  "You know, your dad was what is commonly known as a BMOC, Jughead." I roll my eyes with a grin. "Come on. The hell I was." I watch as a familiar red car pulls in the parking lot and I get caught up in a smile.

"He single-handedly defeated our arch-rivals, the Baxter High Ravens." Fred says making me come back from my trance. "He doesn't care about that stuff, Fred. Football, sports. Takes after his mom in that respect, and I mean that as a compliment. I'd rather see you spending your time writing, thinking up stories, you still do that? Nose in a book? Typing away?" My son nods but doesn't say much else.

"Yeah, yeah, Jughead works on the school paper with Betty." Archie speaks perking my interest. "Betty? - Ooh. Who is Betty? Is that your girlfriend?" Jug shoots the subject down. "I wanna know more about the band. What was the name of the band?" I laugh remembering. "Ah, yeah. It was called The Fred Heads." Fred says ashamed.

The door chimes and I see Melody walk in. I wave to her sending her a small smile her way. She looks away shuffling to the back. "Who is that?" Fred asks looking at me confused. "Melody. She moved into town about a month ago." This catches Fred's attention and he turns around faster than spreading flames. He stands up just staring at her. "You okay Fred?" My eyes wander to Melody behind the counter putting her things away when she freezes at the sight of Fred.

Am I missing something?

"Melody." Fred says in a cracking voice. Her eyes dart from me to Fred with shock and worry written on her face. She walks closer slowly. Her steps becoming more unstable as she nears. She gets close to Fred and suddenly tears fall from her eyes. I almost stand wanting to protect her, but her words stop me completely. "Dad." Fred grabs her holding her close and crying as well.

Oh shit...

I turn to Archie watching him smile. "You got a sister?" He nods standing up and joining his family. "Don't you remember dad? Archie's Mom kicked her out. She went missing for a long time." Jughead explains to me. "Oh fuck." I do remember! Shit Jugs mom use to take him over to play with them when they were all younger.

Fred pulls away and leads Melody over. "FP, this is my daughter Melody. I don't know if you remember." I look at the women I have come to know and care for in the weeks since she arrived. I planned to find her and tell her it was a mistake letting her walk away. I guess this makes things more complicated.

"Yeah. We actually met when I got into town. It's good to see you again." I nod still shocked to the bone. "How'd you meet?" Fred asks confused. "Um. I wanted a drink. Found a bar on the South Side. FP kept me company." Melody stumbles on her words. She makes eye contact with me. Her eyes searching for something.

"I-I have to work, but I should be getting off around 12. o'clock." Melody speaks looking at me. "Do you want to come home?" Archie asks staying by his sister's side. "Um, I can't tonight-" "No. Melody you have to. You can't just wait to explain yourself. Please come home. Please darling." Melody shakes her head. "I'm not going anywhere near Mary." Archie looks down showing sorrow. "She's not here anymore. She moved to Chicago." Melody smiles slightly. She nods peeking her eyes at me every so often. "Oh, well then I guess I will come by."

Pop comes up from the back smiling. "No worries for you tonight Mel. Go on home." Melody can't hide her smile as she thanks Pops. "You want to ride with me Arch? Jug?" They both nod and move to get out of the booth. Melody gives me one last look containing a trapped box of emotions. The three walk out the door leaving me and Fred alone. He grabs the bill as I sit in shock. Fred places his hand on my should bringing me out of my trace. "You coming, man?" I nod and follow him out. Great. Plenty of time to talk when I'll be in her house. 

My phone buzzes and I look down to see what it is. 'We need to talk' - Mel

I rub my eyes sighing. "Shit."

[unstoppableforcce]

a fragile alliance

no request- just something i had, poe with a first order ! reader.

Poe Dameron x reader !

this is something I wrote a very long time ago, so no TROS spoilers but def more to come if y’all want. it’s angst. it’s pure angst. bc I excell at that.

“Black leader, you see that?” A voice came over on the crackling radio in his ear. And he did. How could he miss it?

The small black single rider plane that every resistance member was told to watch out for, the one containing one of the most feared members of the First Order, you, plummeting to the surface of the small jungle planet. If they could take you out, it would be the biggest leg up on the first order they’d have in while. A sense of pride even surged within the Commander, you had a lengthy history with the First Order, leaving a trail of bodies in your wake. But the voice in his ear said differently.

“Commander Dameron, you are to take a unit to the surface of Bluscant, search for the remains of that ship, take any survivors into custody for interrogation.” The orders were orders, but he despised them. 

They deserved to be left to suffer. He shot you down, he thought you deserved to stay there. 

“Yes, sir,” Dameron responded before ordering his men to the surface with him.

They parked outside the jungle, watching as the smoke from the crash raised higher into the sky. Poe order two men to stay at the ship and another two to follow him, all the way until they reached the crash site.

It was a short hike to get there from the clearing where they parked, but soon they saw the crashed plane. The whole thing was on fire and he hoped you were inside. He didn’t normally see such red but he couldn’t escape it now. 

He wasn’t that lucky, however. While the ship burned plumes of smoke, he spotted a stormtrooper body laying just outside the wreck. 

You were laying up against the side of the crater, hand gripping your side to keep your insides where they belonged given the significant wound that sliced you. Another gash about your forehead, spilling blood down your face. Yet you managed to keep a strong grip on your blaster with your free hand, unconscious but holding tight. 

All of the movement around was all it took to wake you, barely shaking you from your blurry consciousness, but enough for you to feebly attempt to lift your blaster in defense. You barely got it a centimeter off the ground before groaning, a violent stream of pain shooting through you. He kicked it from your hand before you had the opportunity to try again. 

“Base wants us to bring back survivors.” His Lieutenant quickly reminded him. And he very clearly needed him to remember. Because all Poe wanted to do was leave you stranded to die.

“Yeah. Patch her up, and cuff her.” He ordered while rubbing over his face.

“Are cuffs really necessary?” The other man questioned as he kneeled next to you, pressing two fingers to your throat for a pulse, faint but there. 

“She’s got a kill count in the thousands. I wouldn’t take my chances.” Poe argued, crossing his arms over his chest. It may have been an overstatement, but it certainly didn’t feel like it.

The number of reports he had read with her name on the cover. 

“283-3” You muttered out groggily, catching his attention briefly. 

“What?” He questioned, stepping closer but not getting in the way of his two counterparts who were patching you up for the trip home.

“Is he dead?” You finally murmured with enough strength to be heard. Poe could only assume you were referring to your stormtrooper, the one nearest the crash. The dead one. 

“Yeah.” 

Your eyes clenched with pain through the entire procedure, but something in your disposition changed as you hear the news. Slightly more distressed, and he couldn't figure out why.

“I tried- I” The lieutenant administered the sedative, trying to avoid the shock of pain killing you before they could get you back. But he knew what you were trying for. You were trying to say that you tried to save him. He couldn't decide whether it was notable or not given the record she had. The pain in his heart ultimately told him it wasn’t.

“Will she make it back to base?” Poe questioned, kneeling next to them as they pressed the bacta patch to your stomach and wiped the blood from your face.

“If she’s lucky.” One responded and Poe had to hold back a staunch laugh in response.

“We should just kill her,” He shook his head and pulled away, leaving them to carry her back. There wasn’t much in the way of bloody vengeance in his soul, just enough for you.

When they landed back on base, you were taken to the med bay much to Poe’s dismay. He knew who you were. A commander, like himself. Specialized in hand to hand combat, a spy, but not lost around a tie fighter. You surely ordered the deaths of thousands of men and probably killed hundreds with your own hands, or at least that was what it felt like from where he was standing. And Poe was ordered to rescue you so they could gain any intelligence from you. It was probably useless, no way you would give anything up but they’d try, keep you alive for months longer than you deserved.

He left his debrief and headed straight to the medical center, knowing you would be in there, and if you were awake, he needed to talk to you, he needed closure. 

Even if Leia ordered him to get some rest, that she’d send someone to interrogate her in a little bit.

The nurse pointed him to your room without him even having to ask, they all knew.

And when he walked into the room, he was prepared to get what he needed and then kill you, no matter the consequences. Leia could demote him, hell, she could kick him out of the resistance, but if he got this closure, it would all be worth it.

It had to be.

Yet you laid there so innocently. The nurses had cleaned the dirt and grime from your face and hair, the cut above your eye had been healed, and you even looked comfortable under the plush blanket. Even if your hands were cuffed to the bed.

His fingers twitched at his side, aching to grab his blaster and just end it all now but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He needed you to admit to it. He wasn’t a killer, but he would do what’s just, it’s what you deserve. So he called a nurse back in and ordered her to wake you up, and without any objections, she did. They all knew, and not a single one disagreed. 

Minutes later, your eyes fluttered open so peacefully and he couldn’t stand to watch it, he had to turn away briefly to compose himself. Until you began groaning. Your breath was caught in your throat, preventing a scream in pain. Hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging into your palms, the pain overtaking you all at once. It seemed like the doctors were just as bitter as he was.

But then something in your disposition shifted, you began to laugh instead of scream, and your hands released. Heavy breathing took over now as your eyes quickly scanned the room, frantic almost, and as they landed on him, you finally began to understand.

“Long time, Captain.” You squeezed out. The chuckle was rough as it escaped your lips, eyes squeezing shut as your head leaned back against the pillow.  

“Its Commander now.” He choked out, hands clenching, heart pounding.

His blaster was right there.

“Congrats.” It was almost a genuine smile, but it distorted to a smirk as you locked your eyes back with his. 

“Don’t congratulate me, I should kill you.” He added, taking a few steps towards closer until his thighs hit the foot of the bed.

“Do it. You won’t.” You scoffed, “you wouldn’t dare disobey an order, and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”

“After everything you’ve done-“

“I deserve to suffer. I deserve to be tortured. I deserve your worst. I don’t deserve to die and you know that, the resistance wouldn’t let me off that easy.” You argued back easily, even if your chest was still heaving with every breath. He couldn't deny that he was watching it, a part of him hoping it would stop.

Tears brimmed at his eyes no matter how hard he fought to keep them down. “I don’t care about the resistance.” 

“Then what are you here for?”

“You killed Finn.” He choked out, not in control of his emotions any longer. He rounded the bed, took two more steps forward, and began pointing in your face as he seethed, “You killed him.”

But your face didn’t twist to that of a proud First Order Commander who would relish in a successful kill. It twisted into confusion, pure confusion. Brows furrowing and head quirking slightly to the side, only serving to raise the heat in his chest. 

“FN- 2187?” You asked, trying to sit up despite the pain flooding your body and warning you against it. 

“You killed him, I watched it.”

“I didn’t kill him.” It was a plead, genuine concern in your eyes that he couldn't understand. You were fighting against the restraints, leaning into his now shaking finger of accusation. 

“I saw you do it, the whole galaxy saw it.”

“I didn’t kill him. Dameron, I have killed a lot of people, I didn’t kill him.” You shouted back with the same volume he used, defensive, truly defensive. 

“The first order broadcasted his execution across the whole galaxy, do you think I’m an idiot, I watched you kill him.” He shouted but pulled back when he watched you flinch. 

You couldn’t form a sentence fast enough, not by the time the curtains behind him ripped open and two soldiers grabbed him by the arm and pulled him fighting from the room. He needed closure, he needed an answer. He would fight but they only pulled him farther back. 

“He’s alive.” The words left your lips just as the curtains fell shut between the two of you. He wanted to hear more, to see more-

And soon he was tossed to the ground on his knees in front of Leia herself. 

“I told you to go get rest, that I’d send an interrogator in.” She said but he wasn’t there. His body was physically on the floor but his mind was elsewhere, he was replaying Finn’s death over and over again in his head.

He saw the alert go out that the first order had a special broadcast, and when the image flashed up in the command center, he just about collapsed on the floor. Finn, on his knees, surrounded by stormtroopers and officers. In front of him stood Kylo Ren, General Hux and You. Dressed in all black, not completely covered like Ren and Hux were, but somehow just as intimidating. Your hair pulled back so he could see your face painfully clear. An image that haunted him at night.

And then Hux said, “No traitor shall go unpunished...” and continued on into a vehement hate-speech about the First Order’s dominance in the galaxy. But Poe only stared at Finn. He was forced on his knees, hands behind his back, still wearing the jacket he gave him. He tried to stay strong, to not let them win, but he was scared, Poe could see it. And as soon as his speech ended, she was ordered to execute the “bloody traitor.”

Stepping forward, you pulled a large electrically surging sword from your holster, and within seconds, you spun and his head hit the ground.

Poe screamed, a raw, guttural scream as he saw it happen, and none of the officers around him cared because they saw the pain, they felt the pain. And Finn, who they all regarded as a hero, was brutally murdered by you, a nightmare-like extension of the first order.

And now you were saying you didn’t kill him when he saw you do it. And now you were saying he was alive when he saw his head off his body.

“... Poe. She’s messing with you. She knows that she can target your emotions and you’re just giving her power over you.” Leia soothed but Poe hardly heard it. What did you mean he was still alive.

“What if he’s alive?”

“He’s not Poe, we watched it happen.”

“She said he’s alive.”

“She’s a First Order member, she is trained to deceive you, to mess with you, she is the enemy Poe, she just wants to get you off your game,” Leia explained but Poe couldn’t pay attention to her, too lost in his own thoughts.

“If he’s alive, I need to find him.”

“He’s not alive Poe, we both know that,” Leia finalized as he finally rose to his feet. “She’s lying to get a rise out of you.”

“She seemed genuine.”

“She’s a spy.”

“If he’s alive-“

“He can’t be Poe,” Leia said exhaustedly before ordering Poe to be sent to his room, he was too out of it to protest at this point and just complied.

But if it was true, how could he ignore it.

Leia couldn’t keep him away.

Over the next two weeks, you began to heal up and Leia began to send in interrogators but you merely mocked them. They didn’t need to torture you, Leia knew it wouldn’t work, you weren’t going to break like that, so she just tried getting information from you in regular conversation. Still, no avail. 

You wouldn’t give up anything useful, besides who did Hux’s laundry.

A stormtrooper, called AT- 8745. He read it in a report.

Poe knew you weren’t going to give anything useful.

But you had been willing to talk about Finn last time he tried. And no matter what the general said, he needed to try again.

He got a few looks as he snuck into the holding cells but people thought he was meant to be there, so they never said anything about it.

He typed in the code with shaking hands, not nervous but surging with the adrenaline that knowing he was going against orders that the General gave him. The door was heavy but he pushed it open quickly, too eager to hesitate.

You laid out on the bed, well not a bed but a metallic slab with no blanket or pillow, across the room from the door. One knee bent up and both hands beneath your head, staring at the ceiling, you almost looked dead given how you barely moved. A single chair sat in the middle of the room, too close, he thought, to your bed for the council to have allowed Leia to interrogate you from.

But he spotted the glimmer of the forcefield in between the two halves of the room, keeping them separate.

You didn’t look up upon hearing him enter, not moving besides adjusting briefly to lay a hand over your stomach defensively.

“I expected you eventually, figured that Leia had finally run out of options.” You noted from the bed, knowing it was him without seeing him. He didn’t waste any time being impressed. 

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That got your attention. You turned towards where he stood by the wall, no different than the last time you saw him, if anything, he only looked more exhausted. 

You groaned, pain rushing through you as you sat up on the bed but he made no move to sit down, he just hovered by the door.

“Why are you here?”

“You know why.”

“He is alive, I have no reason to lie to you about that.” You argued, walking towards the barrier, but stopping right in front of it. He wondered how many times you walked into it before realizing it was there, he could tell it was at least once given the hesitancy you took towards it. 

“Explain why.”

“He could be reprogrammed and valuable, but in order to get you to stop investigating, Hux needed you to think him dead.” It wasn’t curiosity or even a fascination, but you lifted one hand to the barrier and played along the light blue glow that radiated as you got close. It almost felt like boredom, and it pissed him off. “Drop the barrier and I’ll tell you more.”

He considered it for a second longer than he should have. It should have been a quick no but it wasn’t. But it also wasn’t a yes, he just backed away from the panel and to the barrier so that he could stand face to face with you. 

“Where is he now?”

“Drop the barrier.”

“If I do, you’ll escape, and won’t tell me what I need to know.”

“I also won’t tell you what you need to know with it up.”

He walked back over to the control panel on the wall and opened the door, pulling his blaster from the holster and dropping it outside. Then he locked the door shut, using his handprint to secure it. Only after all of that, did he make a move to lower the barrier.

Everything within him told him not to, but he needed to know. You were injured and manipulative and he needed to know. 

You didn’t charge at him like he expected. He didn’t have any weapons on him anymore so he wasn’t too worried about being overtaken and immediately killed, but he couldn’t trust you, not for a second.

“He’s in the reprogramming plant on Plutarch.”

“Plutarch?”

“A moon in the Ghevner circuit. Kylo Ren took control of it for the first order several years ago. Since then, it’s become a brainwashing stormtrooper factory.” You explained, now walking towards him, hesitantly as you passed where the barrier had been, but faster once you cleared it. 

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“Armitage. He made me into a liar when he broadcasted that clip. I’m not a liar.” There was almost a playfulness to your voice, it set him on edge in a way he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. 

“Just a murderer?” He tipped his chin, but you didn’t seem all that offended. 

“No one’s perfect.” The joke came out deadpan as you stopped just in front of him, your serious face never changing now that it was on. “Look, from what I’ve heard, he’s been resisting reprogramming, if you could get to him, you’d have a good chance of getting him back.”

He didn’t understand, he felt a tug on his heartstring and he didn’t understand. 

“Why are you telling me all this?”

You scoffed, the sensation crackling through your body as you shrugged. “You think so little of me.”

“You’ve given me reasons.”

“They pay me better than you guys would. That’s all it is. I do dirty work, sure, but if you paid more, I’d do that dirty work for you. It’s not about morality for me, sorry.” You sighed, hands folding in front of you. 

“So you’re a murderer in it for the money but a good person?”

“I think the question you should be asking is why would I want the barrier down if I planned to tell you everything anyway?” You added. It was just ominous to push him over the edge, but you were faster. 

One elbow, straight to the face and he was on the ground in a second. Not unconscious, head stinging with pain, but still barely conscious against the cold concrete. 

“Now you’re going to get me out of here.”

[theantitote]

A Call to Action + A Few Resources for These Times of Unrest in the US

On the Recent Unrest and Our Worst Fears (Is a civil war brewing?)

These times are uncertain, dire even. A mismanaged pandemic has and will continue to claim many lives and ravage our economy, yet several Republican governors still stand poised to reopen schools in the fall, and economic woes potentially put millions at risk of falling victim to mass evictions. Police and government brutality has long plagued our nation with near impunity and in the wake of George Floyd’s death and the violent crackdowns on protests, we seem to be reaching a breaking point. Police have been seen on numerous occasions assaulting the media, and federal agents sent to Portland, Oregon have been responsible for among other things, shooting Donavan La Bella in the head with “less lethal” impact munitions, cracking his skull and nearly killing him, arresting protesters into unmarked rental vans, and striking a Navy vet with a baton after he attempted to confront them on their oath to the constitution, breaking his hand. Now as anger swells in the streets and fears rise of an apparently fledgling secret police force due to the actions of federal agents, recently threatened to be deployed to more cities as part of Trump’s Operation Legend, a question thought unthinkable just a few months ago seems to be becoming uncomfortably plausible - are we heading for a civil war?

Anyone with even the slightest bit of morality and an inkling as to what such an event would entail should be struck with terror at the mere thought of the possibility. So it is imperative in these times that we do our due diligence as citizens of this nation to learn from history and do everything in our power to deescalate such a situation before our worst fears are realized, all without loosing sight of the problems and what must be done to solve them. To this end I have compiled a fairly brief list of videos, podcasts, articles, and webpages that I recommend all Americans observe and heed the messages and warnings found therein.

Top Recommendations

Note: All podcasts link to Spotify pages however you should be able to find them elsewhere if needed, including most popular podcasting apps from my experience.

1) The Youtube channel Beau of the Fifth Column, and his recent covering of the events in Portland.

I link his playlist of videos covering Portland and how the federal response runs counter to the guidelines of their manuals because it’s most relevant however I can’t recommend his entire channel enough. For further reading, here are a few links related to what he discusses in those videos:

FM 3-24 - Insurgencies and Countering Insurgencies - FAS PDF link

Federation of American Scientists - their website hosts a sizable amount of information some of which is relevant, including the aforementioned pdf

The Rand Corporation’s website, which has more public documentation and who also plays a large role in the making of classified documents for policy makers on the subject.

The nonprofit archive.org free online library

2) It Could Happen Here - A podcast from 2019 by Robert Evans, who has a background in investigative journalism on the conflicts in Iraq and Syria and Ukraine among others, exploring the possibility of a Second American Civil War, what might cause it and how it could be prevented. Though he is rather open about his own leftist bias he does not shy away from addressing the valid grievances rural America might have with the government as well as areas where the true left of America and rural conservatives might share some surprising common ground.

3) Behind the Police - Another podcast and a recent spinoff of “Behind the Bastards” that covers the history of American policing and how it has led to the often corrupt institutions we have today. Also hosted by Robert Evans and joined by the hip-hop artist Jason Petty aka Propaganda.

A few reminders of recent state violence

Tweeted video of the moment Donavan La Bella was shot in the head by a US Marshal

Tweeted video of the immediate aftermath (CW: profuse bleeding)

An update on Donavan La Bella’s condition (CW: distressing images) - “His mother, Desiree La Bella, previously said her son’s face and skull were fractured and that he underwent facial reconstructive surgery in the hours after the encounter. She said he had a tube in his skull to drain blood and had vision problems in one eye.” - the good news is the article says he’s recovering better than doctors expected.

Tweeted video of Navy veteran Chris David being struck with a baton by federal officers, breaking his hand, dubbed by some as “Captain Portland” after the viral video showed him taking the blows unflinching

A Newsweek article with an interview with Chris David - "I want to use my 15 minutes to put out a message to my fellow vets. I also want to use my 15 minutes to try to refocus this whole discussion back to Black Lives Matter as opposed to an old white guy who got beat up because I don't think I'm worth the attention, to be perfectly frank" - He states in the interview that he sought to confront the federal agents on their oath to the constitution when the beating happened, after hearing of the seemingly random arrests using unmarked rental vans.

NowThis News compilation of police violence against journalists from June 1st

Another NowThis News compilation of more police violence against journalists from June 3rd

Vice coverage of the protests in the wake of George Floyds death, posted on June 2nd. This includes a rather emotionally intense moment when the crew is assaulted by police with pepper spray and tear gas along with a small family who were attempting to protect their local business.

What Now? A Few Words of Advice

The times ahead are uncertain and fraught of dangers to say the least, but if we wish to avoid the worst we have to act. So, what do we do? Don’t just hope but organize, strategize, plan, and fight for the best, while preparing for the worst. At the very least and most simple take the advice from Beau’s videos and make your voice heard. Demand the government start following their own manuals and stop escalating tensions even further. 

Yet distressingly enough, it seems unlikely that the onslaught of violent federal crackdowns will slow down anytime soon regardless of what we do. Preparedness seems more important now than ever, so here are a few basics. Try to get at least a month's worth of food if you haven’t already and still can. There are several sites for such things, such as Mountain House as one example, however much of this might be sold out or unaffordable so you might have to consider buying canned goods little by little as you can. Prepare a bug out bag, especially if you live in the city. There are countless tutorials and advice on this topic but try to stay focused on what you might need - things like a first aid kit, water, a filtered straw and other purification methods, a way to light a fire and cook, and so on. If you’re sane and responsible and wish to acquire a firearm for self defense if you haven’t already, and want to train but don’t want to have to involve yourself with the toxic conservative dominated gun culture, look into the SRA (Socialist Rifle Association) as they might be offering range days and training in your area. 

But most importantly, start networking and organizing. No matter what comes to pass it will be imperative that we develop close ties with those within our communities which we can call upon not only to help try to prevent the worst, but also for protection should our worst fears become a reality. You might consider joining your local IWW if you’re an advocate for democratic unionization and workplace democracy like myself, or you might look into and maybe get into touch with folks like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief, and see if there’s any local to your area or what you might be able to learn from them. Regardless, try to find some group you at least somewhat fit in with and organize with them together.

A quick final note on my blog

I started this blog spontaneously on July 3rd hoping to ease my way into amateur blogging first and hopefully a career in journalism later, however current events have left me anxious of the future and uncertain of what new tragedies might lurk around the corner of tomorrow. I am however, highly privileged. I live at home in a rural town in the South Eastern US far away from the unrest with a supportive family who have at least for the time being a fairly secure income, and am currently unemployed, meaning that while I have no income of my own at the moment I do have a lot of free time, which I plan to spend much of on my amateur blogging pursuits. So if you want to see more blog posts like this in the future, give me a follow and consider turning on notifications and you’ll certainly be seeing more posts like this from me in the days ahead.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

bound to each other's hearts (this love is like wildfire)

Lizzington, The Blacklist. Sequel to Lost In The Forest Of This Heart. Cross-posted on AO3. Important notes can also be found there. 

I’m not in the fandom anymore and I don’t plan to make things for TBL ever again now that this is complete, but I had a surprising amount of fun rewatching the first two seasons in order to wrap up this series. Turns out, I do still love what it could have been. I’m glad to know that! And I’m grateful for the friends I made along the way. You all were definitely the best part of this show for me.

Summary: Between dealing with the Cabal and evading the FBI, Red and Liz try to figure out what the future holds for them both. 

He still doesn’t quite get it, Liz knows: that she wants more than separate lives, occasional dinners together or friendly evenings of chatting over wine and poker. Red isn’t fighting her on that front, but he doesn’t see himself in her picture. And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows that could be because she hasn’t yet decided on the specifics of it.

They settle into a new routine when they leave the Wisconsin safehouse, Liz full of single-minded determination and Red watching her warily whenever her attention is elsewhere. 

Much like he felt when they first went on the run, she is everywhere. Except it’s a different kind of awareness now, because she’s no longer so broken and he’s no longer an enigma. 

When she smiles at him, it’s unguarded, pulling him in. When she reaches for his hand or hugs him, he can tell she’s trying to make it commonplace. They are friends, or as close to it as they ever could be, and it’s eroding what’s left of his barriers. 

Over the next few weeks, they arrange meetings with Cabal members. Rather than by Red’s invitation directly, each is through trusted liasons, and Liz has fun playing with the disguises before they arrive at each site together. 

Red chooses the Cabal members they kill based on several factors, beginning with those who are high-profile and legally untouchable. It frustrates Liz to know it’s true, but some Cabal leaders are too powerful to be harmed by even the world-shaking effects of the Fulcrum leak.

Their list of targets is further trained on people inside the Cabal who have murdered or directed others to murder--especially on a large scale. That makes them especially dangerous enemies and also important to remove. It sends the message that no one who remains is safe.

At the third meeting, they take out two men simultaneously; Liz shoots the head of a multinational corporation before he can finish aiming at Red, and means it when she tells him later that she has no regrets. 

She feels safe with a gun holstered under her shirt again. She’s slowly moving past the guilt she’s been carrying since Connolly.

She feels even safer with Red’s hand hovering at the small of her back whenever they enter new situations. He expects her to hold her own, always has, but his presence--especially the way he’s reaching out more, relaxing around her--is a comfort. 

Liz has trusted him with her life since before it made sense, and that’s one of the things between them that remains the same. 

They’ve killed a handful of high-ranking Cabal members when something slips. 

Red thinks it was Julian, an associate he has trusted for decades. One he will never trust again. Whatever the weak link in his careful arrangements, instead of meeting Ingrid at the deserted farmhouse in dusty Kansas, they’re almost caught by the Task Force. 

Ressler and Samar are there, Samar’s eyes apologetic but her aim unflinching as she trains her gun on Liz. Ressler should be aimed at Reddington just as steadfastly, but his gaze flicks to Liz for the briefest of moments and that’s all Red needs. He takes the shot.

The second he does, chaos breaks loose between the FBI team and the men Red brought with them. Red and Liz take cover behind a rusted truck until Dembe pulls up in an SUV. Samar fires in their direction, but doesn’t stop their escape in the bulletproof vehicle.

Taking narrow backroads after that, they switch vehicles twice and don’t stop moving until they’re in Denver, letting the city swallow them up.

While Dembe is still driving, Red finds a bloody graze on Liz’s arm that she neglected to mention. 

“It was from Samar,” she tells him. "She could have fired on the tires or gas tank and stopped our escape entirely, but she didn’t.”

Their orders were clearly to capture, not to kill. This was just a warning shot.

She frowns. “But Ressler…”

“What about Ressler?” Red’s voice is gruff as he dabs at her arm. Since waving him off didn’t work, she lets him disinfect what’s barely even a wound. She hopes it’ll calm him down. 

“Red, you got a clean shot at him. Should we talk about that?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He runs his fingers around the edges of her bandage, making sure the adhesive will hold. Reminding himself that this is the extent of the damage. It could have been so much worse. 

Her smooth skin is still warm, alive. Her eyes keep trying to find something in his. He can’t bear to look at her.

“If that were true, I don’t think you would seem so upset. I’ve seen you shoot people before and barely blink. Red--I know you’ve shot Ressler before. So what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Lizzie. We’ve already talked about this. They’ll chase us until this mess is over, one way or another. I gave them a distraction so we could escape. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not simple at all, though, is it. You’ve fought back to back with Ressler now. You know him. To face him and pull the trigger...I can’t imagine it.”

“I hope you never have to. But as you said, Donald and I have a history that goes back to long before you joined the Task Force. We only fought on the same side at times...to protect you. We were both on your side. Allegiances shift. Loyalties change.”

She nods. “That is incredibly sad.”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs and gently pats her arm. “At any rate, his injury, like yours, will be a flesh wound. He will recover. But if we’re lucky, he won’t be able to chase us for a while. We need to regroup.”

****

They move to the coast, spending a few weeks in Seattle, then Portland. The crowds pose more of a risk, especially with the Task Force having seen their faces...but they saw a blonde Liz and Red in a dark wig under his hat. 

Though he doubts that will fool them, he can hope.

Urban areas are the better option for now, even with the risks, because the crowds also offer anonymity. People in cities wish to mind their business and be left alone. Because Red can’t postpone it any longer--the endgame is approaching--Dembe joins them in their various apartments.

Red lights up in his company, and Liz laughs more. 

Mr. Kaplan only contacts them by phone; Red invites no one to meet in person. But well-paid colleagues are still picking off Cabal members, now with stealth and finesse. 

“It’s almost time,” Red tells Liz over dinner. They’ve been ordering groceries, grateful that local markets cater to shut-ins and fugitives, and cooking all their meals together instead of taking turns. She insists.

“Time for…”

“The end of it.” He smiles, slow and satisfied.

Liz takes another bite of the French fish dish he suggested they fix that evening, thinking it over. “But we’ve barely gotten started with the Cabal. Red--what exactly is the endgame here? We’ve never talked about it.”

He glances at Dembe, who nods appreciatively over his food, then aims that dangerous smile her way. “You see, Lizzie, it was so up in the air. There really wasn’t much to talk about while we waited to see what needed to be done. We poked holes in their organization. We weakened their trust in each other.”

“And now?”

“Now it has become clear to me that the best way to stop them, to neutralize them, is not to wipe them off the map. It’s to stoke that power vacuum and step into it.”

“Wait.” She raises her hand, letting her fork clatter on the china plate. “You’re telling me that you want to join the people who want me dead? Who tried to have me framed for murder?”

“These are also the people who had me on the run,” he reminds her. “Even before they became a force in your life. Surely, if you’ve learned anything since we met, it’s that the maxim is true: the closer you keep your enemies, the safer you are from their attacks.”

“We’re their enemies, too. Why would they welcome our involvement in their organization? They have us on the run, Red. They’re winning.”

“Are they? Seven of them have died in the last six weeks. Their numbers are many, but not limitless. They’re unwilling to meet in public. And we put their secrets on full display. I think we’re not the only ones on the run.”

“So you propose, what, a truce? An alliance?”

“Oh, heavens, no.” He dabs at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Those sorts of things require trust. A level of mutual respect that can transcend disagreement. You cannot form an alliance with someone you know will murder you at the earliest opportunity. No, my plan is much more straightforward.”

He stands, holding his hand out for her plate. Liz passes it to him, waiting for further explanation.

“While we’ve been on our own the last few weeks, Mr Kaplan has been using her many skills to gather information. Following leads, hunting down trails I suspected might be fruitful. Thanks to her, and to Dembe--” he toasts his friend with a glass, “the final pieces are in place. Now we make a trade.”

Her hands, no longer busy eating, are free to grip the tablecloth in a moment of sheer blinding terror. Red loves to make these moves behind her back, playing chess and telling her nothing until checkmate. It would be just like him to trade himself for her freedom.

The exact opposite of what she wants, the last thing she will ever agree to. Bold and brave but completely futile--because the second he gives himself up for her, she knows she won’t be able to rest until she gets him back. 

Will they never stop this? Liz wonders, listening to the pounding of her heart as Red pauses long enough to blink at her.

“A trade of information,” he clarifies slowly, watching her with concern. “Lizzie, are you alright? You look...”

She nods, swallowing the taste of fear along with a fair amount of shame for the conclusion she was so ready to believe. It takes her a moment to gather her words. 

“So, you’re going to blackmail them, to give you a seat at the table. And then you’ll...run the table.”

Red’s smug smile wars with lingering worry. “Quite right. You already know that the Cabal runs through governments and militaries and nation-states alike. With the right leverage, I can make their hunt of us a liability that will hurt them far more than any success would ever be worth. I may even be able to get your former position back.”

“It would be nice to no longer be a fugitive,” she agrees. “Buy my own groceries sometimes. It’s impossible to surprise you with a menu when you know everything that arrives on our doorstep.”

“I understand. You’ll be free to buy whatever you like, then. And invite me for dinner, I suppose, if the mood strikes you. I would be amenable to that,” Red says with a more relaxed smile.

He still doesn’t quite get it, Liz knows: that she wants more than separate lives, occasional dinners together or friendly evenings of chatting over wine and poker. Red isn’t fighting her on that front, but he doesn’t see himself in her picture. And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows that could be because she hasn’t yet decided on the specifics of it. 

She knows she wants Red. That part is easy. 

But if what he’s saying is true, that he can use their leverage to clear her name, she will have more choices to make. Harder ones.  She worked her whole life to become an FBI agent, to earn her place as a profiler. She knows it’s something she’s good at. A career she was made for, even. 

But.

And then.

Raymond Reddington in a box. 

She isn’t that person anymore, if she ever really was--the young woman with the loving husband and the dog, nervous about her new desk job working in DC. The edge she lives with now, the side of herself that can hurt and hunt and kill...part of Liz thinks she has always had that darkness. Since she was a child. Maybe she was born with it. 

God knows that despite the blame she’s flung at Red, he isn’t the source of her darker tendencies. He did everything he could to steer her away from being more like him. And with all the harm she caused, her work on the Task Force also helped her save people. 

Liz stills wants to save people. She wants to use her skills for some kind of greater good. But she can’t pretend she’s a paragon of virtue going forward, no matter how clean her record is once Red gets done with it.

Which leaves her where, exactly? 

****

Liz goes with Red to the summit he sets up with the remaining core of the Cabal. She feels useless there, since he also brings a full guard of men armed to the nines. And he certainly doesn’t need her help to negotiate. Yet he insists on inviting her, shaking his head when she questions him. 

“I’d like you with me,” Red says, without explaining further. The understanding that he means it for himself--that he wants her by his side not to protect her, or humor her need to be involved--is a gift. So Liz takes it, and bites down hard on the urge to speak up during the information exchange.

Even if all her presence does is affirm their new unity as a team, she can see the value in that, for their strength in the eyes of the Cabal. Word will spread in the underground Red travels, making its way eventually back to the FBI.

Everyone will know that Red has made a play for greater power, and that Liz was right there with him when it happened. She wonders what her old friends will think: if Samar will understand her choices, if Aram will worry that she didn’t make them freely. If Ressler will get that defeated look in his eyes and consider her a lost cause. 

She can’t blame any of them for their judgments from a distance--they don’t know what she knows. But she’s never felt clearer, not lost but found. The Cabal can be run by people who want her dead for threatening their supremacy, or it can be run by Red. 

Who she trusts to find the right balance between control and domination. Who she knows will keep the rest of the Cabal on a tight leash. 

As Liz sits with him in a glass-and-chrome boardroom, watching the Cabal give him the command he requires, she suspects he’s already seeking out leverage to hold over each member. 

Mr. Kaplan has been hard at work again, coming to their newest safehouse, passing Red messages. Now that he’s busily reining the Cabal in, he and Liz don’t have to move every few days--and his family can visit safely. Dembe stays over for a week, recommending books to Liz and telling her stories about Red when they first met. 

"Don’t believe a word of it,” Red warns her. “This man is a notorious fibber.” But his eyes shine with joy when he looks at the two of them. 

Liz has never seen him so happy. So settled. Power suits him. 

Red finds her in her room one night, strolling casually through the open door. He has learned the hard way that if he tries to return to polite formality, Liz will roll her eyes at him or ask “What are you waiting for, gold filigree?” without looking up from what she’s doing. 

“It took longer than I would have liked,” he says, unprompted. “But it’s finished.”

“What?” She has no idea what he’s talking about, since the Cabal restructuring was completed a week earlier.

“Your record has been erased.”

Liz sets her book down. “My criminal record?”

She’d forgotten Red was even working on that, and she knows she should feel excited. Or relieved. A rush of something should be washing over her. Instead she feels numb. 

“Yes. It’s been fully expunged, as though none of this ever happened."

And there it is, she thinks. That would be why.

“But, Red,” she corrects him gently, “it did happen. Erasing my record can’t take any of it back. I still have to live with it.”

He sighs. “I wish this could be easier, Lizzie, I really do.”

“Well, it’s not.” 

She reaches out and grabs hold of his hand, tugging him over to sit next to her on the bed. “It’s okay that it’s not, though, Red. It really is. I’m okay.”

“Yeah.” She does look okay lately, he has to admit. Red expected this news to bring her peace, but Lizzie seemed content even before it. 

Now she smiles at him, still holding his hand loosely. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” He turns a little more to face her, giving her his full attention. 

“Since you mentioned it, I’ve been thinking a lot about what comes next for me. All those choices I have now, you know? With a clean slate.”

Red nods. 

“I could go back to working at the FBI. As a profiler. It might take some string-pulling, but you’re good at that.” 

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“That’s because you know me,” Liz says. “The Task Force only existed because you wanted to keep me close and take down the Cabal. Which means there will never be a Task Force again. Not like there was.”

“I know.”

“But even if they’re not hunting me...you cleared my name, Red, not yours. You will have to stay like this, won’t you? In the wind, still a wanted criminal.”

“Yes.” 

That doesn’t bother him; he’s used to his routine. But Red can’t tell what Liz is working towards in her explanation. It worries him.

“So the only way I can have a normal life is if I never see you again.”

“Not never,” he assures her. “You know that I’m capable of moving freely, off the radar of all manner of authorities. We can still...see each other.” Dinners maybe, he thinks. Game nights with Dembe. Arguing over which movie to watch.

“That isn’t going to work for me.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want a few secret visits a year, Red, while I pretend to be an upstanding FBI agent.”

“I would argue that you wouldn’t be pretending, Lizzie. Even FBI agents are allowed to have friends. Of all stripes.”

“That’s not really the point. With my past already laid bare for the world to see, who would ever let me keep a low profile at a desk again?”

Red frowns, following her logic.

“You can whitewash my record all you want, but my face was on the news. That future is gone. And without you in it, I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

“Well, then. What do you want?”

“I don’t belong at the FBI anymore, but I still have all my training. All my skills. Red--I think we should start our own Blacklist.”

He clears his throat, genuinely surprised. “Our own Blacklist?”

“Yes.” She let go of his hand to gesture with both of hers. “Just think about it. We stopped a lot of terrible people with the Task Force. We could go back to doing that, now that we’re done running. You have your own access, your own connections, and yours are better than the FBI’s a lot of the time.” 

“Lizzie, I understand wanting to help people--I love that about you--but I worked with the Task Force to my own ends. I was never on a crusade to better the world.”

“So? So what if you’re not looking to atone for your sins and make the world better? It can be my crusade. I have my own sins, Red, and I don’t need your reasons to be the same as mine. I’m asking you to work with me anyway, because we’d be good at it.”

Red flexed his empty hand, trying to imagine it. “I suppose I would be your best resource for catching uncatchable criminals.”

“You would. And if we had leads we couldn’t follow up on, I’m pretty sure we could find a way to tip off Samar or Aram, without giving up our locations.”

Liz bit her lower lip while he thought it over. “Well? What do you say?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” 

Red grinned, his smile stretching even wider when she hugged him. “It sounds perfect for your talents--and I can certainly think of some people whose neutralization would improve my hold on the Cabal.”

“See? Win-win.” 

“But, Lizzie...you’re sure this is the path you want to follow? Playing judge and jury, outside the law? It’s not a decision you can take back, once you begin.”

She nods, a firm dip of her chin. “I’m sure. The worst criminals work outside the law, untouchable. You taught me that. Somebody should be responsible for them, and I’m in a unique position to try. Who will do it if I don’t?”

“Okay, then.” Red pats her leg, pleased. “It will be fun to have a reason to work together more closely again. I’ve been so busy restructuring the Cabal lately, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” Liz eyes him across the inches that separate them on her bed. “Speaking of that.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to spend more time together.”

He shifts in place. “As I said, I look forward to it. Getting us settled and safe had to take priority, Lizzie, but of course I hope to have more time with you now. We should decide what to make for dinner.”

“No, Red. I don’t mean--” Liz takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain without causing him to withdraw. 

“I love you,” she begins. 

He smiles at her, soft around his eyes. “I love you, too.”

One of the benefits of things settling down has been watching Red get comfortable with her affection. She says the words often, deliberately. Hearing him say them back is nice...but Liz knows he doesn’t mean it the way she does. 

He hears love and thinks family and friendship. And sure, they’re close in that way too, but she keeps saying it and waiting for Red to hear attraction and commitment, and it just doesn’t seem to be happening. 

With Red, blunt often backfires. Half the time, they end up in an argument, even when that isn’t her intention. But being gentle and trying to drop hints has been totally lost on the criminal mastermind she's all but living with.

So, blunt is the only option she has left to try. 

“Red...I’m in love with you.”

“You--what?”

“That’s what I mean when I say I want to spend more time with you. I want to spend it differently; I want to be closer to you. I want to share my life with yours.” She pauses, scared of the look on his face--it’s unfamiliar, and she knows his expressions well. 

“That’s the future I want: hunting Blacklisters, working together when you’re not busy with the Cabal...but also date nights. Early mornings and staying up late. Being together. Getting to a place where I know exactly what I want hasn’t been easy, Red, but I’m there now. I need to know what you want.”

Of all the situations he has tried to be ready for, Red feels shockingly unprepared for this one. 

A small part of him wondered, when she declared that she loved him in Wisconsin, if perhaps she meant it in this way. But he considered that part a traitor, hope running wild. Allowing himself to hope has often been--historically speaking--both foolish and dangerous. 

Lizzie has always been dangerous, because he can’t seem to defend himself against her. That’s what love is--being powerless. 

He loved her even before he walked back into her world; that was a lifetime of fondness mixed with debt and guilt. But it’s different knowing her as the woman she is now. He can’t imagine not loving her...and though he tries not to think about it, he can’t imagine not wanting her.

Admitting that out loud would be a betrayal of all Lizzie could have beyond him, and of the effort he’s expended to hold himself back from her.

“Being with me would make the target on your back infinitely bigger,” he tells her, hoping to walk the line between evasion and lying. “Combining our lives further...would be a terrible idea. Yours has already seen so much darkness, Lizzie. You don’t need to add more of mine.”

She’s patiently listening, though her hands are pressed down into the bed beneath them. He knows she’ll push back; he isn’t done.

“I need you to really think about what you’re saying. Lizzie, I know you’re a good person. In a way that I’m not. The idea that you and I could--” 

He swallows. “Have dates, or some sort of uncomplicated life, be a couple. It seems unrealistic given what I am, and who you are. You can love me and still keep yourself safe, keep a distance.”

“Reddington, I have no interest in keeping a distance. I’m trying to tell you that.”

Liz reaches up to touch his cheek. “I want less distance. I want you.”

“I will always choose you, no matter the harm to others,” Red explains. “Anyone who is a threat, even those you care about--it will always be that simple for me. I don’t have room for your morality.”

“I know.”

“How can you sit here and say that doesn’t matter to you?”

“Because it used to.”

Liz nods at the way he leans back. “I used to worry, a lot, about the way I felt pulled to you. Knowing everything you are, I worried what it said about me. Because it didn’t bother me--because I don’t care. Not the way I thought I should...the way a good person would.”

“The truth is, Red, I’ve made peace with it. I know you’re not a monster, no matter how often I used to throw that word at you. I know it because I’ve seen the real monsters. The people we caught, they were greedy and twisted and cruel. They were evil. But you’re not them.”

What’s coming next feels inevitable to Red. He can sense it, see it in her eyes. Evasion won’t be enough to save him. Nothing can save him. Salvation was never within his reach.

Sinning, though, he is well familiar with. Give me my sin again, he thinks foolishly, as yearning dislodges errant Shakespeare from the recesses of his mind.

"You don’t kill for pleasure, or entertainment. You’re willing to do whatever you have to, to protect others or save yourself. And we don’t have to have that in common for me to understand it.”

“I understand you,” Liz tells him. “Which is why I know as well as you do, you never answered my actual question. I did not ask you for a list of reasons why I should run for the hills rather than be with you. I asked what you want.”

She says it as though it’s a simple question. It’s probably the most difficult one he’s ever tried to answer.

“Forget the Cabal for a minute,” she offers. “Forget all our other enemies, including my old employers. Forget our complicated history, and think about the future. Yours and mine. What do you see?”

“Lizzie...”

“The manhunt is over,” she says, gazing into his guarded eyes. “It’s just us now. Here, in this moment, it’s only you and me. So tell me, Red...what do you really want?”

You. 

He watches her as she approaches, and doesn’t react at all when her lips meet his. It would be the easiest thing in the world to give in. That’s what scares him. 

When she finds herself kissing a statue of the Concierge of Crime, Liz hums a little in her throat and retreats, studying Red.

They’ve come so far from where they started; he’s not a mystery to her anymore. 

She can read his tensed muscles, coiled so tight he seems like he’ll shatter if pushed. A pulse is jumping along the column of his throat. His hands are motionless on the bedspread, but she sees the tips of his fingers curling into the material–gripping ever so subtly.

Raymond Reddington is holding onto himself for dear life, and that tells her two very important things. First, that he desperately wants to avoid touching her back…and second, that he has to stop himself from doing so with visible effort.

Which means that he wants his hands, and mouth, and skin, on hers more than anything in the world, but will not allow himself the satisfaction.

Liz smiles.

She can work with that.

[thunderbirdthree]

Pendulum

I started this fic way back when 3B was airing, but then got busy with school and kind of forgot about it until  now!

Summary: Jeff Tracy’s return was a miracle, but Alan struggles with letting a man he barely remembers back into his life.

Do not repost onto another site, especially without credit. 

[AO3 link]

Alan supposed that his life up to this point had been a pendulum of sorts. Perfectly balanced, before being wildly pulled to one side, and having to tick slowly back to a balanced center. There had been life with mom, a life Alan was afraid to admit he had only the faintest memories of, after her death the pendulum had swung until finding a new balance, life without mom, but before dad’s disappearance. This was more clear in Alan’s head, but he’d still only been eight when dad had vanished, he was 16 now, that was half his life with his father gone. After dad had vanished, a new balance had been found, school, International Rescue, and his brothers taking over the duties that should have been his father’s. Alan hated to admit it, but that time had been the most stable in his life, the life he really, truly remembered. So when dad came back, his pendulum swung seemingly in the opposite direction of his brothers.

When dad came back, his brothers where more than happy to try and continue life ‘as it had been before’. International Rescue continued to run in a similar manner to how it had been run in dad’s absence, and Alan was grateful. Sure, Scott and dad became co-leaders of International Rescue, but Alan was glad that he was allowed to remain the official primary pilot of Thunderbird Three, even if his missions were cut down to allow him to work on school. He wished that hadn’t happened and he could go out more though, it was only during rescue mission where he felt like he had some stability. 

His dad had taken over as head of the family again, and Alan had never felt more out of place. Out of all his brother’s he was the only one who had changed, who had really changed in his dad’s absence. He barely even remembered the man, and Jeff didn’t really know him anymore. He loved his dad, and he was not in doubt that his dad loved him, and was proud of who Alan had  become, but Jeff hadn’t raised him. Scott had, but now his brother was just that again, his brother, and it was unspoken but both Alan and Jeff knew it, even if Scott himself seemed perfectly happy to slip back into his old role, alongside John, Virgil and Gordon.

Alan found himself pushing, where was the boundary, what would it take for them to notice that all was not alright. It started small, dad would put him on dish duty and Alan just wouldn’t do it. Dad wouldn’t yell at him, just sigh and do them himself, while his brothers sent him annoyed looks. Eventually it transformed into flat out refusing to do school work, and playing video games all day, skipping family meals to hang out elsewhere on the island, and the dirty looks had become worried glances. The only place Alan refused to slack was for IR, he didn’t think he could forgive himself if he let someone get hurt. He did notice however that his missions where dropping off, and he was being activated only when dad was not available. No one had told him this, but he had seen the logs, and even Virgil had been sent out in Three on one occasion when Alan had been out elsewhere on the island. 

He was lying in his room one afternoon videogames, when the pendulum shifted again. There was a knock at the door and glancing up, Alan saw his dad standing there. Jeff Tracy walked in, and sat next to Alan,

“Mind if I play?” Alan shrugged passing him his extra controller. 

“You’re going to have to show me, never really got the hang of these things.” Alan half-smiled, showing his dad the basic movements, run, jump, hide, how to shoot his weapon. His dad was right, he wasn’t a very good player and Alan beat him in every level. They sat in silence, not talking, just playing before Jeff cleared his throat.

“Alan, I know that all this…. Hasn’t necessarily been easy on you. It’s hard to go back to a normal that never really existed.” Suddenly the floor was the most interesting thing Alan had ever seen. He stared down the the worn rug. Huh had it always had green in it?

“Al.” His dad lifted Alan’s chin until they were making eye contact. “I never got to be much of a dad to you and I will be sorry for that as long as I live. I missed out on so much, we’re almost strangers, but…” Jeff moved Alan’s face, which he’d been trying to turn away back towards him. “I love you so much Alan, and I’m so proud of the person you’ve become.” There was a pause. “Scott did a good job raising you.” Alan bristled, wanting to deny it, but he couldn’t so he just looked away. 

“Grandma helped.” He muttered. Jeff laughed. “She managed not to poison you, so I would say she did great.” Alan was able to smile at that. Jeff sombered up again.

“Allie, we might not have old memories and routines to fall back on, like I do with your brothers, but we do have the rest of our lives ahead of us to try and build a relationship, and I’d really, really like to get to know you. This Alan Tracy, not the toddler, or the little kid, but the wonderful young man you’ve grown up to be. If you’ll give me the chance.” 

Alan smiled slightly, yeah, that sounded like something he could do. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, he had spent the last couple months feeling like the odd one out, like he wasn’t a part of his own family, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Maybe things could change, he wanted it to, so he nodded, and let his dad draw him into a hug.

Scott was standing out on the balcony looking out over the water. It was nice to have moments like this again. With his dad back and them splitting both International Rescue and Tracy Enterprises duties, he finally felt like he had moments of free time. Too bad he could never fully enjoy them. He was a worrier by nature and since dad had come home he found himself constantly worried. Alan. He loved the kid, he loved all his brothers, but he had always felt more responsible and protective when it came to Alan.It hadn’t escaped his notice that Alan had changed a lot since dad came home. At first it had annoyed him, Alan had turned into a petulant… brat for lack of a better word. At first Scott had been annoyed, wasn’t the fact that their dad had come home alive not the most miraculous thing to have happened to the family? But as time past the reality had begun to hit him. It was in the little things, how their dad hadn’t known Alan was allergic to shrimp, an allergy that had emerged when Alan was 9 in a reaction that had given Scott his first gray hairs. Or that dad didn’t know what schoolwork Alan was doing, and his passion for game theory. It wasn’t that dad loved Alan any less, but he didn’t know him like he did the rest of them. Even before his disappearance, after their mother’s death Scott, and to an extent Virgil, had been the primary father figures in Alan’s life, and dad coming back had upset that balance. He sighed resting his chin in his hands. Something had to change, Alan was an excellent pilot and a good kid, and it killed Scott that they were having to limit his  missions because they couldn’t trust him to keep his attitude in check. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” A gruff voice came from behind him. Scott stood up and turned around to see Jeff standing in the door.”

“Oh hey dad.”

“What’s on your mind? You look worried.” Jeff came over the stand next to Scott. Scott turned back towards the view and sighed.

“I’m thinking about Alan, I’m worried about him.” Jeff let out a breath.

“You and me both kid, but I think things are going to change.” Jeff recounted the conversation he had had with Alan. “I hate that you were put in this position, but you have been more a father to that kid than I ever have, and I want to help change that, but it’s not going to be overnight. I don’t want to ask more of you, but…”

“You need me to step up again.” Scott finished. “Yeah, I think that’s the best way forward.” Jeff nodded, wrapping an arm around Scott’s back.

“Thank you. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

“Alan’s a good kid dad, I think we all failed to think about how this would affect him.” Scott paused. “He’s glad you’re home though, I know that much, it’s just a difficult adjustment.” Jeff nodded, looking off into the distance before patting Scott’s back.

“Come on, it’s almost dinner time, and I want to beat your grandma to the kitchen.” Scott laughed, 

“I know for a fact that we all appreciate you being back to cook.”

The atmosphere at dinner was less tension filled that it had been in a while. Alan actually came down to eat with the family, and although he wasn’t as talkative as he used to be, he managed to be polite, and seemed happy to have Scott’s attention focussed mostly on him. Scott veered away from subjects that were guaranteed to spark a fight, primarily school and anything involving IR, instead asking Alan about his video games. He was pleased that Alan was  happy to talk to him, and pleased that dad was listening attentively, asking questions. Virgil and Gordon shared a look, happy that World War 5 wasn’t about to break out, but wondering where this dramatic shift in attitude had come from. Scott caught Virgil’s eye with a look that said he’d explain later. Gordon managed to get into the conversation, and started to joke with Alan in a way he hadn’t for the past couple months. As the meal progressed the tension got lighter, and Scott began to feel like maybe they could be a proper family again once and for all. He took a risk, asking Alan to help him with the dishes, something Alan had refused to even consider every time dad had asked, and to his surprise (and relief) his brother readily agreed.  Alan made his way into the kitchen, and as Scott got up to follow him he shared a knowing smile with his father. 

The pendulum was swinging again, for the whole family. Life would never be how it used to be for any of them, but they could build a new story, togther. 

[greekletters]

... guess what?

I wrote another one shot! Also, I’ve decided that I’m going to move this collection of one shots over to AO3 and FF.net as well. I use the name GreekLetter on both sites. So keep an eye out for that soon! I will still continue to post here, but for anyone else that prefers to read elsewhere, they will be there too! Enjoy!

Prompt: “This one is on me.”

“I can’t believe you tricked me into this.”

“I didn’t trick you. I persuaded you to see reason.”

“We could’ve paid people to do this for us.” Weiss huffs out a breath, trying to blow the hair out of her eyes as the two of you continue to carry your mattress up the stairs of your new house. 

“But you will appreciate the move so much more if we do it ourselves.” You struggle to lift the bottom end of the mattress over the edge of the final step. 

“Whatever you say. At least all the living room furniture is getting delivered, so we don’t have to mess with that.”

“You mean the amazing furniture set that I alone picked out and you agreed was perfect?”

“Yeah. That one.” Weiss lets go of her side of the mattress and you follow suit, letting it fall into the frame evenly. 

“Yang helped with the difficult stuff. And if I remember, you were more interested in making sure every single one of the dishes was perfectly wrapped in that bubble wrap stuff than helping us.”

The two of you walk back into the kitchen and begin to unpack various boxes together. 

“You know I don’t care for manual labor. Which is why I suggested that we pay a company to pack and move our things. But you refused.” She puts her hands up defensively. 

“It’s a complete waste of money.”

“I told you, money isn’t an issue.”

“Having the money isn’t the issue. I am well aware that we are perfectly capable of affording it.”

“So, what is the issue then?”

“We could spend that money on something else. Like.. I don’t know.. donating it to a local homeless shelter or something.” You continue moving around the kitchen, placing items in their new home. 

“You do realize that you spent over a thousand lien on just the new couch, right? That doesn’t include the chairs, lighting and all the other stuff. And for one room.”

“Okay, fine. I get it. Well if we ever move again, I will let you pay to have everything packed and moved. Plus it’s a little weird to have strangers pack your things. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Oh, we are never moving again.”

“You think so?”

“If I have anything to say about it, you and I are going to grow old and die in this house.”

“Well that’s just morbid.”

“I think it’s sweet.” She nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders. 

“Good to know you plan on being stuck with me until you die.” You give her a smirk. 

“Oh hush. It was ‘as long as you both shall live’ if I remember correctly. And I plan on giving you absolute hell until the very end. And in this house no less. Not to mention it took almost two years for them to build it for us.”

“Only because you kept changing your mind and they had to go back and fix or rebuild nearly everything.”

“I wanted our house to be perfect. That’s all.”

“Weiss, you made them change the bathroom tile eight times.” She shoots you a glare. “But as long as you are here, it’s perfect to me.” She rolls her eyes, but gives you a small smile. “We could live in a grand fortress of cardboard boxes, but as long as they’re our cardboard boxes, I’m good.”

There’s a firm knock at the front door and you tell Weiss you will get it. Lightly jogging out of the kitchen and to the doorway. When you open the door you find the parcel delivery company man standing in front of you. 

“Hello.”

“Hi. Are you Blake Belladonna?” He looks up from the tablet in front of him to confirm the name. 

“That’s me.”

“Can you please sign here so I can release this item to you?”

“Sure.” You quickly sign the tablet and hand it back to him. 

He picks up the medium sized box beside him and hands it over to you. 

“Have a good afternoon, ma’am.”

“You too?” You don’t mean to seem so confused. But you weren’t expecting anything other than living room furniture to be delivered today. So you have no idea what’s in the box. 

Carefully carrying it back into the kitchen, you set it down on the island in the middle. 

“What’s that?” Weiss asks, just as curious as you. 

“I have no idea. I didn’t expect anything today other than the furniture, did you?”

“No. Just open it and tell me what’s in it.” She hands you one of the box cutters and you slice the tape open. 

After you pull all the packing materials from the box and get a clear view of the contents, you feel your soul drop to your feet. 

“Oh no.” It’s nearly a whisper. 

“What? What’s in the box?” She looks at you expectantly. When the two of you meet eyes, you try to look as sorry as possible. “Blake, what did you do?”

She prances over to stand near you and peers into the box from the opposite side and grabs the packing slip from your hand. You look off to the side, preparing to face the wrath of Weiss Schnee. 

“I know, this one is on me.” You try to start to apologize, but you never get the chance. 

“Oh, this is completely on you. And the money to pay for real ones can come out of your account, not the joint account.” She stomps off a few feet away from you before turning back around. “The chairs too?”

“Yeah. The whole set.” There’s nothing you can do but accept defeat. 

You hear her groan in frustration as she leaves the room. You stare down into the box for another few seconds. 

“I’m going upstairs to shower.” Her sudden return causes you to jump. “Then you can shower, there may still be hot water left for you, I haven’t decided. And then you’re taking me out to dinner. As part of your pain and suffering.”

“Sushi?” You ask apologetically. 

“Absolutely.” She turns again and once she starts walking up the stairs you hear her yell back out to you. “And get rid of those stupid things. I’m angry just knowing they exist.”

You listen in for another few seconds and hear her turn the shower on before you start to move around the kitchen freely. 

“How could I have been so stupid? I paid all that lien for this stuff?” You say to yourself as you pick up the box and carry it into the barren living room

Sitting down in the middle of the room, you begin to pull the contents of the box out. 

“I had no idea dollhouse furniture cost as much as actual furniture. Crazy.”

You can’t help but laugh to yourself as you arrange the tiny pieces as you would have if they had been full size. It looks completely ridiculous. But what else were you going to do with it all until you could figure out how to return it? Might as well make comedic use of it. 

As you reach the top of the stairs and walk into your bedroom, you give Weiss a small kiss on the cheek as she brushes past you. 

“I’ll be ready to leave in like twenty minutes.” You tell her as you wander into the closet to grab clothes. 

“I’ll just be downstairs on the couch.” Patiently you wait for her sarcastic continuation, which she promptly delivers. “Oh wait, I can’t because the couch you bought us is fit for a mouse!”

“Even if I said I was sorry, you would still be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You say as she walks back downstairs to wait for you to finish getting ready. 

While you hang up your towel and set your clothes out, you wait for what you know is sure to come. After about a minute or so it happens.

“Damn it, Blake!”

Weiss must’ve wandered into the living room and seen your tiny display of dollhouse furniture. And you can’t help but laugh out loud as you turn the water on and hop into the cold shower. 

[vagrantblvrd]

Ramwood?

The one where Geoff is an ~up and coming photojournalist or what have you.

Not exactly gung-ho so much as done with everyone’s shit and he’s not as careful about things as he should be, given the kind of place he lives? (Starts out in Liberty City and all the wrong kind of people to make enemies of.)

Somehow he runs into Burnie who is so goddamned amused by this asshole, right?

Smartass who doesn’t care whose toes he steps all over with his pieces  -and they’re all about the corruption and whatnot in the city and how it affects people there. Incredibly smart and also super goddamn stupid at the same time.

Has this reputation that has the news outlets and whatever else leery of hiring him on, so he’s freelance with a site/blog on the side that gains traction over time. Gets him this loyal following who trust him not to lie to them or obfuscate and such and gets by well enough for himself.

(Laments the fact no one will hire him on because what the hell? And Burnie laughing at him and telling him people in LC are afraid of someone like Geoff, honest men and all that in a city like that? Yeah, no.)

Knows he’s a hypocrite for being BFFs with Burnie and his people, but they’re the best of a bad lot or however you want to put it. The Roosters well-known for what they do, who they are and all that.

Burnie and his people keep an eye on Geoff who’s more interested in exposing the assholes who lie to the world about who they are – corrupt officials and businessmen and all that and has no reason to go after the Roosters, right? (Assholes, sure, but they’re upfront about it. And also this component to them that’s vaguely Robin Hood-ish in some ways. Sure as hell don’t try to bankrupt the little guy out of greed or petty vindictiveness and so on.)

Anyway, anyway, Geoff finally kicks over the wrong anthill and makes the wrong kind of enemy that has someone trying to kill him. Burnie and his people intervening and suggesting – gently – that Geoff maybe go elsewhere until things cool down in LC?

Mentions Los Santos that has Geoff laughing himself sick because it’s like Burnie wants him dead no matter what he says, but Burnie just rolls his eyes and arranges things to get Geoff the fuck out of his city.

He gives Geoff the name of one of his people out in Los Santos, this idiot of a kid who headed out there are few months before. Hacker/thief/pain in Burnie’s ass all the way from England.

Stupid as fuck and hey, maybe check in on him from time to time to make sure he hasn’t gotten himself killed?

And that’s how Geoff meets Gavin, right?

Gets the door slammed in his face when he goes to check on him the first time like he promised Burnie, at least until he tells Gavin Burnie sent him and then it’s.

Goddamn it’s annoying as hell.

Gavin being a little shit who eyes Geoff like he’s an idiot when he realizes who he is. Of course Burnie’s mentioned Geoff, who does he think dug up all the dirt the Roosters have on Geoff?? He just didn’t recognize him without that stupid mustache of his.

Also, the bruises and such don’t help. (Attempted murder will do that to you, though.)

Geoff’s got this shitty place to stay, and Gavin’s isn’t that much of a step up?

BUT.

Gavin’s got all this security Geoff’s place doesn’t and a better view and Gavin gives up on trying to get Geoff out of his place after a while. (Figures Burnie wouldn’t be best pleased if Geoff gets himself killed a week into his move to LS and this way he can send Burnie updates on Geoff with less work on his part.)

And then Geoff starts getting to know his new city, right?

Finds out all these interesting things that make it into his articles/blog posts and he’s smarter about it, but feathers still get ruffled.

And then!

Geoff’s been out of town digging up leads on a story hes working on and goes back to his own place for once and comes across some asshole who broke in while he was gone?

Geoff’s tired as hell and not in the mood to give any fucks and realizes the guy’s either there to rob him or kill him, because of course.

“Hey, quick question,” Geoff says, because someone trying to kill him isn’t a new experience by now, just.

Y’know.

Wow, okay.

Wow.

The guy with the gun stops talking in the middle of his little monologue or whatever he was doing (something, something, blah, blah blah?) and stares at Geoff.

At least, Geoff assumes the guy’s staring at him. (The mask makes it a bit hard to tell for sure.)

“What the hell is up with the mask?”

Dramatic bastard in a dumb jacket and fucking Halloween mask like the shop on Vespucci sells, you know?

Poor Ryan – because of course it’s Ryan – is just. Offended because one, does this asshole know who he is? And two, the mask is a Choice. (Unironic one at that.)Anyway.

Ryan’s not there to kill him so much as check on Geoff as a favor to Gavin?

Gavin had to run to Liberty City as a favor to Burnie and called in a favor of his own with Ryan.

All this backstory between the two of them since Gavin got to Los Santos Geoff never gets the full story about?

At most he gets snippets here and there, all, “Oh, yeah, someone hired him to kill me, and “Bastard shot me,” and “Jesus Christ, Gavin, would you give it a rest? I said I was sorry.”

Geoff is rightly Concerned about all of that and doesn’t know what happened or how much to tell Burnie because where would he even fucking start?

Also? It’s pretty clear whatever happened in the handful of months Gavin was in Los Santos before Geoff got to town that Gavin and Ryan are totes BFFs in the most alarming way?

Yelling about a fucking coin for whatever reason and Ryan threatening to murder Gavin over everything that would have any sane person running for their damned lives but Gavin is just :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD about it while Ryan is *SIGH*.

They’re confusing as hell, is the thing.

Also, Ryan takes to hanging out at Gavin’s place all goddamned time too when he’s in the city.

Casually mentions this asshole or that one putting a price on Geoff’s head and maybe avoid dark alleys until Ryan can “take care of it” and so on?

Geoff being “Jesus Christ,” because never has he heard someone be so creepy/menacing in such an offhanded/nonchalant manner?

But true to Ryan’s word, whoever is trying to kill Geoff that week kind of…doesn’t? (Geoff doesn’t know how Ryan “takes care of it” and is smart enough not to ask.)

And after a few close calls – Ryan can’t be there all the time and shit gets past him no matter how good he is – he drags Geoff to a shooting range. Puts a gun in his hands, arms crossed and tells him to show him what he can do.

Because, look.

Geoff was in the military and while he’s got no love for guns these days there have been enough people after his head he should maybe rethink that?

Geoff just looks at Ryan like >:( and deliberately misses the target all “Oh, no,” woes is him guess he’s a lost cause and maybe they can get the fuck out of there?

But no.

No.

Burnie likes Geoff for some godforsaken reason. Gavin likes him.

Ryan…tolerates him.

The last thing he wants is for Geoff to get his dumb idiot self killed because he’s stubborn as hell.

So.

They stay at the range for hours until Geoff gets tired of it and actually bothers to aim? And okay, yeah. Not a marksman like Gavin or anything – and Geoff would like to be surprised about that bit of information, but he’s not, really, given some of the stuff Gavin and Ryan have let slip in passing – but he’s not the worst shot Ryan’s seen.

Still.

“Target practice,” Ryan says, and it sounds like a threat, which of course it does because Ryan and they end up with these regular ~dates at the shooting range until Ryan’s satisfied he won’t shoot himself in the foot or something.

And then!

Gavin drags him down to this community gym – rundown neighborhood and awful color choices for the décor when they get inside? Who the fuck puts orange and purple together anyway?

But, okay, but.

Geoff is fascinated at how awkward Gavin is once they get there? This little asshole dragging Geoff out of bed as ass o’clock in the morning and not taking ‘no’ for an answer and surprisingly strong grip.

In all the time Geoff’s known him Gavin’s been fairly confident as a whole, you know? Total asshole but one who knows his shit and everything, but the moment they get inside the gym and this guy comes over to greet them, he gets flustered.

And, oh, does Geoff ever take notice of that, like he takes notice of the way the guy’s face lit up when he spotted Gavin. (INTERESTING.)

Geoff watches the two of them fail-flirt for a while until some asshole comes into the gym and yelling about something? Sounds annoyed as hell and super assholish?

Geoff’s expecting it to be trouble – an annoyed client or customer or whatever. Expects this Jeremy kid to have to soothe some douchebag’s ego or boot him out of the gym for being a douchebag, but no.

Because Jeremy and Gavin seem super delighted at this asshole who walks over, some kid with this scowl on his face ranting about something Geoff’s not really paying attention to and that’s how Geoff meets Jeremy and Michael.

Finds out Gavin dragged him all the way down to the gym Jeremy owns/runs and Michael sometimes helps out with – lot of local kids go there to stay off the streets and fuck knows Jeremy’s an idiot who needs all the help he can get, right?

Anyway, anyway, Gavin dragged him down there to get the two of them to knock him around a bit on the mats. (Oh, sure. It’s supposed to be for self-defense or whatever bullshit they tell him? But really, it’s Gavin being passive-aggressive about Geoff drinking his good coffee or spilling his loose tea the other day or something. Definitely not the asshole being worried about him and trying to keep him safe or anything, God no.)

Whatever it’s almost worst the bruises and sore muscles to watch Gavin and Jeremy completely fail to notice they’re super into one another. (OR that Michael’s waiting for the two of them to get their shit together because it’s pretty clear they’re also into him, and he’s stupid enough to like them back and Jesus Christ, Geoff, you have no fucking idea okay. NONE.)

And like.

Geoff being introduced to all these assholes and their asshole friends and realizing he’s got more contacts/friends in Los Santos on the wrong side of the law than ever before and Burnie laughing at him when he tells him so during one of their phone calls, because fuck Geoff’s life.

(Not like it matters in a city like Los Santos anyway, but. Still reason for some level of concern. Or something. Whatever.)

The thing where someone really wants Geoff dead and there are Dramatic life and death moments in which he gets a little shot/stabbed and so does Ryan.

They have That Moment where they’re looking one another in the eye and are like, fuck because they have FEELINGS for one another and also have been dating for some time down without realizing it?

And then Gavin and the others have to rescue them – which, talk about embarrassing – and also :O because those little shits had a fucking betting pool on how long it would take Geoff and Ryan to realize they’re an old married couple at this point.

(Michael being ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  about it when Geoff and Ryan give him these LOOKS because talk about pots and kettles, assholes, but hey. Not his fault he had the bad luck to fall in love with a pair of oblivious assholes, and also do they want in on that betting pool or not?)

Whatever, Geoff’s life sucks anyway.

He’s still out there writing his news stories exposing assholes who deserve it because of course he is, but he’s got standing ~dates with the fucking Vagabond at the shooting range several times a week on top of that.

(And if they stop off for dinner or a movie on the way or head out to Del Perro Pier or somewhere else other nights, that’s no one’s business but their own, and also shut up about it.)

Gavin drags him to Jeremy’s gym where he gets beat up o the regular by those assholes – sometimes they bring in some of Jeremy and Michael’s kids who are the real hard-hitters down there and Jesus, his fucking shins.

Somewhere along the line Jack gets sent to Los Santos – Burnie’s concerned about Geoff, he really is, what with all these assholes bullying him around - and also, maybe, some Rooster-related business going on out there he wants someone capable to run.

And then Lindsay and Trevor and all the others and Geoff gives up pretending his life is in any way normal, especially when he gets his own place after a while.

His lease on his old place ran out and he can’t stay in Gavin’s spare room forever, you know?

He is a little surprised when he realizes Ryan moved in to his new place at some point, though.

Like.

“Hey, quick question,” Geoff says, because he’s actually okay with the fact he’s totally lost control of his life since coming to Los Santos. “When did that happen?”

(Okay, so that happened before all that, but let him have this, okay? Please.)

Ryan rolls his eyes because Geoff’s kind of dumb, and then smooches? Because really, Geoff.

[thechanelmuse]

Plantation reviews: Some white people don't want to hear about slavery at slave sites

“It was just not what we expected.”

“I was depressed by the time I left.”

“ … the tour was more of a scolding of the old South.”

“The brief mentions of the former owners were defamatory.”

“Would not recommend.”

These are a few of the apparently negative reviews posted online about guided tours of Southern plantations, some of which went viral Thursday after former Colorado congressional candidate Saira Rao tweeted a screenshot of one.

Approximately 12.5 million human beings were kidnapped from their homes in Africa and shipped to the New World from 1514 to 1866, according to historian Henry Louis Gates Jr. One in eight died en route. Most were sent to South America. In 1860, the Census counted approximately 4 million enslaved people in the United States, according to PolitiFact.

“Would not recommend. Tour was all about how hard it was for the slaves,” wrote one reviewer of the Whitney Plantation in Louisiana.

Slaves who lived on plantations typically worked 10-16 hours a day, six days a week, according to the University of Houston’s Digital History. Children as young as 3 were put to work.

“I was depressed by the time I left and questioned why anyone would want to live in South Carolina,” read one review posted to Twitter about the McLeod Plantation in Charleston.

In 1860, 402,406 people were living in South Carolina not because they wanted to, but because they were enslaved. They made up 57 percent of the state’s population, according to census data.

“I felt [the African American tour guide] embellished her presentation and was racist towards me as a white person,” another McLeod visitor wrote.

In 1993, historian Clarence J. Munford estimated the value of the labor performed by black slaves in the United States between 1619 and 1865, compounded with 6 percent interest, to be $97.1 trillion. In today’s dollars, without further compound interest added, that would be $172 trillion.

“Our guide Olivia offered a heavy bias with only the hand-picked facts that neatly fit her narrative and for a large part weren’t germane to a plantation tour,” one person said of the McLeod Plantation, according to a review posted to Twitter, before following up with the racist comment, “I found it amusing when she told us some freed slaves fled to northern cities like Baltimore and Detroit where they continued to thrive to this day!”

As many as 100,000 people escaped slavery on the Underground Railroad, according to historian James A. Banks.

“There is really nothing good you can say about slavery but I felt [the tour guide] took it too far. His information is correct but I think he left off part of the story,” one review read.

This month, Virginia will commemorate the arrival of the first enslaved Africans in 1619, which ushered in 246 years of brutal subjugation for millions of men, women and children. One of those slaves was named Angela.

“If you’re looking to visit a traditional plantation, look elsewhere,” one review read.

Many plantations, including George Washington’s Mount Vernon and Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, are working to present a more accurate image of what life was like for slaves and slave owners.

For those who may prefer a fuzzier, less accurate portrayal of plantation life, “Gone with the Wind” is streaming on Amazon and iTunes for $3.99 — a low price but still higher than the average slave’s wage, which was $0.

Source

White people are something else. Absolutely strange and whiny as fuck. Why would those white people go to those plantation tours and then complain? Because they are drawn to white power (at the expense of people who aren’t white). They assumed they would see a plantation still furnished with decor from the past and see everything through the perspective of a slave owner rather than the dark, horrific history of how the home and entire land was built and managed by “his/their property,” enslaved Black people who were raped, whipped, tortured, and lynched on that land. They brought out their own white guilt.

I always find it funny that white people will bring up the Holocaust to “make it make sense” for other white people as if empathizing with white Jews will immediately translate to those white people empathizing with Black people (Black Americans, in this case).

(Just in case someone tries to be an asshole and flip the subject because I stated “white Jews.” Jewish is not a race, but rather an ethno-religious identity. I expounded on it at the end of this post here. Carry on.)

As for that other tweet about white people’s obsession with having weddings/events on plantations. I immediately thought about Blake Lively and her attraction to the Antebellum South. She got married to Ryan Reynolds on a plantation, and had a photo shoot on another plantation for her fashion line, Preserve. 🙃

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #691 (August 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMEN! The Superman in Black and the black Superman (Steel) infiltrate the giant mega-fortress made by the black-hearted Superman (Cyborg) over the ruins of Coast City. Steel and the Man in Black didn't seem to get along when they first met two weeks ago, but they quickly bond as they battle of hordes of robots and alien warriors together.

Meanwhile, we find out Superboy survived last week's missile explosion over Metropolis and landed on a dump by the bay, where he's warmly greeted by Lex Luthor II. Lex wants to know where Supergirl is (she disappeared around the time Team Superman left for Coast/Engine City), but Superboy isn't much help in his current condition.

Back in the robo-fortress, Steel marvels at the Man in Black's incredible luck: whenever a robot's about to shoot him, its gun seems to malfunction and explode. It's like some invisible superbeing is following them around and helping out! Because that's exactly what's going on -- Supergirl's been tagging along the whole time in her invisible form, helping the Supermen while snooping all over the Cyborg's fortress. Now that's she watched enough aliens pooping, she's ready to reveal herself.

Elsewhere in Engine City, the Cyborg's lackey, Mongul, has grown tired of being bullied by his boss and is like "screw this, I'm out". He plans to go back to space after prematurely activating the engine that gives Engine City its name, even if it destroys the planet. Oh, yeah, and said engine is powered by... a huge chunk of Kryptonite! Somehow! TO BE CONTINUED.

Plotline-Watch:

Hey, wasn't this the Eradicator's series? Where is that guy? Still recovering at the Fortress of Solitude, where the robots tell him he should be in tip-top condition in a few weeks or so. Unfortunately the Eradicator, too, goes "screw this, I'm out" and uses up all of the Fortress' juice to heal himself early. He then emerges from the Fortress' ruins looking like Clint Eastwood in a swimsuit.

FORTRESS DESTRUCTION COUNT: 2. The previous Fortress-destroying instance was also caused by the Eradicator (back when he looked like a space egg), but hey, he built the place, so it's okay.

GOOF: The Man in Black claims he hasn’t felt this helpless since the dashing Mr. Mxyzptlk took his powers away in Superman #49, but that didn’t happen to him, that happened to Superman. Who’s now dead. Duh.

As of this issue, Steel, Supergirl, Superboy, the Eradicator, and even Mongul are in the "Man in Black is the real Superman" camp. Don Sparrow says: “I like that so many characters take the time to acknowledge that there’s just something about the Man in Black that makes them feel like this is the real Superman. Even villains!” FOOLS!

Gonad Face and Lil' Lion Guy from Superman #81 are helping Mongul in his escape/sabotage plan. The Cyborg doesn't inspire a ton of loyalty in his subordinates, it seems.

Maybe everyone should have seen the Cyborg's heel turn coming, given that the dude talks like Doctor Doom.

Wait, holy shit, just realized something. In Jonathan Hickman's Fantastic Four comics it's established that all alternate versions of Reed Richards from across the multiverse eventually go mad and turn evil, except for regular Marvel Universe Reed. And, as you know, Hank "Cyborg" Henshaw started out as a blatant Reed copycat. Damn, this Superman era is so good at pre-planning that they foreshadowed an event happening in another company decades before the fact.

More commentary and stuff I missed from Don Sparrow, after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We start with the cover, and it’s a pretty good one, if a little busy.   We get a nice central image of the man in black breaking through, with images of the other Supermen among the shards.  The white teeth on the cyborg look a bit off, but otherwise a pretty good cover (note that they even fractured the title dress, which is a rare thing!)

The issue opens with a pretty cool full page splash, showing the enormous scale of Engine City  I’m still confused how large expanses of flat, smooth surfaces could “grow” out of the techy little pods they showed during Coast City’s destruction, but clearly I think about this too much.  

This issue is mainly a lot of slugging it out with a crew of alien mercenaries, the bulk of which appear to be Gordanians, alien slavers from the pages of Teen Titans, to my eye, which is a nice in-universe touch. [Max: Ha, you’re right! I thought they looked familiar but couldn’t place them.]

There’s a maybe visual callback to an earlier issue, where Superboy fails to fly after his confrontation with Lex Lunior.  It reminded me of way back in Adventures of Superman #480 when Superman couldn’t remain aloft after narrowly escaping vapourization in the sun when fighting the Eradicator.  

Nobody draws Cyborg Superman better than Jurgens and Breeding, but Jackson Guice does a pretty great job on page 9, showing the metalhead in profile.

I love the cutaway view of the Fortress of Solitude on page 11—these blueprint-like illustrations of lairs were a lot more commonplace in old comics, so I love the effort to show how expansive the place really is.  Or, was, for the next five minutes, as the Eradicator once again trashes the place to absorb more power.  I suspect Eradicator’s apparently blinking eyes are a colouring error on the following page, which is a shame, because it’s an otherwise excellent drawing.  I also like that they make the Eradicator look different from this point on, as it would be weird to have Superman, Cyborg Superman, AND Eradicator more or less all be sharing the same features (and Superboy looks more than a little like the real steel deal as well).  Keeping with Eradicator’s vigilante justice vibe, he looks for all the world like Clint Eastwood, circa 1994 here.

Some great colour work on page 20, when we see Superman and the Man of Steel as viewed with Cyborg Superman’s infrared vision, as well as a nice in-story callback to the poster from the Cyborg’s first full issue.  

STRAY OBSERVATIONS

Godwatch: Roger Stern is the most consistent user of Biblical imagery and quotations, and he leans into that on page 14, as Bible-sounding phrases like “power and…glory”, “vengeance shall be mine” and even the narration says “Heaven help us all.”  Steel invokes a deity when Supergirl is revealed, on page 16.

It’s a nice detail that Superman takes time to reload his weapons, as mentioned on page 17.  It also adds a practical use to his badass Image-comics-y bullet belts.

I like that Supergirl helping Superman with flying and leaping explains some of his ability, but it’s also exciting that we get little hints that he’s slowly regaining his powers, as when he leaps the 30 feet on page 18. [Max: I just assumed she was gently carrying him down there.]

The issue is mostly Superman and Steel duking their way into Engine City, where not a lot else happens.  This makes the intrigue between the Cyborg and Mongul all the more interesting.

Mongul is a big talker, but as discussed on the message boards for this very site, he does more than bow to the Cyborg when they meet again much later on.

[Max: The back of the Cyborg’s hand must be worn down by now from all that smooching.]

[cinephiled-com]

New Post has been published on Cinephiled

New Post has been published on http://www.cinephiled.com/interview-tone-grottjord-glenne-explores-legacy-child-sexual-abuse-powerful/

Interview: Tone Grøttjord-Glenne Explores the Legacy of Child Sexual Abuse in the Powerful ‘All That I Am’

After five years in the foster system, 18-year old Emilie returns to her family home to rebuild a fractured relationship with her mother and her younger half-siblings. Over the next two years, a determined Emilie begins to heal the trauma that haunts her, learns to speak her truth aloud, and takes her first steps towards a self-determined future. Now Emilie must gather the courage to reveal to her half-siblings the reason their father was imprisoned and their sister went away. Told with a commitment to emotional insight and dedication to Emilie’s subjective experience, All That I Am is the story of an extraordinarily courageous young woman on the cusp of adulthood finding the voice that was long denied to her.

This moving Norwegian documentary is essential viewing for anyone with an interest in helping victims of child sexual abuse. I was happy to talk to the film’s talented director, Tone Grøttjord-Glenne, from her home in Norway about this important film. The filmmaker is currently overseeing a digital platform that will allow people to use the film to learn more about this horrible worldwide problem and to help those who work with its victims. The film is currently a part of the online Hot Docs Online Festival.

Danny Miller: I’m especially grateful for this coming out right now during this time when people are quarantining with their families. I worry so much about kids in abusive situations who are stuck at home.

Director Tone Grøttjord-Glenne (Photo by Stine Østby)

Tone Grøttjord-Glenne: Yes, it’s a very serious problem for all the children who are trapped in their house with their abusers. Of course, that’s true even when there’s not a pandemic.

Right. I was very impressed by Emilie. It was so brave of her to put herself out there in that way. How did you decide to feature her as the main subject of this film?

I was doing research with police departments in Norway and the people there who do the interviews with children who have been sexually abused. I spent half a year with them reviewing cases. One day they told me about this girl they talked to several years earlier that they could never forget. It was Emilie and she had just turned 18 so I went to meet with her. I already knew her story — that she had been sexually abused from the age of six to twelve, and that she had finally told a teacher about it and had been moved into foster homes. When I met her, she had only recently been reconnected with her mom and half-siblings.

I assume the person featured in the film had to be over 18.

Definitely. It had to be someone who could really grasp and deal with what it would mean to have her story presented to the public in this way — and we wanted to follow Emilie’s story into the present. When I met her for the first time, I invited her mother to come along. I knew their relationship was still quite fragile at that point and they were just getting to know each other again and I didn’t want Emilie to be in the film without the support of her mom. I saw that there was a really strong mother-daughter story there. And I was constantly impressed by how expressive Emilie was — it was like her emotions were outside of her body, and I thought it was important to follow someone where you could see the effects of the sexual abuse in her daily life without making her talk about it all the time.

I was moved by her mother’s courage in putting herself out there in the film. I can only imagine the guilt she felt about the whole situation. Was she worried about how people might respond to her role in Emilie’s story?

Oh yes, she was quite worried about that. We decided to really take our time with the film as Emilie adjusted to life back at home. We started shooting in January 2016 but we didn’t launch the film until March of this year. That last scene in the film, when Emilie is about to tell her half-siblings what happened, was actually shot in late 2017. We then waited a whole year while the family went to the therapy to try to mend itself. And then the psychologist we were working with had us wait another full year until the family was ready, before we even started editing. We wanted Emilie to be a bit older when the film came out.

Wow, so it sounds like at any point in that process things could have happened that would have caused you to make the decision to not release the film at all.

Yes. We didn’t want to put any extra pressure on the family while they were dealing with so much. But ultimately we all decided that releasing this film could be a great help to the people and organizations who work with this issue every day. We’ve already seen how they’re using it as a tool in their trainings.

The officials working with Emilie that we see in the film seem very skilled and compassionate.

We really didn’t know how deep she’d be going into the system. After we began, she got a call from the welfare administration that felt Emilie was now ready to go back to work and they wanted to talk to her about that since she had been receiving a monthly stipend from the government. Emilie called and asked if we wanted to go with her to film that meeting so we worked it out.

I think that’s a very important scene to have in the film.

When we screened the film for welfare administration offices around Norway, that scene really started a lot of conversations. They saw how they were pressuring Emilie to move faster than perhaps what was best for her so it became a teaching moment. In that first meeting, she wasn’t really ready for a job and she kept trying to tell them that. When they saw the film, they started talking about how they had to listen to their clients more and really make them a part of the process.

It’s tricky, though, because I can also see how they were just trying to motivate her and get her over the hump of her fears about being in the world. I think the whole film could be used well to help train the people who work with this community.

Yes, that is my hope, too, and I’m happy to say that many of these groups came to see the film when it opened in Norway in March. I wrote an article about those screenings that was distributed to all 500 of the child welfare offices across Norway. And now the digital platform we’ve created is being used by many such groups. The platform uses scenes from the film mixed with interviews with experts, texts, reflection questions, and all that. The site will be fully up and running within the next few months. And I’m working with some universities in the U.S. as well.

When you’re making a documentary, you never know exactly how the story is going to go. Were there any big surprises for you during the shoot?

When we began, I had no idea that Emilie would go to civil court against her abuser. That ended up being a great way to give some important background information to Emilie’s story without making her talk a lot about it in the present. It also showed how what happened was causing her to struggle in her everyday life. The scene in which she’s talking to her lawyer at court and then has to see her abuser standing there smoking a cigarette was very intense. We can really feel how scared she is. That scene ended up having so many functions and layers.

This film is different from others that I’ve seen on this topic in that it really shows how child sexual abuse affects the entire family. While I totally empathized with the mother and why she didn’t want her younger children to know what had happened with their dad who had suddenly disappeared from their lives, it’s clear that they really needed to be told the truth, as painful as it was. Seeing the process leading up to that meeting is so helpful.

It’s interesting because Emilie is a very non-confrontational person. I knew she really, really wanted to talk to her mom about some of things that happened and part of me was just waiting for a scene in which she would explode and start yelling about how sad she was that her mother had not been able to meet her in the way that she needed, but that never happened despite how much I was always writing that scene in my head. Emilie is very low key and all of the serious conversations she had with her mom happened in much more subtle ways, not like they would in a fiction film. I remember one day when the mom was telling her how worried she was about the younger siblings knowing the full story because she was afraid they would tell their friends and then there’d be a lot of shame for the family. And then Emilie said, “Well, you know, when you’re not allowed to speak about anything at home, it’s not so strange that you have to speak about it elsewhere.” I think that really had an impact on her mother.

I think it’s precisely because Emilie is not someone who is prone to high emotion and histrionics that every emotion we see her having is that much more effective. I was on the edge of my seat during the tense build-up to that final conversation with her siblings. Do her brother and sister have any relationship with their father now?

They don’t, but at least now if they choose to have a relationship with him later, they can go into that relationship knowing the truth. They were very young when this happened and it was hard for everyone to open that box up again after so many years but it was really important to tell the truth so that they could all move on. Emilie and her mother both knew that the conversation had to take place, no matter how hard it was.

Again, I admire the mother for having the courage to let that happen.

I think she’s a very important character in the film because she represents so many mothers who are in that position. A lot of kids are being sexually abused, and a lot of them have mothers with a similar story. I’m hoping the film will help mothers and daughters have these difficult conversations. In the end, Emilie and her mom are able to have honest discussions about it and I hope that will give courage to other mothers and daughters out there. This is not easy stuff to deal with.

I’m glad that you got to have some screenings in theaters just before the pandemic hit. What were those like?

What surprised me is how many different sectors of people who work with children responded to the film. We had screenings for welfare agencies, police forces, and people who work in the court system. And, as I’ve said, we’re creating a lot of academic material that uses the film for training purposes, including teachers who are often the first people to hear about such abuse. I like that all these sectors can use the film to have a common reference through Emilie’s story, to talk about the best methods to use to help these children.

How is Emilie doing today?

She’s doing well! I think putting an end to all those family secrets changed her so much. She’s a lot more relaxed now and I can see that the film coming out has been very empowering to her.

[ahnsael]

I’m going to try to come back to tumblr. I left for a bit because it’s been rough with all the virus posts. I get that there are so many of those posts because it’s pretty much the main thing right now, but I can only take so much.

For now, I’m going to use Xkit to turn off reblogs.

There’s only so much I can handle right now. I’m two panic attacks in and while #2 wasn’t as bad because I knew what it was (the first time I literally thought I was going to drop dead before the ambulance got here, but on #2 I knew not to take medical resources away from someone who may need it more than I did after knowing that I wasn’t actually dying like I thought I was the first time). So while I want to be informed (most of you know I’m a news junkie, but I’m literally under doctor’s orders to limit my news intake), I have to try to limit things.

But I’ve missed you all more than you can possibly know.

I would appreciate any posts about the virus being tagged with either #coronavirus or #COVID-19 so I can limit my intake.

I’m not saying that I will not post about it myself, but I will tag my posts in the same way as I did before I needed to back away for a bit.

But you are my friends, and not having you in my life has made my life less enjoyable. So I need to try to be a part of your lives as well. I just...need to step lightly. If I see a post that may send me over the edge, I need to skip it if I realize what it is before I start losing it. But any warnings about it being about this thing would be VERY welcome. I know the coronavirus has kind of become the Voldemort of our time; some people don’t want to use the name when they talk about it. And I absolutely get that.

We are in unprecedented times. And I honestly don’t know how to handle it. My brain is all over the place right now and I don’t know whether I’ll be okay or not in the long run, mentally.

We’ve faced widespread viruses before (I thought the plural would be “virii” but a web search after the squiggly red line under the word I searched it and apparently it’s “viruses”), but it’s never been like this in my lifetime.

Some of you have reached out to me in messages, email, or on other sites, and I cannot tell you the amount of love I have for you. And, honestly, for those of you who are just tumblr friends who don’t know me elsewhere, I have love for you as well. Some of you who have reached out are practically strangers to me, but I follow you on here because your content is important to me as it fits my interests.

But I’m picky about who I follow. Tumblr, for me, is about relationships. I come here because I have friends here. And once in a while, I make a new friend. Some I get to know better than others. But I don’t just accept anyone into my circle. If we’re friends here, it’s because I genuinely like you.

So be gentle with me. I’m two panic attacks into this thing (the first landed me in the hospital because I had never had one before and genuinely thought I was dying within minutes). The second, while not good (and had me use one of my five pills meant to abate such a thing -- I still have four left), I at least understood what was happening and didn’t involve paramedics.

But...I do need to be careful. I don’t want another panic attack. I had never had one before last week, but...if you haven’t had one, I’ll just say they are SCARY AS HELL when you’re having one. Again, I spent hours in the hospital (and, under current circumstances, unable to even have family visit me), and I’m very fortunate that a panic attack was all that it was, but...if you haven’t had a full-blown panic attack, it’s SCARY AS HECK.

As in, I was once robbed at gunpoint and thought the guy was going to shoot me. This was scarier than that. I cannot overstate how much I thought I was about to die. I even told Facebook that I was probably done for. I could barely even move my hands (apparently that was from hyperventilation) but I have co-worker friends on Facebook and wanted them to know why I wasn’t at work whenever we are able to reopen. This is literally what I posted at the time:

I struggled before that to text my little sister to tell her that I loved her, after saying it to my mom in person. I literally thought it was my last chance to say it to both of them, and while I have more friends here than on Facebook, it was toe coworker thing that made me choose to post what I thought was my final goodbye there instead of here. I didn’t have the strength or the control of my hands to try to make a second post here. As I said, I thought I was going to drop dead before the ambulance got here.

Stepdad and Mom tried to get me to sit down, but I refused -- I honestly thought that if I let myself sit or lie down, I would never again stand up. Willing myself to stay upright, I thought at the time, was the only chance I had. I didn’t even want to get on the gurney for the ambulance ride for the same reason, but it’s not like one can stand up in an ambulance (and while it wasn’t a “lights and sirens” ride, the driver took curves and I almost fell off the gurney a couple times -- my legs were strapped in, but not my upper body, and I had to brace myself a few times to keep from falling off).

I was SO happy to be able to text my mom and my little sister to tell them that I was going to be okay and able to come home that day (last time I was at this hospital, it was for three days and two blood transfusions).

My sis had texted after my initial text to say that there was SO much that she wanted to say to me (which she has since said) but that she didn’t know whether I would have been able to reply (for the first bit, I would not have been physically able to -- it was all I could do at the time to send her the “I love you” message but I would rather die trying to tell her that than to leave it unsaid), or if I would be able to due to being in the hospital (and for the next couple hours, that WAS the case, even after my hands stopped seizing up and shaking uncontrollably).

I mean, I had an Evil Stepdad with a gun. I’ve been robbed at gunpoint. And yet this still stands out as the scariest moment of my life.

Maybe that makes me a wimp. Maybe it doesn’t. But tumblr has been my go-to social media for at LEAST a decade (granted, I have switched accounts once or twice).

I cannot get through this alone. And while I have Twitter and Facebook, both are mostly Disney (and on Facebook, the addition of coworkers). But y’all, my tumblr friends, know me better than anybody else. So I appreciate your support during these times, which some of you have already shown.

As a favor, I ask that you tag relevant posts with #coronavirus and/or #COVID-19 so I can limit how much the current situation affects me. If you miss one here or there, I get that. But while I like to keep informed (most of you know that I’m an absolute news junkie under normal circumstances and that I’m usually on top of things), I’m literally under Doctor’s orders to try to avoid news right now, but I also want to know the basics.

I’ve lived through an abusive stepdad who once tried to kill my mom. I’ve lived through natural disasters. I’ve lived through a LOT. I could probably come up with better examples if I had the mental energy. But I’m at my breaking point, and I’ve crossed that breaking point twice now and it would be a shame if I put myself over that edge again when there are so many other things that can do so.

I’m tentatively back, because I miss all of you. But that could change, because I need to take care of my mental health and avoid going over that edge again. Twice is MORE than enough.

No matter how you take this post,,whether you still support me or think I’m being a wimp, please be kind to one another in general and STAY HOME when you can (and when you cannot, PLEASE practice social distancing -- it’s only by us taking this seriously and supporting each other that we get through this).

And I mean this with absolute sincerity: I thank each and every one of you for being a friend. If we are friends here, we are friends in real life as far as I’m concerned. And the reason I’m friends with you is because you make my life better by being a part of it.