#ilsa faust || skills

[etxrnaleclipse]

Ilsa Faust

Fandom: Mission Impossible

Occupation: MI6 Agent

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Gentle Hands

Ilsa Faust x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: What happens when a dangerous spy gets disavowed? She goes right back to her roots. It’s unfortunate that those roots land her into a months long obsession with the current tenant of her childhood home.

Warnings: Yandere/Stalker Ilsa- Non-consensual watching of intimate activities, clothes stealing (panty stealing), non-con touching of non-sexual areas, masturbation (Reader and Ilsa)

A/N: I do not condone this behavior in real life. This is a character study, get OFF my ass. <3

Word Count: 2.0K

[Told from Ilsa's POV, third person.]

It was normal, to be this involved in someone’s life, certainly. If everyone had the skills that Ilsa did they would do what Ilsa did. This girl, this (Reader), she was interesting. Unusually so. She'd done good things to Ilsa's childhood town home. There were plants everywhere, and the windows no longer fogged over in the winter, which meant she'd probably renovated the old town home herself. Or perhaps the landlords had changed. Ilsa didn't look into those details; those were boring, useless details. What was more interesting than the renovations was the person who continued to spruce up the home. Fresh wallpaper had been put up the day Ilsa had knocked on the door. Ilsa remembered this very clearly, using her proficiency for keen detail retainment to remember the day vividly.

Fall leaves clung to the stone pathway that led up to the town home. Ilsa knocked on the door of her childhood home, fully prepared for any sort of introduction, any sort of grumpy old geezer swinging the door open and letting out a tired 'What are ya ringing the door bell for, love?'. But that wasn't what happened.

'Hiya, how can I help you?' a soft voice asked, opening the door to reveal a kind looking young woman.

'Hi, I'm Ilsa Auster, I used to live here. I wanted to take a look around the old house for a moment, check to see if anyone I knew still lived here.' Ilsa softly explained.

The young woman smiled back.

'Oh, I see. My name is (Reader). I'm afraid I don't recognize you or know too much about the previous tenants.'

'I wouldn't expect you to, this was years ago, you see.' Ilsa smiled thinly.

The young woman seemed to pause for a moment, deciding on something.

'Well if you'd like to come in and have a cup of tea, you're more than welcome to.' she offered, so sweet.

Ilsa had come in for tea. She'd seen the freshly wallpapered living room, smelled the drying paint, and she'd run her fingers along the new countertops the new landlord had installed. You were sweet to Ilsa the entire time, giving her the little information you had about Simon Faust, the elderly gentleman that had passed on from complications related to kidney failure, as well as a few tenants in between. The tea you served was made the proper English way, with loose tea leaves in a metal tea strainer, left to steep in a pot for five minutes while Ilsa had chatted with you. The sugar cubes you offered were sickly sweet, just like you. None of it would have made Ilsa do what she did next, none of it would have been something she'd dwell on at all, had you not touched her.

You'd given a soft squeeze to her shoulder as you bade her farewell at the door. A tender touch, full of trust, goodwill, kindness. Not too many people trusted Ilsa enough to touch her like that. In her line of work people didn't touch. A hand for support, a brief handshake for introduction, but mostly punches, slaps; hands wielded like weapons to leave bruises at the bare minimum, to end her life in the extremes. A kind touch was unheard of in her past life. With one small gesture, you had given Ilsa a taste of the life she'd given up working for MI6. It was this touch that ruined her; that made her ravenous for more.

That's why she was in front of her computer, browsing the cameras she'd placed inside your home. Hundreds of cameras to capture you from every angle as your hands worked. Those hands, petting your cat, watering your plants, cooking dinner (breakfast, lunch), touching anything and everything in that gentle way of yours. Those hands that soaped up your body in the shower, scrubbing yourself clean after a long day, those hands that lingered in the valley of your breasts and over the soft expanse of your stomach and roved over your bare thighs.

Those hands.

Tonight Ilsa was in for her favorite treat. You were tired, shifting uncomfortably, but not quite satisfied with something about yourself. Ilsa opened up a period recording app, tracking your cycle. She'd set this up this early on. It was interesting how predictable your behavior was in relation to your cycle; fascinating, truly. She smirked with glee. You were ovulating tomorrow. No wonder you were so uncomfortable.

'Feeling extra uptight, princess?' Ilsa whispered as she watched you squirm. 'Gonna give me a show?'

You gave in after five minutes. Phone down, reaching into your bedside table, bringing out that tiny little vibrator of yours that you adored. Ilsa had seen you use it a few times, but you used it most frequently during this window of heightened hormonal activity. You browsed on your phone, bringing up a cute little story. One of your 'fanfictions'. Ilsa could open your phone's software and see what you were reading if she really wanted to, but she didn't. Not now, anyways. She watched in excitement as you pulled your pajama pants down your legs, underwear too. Ilsa bit her lip. If you were taking them off all the way, this was going to be a good show.

The vibrator buzzed quietly. She watched in anticipation as you placed it against your clit, the soft gasp when you did.

'Princess, I might need to join in on this.' Ilsa smirked, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

You swiped through your phone reading avidly as the buzz continued. Your hips would wriggle a little, and you'd let out a soft 'hmm' or a breathy 'hihch' every once in a while, but that was it. Ilsa knew you weren't vocal. No, you were quiet. Ilsa shifted in her seat as you increased the vibrator's speed. She watched breathlessly as you seemed to be getting more into whatever you were reading.

'Oh, princess, now I know you're the quiet type, but you're putting on a show.' Ilsa whispered to the screen, eyes dilated.

She watched as your eyes rolled back and you panted quickly, going rigid for a few moments and then relaxing. The vibrator was back in the drawer before Ilsa had taken her jeans all the way off.

"No, damn it!' Ilsa slammed her fist on her desk. 'You're not playing fair, we're supposed to do it together!'

She watched as you walked into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and peeing. Ilsa groaned, slapping her mouse on the pad, browsing through her stored videos. She found her favorite of you, the shower video. It was sixteen minutes long, eye candy for the intense voyeur that Ilsa had become. The setting of the video was sensual. You were in your shower, and you'd set up candles, a singular soft light illuminating the otherwise candlelit bathroom. Your hair was tied up to prevent it getting wet, and all your movements were slow. You started out carefully, using that expensive bar soap you'd bought, lathering up your arms and legs, moving slowly. Ilsa groaned at the sight, pulling her panties down her legs, running her thumbs up and down her inner thighs.

You reached for that special scrub you bought, the expensive shit. She watched as you exfoliated, paying special attention to your breasts and your ass. Ilsa moaned at the sight, starting to rub slow circles around her clit. You rinsed the scrub off, shaving your legs and your armpits. Ilsa moved her fingers slightly faster as she watched, you were propping your legs up one at a time, and that angle was spectacular. Ilsa felt herself moving too close to orgasm too quickly, so she moved her fingers down, circling her entrance, dipping her fingers in carefully. She didn't want to orgasm yet, not when the main act was just starting.

Ilsa watched in silent awe as you reached for the shower head. It was new, another addition you'd added sometime ago, before Ilsa. You carefully adjusted the setting until the pulse of water was thin and violent. Your water pressure was too high, so you unscrewed the shower head just a titch. One leg on the shower ledge, the other straight, albeit barely bent, and when the water hit your clit just right, you allowed yourself to moan. Ilsa let out her own breathy moan in response, her fingers rubbing that spongey spot inside her while she used her other hand to rub her clit. She bit her lip as she watched your thighs shake, one of your hands slamming against the shower wall, keeping yourself up. Finally, it happened. You let out a soft series of gasps and whines, your leg shaking as you came.

The sight of that, the sound, the angles of the cameras, it was enough to get Ilsa orgasming. She let out her own quick pants and soft moans as she rubbed her clit furiously, working herself through that high. The video ended with you gently running a softer stream of water between your labia, rinsing everything clean.

'Divine.' Ilsa let out a breathy chuckle.

Flipping tabs, Ilsa returned to checking up on you, skimming the video feed. You hadn't done anything interesting in the sixteen minutes she'd been replaying your best performance yet. You'd done a few housekeeping things such as returning to clean your vibrator, remake the bed, change your panties.

Your panties.

Ilsa switched cameras, zooming on them. They were soaked, caused by ovulation no doubt. Ilsa bit her lip, envisioning just how wet they would feel in between her fingertips. You looked tired, throwing the panties into your laundry basket. Your exhaustion was to be expected. Ilsa had ensured that you would always be ready to sleep at a set time; she'd switched your vitamins you'd take at night with sleep aids. You wouldn't know the difference, they looked the same as your iron pill, and you weren't tasting them to know the difference.

Ilsa smiled, pulling up her pants, grabbing the key she'd had made for your home. You were a silly girl, leaving that spare key in the flowerpot for when your Mom came over. It was a three hour errand to go to the locksmith, and no one ever asked a polite English lady about why the key was a spare instead of the original.

She slipped into your house through the back door, walking nonchalantly. Your neighbors didn't pay attention to who you had over anyways. Ilsa had talked to them a few times. They smoked too much weed to remember her, asking for her name everytime. Upon slipping in, she fed your cat a small treat. The 'Temptations' kind.

'Gonna stay quiet for me pretty girl? Yes you are.' Ilsa whispered, petting the cat until she purred, leaving a few treats to keep her occupied.

Slipping up the stairs, Ilsa quietly walked into your room, smiling at your slumbering face. Opening your closet, she grabbed those still wet panties, rubbing her fingers over the slick. Ilsa pocketed them. Ditsy girl you were, always forgetting which pairs of underwear you'd worn and which ones you hadn't. Ilsa creeped up to your bed, touching your sleeping form. You were too sleepy to notice, with your special pill and all.

'Hi princess. Don't you know better than to tease me like that? Your performance today wasn't all that stimulating.' Ilsa quietly cooed.

Taking your limp body in her arms, Ilsa was tempted to touch your new pair of panties, to see if they were wet, but she felt like that wasn't necessary. Besides, she wanted you to be awake the first time you two were together. She wasn't into fucking people when they were asleep; Ilsa didn't like how quiet they were. Besides, she'd already gotten off today. Ilsa decided on pulling you into her lap, cradling you quietly. She took one of your hands in hers, squeezing gently.

'Love these hands. Such gentle hands you've got.'

Ilsa kissed your face softly, but not your lips. No, she wanted you to be awake for that. She wanted you to remember Ilsa when she finally decided to make her move. But it wasn't time for that yet. Ilsa simply wasn't finished making the perfect person for you to love.

<----------------------------->

[ilsaafaust]

Dead Reckoning SPOILERS

Reasons why Ilsa Faust’s fate in DR is ridiculous and why there might be more to it: 

- McQ and Tom have always been so protective of Ilsa. They deleted the kiss in Fallout because they thought it made Ilsa weak at Ethan’s expense. That they’d fridge her is just soooo odd for them.

- Ilsa/Ethan first scene together is helping Ilsa fake her death and it is obvious to all of us and doesn’t really serve any purpose in the movie at all because she comes back immediately. I smell misdirection and foreshadowing. 

- They need to fool the entity. They know that the entity is trying to trap them, yet before the party, we never get to see them make an actual plan? We’re supposed to believe they just showed up at the party without a plan? Nope, there’s a reason why they didn’t show us any of that.

- Right before the party, Ethan says sth like “So we can’t trust anything outside this room.” helloo

- Ilsa’s smirking at the party? She knows something, she is up to something. 

- The entity thinks she’s dead at Gabriel’s hands and that means she is removed from the equation, basically making her a ghost and the perfect secret weapon to bring down the entity in part two.

- All the parallels to the first movie. Bringing back Kittridge. Remember how Jim Phelps “died” very similarly on a bridge in M:I 1? And what about the drug they use on Claire in that movie, making it seem like she’s dead?

- Ilsa is a very skilled fighter, she took down Vinter and Lane. She has a bloody sword while Gabriel has a knife and she doesn’t stab him from a safe distance? But keeps getting in way too close? The whole fight scene is stupid. And how did Grace manage to fight off Gabriel for so long but apparently Ilsa couldn’t? Something is so suspicious.  

- We never saw her die. Only her getting stabbed and her body. We know how easy it is to fake a death, once again, I’m mentioning that drug in M:I 1. And also, ahem Julia? Ethan knows how to fake a death.

- The reactions afterwards by the team are basically none and I refuse to believe that after RN and Fallout, they’d say sth about it for a minute and then never bring it up again.

 - Paris also got stabbed with one of Gabriel’s knives and Ethan thought she was dead but she wasn’t. 

- After writing Ilsa so bloody well in RN and Fallout, I refuse to believe they’d give her this shitty treatment and ending. 

-McQ said on threads that he won’t discuss certain plot choices until after part two.

[natchastxin]

trip to venice.

Summary: Ilsa brings you to Venice despite your refusal and you confess to her the feelings of hurt you’ve had since she left you in Amsterdam three months ago which leads you to join Ethan’s team. You find her in the aftermaths of the fight on the bridge.

Pairings: Ilsa Faust x f!reader

Warnings: blood, slight smut

A/N: I just finished watching Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part 1 so I’m writing this to make myself feel less sad. And obviously there are spoilers for MI Dead Reckoning so don’t read if you don’t want to.

You loved her, you really loved her and you thought she felt the same way too. She told you so herself just that night she spent in your room in Paris after a stressful mission. So why did you find your bed empty and apartment bare as if she was never there? Had you dreamed the whole night?

The only evidence that proved that the night had transpired was the singular note she left on your nightstand, propped up against a glass of water. On it, etched on the delicate white paper was a single letter: I. The letter was accompanied with a heart that was drawn in the same swoopy style as the letter.

You picked it up and quickly turned it over in your hands to see if she had written anything else. Much to your disappointment, that was it. You laid back in your bed with the note clutched over your heart and closed your eyes as the scenes of last night flashed behind your eyelids.

—

A frenzied knocking woke you from where you had fallen asleep on your couch while watching your movie. Worried sick about Ilsa, you thought it best to distract your mind with something else. She came to your apartment before she left for Kashmir, letting you know how the mission was going to go down as you braided her hair.

You met her while in the MI6. She was the agent and you were... well, you were also an agent but you were better known for your bomb-diffusing skills, how well you handled a knife, and your medical skills. Funny thing, that was actually how you met her, in a knife combat. You were tasked to bring her in because she had information on a known terrorist and caught her off guard. The fight ended with both of your legs wrapped around one another's necks until you called truce.

You fell for her quickly, quicker than anyone you had ever fell for before. It hit you that you were falling for her the way waves break against a barrier of rocks. You came to the realization one late night that two of you had gone to a bar for drinks.

You sat across from her in the headquarters in London, staring at her in your own subtle way— in a way that you thought she didn't notice— but she soon caught on whenever she looked up and you would quickly look back down at your paperwork. For her, she fell for you more gradually. It was a gentle love for her that she received from you, it was like the cool afternoon breeze that rustled through the trees of the forest; it enveloped you and left you wanting more when it left. This pining between the two of you lasted for years, through her disavowal which was shortly followed by your resignation from the MI6 to do privately contracted work all the way to the day she confessed to you that she loved you when she showed up at your apartment front door.

You opened the door and she was greeted by your very disheveled appearance. "Hey," she croaked out and your eyes immediately brightened, any trace of fatigue disappearing from your eyes.

"Ilsa."

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said, smirking.

"You're one to talk," you said, pretending to be cross and resting your hands on your hips. But you can barely keep your facade up long. Your real emotions of fear quickly break through your expression. Your lip trembles and you pull her towards you. She drops her duffle bag onto the ground and lets you melt into her embrace. "You were supposed to call," you tell her, you voice muffled by her shoulder. She laces her fingers through your hair to hold you close.

"I'm sorry, darling," she tells you and hugs you tightly, "I'm here now, I'm okay. We got to the bomb in time."

"The bomb?" You said, wiping your nose on your sleeve while pulling away, "Why didn't you call me? I could've helped."

"We didn't have time," she sighed out, "I got here as fast as I could."

"Come on," you said pulling her in, "I'll make you a drink."

—

The night progresses rapidly and both you and Ilsa down multiple drinks as she tells you how the mission unfolded.

"I have something to tell you," Ilsa said.

"Hmm?"

She pressed the lip of her beer against her chin and leaned towards you. "I love you," she said. Your heart beats rapidly against your rib cage and you breathe in that intoxicating perfume scent of hers. Her grip on the slippery glass tightened for a few seconds while silence filled the air as you came to terms with what the woman before you confessed. "I love you too," you whispered out. She takes your beer out of your hand and places it on the coffee table along with hers. She kissed you then, threading her fingers through your thick hair, trying to bring your lips closer to hers.

"I've loved you all these years," she tells you.

"Let's not waste any more apart," you said, "Do you want this?" You bring your hand to the first button of her shirt to indicate what you meant.

"I have longed for this day since the day I met you," she tells you, "I want this— I want you."

She straddles your waist and your arms encircle around her, bringing her impossibly close to your body.

You bring her to your bed and you make sweet love to her that night, you're gentle as she is with you. She lets you worry over her injuries and press kisses to the bruises on her neck. She cums on your fingers then your tongue multiple times and you bury your head into her heat for as long as she lets you, she then returns the favor until you're shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Mustering the remaining strength you had in your legs, you straddled her and brought both of your cores to each other, rubbing until she sobbed as she came and your thighs burned with exhaustion. You collapse next to her and bring her close to your chest. You kiss the top of her head and brush her hair with your fingers.

"Stay," you tell her, whispering it into the dark corners of the room, "I know you have to leave soon, but stay for the next two days— for me."

She closed her eyes tightly and let out a hesitant breath, "Only for you."

She kisses your chest, then your neck— sucking on your pulse point to mark you as hers. To be fair, you had done your fair share of marking up her body so now it was time she took her revenge. She kissed you long and slow, nibbling on your bottom lip until your lips became red like cherries. She takes your breath away every time she pulls away and you stare into her beautiful iridescent eyes. She slowly falls asleep in your arms and you spend the time counting the freckles on her eyelids before falling asleep as well. You held her close that night, not wanting to let go.

You woke up that morning blissful— if only that lasted for more than a minute. The bed was empty and so was the apartment. She had vacated and left not a single trace of her presence. That broke you. You collapsed to the floor, sobbing and clawing at your chest. Little did you know, this started a cycle for you and Ilsa. A cycle that always led her back into your arms in that tiny apartment in Paris. The next year, she waltzes in and out of your life whenever she pleases. It was as if she had forgotten that first night you had with her entirely. She would fuck you then leave the next morning and you were happy to give that to her if that meant you could have her for that little while.

You used to tell her about the dream you had for the both of you. The one that included laughter, coffee dates, the strolls you would take at the local park, the paintings the two of you would pick out to decorate your apartment, the patter of small feet that would fill the silence of the morning, and the infinite love that the two of you would share. She would lay there with her eyes closed, smiling happy. It was the only way this dream existed for her— in that small bed inside of the small Paris apartment you owned. The only place that dream lived was in yours and Ilsa's minds. You dreamt of a world where no one knew your names, a world where you could live anonymously, stroll down the streets hand-in-hand, free from the fear of someone harming you or Ilsa. She hides her tears when you describe this dream to her each time the two of you lay naked, sprawled together late at night. She let you dream for the two of you because that was the only way she could truly make you happy. You knew that she didn't want the same future you wanted but you endured.

Three months of taking the torture, you had finally confronted her. Not given the response that you deemed to be the truth, you sent her out of your apartment in fury, swearing that you never wanted to see her again.

"I thought what we had was real, Ilsa," you had told her, "You told me you loved me that first night in Paris when you got back from your mission with Ethan."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled.

The truth was that Ilsa was scared. She was scared what would happen if other people knew just how madly in love with you she was. She saw what happened to Ethan and how it affected him. She didn't want anything bad to happen to you so instead she kept you a secret and kept the relationship to a minimum because she saw it as the only way she could protect you. She would have you in the only way she could but she never knew how much she would hurt you in the process. You finally came to the realization of why she was treating you like such an ass one day the both of you had spent the night in Amsterdam.

"You're not Ethan," you told her in bed one night as you held her close, "And I'm not totally helpless. I know you love me, Ilsa. And I love you, more than you know. Despite everything you've done these past three months, I still love you even though I shouldn't."

"But I can't protect you."

"Baby, I can protect myself. You forget that I was a trained agent too. This is my life, I'm not going to let some future terrorist dictate who I should be able to love."

She left again that morning and that was the last you saw of her for the next three months.

—

Your head throbbed as you sat up. You quickly began taking in your surroundings and noticed that you were in a moving van. You clutched your head in pain.

"Hey, darling," a familiar voice said and your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. Familiar hands grabbed yours but you shook them off.

"Where am I? What are you doing here? What happened?"

No one gives you an answer. It seems like the two men at the front are waiting for Ilsa to answer you but she doesn't. All she does is stare.

"Fine, I'm leaving then if you won't give me an answer."

You stand up and you're about to open the door when Ilsa grabs your free arm. That does it for you. You twist in her grasp and eventually pin her down in the van.

"Don't fucking touch me," you spat.

"Hey now, c'mon," Benji in the passenger seat finally said, "Just tell her, Ilsa."

"We knocked you out when you came out of your favorite cafe. Something bad is happening, I— we need you," she said and it comes out barely a whisper. Your expression changes.

You finally let her go and sit up. She sits up and coughs, rubbing her chest.

"Why? Why now?" You asked, looking deliberately at Ilsa, waiting for her to answer.

"We're going up against this new enemy and we could use your help," Benji answered instead, "Ilsa has told us about your skills and, well, we need someone like you."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested. She knows why."

You motion to stand up again and this time Ilsa speaks in a stronger voice.

"Y/N. Please," she pleaded. You look at her, which was the first mistake. You could never deny her anything. You would always say yes to her even if it cost you. Your jaw clenched in frustration.

"Fine. But if I do this, I don't want to talk to you or see you ever again. You got it?"

"I understand," she said even though it felt like her heart was being wrenched from her body.

"You've hurt me enough times," you told her.

The two men at the front of the car exchange looks.

—

You sat in the back of the van when Benji brings Ethan in. You had only met Ethan once before, he was nice. But you didn't tend to base how good a person was from first impressions.

"Y/N," he said when he noticed you.

"Ethan," you replied.

"Nice to see you."

You nodded. He looks back and sees Ilsa's deliberately avoidant gaze, looking anywhere but at you. He lets out a very small sigh and looks at Benji who gives him a grimace, shaking his head. He knew what happened between you and Ilsa, one of three people that knew. He knew how much the two of you loved one another and how stubborn Ilsa could be. You, on the other hand, from his singular encounter with you, he knew that you had a kind soul. Why else would Ilsa love you so? Even if she refused to admit it.

You hold up a paper clip and help free Ethan from his handcuffs. "Are you okay?" He asked.

You nodded your head, busying yourself with unlocking his handcuffs.

"I'm always fine," you told him once you freed him.

"So what's the plan?" You asked.

—

"What would potentially happen if a government got their hands on this AI tech?" You asked while sharpening your knife nervously.

"We don't know," Ethan said, "We need to find the other half of the key to find out."

Luther shows him the surveillance footage from the chase in the airport, "I took out the footage from your glasses and looked through everything. See anything strange?"

He notices a man glitching and replays the footage, "It's like he's a ghost."

"We can't find actual video of him except for right here," Luther stops at a frame of Grace, "He only exists in this reflection."

"The Entity," Ethan says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "It's protecting him."

"You saw him, didn't you?" Luther said.

"I did, but I wasn't sure."

"Well who is he?" Benji asked.

"Someone I thought died a long time ago," Ethan said, "In another life, before the IMF. Before I was offered the choice."

Ethan looks up at Luther, "In a very real sense, he made me into who I am today."

Luther grimaced.

"Does he have a name?" Luther asked.

"He calls himself Gabriel," Ilsa said, turning from the window. You look over at her and she meets your gaze before switching to Ethan's.

"You know him," Ethan said.

"There is no knowing him. He has no recorded past— the Entity made sure of that. He's a dark Messiah. The Entity's chosen messenger and he sees death as a gift he wants to share with the rest of the world."

"How do you know this?"

"I still have a few friends in MI6."

She looks back at you but you look away. "Friends who are afraid," she continued, "Of the British government gaining control of the Entity. Any attempt to try to stop them would be seen as an act of treason."

"And because you're disavowed," you said, "Friends called and asked you for help."

"They knew Gabriel served the Entity," she said, "They knew he was on his way to Istanbul to acquire one half of the key but I beat him to it."

"Do your friends know what this key leads to?"

"They believe it leads to its source code."

"Source code," Luther echoed.

"When were you going to tell me this?" Ethan asked.

"I'm telling you now," she said.

"Hold on, did you talk to them in person?" You asked, "Your friends. Did this happen over a phone call?"

"I'm disavowed so they had no way of contacting me in person."

Her expression changed when she realized what you were implying.

"He wanted you to find the key," you said, your voice coming to a whisper, "He wanted you to bring the key to Ethan. This was a trap."

"No, we can't be sure that was the Entity," she said.

"We can't be sure it wasn't," you replied.

"We can't believe anything outside of this very conversation," Ethan said, "None of you should be here."

—

You sat with Benji in the other room as he revised the firewalls on his laptop. You leaned back in your chair, having switched to a different knife to sharpen.

"Why did you guys choose me? Of all the people you could've called, why me?"

"Ilsa wanted you here. She wanted to see you and make sure you were safe."

"Bullshit. She doesn't care about me," you laughed.

He looks at you and your belief in your words falters.

"Why did she leave me then?"

"It's the only way she could think to protect you. Yes, I know how that contradicts the fact that you're here now but you're the best agent she knows and she thinks that maybe she can better protect you this way."

"That's stupid," you scoffed.

"Not everything is always a clear path in Ilsa's head."

You look away to where Ilsa is standing in the other room. Benji follows your gaze.

"She still loves you, despite everything she's done to make it look otherwise and I'm guessing you still love her too."

You give an imperceptible nod of your head.

"Go tell her before it's too late. With our line of work, we never know how much time we get with one another."

"You're very wise, you know," you said, "When you want to be."

"Thank you," Benji said, his face brightening.

You walk to the room in which Ilsa is standing in. You tilt your head to the door leading to the roof and she nodded. You went first. She follows a few minutes later.

You stood on the rooftop, gripping the railing tightly. You bent down and stretched your shoulders before resting on the railing with your forearms. She walks over and leans with her back against the sunset. She lets out a loud sigh.

"You're mad at me," she noted.

"Great observation," you said sarcastically.

"Y/N..."

"What? What do you want from me, Ilsa? I've given you everything I have. Every time you turned for me I was there and now you pull me into this mission. You couldn't even talk to me first? I would've said yes, you know. All you had to do was ask. I would always be there, despite everything."

She doesn't say anything so you look at her. Hot tears are rolling down her face. Your heart broke again even though you knew that it shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Those nights in Paris then in Amsterdam."

Silence fills the air when she pauses. "I had a mission after Amsterdam and faked my death," she said quietly, "I wanted you to come with me but then I remembered everything I did— how I hurt you."

You turn around and lean against the railing, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I didn't realize that in my efforts to protect you, just how much I was hurting you in the process. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness but I want to give this a chance, a real chance this time."

You looked over at her, "I wanted to give this a chance too. I always have. But I don't want to get hurt again. I can't keep doing that to myself."

"I know. But what if I promised you that I would try? I want to be with you, whatever it takes," she said.

You think about it, was it really worth it to give her another chance? She was the love of your life, yes, but she had hurt you so many times, though not intentionally.

"Fine," you said, uncrossing your arms, "I'll give us a try. But I want complete honesty from here on out.

She nods, "I can do that."

So you let her back into your heart because your love for her outweighed the grudge you held against and it was the only thing you ever knew how to do.

She hugs you hesitantly and you move your arms to hold her closer. She smelled the same as the night in Amsterdam. You brushed your fingers through her desert colored highlights. She tucks her head under your chin, revelling in the comfort your embrace brought her.

"I promise that I won't hurt you," she said, "Not intentionally."

You kissed the crown of her hair and she looked up at you before meeting your lips. You let her deepen the kiss as you pull her even closer to you. She found a home in you that day. You held her closely by the waist, not wanting to let her go. A smile tugs at both your lips.

"You know, I've never been to Venice," she said.

"Really?" You said.

"Yeah, it's my first time here."

"Hmm, maybe I'll show you around after this mission's over. What do you think?"

"I think... it sounds like perfection."

She bit her bottom lip adorably before snuggling her head into your chest. You never wanted to let her slip away ever again. She feels your grip on her waist tighten as your mind drifts once more to the plan. She was going to meet Gabriel at the bridge and fake her death. The margin for error was so small, barely imperceptible to the human eye.

"What's wrong?" She asked, brushing her nose against your jaw.

"I don't like this plan," you confessed, "There's too many things that can go wrong. It's not safe."

"Darling, it's the only way we'll be free," she tried her best to make you see the brighter side of the plan.

"You could die, Ilsa. I can't have that happen."

"I'll be careful. He'll hit me here," she said, guiding your hand just clear of her heart, "I'll be sure of it. Besides, if things get out of hand, death will just have to withstand my will to stay alive."

"Ilsa, don't joke," you said, looking away. Your eyes sting with tears threatening to run away.

"I'm not joking- hey, look at me," she cups your jaw with one hand, "I'll come back to you, I promise." She rested her forehead against yours. "I'll be fine," she told you.

She follows you back down where everyone is changing into their attire for the party. Ilsa pulls you into her room and sits you down on a crate. She sits in between your legs. You give her a perplexed look.

"Could you braid my hair?" She asked quietly and your mouth breaks into a smile. "Of course."

You brush her hair gently to one side. She plays with her fingers while you comb through her hair, plaiting it expertly.

"I haven't had my hair braided since you left me," she confessed, "You've always been the person to do it for me."

You smile to yourself at the thought of this simple activity she saved just for you. You finish braiding her hair and place it over her shoulder. You kiss the side of your neck and she turns to capture your lips. She rises onto her knees and laces her fingers through your hair, pulling you to her. Her tongue slides against yours as you deepen the kiss. She moans into your mouth and you grip her waist tightly. You nibble on her bottom lip before she does the same to you.

Ethan walks in and the two of you break apart. A smile creeps onto his face. "Glad the two of you finally came to your senses," he said and a blush rises to both your cheeks, "Could I get a minute with Y/N?"

Ilsa nods and leaves the two of you alone but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your palm.

She walks back into the common area where Luther and Benji are working on their laptops.

"Nice hair," Luther commented.

"Why are your lips red?" Benji asked.

Her fingers rises to her lips instinctively and she blushes.

"Oh my god," Benji said and Luther smirks.

He stands up and points his finger while following her. She ducks and speed walks to the equipment. "You guys are back together aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Benji," trying her best to keep a poker face.

Benji smirks and crosses his arms across his chest, "I like seeing you happy. The two of you are good for each other, clearly."

Ilsa blushes again before ducking her head and rummaging through a duffle bag, "Thanks."

—

"I have a task for you," Ethan said, "While we're at the party, I want you to follow us from a distance. We have the advantage of Gabriel not knowing who you are. I need you to follow Ilsa and protect her. I won't be able to do that while I get Gabriel. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Ethan," you replied. He nods, "You'll be off comms so that there's no distractions. I just want you to follow Ilsa, don't worry about me. Alright?"

You nod.

"Take the weapons you need. I'll come find you when everything's done," Ethan said. He goes to stand up but you grab his arm, "Stick to the plan. Let her fake her death. I know it's going to seem real but don't worry, we've got this."

He blinks appreciatively at your reassurance. "Good luck," he said.

—

You were following Grace, Ilsa, and Ethan to the party. Watching them from a distance. Ethan had told Ilsa to run so you followed her to make sure that she would be alright. You finally caught up to her in a deserted alleyway. She swings at you with her fist before realizing who was following her. You duck and grab her arm.

"Y/N?" She said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ethan sent me, he told me to follow the three of you from a distance. He asked me to protect you." You moved in closer to her and inspected her face and she closed her eyes, taking in your concerned touch. "I'm alright," she told you.

"Good, you had me worried back there," you said. She opens her eyes and sees that you haven't moved from your spot. One of your hands moves from her face to her hip and pull her flush against you.

"I missed this," you whisper to her. She puts a hand against your abdomen. "What are you waiting for then?" She husked out. Her hand scrunches the front of your shirt and pulls you even closer to her body. You meet her lips, they were soft and they enveloped your own.

You pull away and rest your forehead against her. "We should probably go," Ilsa told you and you nodded, agreeing.

"I'll be right behind you," you said, "Do you have a weapon?"

She half unsheathes the sword she's holding and you smirk. "That's my girl," you said. You take one of the five knives on your body and tuck it into the back of the waistband of her pants, you hide the weapon with her shirt.

"I added a little something special," you told her.

She smiled and kissed you, "Let's go."

She takes off running and you run behind her. You hear faint sounds of combat and Ilsa comes to a quick stop, causing you to crash into her. She held a finger up to her lips. She motioned for you to stay here but you shook your head. She motioned for you to just wait and you reluctantly agreed.

She walks up to the bridge and you wait tensely behind the corner, glancing over to your girlfriend to make sure she was alright. She starts fighting Gabriel and she gets stabbed in the leg. She lets out a heart wrenching scream and you run over swiftly and quietly. You unsheathe the knife from behind your back and slash his thigh— his femoral artery. He yells in pain and clutches his leg; blood gushed past his fingers.

"Who the hell are you?" He grunted. "No one that you need to know." You flip your knife and help Ilsa stand up. "Go check on Grace. I'll handle him."

She limps over to Grace and checks her pulse. You momentarily let your guard down and Gabriel gets back up. "Y/N, look out!" She screamed. Gabriel punched you in the back of the head and knocked you out.

Ilsa's vision turned red with anger when she saw your body crumple to the ground. She picks up the sword again and advances toward Gabriel. Her swipes are sloppy and Gabriel can see it but nonetheless she gets a few slashes in. He takes advantage of her sloppiness and knocks her sword away easily. He slashes at her abdomen and it barely misses her. He cuts open her stomach and she lets out a gasp and clutched her stomach. He pins her against the side of the bridge. "This is what happens to whoever cares about Ethan Hunt," he hissed in her ear, "When I'm done with you I'll carve up your little partner. She'll look so pretty all slashed up."

"Don't ever fucking touch her," Ilsa gasped out in between breaths. Her hand inches to the knife you had tucked into her waistband.

"I kill you first and she won't have anyone to protect her," he cackled.

"She doesn't need me to protect her."

She pulls out her knife and stabs the side of his body. "If anything, she's been the one to protect me all along." He doubled over in pain.

He grunted angrily and stood back up, stabbing Ilsa in the chest, she moved slightly to the side as he did so. Her eyes opened in shock, letting out a shaky breath. She looks down at the knife then back at Gabriel.

Gabriel stumbles back and lets Ilsa slide to the floor. She closes her eyes to control her breathing. You finally open your eyes, your head is throbbing and you look around. You push yourself up with much difficulty and see Gabriel's retreating figure. "Hey, asshole," you yelled out, "You forgot to kill me."

"Your time will come," Gabriel said.

You stumbled to your feet and pulled a small dagger from your boot. As he turns his back, you throw the dagger at him. It lodged in his back and he fell over before crawling away.

You look around and see Ilsa and your heart drops to your stomach. You run over her and see the knife. Quickly taking her head into your lap, you check her pulse, letting out a temporary sigh of relief. However, that relief didn't stay for long, you had a performance to put on. You hunch over Ilsa's body and cry. Your shoulders shake as you discreetly take out her earpiece and crush it beneath your boot. You lower your lips to her ear.

"You did really good. I'm so proud of you," you whisper into her ear. From a distance, it just looks like your grieving over your lover's dead body.

You brush her hair soothingly, continuing to let the tears flow.

"I love you," you told her. Her eyes twitch so you press a kiss to each of her eyelids, over her freckles. You hold her head close to your body and she stays motionless.

You hear heavy sounds of footsteps from the distance and you know it's Ethan. Grace would be waking up any minute now.

"No!" Ethan yells when he sees Ilsa's limp body in your arms. He places his finger to her pulse and his eyes soften to sadness. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen," he said.

You sniffle and brush your tears, "She died protecting others. It's what she would've wanted."

Grace finally comes to and realizes what happened. She's in shock seeing Ilsa's "dead" body. "No, that wasn't supposed to happen. She's not supposed to be dead, she wasn't supposed to sacrifice herself," Grace starts hyperventilating, "Why did she do that? I didn't ask her to do that."

You lovingly brush at Ilsa's chestnut hair. "Ilsa was doing what she loved," you tell her without looking at her. You look at Ethan and place a hand on his knee, "Go talk to her."

You continue talking to her despite the fact that you look mad doing it. "You did good, my love. You did so good. I hope you can finally have some peace." You press a kiss to her warm lips before pressing your forehead against her.

Benji quickly but surely arrives only a couple of seconds later. He takes in Grace's hysterical expression and Ethan comforting her before his gaze landed on you. Your back faced him but he could see the tip of Ilsa's head. He hops out of the boat and rushed over to you.

"No, it can't be true. Ilsa..."

He takes in her pale complexion and the lack of movement from her chest. You look up with your tear-stricken eyes and a string of silent communication travels from your eyes to his. It was done.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. This wasn't how it was to go down."

You nodded sadly, "I know."

You sniff harshly and brush your tears away roughly. "Please can we just take her home," you clear your throat, "I don't want us to be all exposed here and she deserves a proper burial."

Benji nods, understanding, "Do you need me to help?"

You shake your head and lift her easily into your arms. You take her back onto the boat to the underside, safe from the eyes of the Entity where she finally opens her eyes. You burst into tears then, for real this time. She brushes them away, shushing you.

"I love you too," she whispered to you, "I'm okay. Didn't I tell you everything would be fine?"

You nod, still trying to recover from the events of the bridge.

"If you could give me a hand though," she said pointedly, looking at the knife.

"Oh yes, of course."

"It's a cute knife but it would be better out of my body," she muttered.

You chuckle before indicating to her shirt then your knife, she nods. You slice open her shirt to get better access to the wound. "If you wanted take me to bed you could've just asked," she teased and you rolled your eyes.

You open your duffle bag to take out your medical supplies. You spray antiseptic over her wound and she hisses. "Sorry."

She shook her head, "It's fine. Do whatever you need to."

You get a firm grip on the knife and give it a big tug. It comes out quickly and leaves Ilsa groaning in pain. You toss the knife across the boat and rip open a packet of gauze and cover her wound. "Here, apply pressure. I'll stitch you up."

You take out your suturing kit and help her lay down in the cramped cabin of the boat.

"I only have numbing spray," you tell her and she nods, "Okay, it might sting a little."

She nods again. You remove the gauze and throw 3 tight but delicate sutures on her shoulder before wrapping her chest with bandages.

"Now let's look at that stomach of yours," you said before moving to her abdomen. It had a wider slash but the cut wasn't as deep as the one of her chest. You stitch it up nonetheless then wrap it. You move to her leg and she very gracefully takes off her pants to reveal the wound. It was a small slice, 2 inches wide. You stitch her up and bandage her.

Benji stomps on the floor of the boat to indicate your arrival. You look back at Ilsa. "Ready to hide again?" You asked and she nods. You drape a sheet over her body before lifting her into your arms and carrying her to the safe house. Luther gives your arm a squeeze when he sees you and you blink appreciatively before going to the room you had claimed and laying her on the bed. You remove the sheet and she looks back at you.

"Get some rest," you told her.

—

She was still bleeding heavily despite the stitches you gave her but you were on your own. The rest of the team had left to deal with the mission while you stayed behind and cared for Ilsa. You cleaned her bandages each night and replenished her with nutrients. You bought medical supplies and stole some from a local hospital and brought them back to her. She gets a fever on the second day and falls unconscious, shuddering ever so slightly in her sleep.

You took in her pale appearance in the bed. She sunk into the bed and her freckles looked dull. They never looked like that. You prayed for her to wake up so that the color would return to them. She looked so weak, her skin as pale as moonlight. She looked too frail. Too unlike the Ilsa you knew. You knew she had to get better soon, she had too. You wrung put a wet cloth and wiped her burning forehead. She starting to show early signs of infection so you fed her antibiotics and stayed by her side every night, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Her fever finally broke on the fourth day. She wakes up and say your hunched over position by the side of her bed. She smiled gratefully at her guardian angel and combed through your hair. You sat up quickly at the feeling.

"You're alive," she croaked, her throat raspy from disuse.

"You're awake. God, I thought we would never make it out of that," you tell her.

"Oh baby," she said, a hand coming up to your face, brushing your cheek, "I'm okay. I'm alive. See?"

She brings your fingers to her wrist and you felt her soothing heart beat. You laid your head against her wrist. "Come, lay with me."

She slowly scoots over and you slide onto the bed with her and take her into your arms. "Don't move too much," you told her, "You'll tear your stitches."

"Thank you for being here," she said.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else. Just get some sleep, darling. I'll be here when you wake up," you told her, smoothing her hair. "Thank you for coming back to me," you whispered into her hairline and she closed her eyes with a smile on her face. You kiss her freckles repeatedly until she falls asleep.

—

When she finally heals, that's when the two of you say your goodbyes. Ethan, Benji, and Luther were the only ones there.

"But if you need me, I'll only be a call away," she told him and slipped a flip phone into his front pocket, "Only use it for emergencies. As far as the world knows, I'm dead." She gives him a tight hug. "And what about you?" Ethan asked, "What happens in your story?"

You shrug, "The love of my life dies and I decide to move to the quiet countryside of France and teach English." Ethan smiles, nodding his head, "That suits you." He gives you a hug as well.

"Treat her well," he told you and you nodded.

"If you're ever in France and need somewhere to stay..." you trailed off.

"I look forward to taking you up on your offer," he said.

"You ready?" You asked Ilsa and she nodded. She picked up her duffle bag and gave her last farewells to Luther and Benji.

"Come visit, okay?" She tells the both of them and they nod.

"Take care, Ilsa," Benji said while hugging her.

You approach Ethan one more time and take your favorite knife out from behind your back. It had an ivory white handle, a Persian tip, and a beautifully intricate wave pattern over the blade.

"This is for Grace. Tell her it's my gift to her for joining the IMF and taking Ilsa's place. We finally gets our happy ending now and it's all thanks to her."

Ethan nods, "I will."

"If any of you ever need us, I'll be there. You're Ilsa's family— mine by extension, we will show up, no matter what."

Ilsa laces her fingers with yours and nods. She gives you a kiss.

"Bye," you said. You and Ilsa exit to the boat that Ethan bought and placed under his name. The plan was to sail to France. It was a short ride and Ethan had packed everything you could possibly need into the boat.

"Go hide," you tell Ilsa and she nodded, "I'll let you know when we reach open waters."

—

You and Ilsa move into a chateau in the countryside, 30 minutes away from the beach. A place where the two of you could start fresh and build your family. There was a quiet town about a 10 minute bike ride, no surveillance cameras, just the eyes of locals who admired the love you and Ilsa had for each other. You and Ilsa went there on the weekends for grocery shopping before wandering around, trying the new patisserie shop around the corner, letting Ilsa feed you bits of croissant. The town made you and Ilsa feel young again, you would go out dancing like you were in your 20s, giggle in the back corners of the bookstore as you kissed one another and picked books for each other, let each other try their ice cream before agreeing which one was better. This quiet life, the one you and Ilsa always dreamed of was finally happening.

The two of you lounged on the couch together, reading. It was raining outside and the fire was crackling. She laid against your chest and you had an arm flung over her shoulder. She looks at your hand, the ring she gave you and smiles contentedly. She fiddles with the ring on your ring finger before smiling back up at you.

"Hey," you said, noticing her staring.

She moved your glasses from your face to the top of your head before cupping your face to kiss you.

"I'm happy we did this," she tells you.

"Me too."

She plays with your fingers while waiting, hesitantly, for the right moment to ask you a question that could change your lives.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" You asked, noticing her shift of mood.

She sits up and turns around, sitting on the backs of her heels, so she can talk to you face-to-face. "Would you ever want kids?" She swallowed harshly, waiting for your answer.

Your lips eventually break into a smile and nod, "If it's with you, then yes."

You put down your book and take her hands into your own before pulling her to rest on your chest. You stroked her back and played with the ends of her hair.

"Is that what was worrying you so much?"

She nods against your chest.

"I've been dreaming about having kids with you for forever, Ilsa. Of course I want them. I can't wait to see a mini you running around the house."

"I could settle for a mini you too," she tells you.

She smiled against your skin, her chest warming at the idea.

She lifts her head and kisses along your jaw. She nestled into the crook of your neck, breathing in your perfume. She felt a sense of fulfillment resting here in your arms. A fulfillment that she never got from joining Ethan's team. You offered her a life filled with love and safety and she wishes she had seen that earlier instead of running away. But there was no point in dwelling on the past now. You held her in your arms and she was going to cherish every single moment she could spend with you.

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Rebecca Ferguson on the relationship with Sweden - and Swedish film: "Give me a role" The criticism after the TV4 interview: "I don't want to fuck it up"

LONDON. Rebecca Ferguson, 40, has left Sweden and is taking Hollywood by storm.

But beyond the successes with "Dune", "Silo" and "Mission: impossible", she is careful to nurture the ties to her home country.

"I don't get that many Swedish offers, give me a role", says Rebecca Ferguson to Aftonbladet Nöje.

The Hollywood star is sitting in a suite at the five-star Rosewood Hotel in Holborn in central London. Here, the blockbuster "Dune: Part two" has occupied an entire floor for marketing and interviews ahead of the premiere date, which in Sweden is February 28.

Since a couple of years ago, London is also Rebecca Ferguson's hometown.

"I left Sweden, after covid I really moved", says the actress.

She grew up in Stockholm with a British mother and a Swedish father, went to Adolf Fredrik's music classes and broke through as a 15-year-old with the TV4 soap "Nya tider" where she had the lead role as Anna Gripenhielm. This in turn gave her a role in the American-Swedish drama series "Ocean Ave".

After she moved to Österlen in 2007 to be in the BBC's Wallander film "Sidetracked", she chose to stay in Simrishamn in Scania. There she met the filmmaker Richard Hobert, who gave her one of the main roles in the feature film "En enkel till Antibes", where she played opposite Sven-Bertil Taube, among other things. Then the international career really took off.

Wanted to start a colony Rebecca Ferguson played the main role of Elisabet Woodville in the BBC series "The white queen", for which she was Emmy nominated, Jenny Lind in the musical "The greatest showman" (2017) and the British spy Ilsa Faust in several "Mission: impossible" films. But when she wasn't working with Tom Cruise, Hugh Jackman or Michael Fassbender, she tried to build a life on the plains of East Scania. Until a few years ago.

"I built a large farm in Knäbäckshusen and tried to create some kind of colony there, with a key box, so that people could come and go, she says. "But then I had a long conversation with my son where I really said "what am I doing?"

Until 2015, she was together with Ludwig Hallberg, with whom she has a 16-year-old son, Isac. But according to Rebecca Ferguson, the ex-boyfriend was not completely on board with the plans for an open-door farm.

"Ludde" said that "we are fine, we don't need a colony, we live here", and I felt that I needed to find a root somewhere. I needed to let go of Simrishamn and root in London.

Assistant and schedule Today, Rebecca Ferguson lives in Richmond in West London with her husband Rory, who she married in December 2018. Together they have a daughter Saga, who turns 6 this spring, and Rebecca Ferguson describes the puzzle of recordings, marketing and family life as a well-oiled machine.

"It works great. I have such a luxury. It's like running a business in that it's scheduling and I have people to help", she says.

Although life as a movie star is often changeable, Rebecca Ferguson makes sure that the children have structure in their lives.

"I have an assistant, but it's more of a family friend who helps with our daughter and makes sure to fly over my son. I am also extremely close to my son's father, we are very communicative and talk all the time. We are like a big family and it's like a puzzle, but it works."

Criticism after interview The relationship with the home country suffered a thorn in connection with an interview with Efter fem on TV4 in April last year, where she did not want to speak Swedish and questioned reporter Nanna Martorell's English skills.

A storm of criticism followed and Rebecca Ferguson was noticed, among other things, by the Instagram account "Dyngbaggegalan", which celebrates uncomfortable moments from Swedish television.

Rebecca Ferguson has said that she was saddened when she heard about the criticism after the interview and said that she did not recognize herself. Almost a year after the interview, which was supposed to be about the film "Mission: impossible: dead reckoning", she brings up the incident herself - when Swedish "Dune" colleague Stellan Skarsgård, 72, comes forward.

"Stellan, I love him. That Swedish root is so important. That's why I was so sad about the interview that took place between me and Nanna. It became such a big deal", she says.

"I was misinformed, I had no idea who I was going to meet, only that I had an angry journalist who was pissed off. They asked if they should cut her out but I said "no, take her in, why is she so damn angry?" So I went in with the gas at the bottom - and met the world's most beautiful woman."

Is there something still gnawing at you?

"The reason I bring it up is that the Swedish relationship, for example to Stellan, when I speak Swedish, feels so important. It is enough for someone to speak Swedish and I feel a sense of calm."

"Was extremely rude" Rebecca Ferguson is worried that the interview has given the Swedes a wrong image of her as an expatriate Hollywood diva.

"The only thing I needed to know was that Nanna is okay, because I was extremely rude to her. I called her, we had the world's conversation and now she gets any interview she wants," she says.

"But I don't want that role in Sweden. Sweden is the archipelago, semlor, Värmdö and my dad, Vasastan and Rörstrandsgatan – I don't want to fuck it up."

In addition to "Dune: Part two", this year Rebecca Ferguson is also currently in theaters with "Mission: impossible - dead reckoning part two". At the same time, she is recording the second season of the TV series "Silo".

Opens for Swedish film But despite a burgeoning Hollywood career, she keeps the door open to making Swedish films.

"It is not important in that way that I have to do culture in Sweden, but give me a script that is great, give me a role. I don't get that many offers so that would be great," she says.

In an interview with the British newspaper The Guardian in October 2019, the star said that "I don't get recognized and that suits me". According to Rebecca Ferguson, very little has changed on that front in the last five years - despite the fact that her CV has been significantly replenished.

""It's pretty cool when you're at a premiere, like with "Dune", and it's like a rock concert: thousands of people screaming when Timothée and Austin - and also me - come in. It has created such a large following, she says.

"Mission" was probably also a bit like that, with Tom. It's on a whole other level. I can imagine that many people in this film need security personnel when they are out and about. But I can only go where I want and do what I want."

Doesn't want to be seen as a diva Rebecca Ferguson estimates that four to five people a day come to her.

"They take a picture, you give them a small hug or a high-five, and move on," she says.

"There is probably a part of me that wishes I also needed to be snuck out of a restaurant from the back way, because there are so many people out there who just love me. It is the ego. But the sane part of me thanks God that I can go wherever I want with my children, my husband and my friends."

The same applies when she comes home to Sweden - which she is happy about.

"Sweden is somehow my soul. I wouldn't like to come to Sweden and it would have been the world's damned "hoppla". That's why I think I brought up this interview with Nanna again, that it hurts me that so many people saw a side of me that I'm not, which is a diva."

Rebecca Ferguson on… …to miss large parts of the "Dune" sequel's extensive PR tour:

"I'm filming "Silo" season two so I've only had to jump in now, it was no from my production company Apple because they needed to finish. Considering the strike (in Hollywood), we were behind in the filming. And I have had such FOMO. It's been a hell of a job, and at the same time quite nice, because I get anxiety on all these red carpets, I think it's quite tough."

…combining promotion of “Dune” in Paris with “Silo” recording in the UK:

"I worked during the day, flew into Paris, did interviews, changed, premiere, did the red carpet, then everyone else came, then we took one or two pictures, then I had to jump into the car, take off the corset and everything, jump into gym clothes, get on the train, take the 21 train back to London, drive to the hotel by the studio and then I was there filming all day."

…"Dune" colleague Stellan Skarsgård, whose son Gustaf Skarsgård she also worked with, in the film "We" (2013):

"He has 150 children and his family is so damn cool. God I can see it in him. And I miss Gustaf, I haven't seen him for a long time. They are such a big family and so close."

…”Dune” director Denis Villeneuve:

"He is the best director I have ever worked with. I know that in Sweden we hate the word "normal", but he is adequate, normal and so damn stable. He is calm and it rubs off on others. He doesn't have an ego, he's shy, he's direct, has a plan, he's incredibly prepared, and you don't push him. And it's awesome."

…the collaboration with Villeneuve:

"I'm mischievous, I'm cocky, I talk before I think. When I'm sensitive, I talk. And he likes it. So he and I work great together."

…the Swedish traditions she misses in Great Britain:

"I want to start holding cancer plaques, wearing a hat and the whole choir. Midsummer must be in Sweden. I have to start booking to go over, if you could rent a small house in the archipelago and take friends there and spend midsummer. At Christmas we celebrate twice and mix Swedish and British traditions."

Translated from swedish for @rebeccalouisaferguson

[callmearcturus]

hey arc, classpect the MI team + villains (:

Okay yeah I deserve that. But I'm not classpecting anyone who is only in one movie, I refuse. I need more material.

So let's start with the obvious.

Ethan Hunt is an Heir of Light, which may parse as someone who is manipulated/played by/acts as the avatar of luck/agency/relevance. Light is the aspect of the script, the narrative, the spotlight. It is the driving force that keeps the story going simply because the story HAS to be told.

My recurring thing with Ethan is that I don't think he's great at plans. I think he's incredibly skilled at rolling the dice and figuring out the next hour of his life, and then he has to figure out the next hour after that, over and over. It is EXHAUSTING. He's like a perpetual motion machine but you can see the cracks and hear how the gears grind.

But he can't stop. In a very real sense, the narrative is centered on the fact he will not stop. He weirdly almost has the Unspoken Plan Guarantee as a superpower... But for it to work, he has to keep going.

The deal that fate has dealt Ethan is "oh you will succeed and you will win, but you will keep running until you reach that point." If at any point he gives in and stops, everything collapses around him. IT. SUCKS.

.

Luther is a Mage of Void, I think. His aspect was difficult to nail down but his class absolutely has to be Mage. He's a passive team player and his utility is 99% knowledge. But what separates him from a Seer or Sylph is that yes he can be compelled to do exposition and shit when necessary, but mostly, if he can answer a question with "Because I'm the best at this, baby," then he will. He is not compelled to infodump in the way other classes are.

As for why Void, it's difficult to nail down but basically I think Luther is there to explain very twisty concepts that revolve around obsession. Void is the aspect of Obsession, and Luther as a Mage does deal hands-on with the aspect, yeah, but he has more of an observational role over it than other classes. So he's the one to teach Julia how to be a ghost, he's the one to fnd Ethan when he's hidden, and he's the one to explain Ethan's whole Thing to Ilsa. He's the guy who understands the inexplicable, and hoards that understanding like a dragon.

.

Benji Dunn is a Rogue of Blood. I mean, obviously, right? Benji tricks you at first because he's a tech guy, he's a gadget guy, he's an answers guy (in the way that Luther isn't, actually), so you want to go "oh he's a Doom or Time or something".

But nope, Benji's got blood in the lines of his hands and it's the well-spring he draws from. Blood is the aspect of Obligation, and of leadership. Obviously Ethan is the factual leader of the team, but it's not a coincidence that Benji is the one to direct Ethan, to give the objectives, and in RN flat out acts as Ethan's tether to reality when he's going off the deep end. As a bonus, he's protected by Blood as well. Ilsa sees him through a sniper scope and immediately saves him before she's even met him because of course. Of course she does. Benji compels people so easily to what he wants and needs.

And its also not a coincidence that Solomon grabs him out of everyone. He steals the anchor everyone is tied to, and you can almost see the blood red rope between Ethan and Benji snapping violently taut the moment it happens. It's like Ethan's chained to a runaway train, he has no choice BUT to save Benji.

.

Ilsa Faust is a Prince of Mind in my opinion. This one parses a in service to the aspect of skepticism. Settling on Ilsa's aspect was difficult but to me, her defining struggle is that she's surrounded by all these rules and crossing loyalties and objectives from multiple people, the entire world is pressing down on her... but she doesn't really care. Oh, she says that she does, she says she has to do this, this is how she makes it home, but what do her actions say?

To me, they say Ilsa is skeptical of everything trying to bind her, and at the end of the day she propels the plot simply by making her own choices. She's the one who chooses her path and says "No, but" to everyone, the perfect inverse of Ethan's improvisational nature.

And she gains power as she does it. When she says, "No, but" she changes things for everyone. Like any Prince, she is incredibly potent, but acts like a sword in a sheath, the potential humming through her until she springs into decisive action. And again, with the Prince class, when the player is in service to their aspect, it gives them phenomenal power. When they resist their aspect, they are punished. Every time Ilsa gives into the powers trying to control her, she's miserable and used like a pawn.

So yeah I'm p comfortable saying she's Prince of Mind.

.

SHOCKING NO ONE, Brandt is Maid of Doom. lmao. This parses as one burdened by the aspect of inevitability. I don't even need to think about this one. Doom players are good at understand the systems that have everyone crushed under a boot. They know the laws and the bylaws and the commonplace agreements that keep the system in place, and they're annoyed at it all... but they also know how to play that game, who is important, where they can pry a place for themselves. That's Brandt, who basically quits the field and becomes operations because he knows the team needs cover, and he knows how to provide it, and god-fucking-dammit, SOMEONE has to keep the lights on at home.

And Maid? Maids are one of the Tired classes, and Brandt is sooooo fucking tired all the time. The eternal pessimist. Maids have an abundance of their aspect and thus provide it to their team. They also want something that their aspect keeps them from attaining, and in this case I think of "Doom" as "the CIA-IMF" and the thing Brandt needs is to fucking retire. Stop having a job, Brandt.

.

The only other character I think I can classpect is Solomon goddamn Lane, and oh, he's a Seer. There is no fucking question that Solomon is a Seer. Nailing down what he's a Seer of is more difficult though.

I kind of wanna say he's a Seer of Blood. Knowledge of the aspect of obligation to serve others. Everything about how he functions is about people's bonds. He knows how to get the right people who have been abused by their organizations and governments, he knows how to put people together in a room to force new connections, he openly admits that his weapon against Ethan was the moment he killed the young agent in front of Ethan's eyes. He sees all the red strings and he tries to garrote people with them.

Seers are also very active people in the story, they are always pulling bullshit, and Solomon Lane never stops being a petty fucking asshole pretending to be a calm, reasonable man. Seers fucking loooooove acting aloof and above it all when really they are dramatic and addicted to revenge.

THAT'S EVERYONE, HERE YOU GO PUNCT.

[cakexblankett]

Tag

Yellow

Character

Ilsa Faust

Words

777

~•~

"Ethan!"

She shouted out, running in his direction. You panted, trying to be as fast as she was.

Ilsa and Ethan had a beautiful relationship, they were almost too perfect for each other. Since they met, to that very day, their bond greew stronger and stronger, intensifying with each mission they went through together. You could only be there, to witness all their affection towards one another, wishing you were him.

You fell for her as soon as you saw her, and you swore to yourself to spend your life beside her, even though she wanted to spend hers with someone else. Ethan had this je ne sais quoi that made everyone fall at his feet. It kind of made you throw up how every female you encountered was in love with him. He kissed women after women, and they were all so beautiful, while he was... meh. How could he do that?

But that didn't really matter, because you craved one woman's attention and she would never give it to you.

"Ethan! Bloody Hell, are you alright?"

Ilsa got on her knees, to see if Ethan was still alive, and he was. Great. You kind of wanted him to die. You were so evil for wishing that. You closed your eyes and exhaled.

"I'm ok."

He said with his annoying voice. You really couldn't stand him. How could Ilsa be in love with him? Why not you? What did he have that you didn't? You were a trained spy just like he was, but, of course, you lacked the experience and the charm he supposedly had. You stared at him. No, he wasn't charming at all.

Ilsa smiled, helping him on his feet. She was so gentle and cautious with him, almost as if she was scared he could dissipate like thin air in her arms. You bit down on your lip. Why not you?

You were almost about to scream it aloud when Ethan looked at you in confusion. You raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I thought you..."

You scoffed.

"You thought I would have died by now, right?"

"Well... yes."

You gave him an evil stare. Incredible. He really didn't know you at all. He said that everytime. He always thought you would die on one of the missions. Could he not see your bravery and skills? Could Ilsa not see them?

"That doesn't matter."

You shifted your glance to Ilsa. Of course it didn't matter, all that mattered was that her love was alright. The rage was burning inside of you, making you clench your fists.

"We should get going."

Ethan nodded, and, with Ilsa's help, regained his stability. Seeing Ilsa's hands on his back, her delicate touch on his skin... that was enough to make you explode.

"Why?"

You breathed out. Ilsa stopped and glanced at you. Ethan was already on his merry way.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Why?"

You repeated, louder this time. She looked at you confused, not understanding.

"Why do you... prefer... him at me?"

Ilsa scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"I don't."

You chuckled, sadly.

"We don't have time for this, Y/N."

"But if I was him you would make time."

Ilsa got closer, and your breath came to a halt.

"Y/N, we don't have time."

You furrowed your eyebrows, and walked away.

~•~

"Ilsa!"

You shouted out, running like crazy. Your lungs burned and your legs ached but you couldn't stop.

"Ilsa!"

Where was she? Where...

Your breath itched in your throat. There she was, laying on the stairs.

"No, no, no..."

You made your way to her, getting on your knees beside her. She looked so peaceful... Tears started to accumulate in your eyes.

"Ilsa..."

You put your hands on her chest, searching for her heart beat, finding nothing.

"No, Ilsa... please..."

Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes still opened. Those beautiful blue eyes, those eyes in which you lost yourself so many times.

"No..."

You tried putting pressure on her chest.

"Don't... you can't..."

You were sobbing, crying out her name. You didn't even let her know how much you loved her. You hoped she knew, you hoped she knew and that she never was interested in you rather than her not knowing and missing such an opportunity to be with her.

"I love you..."

You breathed out, leaving a kiss on her cheek, taking a last glance at her eyes before closing them.

"What happened?"

Ethan was standing behind you, staring at Ilsa's dead body. You closed your eyes, enraged. You got up and walked away, drying your tears. Ilsa was gone and your heart too.

[sophieseals]

I think it’s very sexy of Brad Bird to pepper in the fact that he thinks that technology is good but also fundamentally flawed by how many gadgets stop working in mission impossible ghost protocol

[imfmi6]

they are just spies

[imfagentsworld]

Since many people are asking about opinions on Ethan and Ilsa in MI:7, why Rebecca is not in Italy, etc. Here's my answer. You all know I like inventing dialogues and unnecessary details, so bear with it.

A phone call from Rome

Ethan: Hello? Ilsa?

Ilsa: Hey.

Ethan: Uh… How you doing?

Ilsa: I'm fine. What about you?

Ethan: I'm fine… too.

Ilsa: Is there anything wrong?

Ethan: No, no. It's all good. I just… I saw a person looks like you today, I thought you're happened to be in Rome, so…

Ilsa: Oh… that must be mistaken, I'm in London. Are you on a mission?

Ethan: Yes.

Ilsa: Same old, same old.

Ethan: Um… How's the weather there?

Ilsa: It's raining. You know London. It's always raining.

Ethan: It's sunny here. There's a lot of different kinds of food, good pizza, it's a nice place to visit.

Ilsa: Okay… So you called me all the way just to tell me there's good pizza in Rome?

Ethan: No no, I'm just greeting… like an old friend.

Ilsa: Thanks… I'm doing okay.

Ethan: Um… well, goodbye.

Ilsa: Good luck with your mission. Bye.

She hung up and shook her head, couldn't help but smiles.

Ethan hung up the phone and found Luther looking at him with a sarcastic expression.

Ethan: What?

Luther: "Good pizza?" "Greeting like an old friend?"

Ethan: OK, fine. I suck at this.

Luther: What happened to your conversational skills with women?

Ethan: I don't know. It's Ilsa. She's special and SO cool, you know. I try to be cool everytime I talk to her.

Luther: Wow, what you did back there was…

Ethan: Don't, don't say a word.

Luther shrugged and tried very hard not to laugh.

London Heathrow Airport.

"Ms Faust? A seat on Flight 554 to Rome 9:30 Sunday morning. Is it all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

11 Oct 2020.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Gentle Hands (Part Three)

Stalker Ilsa Faust x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: Fights, make-ups, another fight, a badly arranged foreplay and cameras. What does good for Ilsa really look like? And what cost does it come at?

Warnings: Allusions to a physical fight between R and Ilsa, angst, losing Mario Kart because of Toad, brief panty sniffing (Ilsa you creep), bad foreplay that results in hurt feelings (brief), consensual SMUT (oral Ilsa recieving, masturbation via partner (Ilsa touches R), sweet talking, breast fondling, Ilsa being a creep with cameras).

A/N: Took a break mid-smut sequence to complete tasks for the big green bird. He is sated (for now).

Word Count: 5.4k (Eat up gremmies)

It had been a week since Ilsa had abducted you. Ilsa, not Lisa. She insisted that you call her by her ‘correct’ name now that it was just the two of you. Ilsa was horrendously efficient at erasing your past life. She sent in your urgent notice of resignation the morning after she’d taken you into her apartment. She’d also installed brand new locks inside your home, all electronic, finger-print coded locks. They were high-tech, you couldn’t fake it with a thumb print on a piece of tape. She allowed you to move between her house and your home, mostly to move your things into her town home. You were never allowed outside without her knowledge. You also couldn’t open any windows without an alarm going off. Every single exit in the home was barred, and every single moment of your life was spent with Ilsa.

“Darling, can you make us a cup of tea?” Ilsa asked, brow furrowed as she cracked into another bank account. 

Ilsa’s new hobby was re-establishing her wire transfer network. By this point you knew she was a former intelligence operative, or more likely a seasoned criminal. She had connections and skills that didn’t make sense otherwise. Your new hobby was Mario Kart and baking. You cooked incessantly, as it was the only thing that felt ‘normal’. That and making lattes. You could really only make two for yourself in a day. Ilsa wasn’t fond of you increasing your caffeine intake more than what she deemed ‘healthy’. She was so fond of ‘healthy’ endeavours. So you worked out with her in the mornings. She was teaching you how to box. It was therapeutic, getting to take out all of your frustrations on the person who was the root of them. Mostly. Ilsa had a nasty habit of getting too into it and treating you too roughly.

“Darling?”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m on it.”

You moved into the kitchen, turning the kettle on and preparing the two mugs. Ilsa liked her coffee bland. Cream. Zero sugar. In Ilsa’s mind, sugar was the devil. Mostly because she made up for it in alcohol. With the cup of black tea with just a splash of cream, Ilsa was back at work. You left her side, hoping to skip out on the mandatory ‘morning couple time’.

‘Ah, ah. Not so fast. You come back here.” Ilsa chuckled.

You sat back down next to her.

“Why so frigid, hmm? Come, sit in my lap for a bit.” Ilsa gave a sly smirk.

You remained put, and Ilsa sighed, giving a playful pout.

“You’re no fun.”

Crossing your arms and ignoring her comments felt like second-nature at this point. You were upset with her, as was reasonably so. She’d abducted you and disconnected you from the outside world. It was infuriating, watching her snip off the connections you had to society, to your family bit by carefully timed bit. But last night was the worst. Your Mom had called. You’d tried to send her some sort of message that things weren’t fine, that you were being held against your will, but Ilsa wouldn’t have it. 

‘Are you still upset about Bella?”

At the sound of her name, the cat let out a soft ‘meh’ sound, stretching out her fur-encased arms.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Holding a knife to my cat’s throat? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Isa sighed softly, giving you a soft glance that said, ‘I know, I know’. Her eyebrow and lip were still taped up.

“I paid for it, I knew that it wasn’t fair to you, and I paid for it.”

Moreso, she’d let you hit her. You’d lost count of how many punches you’d given before she finally restrained you. There was a bruise on one of your knuckles. You didn’t feel vindicated, the contrary. Hitting her felt weak. She was stronger than you, quicker, skilled in a thousand ways that you weren’t, and she’d taken the punches until she deemed that it was enough.

“I’m angry.” you huffed. “Why couldn’t you have used a different method.”

“Like what? Holding a knife to your throat? We both know I’d never mean it. I couldn’t intentionally harm you, but if it came down to it, I’d do a lot of awful things to keep you around.”

“I thought you liked Bella!”

“I do, princess, I do. It’s just that I needed you to not raise suspicion.” Ilsa sighed.

“Yeah, not tell the fucking truth about what’s going on.” you spat back.

“I know you don’t like this life, but I have given so much to ensure it’s better than your old-”

“Better how? It was my life before! Mine! It wasn’t perfect, but at least I was working towards a better future with honest work!”

Ilsa laughed.

“Oh, and what I do isn’t honest?”

“I don’t steal.”

“No, you were stolen from. You were spending hours working one of the most difficult, draining jobs for sub-par pay and zero safety net aside from the government’s shitty one.” Ilsa scoffed. “I steal, sure. But it’s from people who steal from people like you. And I steal a small amount from a lot of wicked, evil people. And I’m using it to protect something good.”

“Exhausting, isn’t it.”

“Oh come off it.” Ilsa groaned.

“Your personal fable is maintained at the cost of morality-”

“Do you really think I have what society considers to be ‘morals’?” Ilsa cut you off.

“No.”

“Then stop wasting your time. You’re upset, you’re angry, and I’m not doing anything to make it better. You’re not getting your old life back, accept it and move on.”

Ilsa reached for her desk, grabbing a cherry vape and inhaling slowly. She pushed out a series of rings, momentarily focusing on vape tricks.

“I’m not in the mood for couple time.” 

You made it about three paces out of the office before Ilsa’s arms were around your waist and restraining you. She pulled you back into her office, attaching a handcuff from her chair to your wrist.

“This is supposed to make me hate you any less?”

“Forced proximity does wonders for the mind.” Ilsa mused, taking another hit off of her vape.

“So Stockholm syndrome?”

Ilsa chuckled, reaching over to ruffle your hair.

“The academic.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“And look where it got me? Working at a damn coffee shop.”

Ilsa hummed, amused by the interaction.

“You know what you need?”

“My freedom.” you cracked back.

“Day drinking.” Ilsa rolled her eyes. “This little mood swing would just fade away with some alcohol.”

“I’m not getting drunk so you can fuck me.”

The former agent groaned, turning off her computer. She wouldn’t deny it. She did want that, but not while you were intoxicated. She had some morals.

“I can’t work in such a hostile work environment.” 

“Wasn’t your entire thing working in hostile environments?” you smirked, poking at her ex-operative past.

“And I’d never go back.” Ilsa sighed. 

She was nice enough to unfasten your cuff, giving you free reign, or so you thought.

“No, no, no.” Ilsa chided, pulling you back into her body. “You and I are going to do something fun.”

You were out of one-liners at this point. In all honesty, it was exhausting being angry with her. That’s all you were, angry with her. She led you through the kitchen, and then she opened the door to the garden. It was a decent day, but chilly. Ilsa shoved a sweatshirt over your head, which you begrudgingly put on all the way. The fresh air felt good.

“Bella, goddammit!” Ilsa swore, the fat tuxedo evading the dirty blonde before she could catch her once more.

“Just let her outside. She deserves it as much as I do.”

Ilsa sighed, shaking her head. 

“Only because you’re upset with me.”

“Kills you, doesn’t it?” you snarked back on instinct.

But the barbed jab you expected in return never came. There was just silence, which Ilsa broke by clearing her throat. You’d inadvertently hit the nail on the head. She was upset, and she was anxious. You’d forgotten how much she did care. Ilsa didn’t just abduct someone because she could. She wasn’t a ‘because I can’ person. And the arguments you’d been having all morning, all week really, they were upsetting.

“I’m not going to feel bad just because you’re playing the victim card.”

“Stop. Just fucking stop.” Ilsa’s voice broke. “Get your ass back inside.”

“Ilsa, I’m-”

“No, nope. Inside.”

You walked inside the house, shutting the door behind you. You never did get a good glance at Ilsa’s face, but you didn’t need to. Through the screen door, you saw her slump to her knees on the back door steps, and her shoulders heaved. And there was that guilt again. Bella had slunk inside with you again, pawing at the door in confusion.

“I can’t let you out.” you whispered.

“Meh.” she protested.

“It was your own fault, you should’ve stayed outside.”

The walk upstairs to yours and Ilsa’s room felt a lot harder than was reasonable. You knew that it wasn’t all that rational to feel guilty about tormenting someone who was equally, if not exceeding you in torment. But you could empathise with her pain. She was doing a lot for you. And even though you couldn’t go outside without her, even leave the garden, she was doing a lot for you. The food in the fridge, you didn’t pay for. The furniture and games you wound down with hadn’t been out of your pocket, and the skills she was teaching you, the boxing, the german, the little tricks for hacking, those were all things she’d given you for nothing much, other than a few small requests.

Out of the second story hallway window, you could see Ilsa leaving the garden, slipping into her Benz. She’d be gone for hours, probably. And your time felt… Hollow. Mario Kart was repetitive and infuriating. Language learning with help from the green bird didn’t amount to shit, even with Ilsa’s super membership. Nothing you did was fulfilling. So you did as your cat did, slumping into the bed and taking a nap. But still, that didn’t feel right. With great mortification and a small degree of realised irony, you picked up Ilsa’s pillow and buried your face into it. Then, and only then, did you sleep.

<->

Ilsa didn’t do anything but drive. She ended up in a farmer’s field, sitting behind a hedge and just fucking fuming. She was mad. Mad at herself, mad at you, mad at her life. In another life she could have pursued you normally. In another life where she could walk into a supermarket at rush hour without fear of an anxiety episode, she could have struck up a conversation with you there. But she wasn’t normal. And so she’d resort to abnormal methods to get you, because something with you was better than nothing. 

“Bella, you silly girl.” Ilsa sighed as she walked into the house, blocking the fat tuxedo from getting out.

It was quiet, too quiet for Ilsa’s tastes. She rushed through the house, looking for you in every room until she eventually burst into the bedroom. You were curled up, sleeping. Ilsa slumped against the doorframe, letting out an audible sigh of relief. And… Was that her pillow? Jesus Christ, you were precious. Ilsa took off her shoes and her overcoat. She was wet from the rain, so everything came off, aside from underwear and a sports bra. Slipping into bed with you felt so right. Ilsa needed that physical contact with you, and she’d sneak it where she could. The pillow was replaced by her arms, a delicate act of shifting. You smelled so good to Ilsa. 

“Oh… Princess.” Ilsa whispered, almost ready to cry again.

This week had been the most infuriating week of her life. You almost never touched Ilsa, unless it was in a boxing set-up. Training you had been a lovely way to break tension. She could guide your posture, adjusting your body with her hands. Showers were the best thing for Ilsa. She’d let you finish up a few exercises while she showered, using the head to relieve the ceaseless aching that came when she was too close to you for too long. And the emotional whiplash. Ilsa was fatigued of the constant bickering, arguing and overall tension between the two of you; not the sexy kind. Drugging you again was a thought that flicked through her head daily. Just long enough to cuddle you, to breathe in the smell of your skin without the threat of you waking up.

“Mmph.” she heard you softly complain.

You shifted your body, wiggling deeper into her arms. With every exhale, your breath would ghost over her neck and it was driving her insane.

“Princess, don’t tease, I know-”

“Shut up.” you mumbled, clumsily pawing at her face to get her to stop talking.

Ilsa let out a startled laugh. She’d forgotten you were a light sleeper.

“Shh… Let me sleep.” you continued to complain.

Ilsa rolled her eyes, holding you closer, half-listening to your complaints. 

“Let me hold you.”

And this time you didn’t push her off. She was warm, body temperature raised from her run, or wherever she’d been. She smelled like hay, for whatever reason. Bella, sensing the cuddle puddle, hopped up on the bed, sniffing around the two of you, turning about four or five times before she slumped into the bed, yawning. 

“Are you still upset with me?” Ilsa eventually asked.

“A little.” you admitted. “It would be hard not to be. I don’t like feeling guilty for making you upset.”

“Because you want to hurt me for what I’m doing to you?”

You let a frustrated sigh. When she put it like that, it made you sound like an asshole. It was complicated.

“I don’t like that I can feel myself starting to like you. Because you’re not mean, you don’t hurt me, and you take so much of my shit. I’d be lucky to find someone like you, but you’ve taken my entire life.”

Ilsa hummed, shifting you in her arms. She took another deep breath, and you felt her thigh graze your pant leg.

“Are you just in a bra and panties? Seriously?”

And just like that, whatever understanding you were going to reach disappeared. She was a constant voyeur. When you baked, when you read, and you suspected when you were changing. You’d never seen one of the cameras, but you were sure they were there somewhere. Hence you hadn’t been masturbating at all. It was infuriating, the lead up to your period didn’t make it too difficult, but still. A week with nothing? 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ilsa sat up, trying to pull you back. “Stay on the bed, I’ll go change. My clothes were wet, Jesus Christ.”

Ilsa grabbed a change of clothes, shutting the bathroom door behind her. She stripped completely, mumbling something under her breath about ‘not catching a damn break’. That’s when she saw them. You never left your clothes out anymore, shoving them in the hamper. You were religious about home cleanliness with nothing else to do, so most laundry was collected and washed. You’d left your panties out after your morning shower, probably because you still had Bella on your mind.

“I think I’m just going to take a shower, my hair’s all wet.” Ilsa called from inside the bathroom. 

“Yeah, whatever.” you called back.

Ilsa turned on the shower, stepping in the water for a moment, then stepping right back out. She needed her body wet to maintain the lie, long enough for her to enjoy the remnants left in your panties.

“Oh my.” Ilsa whispered to herself.

Her body heated up almost immediately, nasty thought after more damnable nasty thought flicking through her head. She wanted to pin you to the bed so badly. What would you smell like at the source? And the taste? How rich it would be, how debaucherous and unsoiled. Not these cloth remnants. She dropped the cloth garment to the floor, staggering back into the shower. She needed to focus, to breathe, to run her fingers over the dripping wet seam between her labia. It wasn’t enough. When had this stopped being enough?

<->

You hadn’t seen Ilsa since she’d gotten in the shower. You were fully awake by the time she had left the bed, and there was no sense hanging around. Not for her, anyways. By this point in the mid-afternoon, day drinking seemed excusable. So you slipped into the basement and found one of Ilsa’s wine bottles. You weren’t a wine drinker. Especially dark wines. But alcohol was alcohol. A glass of wine and Mario Kart on a weekday afternoon? The lap of luxury, truly.

“Hey.” you heard a breathy sigh near your ear.

“Hi Ilsa. I’m busy.”

The woman sat next to you. She smelled nice. Vanilla cashmere lotion. How long had she been grooming for? Not that you cared.

“Can you be a little less busy for me?” Ilsa asked.

You turned, looking at her full on as you paused the game. You opened your mouth to snark at her, but she looked… Good. Her hair was a little damp and she’d taken pains to get herself clean.

“Umm, what is this about?” you gestured to her sweats that were just a little too tight.

Ilsa took a deep breath in. 

“I want to spend some time with you. Do you mind if I pour myself a glass of wine?”

“It’s your house and your wine, don’t ask me for permission.” you shrugged.

Ilsa chuckled, a breathy sound. What was up with her. You didn’t care, you just unpaused the game, returning to the high stakes race that was ‘Rainbow Road’. Ilsa busied herself, pouring herself a glass of wine. She settled beside you, eyeing the glass of wine you’d barely touched.

“I keep thinking…” Ilsa whispered in your ear. “About that night you came over with my friends…”

She was distracting, and you had to fight to stay on course.

“Ilsa, please, I’m trying to get a trophy right now.”

Ilsa had other plans. Better plans. Plans that involved you paying attention to her. So she scooted closer, using the distraction of your hands on the switch controller to place her hands on your waist.

“Just wait, I’m almost fini-”

The former spy leaned in, her mouth meeting your neck. Wet, sinful kisses placed one after the other on your rapidly accelerating pulse, tongue slipping out just past her lips, tracing lines and patterns over the sensitive skin.

“I can’t get your taste out of my mouth, I can’t unhear your little moans.” Ilsa whispered, a distinct reediness to her voice, like she was speaking with a sore throat.

“I have one more lap, please, Ilsa.” you groaned, searching for anything to get away from the woman, even briefly.

But was it her you were trying to get away from, or yourself? You couldn’t deny how hot it had been to makeout with her, how sexy and commanding she had been. And her hands were slipping lower, squeezing and releasing your hips in time with those kisses trailing up your neck, to your jaw, to your ear.

“You said you didn’t do hookups, but I think we can both agree that it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

There was a lump in your throat. You had to cough to dislodge it. You were in first, you could let down your guard for a-

“Fucking toad!” you growled, all of your senses back in gear to win rainbow road.

“Toad can wait.” Ilsa growled.

She swung her leg over your lap, settling her pelvis in the space created by your crossed legs. This time her mouth was hungry, nipping, sucking licking. Over your neck, your jaw, biting and sucking your earlobe into your mouth. The grip on the controller grew lax, and you shut your eyes, not even caring that it caused your car to slip off the race track right before the finish line.

“I’m listening, I’m listening, Jesus.” you swore. 

Ilsa looked into your eyes, nibbling on her lip with mixed desire and anxiety.

“One night.” Ilsa begged. “Just one.”

You opened your mouth to say no. But that look in her eyes… One night couldn’t hurt. She was a good kisser, she’d treat you right… And then you could go back to hating her in the morning. But a little steam. Just letting loose a little.

“... Okay. Just one night.”

Ilsa didn’t delay. She didn’t wait. Her mouth was on yours, and she let out a sound in between a hum and a huff, like she was relieved and yet still frustrated that it had taken this long. Placing your arms around her waist felt right. She had a firm, muscular backside, but in the jumper she was wearing, she had a softer feeling. And though her mouth was demanding and needy at first, Ilsa slowed down, pressing her lips against yours slowly, tongue lightly gracing your bottom lip with every soft smooch. You opened your mouth just a little, gracing your tongue with the feeling of her bottom lip, her tongue. Ilsa held your head steady, leaning in and drawing your tongue out, just long enough to divert it so she could slip her tongue in. She tasted like red wine, and… She’d been chewing that cherry tobacco again. She tasted like sin. One of your hands slipped beneath her jumper, tracing those abs that were always peeking out below her sports bra. She had a soft layer of tissue above the muscles, like a padded layer making her harder points comfortable.

“Princess, take off that t-shirt for me.” Ilsa whispered.

You chuckled.

“I will, but you’ve got to tell me why I’m ‘princess’ in the first place.”

Ilsa smiled, kissing your jaw softly.

“Innocent, gentle, and those hands.” Ilsa smirked, cupping one of your hands against her bare waist. “Princess hands, so dainty and gentle.”

You blushed, and you didn’t resist as she brought one of your hands to her mouth, gently kissing your palm, your knuckles, and then eventually, enveloping your fingers in her mouth entirely.

“Mmm…” Ilsa hummed, a wrinkle relaxing around her eyes. “Finally.” she whispered, kissing your hands again, one after the other.

There was a gentle beat, and then she reached for your t-shirt, pulling it off as you raised your arms. Ilsa spent a good minute just looking at your bare chest. She reached out, aiming to touch one of your breasts, but she paused.

“May I?”

There was irony here in her asking consent, but you weren’t focused on that. You were focused on those soft eyes and how they twinkled with excitement.

“You may.” 

She reached out with both hands, cupping your breasts, humming softly. She didn’t stay in one place for long, massaging your sides and gently kissing your collarbone. It was easy to relax, even as she lowered you to lay sideways on the couch, it was easy to relax. You helped her take off your pants and your panties, and Ilsa was quick to pull off her sweats, leaving her in nothing but a sheer, see through bra and panty set.

“I didn’t know we were dressing up.” you flushed, trying to hide your arousal.

“It doesn’t matter. I’d have ripped off whatever you were wearing anyway.” Ilsa husked, settling atop your hips, crossing her arms.

“... Do you know that Ankah meme?”

Ilsa rolled her eyes, not giving two shits about you and your little memes. Her lips attacked your neck again, urging you to just get lost in the moment. Her hair was soft under your fingertips, and her back… You wanted to take a moment to just admire every curve of her spine, of her trapezius, her deltoids, her latissimus dorsi. She made you smarter, you realised. It was her training, her attention. She’d taught you the names of these muscles, and she’d teach you more, you realised.

“I can’t be slow, honey, I’m so sorry.” Ilsa whispered.

You met her eyes. She looked so… 

“What do you need?”

Ilsa tugged off her panties, then the bra. You watched in shock as a literal string of arousal extended from her entrance to the cloth of the panties, before eventually snapping back.

“Oh.. My go-”

Ilsa wasn’t in the mood for talking, rather only in the mood for one thing. She shoved the soiled panties into your agape mouth, nearly causing you to gag.

“No talking, none.” Ilsa huffed.

She slipped one leg over your hip, the other leg slipping beneath one of yours on the opposite side. Ilsa was going to press your bodies together, but the shocked look on your face gave her pause.

“Sorry, I’m not thinking.” Ilsa sighed, pulling her panties out of your mouth. “Do I have your consent?”

“Can we maybe slow down?”

Ilsa let out an angry noise. You weren’t expecting her to just… Get up and leave.

“Woah, woah, this isn’t effective communication, you’re not telling me what you need!” you ran after her, noting how her ass would jiggle a bit with every step.

“I’m too frustrated, and it’ll be better for me if I just do it myself.” Ilsa spat.

Now you were confused. She’d begged you to have sex with her, and now she didn’t want it.

“Hey, hey, let’s talk about this.” you tried, snagging her elbow.

Ilsa had tears in her eyes. Now you felt like an ass, and it must have showed on your face, because Ilsa blubbered out reassurances immediately after.

“I just… I am so frustrated, it hurts.” Ilsa stammered.

It was those eyes. It had to be those eyes, because you wouldn’t have done what you did next without some explanation. Taking her hips, you pushed her against the hallway wall, falling to your knees in front of her, hooking one of her thighs over your shoulders.

“Just let me take care of you, hmm?”

Ilsa groaned, tangling her hands in your hair, tugging at the roots. The tension in her body evaporated as your arms glided up her thighs to rest on her hips. Your eyes looking up at her, so glassy and reassuring. Your mouth open, wet, hot, air ghosting over the mess that was her core. And then those lips, closing over her entrance, tongue parting her labia, drawing steady strokes up and down, igniting pleasurable sensations that slithered up and down her spine. Ilsa relaxed, letting out a long, satisfied moan. All these months of stalking, of monitoring, of tirelessly working to get you here… And now you were on your knees, gently servicing her with those wet, warm lips. She nearly cried when you wrapped your lips around her clit, licking and sucking, drawing steady circles over the buzzing nerve. 

But for you… This was a different experience. You were nervous, anxious to please, anxious to bring her relief, and almost too focused on the process… That was until her fingers drew up and down your scalp in little scratching motions. You moaned into her, to which she gasped, and whimpered. It was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. You trailed your hands down, parting her outer labia and pulling the clitoral hood up, only to let out a deep moan around the nerve. 

“Fuck!” Ilsa cried out, her hips bucking. “Oh my god, pleaseeee.”

You hummed again, licking and sucking at her clit with full abandon. Her hips canted in circles, grinding herself into your mouth, against your chin. You felt a mix of saliva and her own arousal slipping down your chin, to your neck.

“Just like that, oh goddd.” Ilsa whined again, struggling to stand. 

She grabbed the hallway cabinet to her left for leverage, her muscular thighs rippling as she focused on the sensations of your blessed mouth tracing patterns over her hyper-sensitive clit. You pressed your face deeper into her, spelling out sentences with your tongue, letter by letter, suckling in between the messages. ‘Lover’, ‘Sexy’, ‘Needy baby’. Whatever you could think of, whatever her whines and moans stirred in you, that was what you wrote.

“Oh.. Oh.. Oh, oh oh!” Ilsa panted, the motions of her hips growing desperate.

You knew better than to stop, so you doubled down, drawing your tongue in steady circles, even as your jaws ached, as your head buzzed, as your neck screamed. Both of her hands flew to your head, shoving you into her. You moaned as she tugged on your scalp again, and that is what sent her over the edge. Ilsa’s back bowed, her thighs tensed, and she threw her head back in a silent scream, followed by intermittent pants. She held on for as long as she could, but her legs were too wobbly to safely remain standing.

“Coming down.” Ilsa warned, sliding down the wall and into your arms.

She was panting and flushed, you were panting and massaging your jaw which ached like a bitch. Ilsa took several moments to just commit the image to memory. 

“Turn around.” Ilsa rasped.

You sat down on your back, giving your sore knees a break. You’d have tender bruises there soon, visible or otherwise. Awkwardly shuffling around, you managed to slump into her back, to which Ilsa let out a sound that almost sounded like a purr.

“Hike your legs over mine.” Ilsa cooed.

You flushed, placing your knees on either side of her bent ones. Her lips returned to your neck, her hands sliding up and down your front. One of her hands found a breast, gently toying with one of your nipples again. 

“Ilsa…”

“Shhh, princess. Let me make you feel good too. You deserve it after loving me so spectacularly.” Ilsa murmured, pressing slow kisses to your jaw.

Her other hand travelled lower, parting your glistening labia. Two fingers held your labia taught, the middle finger drawing slow circles over your clit, a gentle stimulation. 

“... Oh.. Ohhh.” you hummed.

It felt better than when you touched yourself. She wasn’t doing anything unusual or otherwise groundbreaking, but it felt so good when it was her hand. Ilsa smiled against your neck, gently kissing over your neck. Her lips attached themselves right above that flickering pulse of your artery, sucking, leaving her mark. You shut your eyes, letting her just work you over.

“Moan for me, let me hear how good it feels.” Ilsa whispered, kissing your ear.

The spot on your neck where she’d sucked an angry hickey throbbed, electrifying the other senses her hands were creating on your body. You let out a tentative moan as she sped her fingers up just a little.

“Can you talk to me?” you whispered.

Ilsa chuckled, nibbling your ear.

“Of course I can, princess. I’ll tell you all about how wet you are for me, hmm? And how good you’re doing, sitting so pretty with your knees in place…”

You whimpered again, and you were rewarded with a bit more pressure from her finger.

“Oh, good girl. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Having your body loved like this?”

A head lean into her and another needy moan was enough assurance that Ilsa was doing what she needed to do. 

“Mhm, just like that, are you feeling yourself getting close?”

A shuddering breath and a soft head nod was enough for Ilsa. She gently sped up her fingers, drawing harder circles over your clit until your thighs trembled and your hips bucked.

“Ilsa!” you moaned, arching your back against her hand.

Ilsa cooed softly, continuing to roll her fingers at that steady pace until your hips relaxed, and her hand with it. Her arms wrapped around your sides, and she kissed you up and down your face, your jaw. She smiled, cuddling you to her. In the dark light of the hallway, Ilsa looked up, noting the little red dot that flashed. Once was enough for now. She could replay this on her laptop as many times as she wanted to now, she could see the angle of your body from the front as you bucked into her arms. She’d recorded this, after all. And she’d save it for as long as she needed to. 

This was just the beginning.

Tags (For previous askers and people who might want this): @lakita-fisher, @ilovehotactresses, @gay-and-sad-tm, @needyformilfs

[myriadimagines]

Characters: Reader x Ilsa Faust

Warnings: mentions of violence

Gif credit: lorelaigilmoure

Spotify Prompt: 41. Last Dance by Rhys: “Oh if all we ever had was an illusion, and if we gave it every chance.”

Word Count: 585

A/N: did someone say........ fake dating?? kinda?? (spotify prompts are not open)

You and Ilsa blurred the lines, between partners and something more, between colleagues and lovers. It was a delicate dance the two of you waltzed in, fingers intertwined with vague smiles that hinted at all sorts of possibilities. You were an unstoppable team, calculated and skilled, and the best agents MI6 had ever seen.

You loved working with her. Loved playing the couple at the fancy parties, loved the harmless flirting while your hands inched towards your guns, ready for a fight at any given moment. It was all in good fun, or it was supposed to be, until the kiss. She had taken you by surprise, her lips crashing against yours when your target was staring at you too suspiciously. She tried to rationalise it for professional reasons, insisting your covers would’ve been blown, but from the way both of you couldn’t stop staring at each other’s lips as if you wanted to kiss again, you knew it was more than professional.

Both of you knew what you were getting yourselves into. A relationship in this profession was hard, borderline impossible. Yet your feelings for one another was too much to ignore, too much to not act on. You relished the few moments you had together, her body pushed up against yours as you desperately kissed one another, not wanting to be separated again on whatever mission you’d be whisked away on. You never defined your relationship, never made it official in fears of the delicacy of it all falling apart. You pretended it was all part of the job, played the roles of the couple a little too well, but it was the closest you could get to a normal relationship.

But it became to hard playing pretend, dancing around the nonexistent stage you had built for yourselves. It felt like an illusion, a fantasy that was just that and nothing more. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you wished, the both of you couldn’t pull this into real life, not when your lives would be at risk if you did. Enemies using one to get to the other, knowing how weak and vulnerable you made one another.

Her call takes you by surprise one night, and you’re quick to answer it despite not speaking for months, agreeing to meet at some secluded location without questions. She’s waiting for you, hair in soft curls and dark coat wrapped around her body, standing by a car with its engine running. She offers you a smile, a smile that says you will always have a soft spot in her heart, and she greets, “Hello, y/n.”

“Ilsa.” you gulp, heart hammering in your chest. You glance at the car, “Another mission?”

“Of sorts. It’s undercover.” Ilsa responds, and you nod, knowing you can’t ask more questions. Taking in a deep breath, she says, “I won’t see you for a while. I don’t know how long it’ll be. I wanted to say goodbye.” 

You can feel all the air knocked out of your lungs, and you struggle to articulate all your words. She tilts her head, before suddenly reaching towards you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. She smiles to herself as you wrap your arms around her, nuzzling her face against yours, and you whisper, “What we had... was it real?”

“Have. What we have is real.” Ilsa corrects you, and you close your eyes, knowing you both gave it your all. Oh, how you gave it your all. 

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Rebecca Ferguson criticized after the TV4 interview: "Called her later and apologized"

"Was told by my team that I was going to meet an angry journalist, and went into defensive mode"

Rebecca Ferguson is back as Ilsa Faust in a new action-packed "Mission: impossible".

"I've had ten fantastic years with these people," says the Swedish world star to TT.

When TT speaks to Rebecca Ferguson, the American actors' strike has not yet been called, and Ferguson still has a full schedule at the moment. She is waiting for her husband outside Ikea, a first stop on a short holiday break in Sweden before duty calls again.

In addition to an executive producer role and lead role in the TV series "Silo", Rebecca Ferguson works to promote her latest blockbuster "Mission: impossible: dead reckoning part one", in which she plays Ilsa Faust alongside Tom Cruise for the third time. It's a darker, rawer "Mission: impossible" film compared to before, says Rebecca Ferguson.

— It's the same energy, explosiveness and awesome stunts. But it is darker and heavier. Before filming, director Christopher McQuarrie and Tom Cruise talked a lot about delving into the dark emotions of the characters. It's a balancing act, how deep to go in it when it's an exciting thriller at the same time.

For ten years, the "Mission: impossible" franchise has been part of Rebecca Ferguson's life, a journey that, at least for the moment, seems to be coming to an end. Ferguson feels great gratitude for the career she has gotten because of "Mission: impossible," she says.

— It's been great fun, and I've had ten fantastic years with these people. I have made three awesome and exhausting films.

"Not a choice I have made"

Ilsa Faust and Tom Cruise's character Ethan Hunt have grown close over the course of the films, and audiences have wondered if they would become a couple in the new film. Rebecca Ferguson says that she has received many questions about love and infatuation between Ilsa and Ethan after the film's premiere - a narrative about their relationship that she is not entirely on board with.

— I see a film where Ilsa has become very emotionally attached to Ethan, and it's not a choice I've made. In my eyes, she becomes a damsel in distress and weaker because of it. Their relationship was, to me, so much bigger than a sexual relationship. To me, their relationship was based on equality.

— We get the story told to us, and film the scenes in different ways. But we don't own stories. What I'm trying to say is that it's hard for us as actors to have control over the final product. As an actor, I have to trust the director and producer, and hope that their choices are the best for the production.

The storm of criticism

Rebecca Ferguson recently got into trouble in Sweden when she appeared in an interview with Efter fem in TV4 in April. Then she did not want to speak Swedish and questioned the journalist's language skills.

— I was told by my team that I would meet an angry journalist, and went into defensive mode. I got so stressed and cocky. But I'm not that person.

A storm of criticism followed, and Rebecca Ferguson was noticed, among other things, by the Instagram account "Dyngbaggegalan", which celebrates uncomfortable moments from Swedish television. Rebecca Ferguson says that she was saddened when she heard about the criticism after the interview, and that she did not recognize herself.

— That interview is evidence of a person who feels very vulnerable. I apparently reacted with attitude, which I have never done before. I called her later and apologized.

Want to be a producer

After a long career in Hollywood, Rebecca Ferguson can long for smaller productions with greater freedom, she says, and she would have liked to do something in Sweden again. Above all, she wants to feel that she has her own voice, which makes the role of producer all the more attractive.

— I enjoy being a producer, and am eager to do it more with a good team around me. I like the creative part of being a producer, and want to create characters, both in larger and smaller productions.

When Rebecca Ferguson now looks ahead, there is much from the action-packed years with "Mission: impossible" that she will carry with her.

— I look at it with joy and I have learned so much. I will bring a lot of that into my own productions.

Translated from swedish for @rebeccalouisaferguson

[fyeahbatcat]

Hi! I was wondering, what do you think is the ideal backstory for Selina? And what's your opinion on the backstory the Earth-2 Selina was given in The Autobiography of Bruce Wayne?

I don’t thinkthat I have an ideal backstory in mind because Catwoman is a very adaptablecharacter and I think there are a lot of different ways that storycould be told while remaining true to the character. I think that her backstoryin The Brave and the Bold was significantlybetter than the one they’ve been using for the last 30+ years. I find it verytroubling that male writers so frequently use personal violence as awoman’s phoenix moment, and I wish we could start to move past that trope andfind more empowering ways to tell women’s stories. 

However, in The Brave and the Bold her experiences droveher actions and contributed to who she became, and it wasn’t just used as a scurrilousbut trivial detail. She became Catwoman in order to survive after an abusivemarriage and then that became all she knew.

I liked where they were going when Selina didn’t really knowwhere she came from before they just starting rehashing things from herprevious series, because I think there’s more opportunities to do something newthat way. I also really liked Catwoman’s Zero Year issue. The only issues fromCatwoman’s fourth series were the one-shots written by Sholly Fisch.

If I were writing the Catwoman series, or could write a halfwaydecent fanfic about it, in my mind Selina’s backstory would be about her beinga child of the Narrows; growing up not really knowing where she came from but observingthe massive income inequality between Gotham’s richest citizens and those whomshe grew up around. She resents this lifestyle but also wants to participate init because it seems so glamorous and comfortable compared to growing up withvery little. It’d be kind of like the movie Focus.Selina is a young grifter who then falls in with a group of con artists whoshow her the way. She eventually masters her thieving skills and so they plan OneLast Job™. It’ssuccessful but Selina ends up double crossing everyone and taking the entire scorefor herself.

In her transition from high stakes, worldclass thief to actual rogue she starts taking jobs from other rogues, likePenguin, which causes not only moral dilemmas but run-ins with Batman. She’d bekind of an Ilsa Faust like character where you’re constantly questioning whose side,she’s really on.

Anyway, I don’t know if that was too specific or what youwere looking for, but that’s the take I would write. I’ve read other people’s backstoriesin fanfics that I liked, and thought would suit Catwoman also.