#then someone please collect the footage and make it into a found footage movie thing so my name will be famous

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-A New Home

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this is a repost considering it didn’t show up in any of the tags yesterday. have i mentioned how much i despise tumblr sometimes :) again, i want to give a special shoutout to @avengersbau for giving me a second set of eyes on this one.

word count: 2k

warnings: canon-typical violence and descriptions of injury.

The Purest Things Masterlist

gif is not mine! credit goes to @hqtchner

au! october 2007

Bookend: “It’s never too late to become who you want to be. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

++++

"I am SSA Hotchner. Welcome to the team Agent Y/L/N," his voice reminds you of the transatlantic accents of Hollywood stars of old. The kind you used to hear in the old black and white movies you would watch as a child.

"It's an honor to be here sir," you stare directly into his brown, soulfully deep eyes.

"J.J., get us started, please," SSA Hotchner suggests.

Sitting down, you look to the screen that displays the frightful footage of bombs detonating in various locations.

"Yesterday, an 81-year-old woman was severely injured when a bomb exploded in the toilet of a women's restroom," J.J. informs.

"Interesting spot to hide a bomb," Agent Prentiss sneers.

Jennifer flips through the slides and shows another bombsight located in a subway station, "Last year a similar bomb that had been attached to a phone box detonated. No outstanding injuries were reported. However, the bombs' similar makeup alerted detectives to dig into other bombings throughout the years. They have positively identified attacks over the past twelve years as perpetrated by the same bomber."

Spencer adds, "His M.O. is similar to George Peter Metesky, better known as the Mad Bomber. He terrorized New York City over a period of 16 years. He planted bombs in theaters, subway stations, libraries, and offices. They were left in phone booths, storage lockers and restrooms."

"Do you think we are looking at a copycat?" Derek questions.

"If we are, we need to stop him soon," declared David.

"He's escalating-becoming bolder and more vicious," you say, scanning the report.

"Tell Boston we can be there by 9:30," Hotch notifies J.J...

++++

"It seems like he's a textbook paranoid schizophrenic. People suffering from this disorder may think that other people are regulating them or plotting against them. They tend to be reclusive, antisocial, and obsessed Hwith hatred for their presumed enemies," you twist a loose string from your shirt around your finger, unwind it, then repeat the process.

It's a nervous tick you developed over the years that has worn down numerous tops before achieving their intended lifespan. You glance at Agent Hotchner, seeking a sign of approval. His eyes meet yours, and he poignantly nods.

Did I say too much? No. Don’t overthink this. They can probably smell fear.

"In his letters left at the bombsights, he uses words like 'broad' and 'chick' to signify women," Dr. Reid chimes in.

"Do you think the unsub is motivated by hostility towards women? "

"It's possible," he continues, "These speech patterns age him significantly, however. Phrases such as these were mainly used in the 30's, 40's, and 50's."

Agent Hotchner begins to delegate tasks before the jet lands, "Morgan and Reid, I want you to head to the bombsights and see if you can't work out the motive. J.J. and Prentiss talk to the victim's families, determine our victimology. Y/L/N, Rossi, and I will head to the precinct and familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land and see if we can't formulate a geographical profile."

++++

At the precinct, you observe Agent Hotchner's ability to singlehandedly transition an entire police force's obligation to under his jurisdiction.

"Captain Moreno, this is SSA David Rossi and SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N," the Unit Chief introduces you.

The captain tilts his head at you, "Aren't you a little young to be in the FBI? How old are you anyway?"

You nail him with a you're-full-of-crap look. 

Everyone gets to be young once; your turn is over, old man.

Choosing to take the high road, you say, "I'd like to get my hands on the bombers handwritten notes. There has to be something in those letters that can give us a clue into the who, what, when, and where of this case."

Skeptical of your request, he narrows his eyes and looks to David and Agent Hotchner.

"You hear her," Dave exclaims, "Lead the way!"

Your enigmatic smirk no doubt gives away the great pleasure Dave's gibe brings you.

++++

"Agent Hotchner," you hand him your preliminary geographical profile. With his arms crossed, he intimidatingly peers into your research.

Don't burn a hole in my paperwork; I worked hard on that.

He is impressed by your work, taking in your comprehensive outline of proof that details the unsubs point of origin. For someone so young, your attention to detail puts even his most observant profilers to shame. "How did you come to this conclusion?"

"My family is from Chicago. When I was little, I used to read through my grandfather's old newspapers that he collected throughout the 1950's. On the jet, I knew some of the phrasings that Dr. Reid was using sounded familiar, so I cross-referenced it with some of the particular articles I remember from my childhood and found his wording to be exact iterations of the Chicago Crier."

Without taking his eyes off of the paperwork, he commends you, "Impressive use of your prior knowledge. Often, the information drilled into us through education is lackluster compared to that of real-world experience."

You turn to walk back to your makeshift desk when he calls out to you, "And Y/L/N, call me Hotch."

Your shoulders relax from the tension you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging onto, "Alright. Hotch."

++++

You immediately regretted your decision. In pursuit of the unsub, you had wandered off down an abandoned subway tunnel and cornered him.

"Harold Watts, FBI. Gently place the remote detonator on the ground," You shout. Grappling to keep your gun from slipping between your clammy palms, you grip the weapon tighter.

Ordinary people's first days of work are uneventful; they're given a series of mundane tasks at most. Me? Of course, my first day involves being secluded in a subway tunnel facing down a man decked from head to toe in explosives and wires.

"D-don't come any closer. I have my finger on the trigger! I'm not afraid to die, and I will not hesitate to take you up in flames with me," he stammers.

The stampede of footsteps, no doubt from your colleagues and half of the Boston police force, resonate through the echo chamber you're standing in. Watts spooks and loses his balance. You begin shouting for the people behind you to stand down.

"The tracks are live, one wrong step, and we all blow up. I repeat, stand down!"

Turning your attention back to Watts, you attempt to soothe his irrationality. You slowly return your gun to its holster, raising your hands up in surrender. Hotch yells something unintelligible from behind you, but your focus is on the unsub and trying to prevent any more casualties.

"Harold, let's just talk this through for a couple of minutes. My men behind me will leave us alone. It's you and me now. Before this, you never wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to be heard. All of your life you felt like you were forced into the shadows, and you began to fester there in your pain and rage."

He tenses up; you have his attention now.

"Those girls who teased you and ripped your masculinity from you needed to be taught a lesson. But you didn't just stop there; you decided to do all women a favor and demonstrate to them the kind of pain they could cause, hoping to prevent them from making the same mistakes. In fact, you helped me to see what I can do better. I never want to make someone feel the way you did."

"Y-you learned that...f-from me?" Harold quietly sobs.

You nod, "Yes! Yes, Harold. And you can still be heard, but not if you die today. I could be your greatest advocate. If we walk out of here right now, think of how famous you could be. Harold, you will never be stuck in the shadows again."

It is crucial to your survival and your teams that you are brave just long enough to analyze the situation and keep your self-control. Panic won't do anyone any good right now.

Your mouth dries as you await Harold's next move. Suddenly, he hunches over, extending the hand gripping the detonator. Pausing for a moment to be sure he isn't making any drastic moves, you promptly hurry to his side and gently pull it from his clutch.

As the police officers and your colleagues rush to your aid, Harold looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Make me famous," he murmurs with a grin that churns your stomach.

Hotch ushers you away from the unsub, backing you up against the wall of the tunnel, "You actively defied my orders."

Searching every inch of his face for an accurate reading of his emotions, you are unsure of how to respond.

"I'd like to think it won't happen again," his eyes studying you just as intently.

You swallow hard, aware of the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "You have my word, Agent Hotchner."

"Good," he affirms, eventually freeing his hold on your arm.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and relax your spinning head against the wall.

Opening your eyes, you observe your new team tieing up all loose ends. They're safe. You are safe. Despite this first day not being as mundane as others, you wouldn't have it any other way. This feeling is what you signed up for, and it's already fulfilling you in ways you couldn't fathom before stepping inside the BAU office this morning.

++++

Aboard the jet, you tuck your legs underneath you and open up a book to read.

A cup of steaming hot coffee appears on the table in front of you.

Hotch sits across from you with a similar cup and offers you a subtle smile, "Impressive work out there today. I'm sorry your first day of work couldn't be more eventful."

A joke? I didn't take him as the joking kind.

Rolling your eyes, you put on a disappointed tone, "God...if you guys drag your feet like this every day, I might have to consider a transfer."

In a more serious nature, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess. You were right, you know, no amount of studying or lectures can truly prepare you for what it's like when you're staring into the eyes of a killer. I've learned the negotiation techniques and memorized the textbook 'put the gun down' speech, but all of that flies out the window when you're in the moment."

"You will find that improvisation at times is the key to success in this job. Just know that this team is a family. You will never face this alone or be at a loss for anything. Your career is in its infancy, but I can tell you have a long and triumphant journey ahead of you. We will do whatever we can to ensure that you are at home here and can use this team as an opportunity to refine your abilities. All I ask in return is that you work with us, not against us. You have nothing to prove. They see your resourcefulness. So do I. You are one of us now."

Some gazes are the promise of protection; his is all that and more. The words "at home" resonate in your mind. You've spent your whole life searching for a home, and here it is, its doors being opened to you. After a lifetime of running from place to place, perhaps this is where you can finally settle down.

"Get some rest," Hotch whispers to you. And with that, you lean your head against the chilled window and shut your eyes.

++++

Tag List 🏷

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[dweemeister]

Best Documentary Short Film Nominees for the 93rd Academy Awards (2021, listed in order of appearance in the shorts package)

NOTE: For viewers in the United States (continental U.S., Alaska, and Hawai’i) who would like to watch the Oscar-nominated short film packages, click here. For virtual cinemas, you can purchase the packages individually or all three at once. You can find info about reopened theaters that are playing the packages in that link. Because moviegoing carries risks at this time, please remember to follow health and safety guidelines as outlined by your local, regional, and national health guidelines.

A Love Song for Latasha (2019)

On March 16, 1991, Latasha Harlins, a 15-year-old African-American girl, was murdered by Soon Ja Du at Du’s convenience store in Los Angeles. The murder, which occurred almost two weeks after Rodney King’s beating at the hands of the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), contributed to the start of the 1992 LA riots one year later. Directed by Sophia Nahli Allison, A Love Song for Latasha is an avant grade film that intercuts statements by Latasha’s friends and family about the young girl they cared deeply for. Alongside reenacted scenes of childhood, of black girls frolicking on the Californian coastline and the streets of Los Angeles, the film serves as an intimate eulogy for Latasha – one delivered as memories about her become less immediate.

Whatever justified rage the Los Angeles rioters might have felt in 1992 is not the dominant force in Allison’s film. A Love Song for Latasha is foremost a cinematic lament rather than a political polemic. With the reenacted scenes edited and appearing as if it resembling a home movie, this piece appears like a visualization of the memories that the interviewees are recalling. When Latasha was murdered, she ceased to be just a daughter or a friend. A Love Song for Latasha, thirty years on, seeks to reclaim those distinctions for those who knew her best – something, given the significance of Latasha’s murder in history, that may never happen.

My rating: 6.5/10

Do Not Split (2020, Norway)

From Norwegian documentarian-journalist Anders Hammer comes Do Not Split, a street-level glimpse into the protests against the 2019 Extradition Law Amendment Bill (ELAB) that inspired the passage of the 2020 Hong Kong national security law. The events depicted in Hammer’s film include the Hong Kong police’s sieges of the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK) and Hong Kong Polytechnic University, in addition to small-scale clashes between protesters and police, as well as mainland Chinese instigating confrontations. Hammer’s footage is harrowing material, a collection of violent imagery with few moments of individual revelation or introspection outside of the presence of Michigan-born activist Joey Siu. Do Not Split decides not to attempt a dialectic of why the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and the Hong Kong Legislative Council (LegCo) are pursuing these changes and are brutalizing the protesters, depriving this film of the context that less knowledgeable viewers might need. For those who have been keeping at least superficially aware of events in Hong Kong, there is never any question on which side Hammer is on – despite Hammer’s journalistic background, this is not a piece of objective journalism.

Yet this is not agitprop due to the politics left mostly unexplained, and none of Do Not Split’s flaws take away from the rawness of the protesters’ desperation and the cynicism of the police and government officials enacting the crackdown. Despite the repetitive nature of the footage by the time it reaches the final stages of its thirty-five-minute runtime, Do Not Split contains excellent, crisp hand-held footage that makes immediate sense of the space and time of the depicted violence.

My rating: 8/10

Hunger Ward (2020)

For Pluto TV (some cord-cutting television service I was not familiar with until I started writing this) and MTV Films and directed by Skye Fitzgerald (2018 Oscar-nominated short film Lifeboat), Hunger Ward follows doctor Aida Al-sadeeq and nurse Mekkia Mahdi as they treat malnourished children in the midst of ongoing the Yemeni famine. The famine, directly related to the civil war that began in late 2014, has seen almost a hundred thousand children die in what UNICEF describes as, “the largest humanitarian crisis in the world.” Fitzgerald film works best when focusing on Al-sadeeq and Mahdi, as they describe the heartbreak conditions of the hunger ward and their experiences since the famine began. However, much of Hunger Ward’s footage is too in-your-face with footage of the mothers’ grieving and the last moments of several children. It appears almost as if gawking at the desperation and death that occurs every day in this hospital.

This is not to say that there is no revelation in the image of a child with their eyes glazed in lifelessness or the unearthly wails of a mother overtaken by grief. Fitzgerald edits and shoots their film in a way that makes this process – a child in their last moments of care, a declaration of death, a shot of the child’s corpse, a cut to the mother inside or arriving to the deathbed, and the echoing despair – occur tediously in their movie. Hunger Ward never breaks from this tedious formula. The film is redeemed only by withholding its slings and arrows until some text prior to the end credits, correctly assigning responsibility with Western nations that have enabled and abetted the violence in Yemen.

My rating: 6/10

Colette (2020)

Colette Marin-Catherine is in her twilight years and, upon first appearances, one might not predict the incredible life story that she has to tell. She was a French Resistance member, and French Resistance narratives tend to be sidelined in favor of those depicting Allied soldiers liberating France instead. But Anthony Giacchino’s (the brother of composer Michael Giacchino) film, distributed by British newspaper The Guardian and made for an extra feature of the virtual reality (VR) video game Medal of Honor: Above and Beyond, decides to linger on the memories of Colette’s murdered brother, who died at Mittelbau-Dora concentration camp in Germany, instead. At the urging and with the assistance of the young historian Lucie Fouble, who is interested in telling Colette’s story (although technically this is not Colette’s story), Colette travels to Germany to visit the site of Mittelbau-Dora so that Colette can… spill out her feelings?         

It is self-evident that Colette does not see the academic or personal value of such a trip, but the irascible subject of this short film will nevertheless humor Fouble – her intentions genuine, her approach questionable. Colette, who cannot forget the loss of brother but has not been dwelling on his death, is emotionally vulnerable throughout the trip to Germany, and the audience learns little about Colette, German atrocities, or her brother. Even in these moments, she remains a compelling figure on-screen, but this movie is a disservice to its eponymous subject – one who deserves more credit as a member of the French Resistance, as someone not defined by the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

My rating: 6/10

A Concerto Is a Conversation (2020)

Distributed by The New York Times and executive produced by Ava DuVernay, Ben Proudfoot and Kris Bower direct a deeply personal documentary short film to bookend this slate of five. A Concerto Is a Conversation contains a conversation between Kris Bowers (composer on 2018’s Green Book and 2021’s The United States vs. Billie Holiday) and his grandfather, Horace Bowers Sr., before the premiere of Bower’s concerto at the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. What follows is a disjointed film with sketches of Jim Crow-era America from Horace’s past to the anxiety-laden self-questioning of Kris’ present. Kris, as a black man, is questioning his place in the classical music world – which has, justifiably in some ways, been seen as staid and white. If A Concerto Is Not a Conversation can bridge the differences between Horace and Kris’ stories, it barely does so thank to the scattershot editing.

Yet Kris and Horace’s conversation is wholesome, admiring, loving. This is Kris’ way to show his appreciation for his grandfather and the struggles that he endured for most of his life. The out-of-focus background makes A Concerto Is Not a Conversation seem almost like a dream, a meeting that almost should not be happening. And in honoring Kris’ profession and the piece that is set to debut, the film is divided into noticeable thirds – just like a concerto’s three movements. A Concerto Is Not a Conversation might not make for the most cohesive viewing, but it is a celebration of a profound bond, tied together by forces that defy even the most eloquent words: music and love.

My rating: 6.5/10

^ All ratings based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

From previous years: 88th Academy Awards (2016), 89th (2017), 90th (2018), 91st (2019) and 92nd (2020).

[palmtreepalmtree]

Alright, this one is long overdue for an anonymous friend who really wanted me to review The Healer.  So after a short pause, here is another edition of

The Worst Movie on Netflix Right Now™

Heavy sigh.

Alright.  Let’s talk about this one.  

First off, I have to do some pretty serious content warnings, cause I know some people have been receiving some bad news recently and this review goes someplace you might not expect so, I love you guys, but please be aware that this review deals with: cancer, terminal illness, kids with cancer.  

Now back to the bullshit.

This is basically a movie about a fucking dumbass dude who has trouble making obvious decisions.  

SPOILERS AHEAD (are you new here?)

The main character Alec Bailey, begins the film as a total fuckwit.  He lives in England (somewhere about) and owns a failing electronic handyman business that he calls “The Healer” (in the most pathetic stretch of narrative bullshit, but okay) and is in deep gambling debts to the Russian mob. 

As our story begins, Alec discovers that he has a long lost rich uncle who makes him an offer: the uncle will pay off Alec’s debts if he agrees to live in Nova Scotia for a year.  The uncle will make all the arrangements: plane ticket, work visa, place to live, etc.  All Alec has to do is stay in Nova Scotia for a year.

OH NO!  WHATEVER SHALL I DO?!?  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO IN REMOTE NOVA SCOTIA FOR A YEAR AFTER ALL MY FINANCIAL CONCERNS ARE TAKEN CARE OF?  

HOWEVER WILL I SURVIVE IN SUCH A HORRIBLE PLACE?11?!?

I BETTER THINK IT OVER.

*eyeroll*

He finally makes his decision after getting chased by mobsters trying to collect on his debts.  ...like I said.  He’s a fuckwit.

So he moves into this beautiful house in Nova Scotia.  There’s no internet, which is a legit bummer, but his uncle has arranged a car for him to get to town.  Seems like a pretty good gig.  Even if it is going to be brutally cold come the winter months.  

Well as soon as Alec arrives in town, everyone seems to know and be expecting him.  He puts an ad out for his mechanical engineering services, again, under the name “The Healer.”  Well........... that goes awry in ways you would expect.  Suddenly, people start showing up requesting his physical healing services.

The thing is, the people from town seem to expect him to actually be a healer.  They keep referring to a secret and to him being “the chosen one.”  There’s no explanation for this.

Then there’s like... this whole weird interlude where Alec seems to kill the town priest, played by Jorge Ramirez (can someone please find this dude a good acting gig? my dude has decent comedic timing, he’s better than this shit). And Alec gets arrested.  Even though the priest got up and walked away.  All of this seems like a weird spinning of wheels before the actual plot.  Like why is this happening.  Why?  

Eventualllllllly......... his uncle shows back up and fesses up (in the most elaborate way possible).  People in his family have a gift.  Every other generation, someone is chosen.  And they have the gift of healing.  Based solely on being near to someone who is destined to be saved.

The gift can only be activated around their 30th birthday (if this sounds unnecessarily elaborate, that’s because it is -- and I’m even cutting shit out like the secret basement and portraits on the wall, blahblahblah).  The day after the birthday, the chosen one must decide.  They can choose to accept or decline the gift of healing.  Alec is given until midnight that night to make his decision.  WILL HE BE THE CHOSEN ONE?  WILL HE BE THE HEALER?!?!1?1

I mentioned that Alec is a fuckwit right?  

*Hagrid voice* YOU’RE A FUCKWIT, ALEC!

*squints*

Annnnnnyhow.  Alec goes to the town church where everyone is gathered at midnight (with thank you signs and a big round of applause) and he dashes their hopes.  HE WILL NOT BE THE HEALER, NO!  Even though it comes with no readily apparent downsides or costs.  And he’d be able to relieve the suffering of others with no cost to himself.  No, fuck it.  He’s going to go home.

The town takes it pretty well, all things considered.  The few people who had already been healed by being near him make speeches of gratitude.  They all wish him a happy birthday and tell him he’s welcome to stay.  Like these people are insanely understanding about him declining the gift of healing.  INSANE.

It’s worth noting that we’re about halfway through the movie at this point and we haven’t met one of the main characters of the movie.  

IN COMES ABIGAIL.  Cancer kid extraordinaire.  She is 14 years old.  Her parents have driven 7 hours to see Alec.  Their daughter is dying of terminal cancer, and all they want is for Alec to spend some time with her and give it a shot.  But she’s a pretty self-possessed kid.  She convinces the reluctant Alec to just hangout with her for the weekend to buck up her parents and give her parents some hope.  She doesn’t believe in the healing, so no harm, no foul.

And finally we’ve hit the meat of our story.  Will Alec be able to save Abigail now that he’s declined the gift?  Will he regret it?  WHY DID HE DECLINE THE GIFT!?1?

SPOILERS (really can’t discuss this movie without them)

It turns out, Alec had a brother who died of cancer.  And they were incredibly close.  In Alec’s words, “he was my everything.”  But now he deeply regrets giving up the gift.  Now he’s worried he can’t save Abigail.

You know what, man?  Same.

SO WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TURN DOWN THE GIFT!??!?

Listen.  Listen, listen.  I don’t know a single person who has been touched by cancer who wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a healing gift.  I mean, what the fuck.  Death sucks.  Losing someone you love from any kind of illness sucks.  Especially when it feels even remotely too soon.  And cancer is a particular type of FUCKING BULLSHIT.  It sucks.  

So it’s really fucking hard to understand why this FUCKWIT turns down the gift to begin with.  Death and suffering is not abstract for him when this movie starts!  So why we should feel sorry for his resulting anxiety, now that he has met someone who is directly negatively affected by his fucking BAD DECISION.

Anyhow, the rest of the movie is basically an exercise in how charming Abigail is and how much fun we can have with her before she goes off to die. Which like......... OH-FUCKING-KAY!

It should go without saying that this movie has a happy ending.  The music swells where it should.  The romance is consummated.  Abigail is healed.  All is going to be well with the world.

As a movie, this one has some weird fucking choices.  First, all of the music cues in this movie are just wrong.  “Faith” by George Michael is not a song about believing in something --- unless that something is having sex with someone who hurt you before.  And the lighting in this film is so beautiful all the time, it looks like you’re in a fucking ciallis commercial, even when you’re in the freaking police station, wtf?  

And last, the writing is just weird in places.  Like why have the love interest lie about being a lesbian through 90% of the film?  Why?  It’s not a good joke!  And  It is COMPLETELY fucking baffling to me why the good news of this story is delivered off-screen instead of on-screen.  If Abigail is going to be okay, why couldn’t she come back to Nova Scotia to tell him?  Why couldn’t she deliver that news in person!?  That’s just bad writing.  What the fuck is that?

But whatever.  

On the credit side, I think Oliver Jackson Cohen knows what he’s doing as an actor.  He’s not Oscar-worthy yet, but I believed him.  When he talks about his brother, I felt that.  And that could not have been easy in such a fucking weird script.

But as much as I’d like to end this review right here, there’s more.  Cause...

..........that’s not where the movie ends.  Not entirely.

As the end music plays, the movie is dedicated to Paul Newman who established summer camps for seriously ill kids.  And then we see images and videos of the kids all over the world enjoying activities at these camps.  

And that’s where this critique stops.  Sorta.  Paul Newman was a legitimately good person.  And his legacy of caring for sick kids carries on to this day, as was evident from all the footage.

But here’s the thing: healing as it’s depicted in this movie does not exist.  But easing the suffering of others does.  I wish this movie had been about that.  I wish it had been less focused on miracles and weird family legacies and selfish fuckwits and more about the kind of healing that Paul practiced.  But I guess that movie isn’t as fun, and it isn’t as hopeful and uplifting.

In the non-movie version of this story, Abigail Bryant died in 2014 at the age of 20.  Her obituary still appears online.  And it is still receiving comments and photos from cancer survivors and fighters, many of them who found her through the film.  And they talk about how the movie touched them.

On that level, it doesn’t matter what I say here.  It doesn’t matter that there are weird parts of this script or that healing like this is a fantasy.  This movie does its job.  It touches people.  And if it inspires just a few more people to give money to help relieve suffering, then that’s all that matters.

Ronald McDonald House Charities Cancer Research Institute Hole in the Wall Gang (Paul Newman’s org) Serious Fun Children’s Network (established by Paul Newman)

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

Artificial

My submission for @hetabang​ ! Hope you like it! 

Word count: 3,590

Summary: Novovol, Russia, the 36th century. The people of this new age have formed two distinct societies: those of the upper world, high in the sky in pearly cities, and those of the lower world, living on junkyard scraps and breathing polluted air. These societies, both run on fear and power, were meant to forever stay separate. But one night, an android fell from the sky and broke through the barrier that divided them. An android who has no memory, not even his own name, programmed to be a companion, but also a guard. His weapons system had been upgraded illegally, and without proper maintenance, could prove to be dangerous and unstable. Ivan, one of the best mechanics of the lower world, fixes him up and gives him a name; Alfred. Together, they go on an adventure, discovering things about their world, themselves, and their feelings.

Chapter summary: Ivan ventures into the junkyard to dig through the heaps for useful treasures, his almost nightly activity. One wild decision changes the course of his life. 

Warnings: brief mentions of death and bodies, hints at abuse(through scars)

Rating: T (to be changed)

Chapter 1: Hell’s Wasteland

The cold night air did wonders in smothering the noxious scents that blanketed the junkyard like a fog. While the sun’s heat cooked them and made them more powerful, nighttime forced them into hiding. The stench of death and rusted metal was enough to make a normal person retch, but Ivan frequented the location often enough that it was nothing but a minor nuisance. 

With his scarf pulled up to cover his nose and goggles to protect his eyes from the chemicals and dust, he weaved through the heaps of filth, looking for treasures hidden amongst the trash. His mechanical pack mule followed behind him dutifully with its heavy, steel feet making square indents in the hard dirt. The droid was bulky and large, similar to the size of its namesake, but its well oiled parts allowed it to move silently. The only noise that came from it was when the luggage it carried clashed into each other inside the bins on its back. 

This machine, that Ivan had built from scraps and named Buster, carried his maker's oddments so that Ivan could dig through the heaps freely. Every couple feet, the man stopped to poke through the collection of garbage and junk to pick out pieces that he could use for his work. There was a time when he'd jump at every eerie thing he found, but after years of coming here, those things only made his heart skip just a little. 

Spotting a human-like leg sticking out from a pile, Ivan scanned it with his device and waited. "Artificial, 20% damage," it said, allowing Ivan to release his breath and drag the limb out so he could toss it into his bins. He had learned the hard way that it was better to be safe than to drag out a corpse. 

It was one of the reasons the place was nicknamed "Hell's Wasteland." Broken androids tossed out here made it look like the place was littered with human bodies. The gangs saw that as an opportunity and began to dispose of their enemies here, hence the smell of decay. No one but vultures like Ivan went through here. No one would ever see. And even if someone did, the law would never listen to someone who only had 2 sets of clothes and ate crumbs for meals. 

What was once a scrap yard had now turned into a dumping ground. After the owners had disappeared, no one was left to take over. Local rumors said that the owners were still on the land, buried under rotten food and broken refrigerators. “If you listen closely, you can hear them crying,” they would say, “they’re waiting for someone to rescue them. But once you get close enough, they’ll snatch your body and use it as their own.”

But Ivan knew better than to listen to wild stories of ghosts and possession. He knew after many visits that it was the cries of cats. When they yowled in the night, it sounded like a child who had lost their guardian, or perhaps someone who was in pain. And since they ran away at the slightest sound, it was no surprise many people have never seen the source of the sound. 

Just then, that exact sound that people dreaded hearing pierced through the air and struck Ivan’s heart with chilling fear. He knew it was only a cat, but even the bravest of men would flinch at a shrill noise breaking silence. Head tilted towards the night sky, he listened, waiting for the sound to meet him again. 

When it came, he followed it with the stealth of an assassin. Even the slightest disturbance could send them running, and Ivan didn’t want to miss his chance of seeing a cute cat. 

With every step, he drew closer, which meant the cat had not discovered him yet. Maybe this time he would be able to catch it and bring it home. Then again, his budget could barely support his sisters and himself. To add another mouth to feed, that would leave them eating out of the dumpster. But one could dream. A small part of him hoped that the soft clanging of metal in Buster’s bins scared the cat away so he wouldn’t have false hope. 

But things never seemed to turn out his way. As he peeked out from behind an overturned car, he spotted the cat that had been yowling for attention and finally understood why it had not run. 

What he saw was an unfortunate black cat stuck in a discarded raccoon trap, its paw reaching out past the bars in an attempt to open the spring doors. Ivan approached it slowly, his large body hunched over in an attempt to make himself smaller for the cat. The mental image of himself looking like a crooked, old witch approaching their animal apprentice crossed his mind and made him smile. 

“Don’t scratch me, please,” he whispered after tugging down his scarf, “I’m just trying to help you.”

Back arched and hairs standing straight, the cat was not happy at all that such a big creature was so close while it was defenseless. It hissed and swatted at Ivan’s hands when he got too close, but eventually, the human proved to be trustworthy. 

He didn’t make any sudden movements, and for that, the small creature was thankful. Slowly, it relaxed, pressing itself against the corner of the cage instead of trying to shred Ivan’s helping hand. 

“You’re very beautiful. I will call you Novi. Do you like that?” He smiled down at the black cat that stared at him with wide, wary eyes. The cage jolted and clicked when it was finally opened and the cat took off with such speed, he could see bits of the ground scatter as her claws tore it up. 

Ivan let out a soft grunt of disappointment watching her disappear behind a pile of garbage bags. “What? No ‘thank you’? That’s a little bit rude.” He chuckled at his own silliness before walking back over to his droid. “Did you get that, Buster?” 

Those keywords made the droid open his sealed mouth with a click. Ivan reached between the spiked teeth to grab a cord to connect to his phone while Buster’s eyes flashed red to verify his identity. They turned blue when the iris scan passed the test, his tail wagging as his defense mode was disengaged. Only Ivan, his sisters, and people he approved had access to Buster’s security files. If anyone else had tried it, the jaws would clamp shut with enough force to take their hand clean off their body.  

With a few taps, he was able to see what his droid’s eyes had recorded. Crystal clear footage of Ivan interacting with the cat popped up on his screen. The quality was good enough that Ivan could pause and zoom in on it just to get a closer look. He took a screenshot and smiled.

“Send this image to Kat. Caption it, ‘rescued a cat from a raccoon cage. Named it Novi. Can I keep it?’ Message complete.” He continued to scrub through the video as he waited for the droid to do as he said. 

The droid went completely still for a few seconds then moved his head in a nodding motion once it was done. He spoke in a human-like voice with a slight mechanical buzz. “Message sent to Kat: Rescued a cat from a raccoon cage. Named it Novi. Can I keep it? Image attached.” 

“Good boy.” Ivan pat him on the head twice before disconnecting the cord and tapping his chin, making his steel jaws slam shut. Turning to the left, he began to return to his previous task but Buster stood firm. 

“Novi spotted.” 

Ivan stopped, turning back to the droid. “What?” 

“Novi spotted,” he repeated, looking straight ahead. 

He followed the eyes of his droid until he saw what his target was. There, standing on top of an old monitor, was Novi. Her tail swayed in the air playfully, as if waiting for Ivan to notice. “Are you back to thank me?” He asked the question as if he expected an answer.

Novi stared at him, completely still except her tail, then she blinked and hopped off the pile of scraps. Ivan had expected her to run a second time, but she turned back to look at him and waited. 

“Buster,” he said, his eyes not leaving the cat.

The droid chimed once. 

“Choice: Follow, or don’t follow.” 

The droid chimed twice. “Choice: Follow, or don’t follow. I choose follow.” 

Ivan hesitated. “Buster, what’s my luck today?” 

Two chimes again. “Your luck today is amazing! Who knows what will happen when you take a chance!” 

“Take a chance,” he repeated under his breath. Every fiber of his being was screaming to him that this was just like the start of a horror movie, but he took a deep breath and began walking towards the cat. “Maybe she will show me her kittens. Yes. This will be good. I have good luck today.” 

Even as he told himself this, his hands were cold and clammy from nervousness. A black cat on a full moon wanted to lead him somewhere. It didn’t seem like a good sign. Any rational person would ignore this stray animal. It could be a trap. Maybe demons. Or maybe Ivan was just being too superstitious. 

Several times, he had attempted to turn the other direction, thinking that following a cat was just too silly, but every time Ivan tried, Novi would walk back over to Ivan and stare. Waiting. Whatever it was Novi was trying to show him, it must be important. 

“Alright alright, I’m following,” he muttered after a fourth attempt to escape. 

They were nearing the center of the junkyard now. The piles here were stacked so high, even Ivan had to crane his neck to catch only a small glimpse of what was at the top. 

He tended to avoid this area. Located directly below the highway, it was a popular spot to toss things over the side. If one wasn’t careful, they could be crushed flat by someone tossing out their garbage. It was also very unstable. One misstep could cause the garbage to topple like an avalanche, and if one was alone, once they were buried, that would be the end. 

“I don’t think I can follow you further, Novi.” Ivan watched as the cat hopped gracefully on the pile, her light body barely making the objects move. But for Ivan, every step he took made garbage tumble down the sides. 

The foolish human had already come this far on his quest, and he didn't want to waste it by turning back. But one wrong step made his foot slip into the pile, a broken beer bottle cutting into his leg. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to make him hiss and stain his torn pants with blood. 

Maybe it was a sign that he should stop trying to climb this mountain of garbage. The wound on his leg was small, but if it wasn't treated, it could cause an infection. “I’m sorry but this is the end of our little adventure. My sister will be very angry if I die trying to follow a cat.” 

Of course, Novi gave no response. She only stared at him a while longer, looked at the highway above, then took off. At first, Ivan thought that perhaps she had run off because she knew Ivan would no longer follow, but the sound of a car door slamming shut told him otherwise. 

“Oh no.” He looked up at the highway, spotting two men approaching the side, working together to carry something heavy. Ivan shouted for them to stop as he scrambled to get to the bottom, but they couldn’t hear him. From the highway to the ground was a drop almost a hundred feet. His pleads would never reach them. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care. 

Ivan had only caught a glimpse of what looked like an old sofa being chucked over the edge  before the impact of it crashing down into the pile caused everything to topple over. Like a mudslide, everything on the top layer tumbled to the ground, Ivan included. 

He did what he could to protect himself as he fell; his limbs cut and bruised as he tried to shield his head. There was nothing he could hold on to. Nothing was stable. It only stopped when everything pooled on the ground, adding to the mountain’s size. 

Buster, who had stayed on the ground while Ivan chose to climb, ran over to the spot his maker was buried. He dug him out as fast as he could, then dragged Ivan to the side where he’d be able to avoid the damage of falling garbage. 

“Are you okay?” What Buster got wasn’t an answer to his question, but a smack on his metal head. “Ow.” 

“You liar. You said I have good luck!” He hissed as he stood up. His clothing was torn in several places and his body was covered in filth. 

Buster tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Luck readings are chosen randomly from choices you programmed into my system. If you are not satisfied with your reading, please ask ag-... Ow.” The droid was cut short when his maker smacked him again. 

“Maybe if I rebooted you, you won’t be so sassy.” 

“My personality is also programmed by you.” 

“Stop talking.” 

“Silent mode: On.” 

Ivan sighed when the droid went silent. He knew it was his own fault for following a cat into such dangerous territory. Now he had to go home and tell his sister that he needed to borrow money to buy a new set of clothes. At least his scarf was okay.

He wrapped the piece of cloth back to how it was when he started his hunt and tended to all the cuts with the first aid kit kept inside his droid. Then, pretending like nothing had happened, he went back to digging through the rubble. If he was going to ask Kat for money, the least he could do was sell a couple more of his projects to earn it back. And to do that, he needed the parts. 

The more he looked and the more he collected, he was beginning to believe that perhaps Buster’s reading was correct. While this area was dangerous and risky, it also held the freshest picks. He had collected so much scrap metal and spare parts that the bins grew full. 

Dozens of different projects zipped through his mind. He could make a small pet droid. Maybe a drone. Or maybe he could invent something brand new! He could be rich! 

A noise from the highway above only added to his excitement. He took a couple steps back from the pile, just to be safe, then watched to see what the people would toss over. “Come on. Give me something good.” 

All he could see were dark figures, but the mystery of it made his heart race. It all stopped when he saw the discarded object reveal itself in the moonlight as it fell. “No way…” 

Like before, the impact of the tossed object caused the pile to crumble. Anything on the surface was buried once again, but Ivan’s eyes were locked on the new addition. 

He waited until the trash had settled and the men above had left before dashing over to where the object was resting. It was buried under bags of garbage and electronic trash, but Ivan had found it. It was broken and damaged, but it was unmistakably an android. 

“What a beauty,” he said to himself as he admired the human-like machine. If it wasn’t for the broken skin revealing metal underneath, Ivan would have thought it was a human. 

The body was built to be male, a strong one too, and it had a head of long, blond hair with a firm but pretty face. The model wasn’t one Ivan has seen in the catalogs either, so it must be custom built. Which also meant it was an expensive model. The more expensive the model, the more he could sell it for. 

“Let’s see… Are you still active?” He waved a hand in front of the android’s lifeless face but gained no reaction. Snapping his fingers to try and wake it by sound did not work either. But when his hand made contact with its silicon skin, its eyes snapped open and locked on Ivan. 

Ivan jumped back quickly when blue eyes flashed red. “W-wait!” He snatched up whatever he could to protect himself. Unfortunately, his weapon of choice turned out to be a bent pole. “I’m friendly. I promise.” 

The android stared at him for a long time. Ivan could hear the whir of his engine as his system tried to determine whether or not Ivan was a threat. Several times, his eyes had gone dark only to flash back on again seconds later. 

“Battery failure,” he whispered as a mental note, “but reaction is good.” That brought a smile to his face. With a couple quick fixes, he could have this android good as new and sell him for thousands. So no matter how long it would take, he waited. 

He waited, with an eager smile, until the android relaxed his body, his eyes dimming down to a natural blue. “Identify yourself,” he spoke. His voice box was damaged, making his speech sound like he was speaking through a static tube. 

"My name is Ivan. I won't hurt you," he keeps his voice calm and quiet like he had with Novi. Now that the android had calmed, he lowered his weapon and came closer until he was within his arm’s reach. 

Ivan had opened his mouth to speak again, but the android’s arm shot forward and grabbed his scarf. He pulled the human down until Ivan was staring into flickering blue eyes. “Who… am I?” 

"I don't know. We've only just met. But I can find out." Dig through his memory files, erase them, reboot him, sell. 

"Are you ICON?" The android spoke the word as if he didn’t know the meaning. 

“ICON?” Ivan paused, his train of thought halting. "I'm Ivan, not ICON. What is ICON?"

He was silent and still for a while, making Ivan believe that it was another system malfunction. But since he had continued to blink, Ivan knew it was just his mind trying desperately to process an answer. "I... don't know. My limbs are damaged. I don't believe I can walk."

"I can take you to my home.” He took a step to the side, gesturing to Buster. “I can fix you. Would you like that?"

"I lack the currency required. At least... I believe I do..." His eyes moved sluggishly from Ivan to the droid, then back again. 

"I don’t require currency. Only your permission. Will you allow me to fix you?"

The android grew silent again, then slowly, he nodded. “Okay.” 

"I'm going to pick you up now. Is that alright?" 

"... I give you permission," he nodded again, "but become a threat and you're dead."

Ivan gave the android a nod in return before he slowly moved the junk off of him. It wasn’t until all of it was cleared that he realized the reason the android couldn’t move. 

His left arm and both of the android’s legs were marked with plasma burns. The damage of it melted through the synthetic skin, past the metal plating, and scorched the circuits underneath. The pattern of the injury looked like it was done with a rope, or perhaps a whip, wrapped several times around each damaged limb. Thoughts of fixing and reselling the android quickly began to fade. Not even a machine deserved to be treated like this. The rich were truly inhumane. 

“Does it hurt?” 

"Of course it hurts," he gave him a puzzled look, "but that doesn't matter."

"It does matter. You shouldn't suffer. Do you want me to power you down? I promise I'll turn you on again when you're safe. It’s so you won't suffer any pain when I move you."

The android frowned, his face scrunched up in distrust. "How can I trust you?"

"I guess you'll just have to. But I won't force you to agree." 

The android had no reason to trust Ivan. They had only just met. If Ivan was a dishonest person, he could shut Alfred down, take him apart, and resell every piece for a good price. Both parties knew that. But Buster had predicted that today was Ivan's lucky day, and that prediction showed to be true. The android, who couldn’t even process his own memories, had decided to trust him. 

“Fine,” he said, his voice soft. “Turn… turn me off. But I’m trusting you.” 

"You're making the right decision. I'll speak to you again soon. I’m turning you off now." He reached forward slowly, praying that the android wouldn’t activate his defenses once again. His fingers felt around the back of his neck until he grazed across a circular dent. 

For a second, his fingers rested there as he stared into the android’s eyes. He recognized the fear, the panic and uncertainty, but if Ivan was going to move him without hurting him, he would need to be shut down. 

“You can trust me,” Ivan reassured him. 

Then slowly, the android’s eyes slipped shut. 

[spidercakes]

Peter is a famous cat burglar and Tony is a police officer trying to catch him

Omg this is so fun! I love this idea :) Went with a little bit of identity porn for it as well.

*

MJ is freaking out and yeah, Peter too because he totally didn’t see this coming. “Is she okay?” Shuri, princess Shuri of Wakanda, asks as she gestures to MJ hyperventilating on his couch.

Peter doesn't know how me manages to play it cool but he does. “She’s fine,” he says, “and much more competent than she looks.” Mostly because at the moment she looks like she’s a panicking fifteen year old but she’s good, very good, its why Peter works with her. And also she blackmailed him and Ned into stealing some artifacts like seven years ago and he’s gotten good at it so now he does it for a living. The funny thing is that he’s dating a cop, which Peter takes personal pride in because Tony isn’t exactly stupid. Actually he’s way too smart to be a cop but for whatever reason that’s where he ended up.

“Good, so you can do it then?” Shuri asks and Peter nods. “Great, if you get caught its better you than us,” she says and Peter frowns. “Using Wakandan tech would be a little obvious, would it not?” she points out, guessing at Peter’s thoughts.

“Good point. I thought that um... axe looking thingy was from Ghana though.”

Shuri presses her fingers to her temples, “please don’t tell me you think the British actually label their stolen artifacts correctly.”

“Yeah, that’s what MJ is for...” he says, wincing a little.

Shuri turns to her, “well, clearly you’re better at this than he is,” she tells her.

MJ finally regains her cool as she nods. “Poor white boy would be mostly helpless and flexible without Ned and I,” she says. “And here my mom thought I’d never make use of that anthropology degree,” she says, pleased with herself. Yeah, she doubts MJ’s mom thought she’d start an artifact smuggling ring returning stolen artifacts to various countries of origin but okay. And that doesn’t touch on the weekend jobs, which are usually more personal things and Peter finds it fun to thwart rich people’s security systems.

*

When Peter gets home Tony is pouring over a large pile of paperwork looking confused. “I don’t get how this guy manages to do all this,” he says.

Peter slips an arm around his shoulders and perches in his lap, “he’s good, I’ll give him that.”

“Too good to be working alone but there’s no evidence he’s working with anyone else,” he says, hand settled on Peter’s thigh.

There’s good reason for that and Ned is most of it, not that Peter doesn’t do his fair share to make sure they’re untraceable. But Ned is the guy in the chair and he’s damn good at it. Peter’s just backup. “I’m sure you’ll find him some day,” he says, kissing Tony’s cheek.

“I hope so because I’ve heard rumors of another robbery,” he says.

Peter knows, he’s spread a few well places rumors about a museum across the city from his actual target. “To be fair,” Peter says, “maybe the museums he steals from shouldn’t have a bunch of stolen shit in them. Seems like a good way to solve the problem at hand here is to give people their stuff back.”

Tony sighs, “you can’t just steal things, Peter.”

“Exactly, tell the museums to give the stuff back,” Peter says. Its not what Tony meant and they both know it so Tony sighs and gives him a look.

“You know what I meant,” he says.

“Sure I do, but I still think the problem is the museums here. I mean, stealing doesn’t seem so bad when you know the things that are being taken were already stolen,” he points out.

“And if those things end up on the black market?” Tony asks and Peter squints.

“We both know nothing has ever ended up there, that’s not a real argument.”

“But those things do disappear without a trace. Its possible they’re in someone’s personal collection now.” They aren’t, Peter knows, because he goes and steals things back from personal collections too.

“Isn’t this guy known for like... managing to steal a whole ass mummy from someone’s personal collection?” he asks. “I’d love to know how he managed that.”

Tony snorts, “you and everyone else. But yeah, I guess he’s stolen from a few personal collections too.”

Try dozens or better, but its harder to make connections to personal collections than it is to museums. Also, a lot of people with personal collections got those collections in less than legal ways, meaning calling the cops isn’t really something a good lot of them want to do lest they bust themselves for illegal activity in the meantime.

“See? Stuff probably isn’t going to personal collections,” he says, snuggling into Tony. “Now put that stuff away, you promised we could have a date night.”

*

Peter looks ridiculous sitting on the ground with one of the eyes of his suit blown off, exposing part of his face and his suit is torn. “Man, that’s going to take forever to fix,” Ned mumbles.

“The suit? Are we not going to talk about how that total hottie nearly killed Peter, appeared to kill his girlfriend, and then made off with that Wakandan artifact?” MJ asks. “What the hell are we going to tell the Wakandan royalty about this?”

“Um. That a total hottie nearly killed me, killed at least one of his accomplices, also stole one of those mask thingies, and then made off with their artifact?” he asks more than states. MJ cringes when he says ‘mask thingy’ but lets it slide on account of he’s bad at memorizing weirdly specific things about cultures he’s never seen up close before.

“We’re going to get marked by Wakandans before the American police finally figure us out and its so much worse because you’re dating the American police,” MJ mumbles.

“I’m dating a single cop, not the whole of American police come on,” Peter mumbles.

“Bootlicker,” MJ accuses. “Just want to get my opinion out of the way before I’m taken out by whatever passes for Wakandan Secret Service.”

Peter turns to Ned but he shrugs, “I’m kind of with MJ on that one, but also he’s hot. I’d stoop that low too,” he says, earning a look from MJ. “Oh come on, give Peter some credit Tony is hot.”

MJ lets out an annoyed noise. “Stark isn’t unattractive,” she says, acting as if admitting that hurts more than having her teeth pulled.

*

Tony is looking over the footage wondering how the hell this dude manages to stick to walls when he gets lucky and notices. The robbery went wrong, way wrong, and its clear no one expected the surprisingly attractive second robber if their first guy nearly getting shot in the face is any indication. But it does bust the eye of his suit and leaves his face partially visible for a few seconds before he turns from the cameras and crawls away, still attached to the ceiling.

He doesn’t expect it when he notices, of course he doesn’t expect it, but he’d know that face anywhere.

*

When Peter comes home he’s fully prepared to crawl into bed with Tony and snuggle up to him for the last time before he’s presumably killed off by Wakandan royals but when he gets there he knows Tony knows. He’s not exactly easy to read and he looks so hurt.

“Tony,” he says, instinctually going to him but Tony takes a step back.

“Was any of this even real?” he asks and Peter frowns.

“Tony, I steal things, that doesn’t make me an actor. So not my skill set,” he says. “But I’ll be honest, I saw that you were on the case and you’re hot so I figured I’d indulge myself a little. But then you ended up actually having a personality and after I found out that you managed to get a bunch of your coworkers arrested and charged with domestic abuse and also covering up for other cops I was kind of a goner.”

Its an easy way to soften the situation, Peter knows, because Tony doesn’t much care for any kind of abuse and he’s automatically endeared to anyone who feels the same way. “Then what is all this?” he asks, gesturing to his pile of files.

“I’ve already explained it to you like ten times,” Peter says. “And honestly I’ve had a really bad week so can we skip this talk until I sleep off nearly being shot in the face?” he asks.

Tony considers it, Peter can see he’s got a whole lot more questions, but he leaves it alone for the moment and opens his arms to Peter. He sighs and walks over, curling his arms around Tony’s waist and smiling when Tony does the same.

*

Tony looks shocked and Peter can’t say he blames him. He would be shocked too if not for his knowledge that Shuri is actually pretty cool and it turns out the Wakandans aren’t pissed. Shuri looks a bit harassed as she leans against the doorway. “Please do not call my murderous cousin hot,” she says.

“Well he was before he tried to shoot me,” Peter says. “And you know, his girlfriend.”

Shuri looks a bit pained but says nothing on that in particular. “Yes, well, turns out he has a lot of rage issues. Caused a lot of drama, threw my brother off a cliff, normal Wakanda stuff,” she says like kings get tossed off cliffs normally.

Tony frowns, “is... is that normal in Wakanda?”

“Yes of course, point is you don’t need to worry about it we got the vibranium back,” she says and winces, getting a dirty look from her guards in orange. “Um. I mean... can we get back to my murderous cousin?”

“Is he always that big of a dick or do you think he can be redeemed?” MJ asks.

Peter frowns, “you’re really gunna date a dude who murdered his ex?”

“No, dumbass. I’m going to have sex with him, Jesus. No need to make a commitment,” MJ mumbles.

“Well, you’ll have to summon him with a Ouiji board and have ghost sex,” Shuri says, then pauses. “Do those things actually work or are they a myth or American horror movies? I want to know if I can summon a ghost to haunt my brother,” she says excitedly.

[backofthebookshelf]

Book Recs for Magnus Archives Fans

I was just rambling in tags the other day about how my avatarsona was "the Archivist, but a public librarian: Oh, you like dirt?? Let me tell you all the dirt stories I have!!!!" so, uh, here I am I guess.

I'm gonna spare you all the M.R. James and Algernon Blackwood and House of Leaves and Blindsight; you know all that already. These are my horror backlist recs.

The Bone Key by Sarah Monette Y'all. Y'ALL. Kyle Murchison Booth was absolutely the Archivist before Gertrude. He was poached from the Parrington by the Usher Foundation and the Eye glommed onto him at once, because the Eye loves disaster queers who can't people right (and also Gertrude). This I believe to be true, and so will you.

Kyle Murchison Booth is an archivist at the Parrington Museum, which is somewhere in New England, sometime in the early twentieth century. He also has a lifelong entanglement with the supernatural which is almost entirely not his fault, and he would very much like it to stop, but he also feels responsible and he can't just let evil mirrors and cursed necklaces and possessed dressing gowns randomly eat people who have no idea what's happening. Even if it means he's going to suffer for it.

(This collection doesn't contain all of the Booth stories, so here I am going to link to "White Charles", which happens to be my very favorite Booth story.)

For you if your favorite part is: honestly everything about MAG, from the modern sensibilities about early twentieth-century-horror, truly eerie ghost stories, to suffering eldritch librarians (thanks to whoever tagged my most recent fic with that you're so valid), monsterfucking and soft gay pining. No happy endings here, sorry.

Bedfellow by Jeremy C. Shipp You may or may not have heard that Macmillan-Tor is launching a horror imprint, and I don't know how long it's been since a major publishing house has had a horror imprint, but I am EXCITE. This book is part of the trend that's the reason why: Tor.com has been publishing these kickass novellas for a couple years now, and their horror books are top notch.

One night a stranger knocks on a family's living room window and asks to be invited in. They ask him to stay the night. He's an old friend, after all, he needs a place to stay. You can't kick out your twin brother when he's just gotten divorced, no matter how much Gatorade he spills on your two-year-old hardwood floors.

For you if your favorite part is: the Stranger, this is all Stranger, it's terrifying and good.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll A graphic novel, some of these were originally posted as webcomics (have you seen His Face All Red, and if not, why not???) and the only disadvantage to having them in book form is they can't blink at you. Probably. Very folktale-ish, with all the death and violence that implies, and also the slightly eerie feeling that you know this story already, and then it turns around and slaps you.

For you if your favorite part is: looking over your shoulder when the foley gets good; Once Upon a Time in Space (I know that's not technically part of the Magnus Archives but shush)

Universal Harvester by John Darnielle I am not usually a fan of artists who jump media. Just because you can write songs doesn't mean you can write novels. Apparently writing good songs doesn't mean you can't write good novels, though, because John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats (pretty sure that's his full name at this point) wrote Universal Harvester and I love him for it.

Jeremy works at a video rental place in Nevada, Iowa (it's pronounced Nah-vey-da, and yes it’s real, I've been there, and yes, it's probably haunted). It's the 1990s, and someone's been returning their VHS tapes with something on them that isn't just the movie. Footage that includes a barn that he recognizes, just outside of town.

Fair warning: this is not the kind of mystery that gets tied up in a nice bow at the end.

For you if your favorite part is: Jon losing it with paranoia in S2, The People's Church of the Divine Host, the Lonely

The Good House by Tananarive Due If this author's name is unfamiliar to you, RUN, do not walk, to your nearest internet bookseller and purchase every single one of her books immediately, you will not regret it. She also just came out with a documentary on black horror, Horror Noire, on the Shudder streaming service. They've got a free month if you aren't a horror movie person, it'd be worth your while. This book summary sounds like it's full of tropes. It is, but Due has the cred to write them well.

Angela Toussaint hopes to salvage her suffering marriage and her troubled relationship with her teenage son with a trip to her grandmother's house, a home so beloved the locals in small-town Washington state call it "The Good House," but tragedy strikes instead. Two years later she returns and finds that the tragedy isn't over, and it's not going to stop on its own.

For you if your favorite part is: the very practical statement-givers who know what's happening to them and Will Not Put Up With This Shit, the Desolation, the Hill Top Road statements

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins Is this horror disguised as fantasy? Found family disguised as horror? Grown-up Neil Gaiman? Less grimdark George R.R. Martin? Honestly I have no fucking idea, but it's amazing. Fair warning, unlike Magnus Archives, this deserves all kinds of trigger warnings, including but not necessarily limited to: sexual assault, torture, mental manipulation, dysfunctional families, incest(?)

Father is missing, and his twelve children (though extremely talented in their own ways, and not strictly speaking children any more) are at a loss without him. But also, without him, things are starting to seem different. He might be God? They might not be human? (They were probably human once.) He might not be God but maybe one of them might be next? If any of them survive.

For you if your favorite part is: slowly turning into a monster, the relationships between entities and avatars, monsters hot (not kidding about the trigger warnings)

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley I have to keep reminding myself that Magnus Archives isn't really folk horror, there are two separate (if related) strains of British horror here and folk horror is not the one we're on, but at the same time I really want a good creepy rural pagan cult to show up in the series, you know? Anyway.

When he was a child, our narrator used to go with his family on an Easter pilgrimage to shrine on a bleak stretch of Lancaster coastline locals called The Loney. His Catholic mother was searching for a cure for his older brother, and she was convinced if they kept going long enough she would be granted her wish. The locals, however, are not huge fans of her annual visits, and even less so when the boys become involved with the goings-on of a pair of glamorous tourists.

For you if your favorite part is: the Lukases, I didn't realize until I was writing this up that I'm picturing Moreland House in the exact place described by this book

Eutopia by David Nickle One thing I love about the historical statements in Magnus Archives is just how truly historical they are. There's almost nothing in "The Piper" that isn't historically accurate - yes, Wilfrid Owen spent several days in a trench underneath the shredded bodies of his fellow soldiers. Like. You can't make up horror worse than that. But then you add monsters and it gets good. And I'm a sucker for early-twentieth-century history, it's such a bonkers time.

It's 1911 and the new Eugenics Record Office is sending agents out to catalog the disabled, infirm, and otherwise undesirable members of society so they can figure out what to do about them. In the utopian town of Eliada, Idaho, Dr. Andrew Waggoner runs from the racism of American society and straight into the influence of Mister Juke, the most troubling patient in his new practice. (Trigger warnings for, obviously, a whole lot of ableism. Treated like the monstrousness it is, but there's a lot of it.)

For you if your favorite part is: learning history through horror, the Flesh

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay I hate male writers writing about teenage girls, so you are going to have to trust me when I say that I had to check, several times while reading this book, to make sure that Paul Tremblay is actually a dude. He's very good. This book was kind of his breakout, so if you follow horror you've read it already, but if you don't necessarily then please do not miss it. His newer ones, Disappearance at Devil's Rock (Stranger, Spiral) and The Cabin at the End of the World (Slaughter, Extinction), are also good but not as good as this, I think.

Fourteen-year-old Marjorie is having a rough time - outbursts, hallucinations, paranoia. Treatment is difficult (and expensive) and her family ambivalent; they turn to a local Catholic priest, who recommends an exorcism and, to help manage those medical bills, a production company who's interested in filming a reality TV show about the process. Fifteen years later, Marjorie's sister deconstructs the now-famous show and wrestles with her own memories of childhood. Trigger warnings for ableism on the part of many of the characters, but not the narrative.

For you if your favorite part is: the Spiral, metafictional analysis of horror tropes

[freckled-words]

Fleeting Worlds - Destiny’s Gravity Part Two

A/N: This is not edited, so apologies if the grammar makes you cringe. This is also the last piece to this world. If anyone is interested in running along with this idea, please let me know.

Summary: Ochako wakes up in a dingy bar, the League of Villains are facing her down, and Bakugo is restrained in a chair to her left. More concerning, Shigaraki has placed a “no harm” rule for her.

Part One

The transition went a little nicer than her last couple of trips through Kurogiri’s warp gates. Unlike before, she wasn’t dropped unceremoniously into the new place.

Instead she found herself almost placed down, as the distance from the warp gate to the floor, felt more so like she’d merely jumped up in one spot and landed down in another.

This didn’t diminish the sense of panic that surged through her mind.

She doubted anything, save for a quick acting drug, could calm the rapid fire rate of her heart beat. 

Her first impression was that they’d moved to a hospital room that belongs in a horror movie.

The only available light was being emitted from a collection of screens mounted into the right wall. A normal screen projected blue/white light, instead these screens were showing everything in green. 

This gave the massive reclining bed, and all the medical machines a foreboding shadowed effect. 

Goosebumps rippled over Ochako’s skin when she noticed exactly what was on the screens.

It was her, at different times of her life.

One screen showed her stumbling along as a toddler towards her parents.

Another showed her making her stuffed animals float, and promptly throwing up and beginning to cry.

And one showed her back in the bar from a few minutes ago, replaying the fight she’d just struggled through for nothing.

‘What the hell is all this? Why have they been watching me?!’

“Ochako Uraraka. It’s so nice to finally see you again.”

Proper overhead lighting kicked in, forcing Ochako to squint against the harsh, white LED brightness.

When her eyes adjusted, she felt her mouth go dry and fought against the need to flee.

Standing in front of her was a monster.

They stood 10 feet apart, and she still had to crane her neck back in order to look up to where his face was. He was dressed in a black, tailored suit that showed his frame to be solid.  That plus the helmet contraption on his head would have sent Kaminari and Mina into jokes about Darth Vader.

Only they weren’t standing in his presence, and feeling something brush against their nerve endings with warnings of absolute danger.

Ochako doubted anyone had made a joke about this man, and seen the next sunrise.

“Wh-who are you?” Her voice was a pathetic croak to her own ears, but then she wasn’t making any shows of bravery here.

Hands that could cover the entirety of her face spread outwards in a welcoming gesture, “I have long since abandoned my given name, my dear girl. You may address me as All For One.”

He took a couple steps closer, and only the hand at the back of her neck holding her in place kept her from moving further away, “My how much you’ve grown over the years.”

“Y-you’re speaking as if you know me.”

“Because I do, dear Ochako. I’ve known you since the day you were created. Such a tiny thing you were as a baby.” All For One turned on his heel, and made a sweeping motion towards the wall behind him.

The room was more technologically advanced than she’d assumed, as the gesture activated a projector she couldn’t see. A screen illuminated the entirety of the wall, bringing up a silent video of a small infant crying in the arms of a doctor.

Her parents had shown her the pictures they had of her as a baby, and even the twist to her gut told her that this was video footage of herself.

Scanning over the video, she located the face of the woman laying on the hospital bed, “That’s not my mother.”

All For One lifted his hand, causing the video to pause, “Oh? You don’t see the resemblance?”

With a wave, the video was rewound and zoomed in on the woman. Whatever system was in control, took the liberty of cleaning the image so there were no distortions. Which made the woman’s face perfectly clear.

Rounded cheeks, circular shaped eyes, and hair that was nearly identical in shade to her own.

All For One snapped his fingers, and the woman’s face was cropped into a standing rectangle. The rest of the clip was removed, and next to the woman’s face were pictures of her parents, and her. 

Her dad had circular eyes, and her mom had the same hair color as her. But seeing them compared to this woman, those little resemblances weren’t adding up to the whole, not like how the woman did.

Her confusion was a snake in her stomach, slithering around her insides as it coiled, ready to strike.

Shigaraki removed his hand from the neck, and stood back, having seen a sheen of sweat begin to form on her skin as it paled. Recluse that he was, even he knew the signs of someone that looked about ready to heave their contents.

All For One strode over to the wall and placed his hand on the cheek of the unknown woman. His thumb moved in a circular motion, as though he could stroke her cheek, “Subject 453: Himeno Yua. She was one of my favorites to work with. She knew the risks of the experiment, but was determined to see it through. I’d like to think you inherited that determination from her, seeing as she had no quirk to pass along. It was such a waste that she didn’t survive.”

Another snap of his fingers, and the pictures went away, to be replaced by a video.

The doctor carried the baby over to Yua. She smiled, and lifted a sluggish hand to touch the baby’s face. The audio on the video was thin, making it hard to hear her, “She’s perfect. I’m...so glad….I could do this...for him.” Her eyes fluttered, her hand slid from the baby’s face and the heart monitors attached to Yua flat lined.

The video feed cut as the doctor hurriedly handed the baby to a nurse and set about trying to resuscitate Yua.

Ochako tried to swallow, and found no moisture in her mouth to do so.

She couldn’t tear her eyes from Yua’s pale, motionless face, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. So just spit it out.” The hard edge she’d put to her words couldn’t be heard, as she’d barely gotten them out in a whisper.

All For One moved away from the wall and walked over to her.

With slow, deliberate motions, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Ochako refused to look up into his disfigured face.

“Very well, if it will remove this cloud of denial you’re keeping your head in.”

His hand’s grip on her shoulder gave what he must have thought as a comforting squeeze, “Himeno Yua was your mother, and I, being the sperm donor, am your father.”

[crue-sixx]

Forget Me Not

Title: Forget Me Not

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue Movie)

Note: Based in the HC "Remember Me" where the reader loses her memory but knows who the band is.

Summary: The reader is on stage with the band she dances/sings with when someone throws something at her and knocks her out cold.  She wakes up in the hospital and is scared shitless.  She had to run.

Warning: Swearing, smut mention, memory loss

It was a typical Friday night for you now-you'd been hired by the band Motley Crue as a back up singer/dancer while on the Girls Girls Girls tour.  You'd had some Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey in you but you weren't even buzzed when it was time to go on stage.  You kissed your boyfriend Mick a quick peck on the lips and wished him good luck, and he did the same for you.  You took your place next to Vince and you did your thing, all of you playing off each other in perfect sync. 

In the middle of Girls, Girls, Girls, you were dancing provocatively next to Mick-something you knew for a fact always got him going, him giving you a sultry grin that said he'd take care of you later.  As you turned from him, you felt something hit your head very hard.  

"Fuck!" Mick caught you, dropping his guitar.  The cut was tiny but it was bleeding very badly.  Vince ran over, taking off  his shirt to put pressure on the wound while Tommy and Nikki pulled the perpetrator on stage and proceeded to kick his ass. a few of the other fans joining in.  Security had called for an ambulance and you were taken promptly to the nearest hospital.

They had to postpone the rest of the tour until you got better, but they didn't know how long that would take.  Mick never left your side, him stroking the top of your hand with his thumb.  He'd talk to you like you were fine.  You heard everything he and other people said to you "Y/N...baby...please wake up..." you heard the desperation in his voice and you let silent tears fall.

It had been a week since you had been attacked, and you were showing signs of improvement-you were breathing on your own from the get go, and your body responded to outside stimuli.  But as you opened your eyes, everything came into focus.  You sat up, looking around for something familiar.  You were alone and scared, you had no memory of who you were and what you were doing here, but you saw a set of clothes that looked like they could fit a woman.  You ripped out the IV needles in your arm and quickly put the clothes on.

You peeked out of the room to see if there was anyone coming or looking and saw nothing.  You quietly left the room in a medium pace that wouldn't draw attention to yourself.  You exchanges plesantries to passerby who said 'hello' and soon you were out of the hospital and walking in the sidewalk.  The city was unfamiliar but you were starving.  You walked into a small cafe and ordered a coffee and bagel.  Of course you had no way of paying, so when you were done you made like a banana and split.

Back at the hospital, Mick had just come back from a food run to find an empty bed, hospital gown discarded on the chair, the clothes he had bought from the hotel for you gone and spots of blood on the sheets and floor.  Before he let real panic set in, he stopped one of the nurses and asked "Did you take Y/N L/N for some tests?"

The nurse said "The doctor hasn't ordered any tests for her..." she looked into the empty room and rushed to the phone to call for a missing patient.

"What the fuck?!" Mick growled "isn't it your job to make sure all the patients are accounted for?!"

Just then Tommy, Nikki and Vince came in with fresh flowers to see the commotion and confusion "Mick, what's going on?" Tommy asked.

"These asshats lost Y/N!" he was shaking in worry and rage.

"What?!" Nikki yelled "How is that even possible?!"

The hospital director came down and looked at the security camera footage from the hallways.  It had showed you in the clothes Mick had bought you, just walking through the hallway and then out of the hospital unhindered.  The director was beyond livid and he turned to the staff on duty "You're all fired.  Collect your property and get out" the stunned staff sat in silence, then gathered their belongings and left.

"How the fuck are we gonna find her?!" Vince hissed.

"We have to call the news and put out a be on the look out order.  She doesn't have any money but she needs to eat right?"

"That's true" Mick said, calming down a little.  "We can put the number to our hotel room on the screen and ask if anyone had seen her please call us..."

During the press conference, he held up your picture, said your name and where you had escaped from.  "She is not at all dangerous" he stated "If you see her, please guide her gently to a police station and call this number.  You can reach me directly there.  Also she may have some brain damage and/or memory loss.  Please be as patient as you can with her..."

The waiter who served you at the cafe recognized you right away, as you had dined and dashed on him.  At first he was mad as hell but after hearing what was wrong with you he wanted to help.  He called the number and spoke with the man from the news.  You had stopped at the cafe about 1pm, were finished in about half an hour and left without paying.  Soon more calls came in and they had established a timeline of your whereabouts.

The talk with your parents was awkward, your father yelling at him for leaving you alone in an unfamiliar place.  Your mother straight up refused to talk to Mick, he was already kicking himself for not ordering from the hospital kitchen instead of going to the cafeteria.  "I know I fucked up Mr. L/N, but I need to know if there's anyplace from her past that Y/N would be drawn to?"

Your father thought for a moment and gruffly said "Los Vegas.  Her grandparents lived there before they died.  She loves it there, just outside the Los Vegas strip there's a small motel we always stayed at when we went to visit" the sounds of papers shuffling "here's the number..."

By now, your disappearance had made national news, but you never stuck around one place long enough to listen to anything.  You had to get to Vegas, to the one place you remembered was safe.  You were right outside the off the road motel and you went into the office to see if you could con yourself a room for a few days and then skedaddle before management even knew you were gone.  When you waked in, the clerk at the counter was watching a portable tv.  He looked up at you, did a double take and said "How may I help you?"

"I need a room for a few days" you said "I can't pay right now but at the end of my stay I can!  I'm hoping to win big on the strip!"

Normally the clerk would have laughed you out of the office and told you to go fuck yourself, but you were the missing woman on the news, and the most recent report said that you might be heading this way and he had a feeling that he needed to take down the number he saw on the news just in case.  He dialed it and said "Is this Mick Mars?"

"Yeah who are you?" the tired voice scratched out.

"My name is Mike Benson, I'm a clerk at the Palm Tree Motel in Vegas right outside the strip.  Your lady friend's here.  I just gave her a room for a few days.  How fast can you get here?"

"I can be there in a few hours" the voice perked up, him hanging up the phone and booking the next flight to Vegas.  From what people had told him, you'd seemed confused and paranoid when they interacted with you so he told the band what was going on and said he needed to go alone, in case you got overwhelmed and ran away again.  They understood and wished him luck, telling him to take all the time he needed.

You were just so tired from walking and hitch hiking the past few days.  You would learn later that you waked or hitch hiked all the way from Los Angeles to Los Vegas.  How you'd managed to do that you didn't know but you were safe here, so you laid down to take a well needed nap.

It was just after sunset when Mick came into the lobby of the Palm Tree Motel, the clerk being the same one he spoke to "Mike Benson?"

"That's me" the clerk answered "She's in room 231" he passed a key to him.  "Go get er, man".

"I can pay for the room later" Mick offered.

"Don't worry about it" Mike smiled at him "it's on the house."

Mick was grateful that all the places you had dined and dashed from wouldn't accept any payment from your meals, they all understood what you did wasn't your fault and let it slide.  You hadn't ordered anything fancy-just some soup and water.  They just wanted you back safe with Mick.  

Outside room 231, he took a deep breath and turned the key.  You were sleeping peacefully in bed, he had begun blubbering like a child when he saw you.  You didn't appear to have any other injuries other than the healing bruise to your head, the cut having scabbed over.  With a shaking hand, he reached out and stroked your hair to make sure you were real.  You stirred under his touch and opened your eyes "Mick?  Why're you crying?"

"You remember me?" he said through sobs.

"Of course, baby" you said "Why wouldn't I?"

He was silent a few minutes "What's the last thing you remember?"

"What's with all these questions?" you asked confused "You act like I was missing for a while!"

"Y/N, you WERE" he turned on the TV to the news where you saw your picture plastered all over the place, saying you were found.  

You looked at him in frightened confusion "What the Hell is going on?!  Did I die and wake up in the Twilight Zone?!"

He held you close to him, you were shaking with fear "I'm right here baby..." he rubbed your back, taking in the familiar scent of vanilla and honeysuckle.  He was so relieved to have you in his arms again. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The memories were jumbled in your head, you taking a moment to put them in the right order.  "We were in stage in L.A. and I was teasing you when a glass bottle flew at me..."

"That's all true, babe" he held your hand and went on "You were in a coma for a week before you just up and walked out of the hospital" you were even more confused than ever.

"Why would I just walk out?  That's not like me at all!" you laughed a little, but you knew it wasn't funny.

"The doctor said you most likely went into a fugue state.  Like you forgot who you were.  Because you didn't see anything familiar when you woke up" he looked at the floor, ashamed of himself when you lifted up his face.

"Not your fault babe" you leaned backward with him on top of you "The hospital staff should have been watching me..." you started kissing him, you feeling like you missed his touch for a whole year.  He reciprocated at first,but stopped.  "What is it babe?"

"I can't do this..." he got off you.

"What?  You don't want to do it with me?" you asked, thinking he didn't want you anymore.

"Yes" he admitted "I need to be close to you, but I want to make sure you're okay first.  I want to have the doctor at the hospital who looked at you when you were admitted to see if there's any lasting brain damage..."

You smiled weakly and said "Okay Bob" he grinned at that, you only calling him by his actual name on rare occasions.  You were one of very few people who knew his name.  You two cuddled, each taking in the other's scent and bringing back even more memories.  

Back in L.A. each of the band hugged you for a long time, then your parents.  You were surprised to see news people there too, but you'd grown used to paparazzi swarming you since you and Mick started dating two years ago.  The doctor looked at the scans of your brain and saw no lasting damage.  You were cleared to go back to your normal life, granted that you'd have to be with someone at all times.

When you got home, there was a nice dinner with wine waiting for you and Mick.  He was just as surprised at you were, seeing a small note on the table in between two candles "Just heard the good news!  Have fun! Nikki, Tommy and Vince" you laughed softly at that, the two of you enjoying each other's company.  After an hour of the slowest, sweetest love making you two had ever shared, you cuddled close to his chest.

"Hey, Y/N?" he asked, the sweat on his skin leaving the surface moist.

You looked up at him "Yeah babe?"

"I love you" he leaned down and kissed you deeply "I'm sorry you had to wake up scared..."

You rolled your eyes at him "I told you many times, it wasn't your fault, Mick!  Stop blaming yourself!"

"I know, but if you had been killed while you were confused I would have lost my damn mind..." he bought your hand up to eye level and for the first time you saw a beautiful blue sapphire ring on a very important finger.

"Mick when did you-?" you asked, the thing taking your breath away.

"When we were making love just now" he slyly smiled at you.  "I was gonna ask you that night when we got back to the hotel but then the shit hit the fan" he locked eyes with you "So you want to marry me?"

"Yes, Bob Deal I'll marry you" he leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more hunger.  You raised your eyebrow at him and asked "You sure you want to go another round?  Your back will be aching tomorrow!" you teased him.

"Hell yeah, Y/N" he pulled you onto his lap "we gotta make up for lost time!"  you laughed, accepting both his proposals and giving him your life and in return he gave you his.

[elisaphoenix13]

Decisions Regrettably Made

A few members of the team decided to drink last night. Surprisingly, Tony was not one of them. Even more surprising was the fact that Stephen was. He got really drunk too, and Tony was willing to bet he got as far as blackout drunk if the way he found the drinking team the next morning was anything to go by. They were all sleeping on the floor. Clint laying on his stomach, Stephen was as well but he was using the archers back as a pillow, Scott of course had to touch the sorcerer in some way so his legs were thrown over Stephen's, and his head on a throw pillow from one of the couches. Sam wasn't part of the pile but he was nearby with his own pillow being strangled in his arms under his head, and Nat was using Stephen's back as a pillow, but she was awake and filing her nails while watching tv. Thor was the only one on a couch and looked completely unfazed aside from Natasha. Tony was pretty sure they weren't part of the drinking squad last night.

"Sooo..." Tony starts and Nat looks over at him. "Any idea why my husband's shirt is missing?"

"Thor and I just got here, but his bare back looked inviting." Natasha says.

"We made sure they were still breathing." Thor gently kicks one of Clint's legs but gets nothing for his effort. "They will not wake up though."

"At least it's not his pants." The engineer shrugs. "How much you wanna bet Mama Bear will wake up for his cub?"

Nat smiles. "I'm not taking that bet because I know he will. It will be a matter of urgency though. If the baby spider doesn't sound alarmed, he will continue to sleep."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "A hundred says that Pete just needs to say Mom."

"Now that is a bet I'm willing to take." Natasha says as she moves to her feet and joins Tony.

"Whoever wins, I want part of the winnings." Peter says as he comes out of his room yawning.

"Fair." Both Tony and Nat say.

Peter stretches as he moves to the entrance to the living room. Thor only seemed mildly interested in the outcome of the bet but mostly kept his attention on the television. When the teen opens his mouth, he only snaps it shut again when the elevator whooshes open and Nick Fury steps out onto the floor. Tony lets out a dramatic sigh.

"FRIDAY, thanks for the heads up." When she doesn't respond the engineer glances at Fury. "You screwing with my tech?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You visiting is surprise enough. What do you want?"

"Have space to put up a couple of people for a few days?"

Tony scoffs and walks into the kitchen, grabbing some blueberries from the fridge and tossing some in his mouth. Did he have space? He had all the space in the world. It just depended on who the director wanted space for.

"Depends."

Fury rolls his uncovered eye. "You're as charming as ever Stark. When I heard you were married, I felt sorry for the poor woman."

Peter barks out a laugh and Tony throws a blueberry at his son. The teen only caught it in his mouth and munched happily. "Have you been hiding under a rock? I'm not married to a woman. I thought you of all people would know that." The mechanic explains when Fury looks at Peter curiously.

"I tend to tune out the news when you're the subject, but I managed to process that you adopted Mr. Parker over there." Nick points toward Peter and ignores the teen's correction of Stark. "So a man then? Still feel sorry that the poor bastard has to deal with you. So where is he?"

Tony motions toward the living room. "Somehwere in that pile of bodies on the floor. Now back to why you're here in the first place. Who am I babysitting?"

Fury says nothing when the elevator opens and instead steps aside to show T'Challa and Shuri stepping onto the floor. Tony grins and walks up to the Wakandan king and claps him on the shoulder with his free hand.

"Hey Kitty-cat! To what do I owe the honor?"

"Director Fury wanted our help with some of their equipment...Shuri and I wanted to sight-see."

"I'll show you myself! It's handy being married to a wizard. Wherever you want to go, we can be there instantly. Hope you don't mind waiting though. Stephen is currently dead to the world."

T'Challa raises an eyebrow. "You married the captain?"

"Nope. Actually, Nat and I made a bet so you might be able to meet him in a second."

"What kind of bet?" Fury asks suspiciously.

Tony nods to Peter who turns from their visitors and back to the living room. "Mom."

The billionaire had to keep himself from laughing at the incredulous look on Director Fury's face.

Peter huffs and allows a tone of fear drip into his next words. "Mom!"

The reaction was instantaneous. Stephen's eyes snapped open and he got up so quickly that any hangover effect that he might have to suffer through didn't have time to bother him. He was on his feet and in front of Peter before anyone could blink and immediately started looking for injuries. When he found none and there was no immediate threat to be found, he slumped down against the teen who uses his strength to keep him up. Stephen was definitely feeling the effects from his hangover now.

"Don't do that."

Fury glances at Stephen and Peter. "I don't want to know. You people are crazy enough."

Tony watches the man leave with a smirk and then motions toward his pale husband. "T'Challa, meet Doctor Stephen Strange." Stephen slowly lifts his head from his cub's shoulder to glance at the king. "Babe, this is the king of Wakanda and his sister Shuri."

"I apologize for my state." The sorcerer mumbles.

"You look like you had a fun night." T'Challa says with a grin.

"Clint's idea. I feel like I've been hit by a truck at least three times and I don't remember everything that happened."

The king laughs as Natasha turns to Tony with her hand out. "I believe I won that bet."

Tony pulls out his wallet and gives fifty to the Russian and the other fifty to Peter, who pockets it into his sweatpants before leading the sorcerer back into the living room to lay on one of the vacant couches. Tony collects a glass of water and some painkillers, passes them down to Stephen when he walks into the living room, and then turns back to the visiting royal party.

"Mind waiting until tomorrow for sight-seeing? I can get you two settled on the guest floor in the meantime."

T'Challa opens his mouth but is interrupted by a thud. " Mothertrucker, dude, that hurt like a buttcheek on a stick!" Peter exclaims and Stephen groans.

"Please cub...I already have an excruciating headache."

"AHH! Stahhp. I coulda dropped mah croissant!" Shuri says and Peter looks over at her with an excited gasp.

"How much money do you have?" He asks.

Shuri grins. "Sixty-nine cents."

"You know what that means?"

" I don't have enough money for chicken nuggets!"

Stephen almost sobs from his place on the couch and Tony and T'Challa stare at the two teens.

"Oh my god...there are two of them." Tony groans loudly.

"At least someone understands her." The king says.

__________________

Peter and Shuri hung out the entirety of the three days that the royal siblings were in New York. Tony made true to his promise of showing them the sights with the help of Stephen's portals, but it was a bit of a chore when the teens spoke mostly in vine references. The three adults just let Peter and Shuri do their thing. Tony and T'Challa were a little more used to it so they knew how to tune it out, but Stephen tended to look into his cup of tea with a look like the gods had forsaken him. They found it hilarious.

When their royal visitors finally left, with the promise that the New York family would visit Wakanda next time, Peter finally spoke sense and Tony could visibly see the relief loosen tight muscles in the doctor's shoulders. Peter was more than enough, but having Shuri around to encourage the boy was borderline insanity. She and T'Challa made it up to Tony at least by giving him some vibranium and the princess helped the engineer upgrade his and his family's nanotech suits.

"Woah! That was awesome!" Peter had just tried out unleashing the energy his suit absorbed from his father's hits. Much like T'Challa's did.

Tony coughs and extracts himself from the wall. "Ow."

"Oh crap! I'm sorry Dad! Are you okay?" Peter asks as he rushes over to the billionaire and brushes glass and pieces of metal off of him.

Tony waves him off and both let their suits retract into their respective cores and then look at the Tony sized dent in the wall.

"Let's keep that little perk for aliens and enhanced enemies, okay?"

Peter nods in agreement. "Yeah."

"We've been down here long enough anyway. Let's go make some lunch and have a movie night or something."

Tony leads the way to the elevator and back up to the family floor and they find Stephen sitting in the living room with a book and a plate full of sandwiches waiting on the coffee table. Scott, Clint, and Sam looked to have already helped themselves. Their presence only reminded Tony that he had meant to ask if they remembered anything from their night of drinking a few nights ago.

Peter rushes forward and jumps onto the couch after grabbing a sandwich, and curls into the sorcerer's side as he takes a bite. Tony takes the empty spot on the other side and picks up his own.

"What happened the other night? I've been meaning to ask." Tony wonders.

"You just want to know how we got Mama Bear shirtless." Clint snickers around his turkey sandwich.

"Actually, I'm surprised you got him blackout drunk let alone to actually drink."

Stephen peers over his book. "I would like to know where my shirt went as well. I don't remember anything past the jello shots."

Peter looks up at the doctor with a scrunched nose. "How much did you drink?"

"A lot...and that was before the jello."

"He technically drank us under the table." Sam admits.

Tony raises an eyebrow and looks at his husband. "That's really arousing...but none of you told me about the shirt."

"Why don't you just ask FRIDAY to show you the footage?" Scott asks.

"Watching it isn't the same as hearing you guys tell the story." Tony responds.

Clint finishes his sandwich. "We've only seen Stephen shirtless one time and that was when Peter almost froze to death so we couldn't see anything. We wanted to know how fit he was."

"Man, he did not disappoint." Scott practically drools and he curses when a portal opens up under him and he falls through.

"Anything crazy?" Tony asks.

"Stephen made himself a sandwich. He used wheat bread." Sam says.

"That's not crazy."

Sam snickers. "No, but it's hilarious when he called the white bread racist."

Stephen moans and covers his face. It was kind of funny. Not necessarily something to be embarrassed about, but then they kept going. After the jello shots, Stephen apparently decided that he had to practice neurology again, had opened a portal to the hospital, but Sam and Scott had tackled him to the ground and taken away his sling ring. They also distracted him with a teddy bear, saying it was Peter, and he had sat on the floor for a good thirty minutes staring at the toy. Scott at one point wanted to see how far gone the sorcerer was, but was quickly thwarted by red bands and a yell that Stephen was married thank you very much.

Both Tony and Peter were in tears from laughing so hard at the stories, and Stephen was just mortified. He was never going to drink again. They all had their idiotic moments that night, but Stephen was the only one that got blackout drunk. The others got close but they were still aware enough to babysit the sorcerer's dumb ass.

"Next time you guys drink, I'm sending Peter to Ned's and joining you." Tony laughs out.

"That will never happen because I am never drinking again." Stephen glowers.

Peter smiles. "Either way I'm glad you were able to relax enough to do that."

The teen grabs his third sandwich and Stephen ignores Tony when the man waggles his eyebrows at him, and ponders the teens words.

Maybe he needed to find a healthier alternative to relax and have fun with the team. While the night of drinking was fun (what he remembered of it at least), the hangover was not. That had taken him a full day to recover from and Stephen allegedly drank like a college frat boy after blacking out.

Then again, this was the Avengers. They would find a way to get him to drink again.

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: Found 5

Previously on Found

Deep in the island, the construction tape was strung all over the still-damaged parts of the research facilities. Much had already been repaired, but the rest was either too broken or took much longer. But the entire base was altered irrevocably in a way other than physically. It still bore the scars of the powerful alien escaping, and it stung with the realization of just how overwhelming and otherworldly she was.

The floor was patched, the walls were reinforced, the data was collected and fragmented videos were strung together to put a picture of the newest alien on Lex Luthor’s desk. Incessantly, he poured over the files, simultaneously marvelling and growing more and more upset with how overwhelming this threat was. He already knew Superman, studied his power and how to contain him, and though he hadn’t been able to yet, he felt an edge. This new alien though, she seemed more powerful with the unfortunate benefit of not loving humanity, as the other Kryptonian continually vowed.

In the dimly lit office near the top of the research labs, the video of the chaos of the alien waking replayed once again as Lex scoured the internet for sightings. His team was sworn to absolute secrecy, and no one mentioned the escape, but it changed the entire feeling. Beneath the normal days, an undercurrent, a hum of fear was stoked.

Alone and isolated, the owner and scientist furrowed, the cloudy features of his angular face barely moved as eyes darted back and forth, taking everything in as quickly as possible. Not much else occupied his mind lately, much to his sister’s dismay. While she still continually begged him to participate in the business she wasn’t supposed to be running. Emails piled up, phone calls were ignored, and still he sat there, day after day, obsessively plotting.

Deep in the island, in the middle of the night, Lex Luthor ignored another call from his sister, and he began to search through the newest research results from his team, preparing for the day he finally found the alien that got away. Plans were made, and he was preparing to finally rid the earth of all problems.

The phone buzzed once again, and he silenced it by throwing it against the wall in his office so that it crashed,shattering into a bunch of smaller pieces. He didn’t move another muscle, just the minimum required for that task, and back again he was on his computer.

If he’d answered the phone, he would have heard the slight edge in his sister’s voice, the annoyance at his avoiding her, at the fact that she was running everything, and he was draining resources in a way that was hard to justify, that she wanted to hear how her battery was doing in long-term and rigorous testing.

But Lex didn’t hear any of that. Instead, he poured through the rest of the footage once again, and he wrote down notes of ideas of things to kill the powerful aliens he viewed as the greatest threat to humanity, and he slowly but surely lost much of his own.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’m so excited! This is going to be great!” Kara cheered eagerly.

The entire car trip into work, wide eyes stared at all of the city, enjoying the dim kind of dawn that was stretched and pulled apart in winter into nothing more than pale sunlight and wool clouds. It was going to be a cloudy day, but it did nothing to deter Kara from enjoying the freedom of finally accompanying Lena into work.

It took a few days of Lena having a fake illness and balking her assistant’s attempts to come over and bring supplies. It took a few days of figuring out what to do with Kara, and how to make it all work. It was a few days of Lena working very hard to not think about the new alien girl with the pretty smile and sad eyes. It was a few days of experiencing everything for the first time through a stranger’s eyes.

“It’s going to be boring, I can assure you. My job isn’t exciting.”

“We had purpose and jobs on Krypton,” Kara explained. “I know how jobs work.”

“What was yours?”

“I was a… I think the word is prostitute?”

“Excuse me?” Lena choked on her tea, nearly spilling on her shirt. She bolted at the word and wasn’t sure how to recover.

“You know, I helped with studying, and I worked with the younger ones to help them understand things,” Kara furrowed. “Is that the wrong word? Is it profiteer? Profiler?”

“Professor.”

“Yes,” she smiled and nodded, happy to resume looking at the tall buildings and all of the glass and metal that occasionally reminded her of her home. “I was a professor.”

From the other side of the car, Lena thought about the words and about the idea that Kara was a prostitute and that was distracting enough. She didn’t look at the pretty girl with the pressed slacks and button-up shirt. She couldn’t.

“What did you teach?”

“History and Sciences.”

“History of what?”

“My people,” Kara smiled sadly before catching herself. “And then I taught the young ones the history of our sciences.”

“That sounds like a noble life.”

“It was fun, and I loved it.”

The car finally slowed in front of Lena’s building, and she prepared for what her day was about to turn into. Hiding an alien in plain sight seemed like the best course of action, which was kind of crazy, but then again, her brother was actually insane, and at this point, beating crazy with crazy seemed like the best bet.

“Do you mind that your life has led you here now?” Lena asked, concerned about someone else’s happiness, which was oddly foreign for her.

“I don’t know. I can’t think about it all too much. Just today. I can live today.”

“And today you’re okay.”

“Today I’m okay.”

The driver made his way around to open the door, and Lena smiled as she gave Kara’s hand a squeeze, assuring her yet again that things would be okay, though she wasn’t sure how. Kara grinned at the contact, the tips of her ears going a bit pink.

“I’ll see you at six, Ms. Luthor,” the driver explained as she opened the door.

“Shall we?”

XXXXXXXXXX

The normal morning for Jess consisted of pre-arranging her boss’ schedule, returning emails that accumulated in the night, gathering reports, sorting internal mail, and generally running the tone of the day. Most mornings were boring in that they were quiet, starting with a stillness before the rest of the world woke up. Jess arrived first, turning on the lights to the top floor, stacking the reports just how her boss liked, surveying the multiple schedules.

For some reason, it wasn’t like most mornings.

The coffee shop was out of her favorite flavor and skim milk. The weather was stuck between warm and muggy, which did weird things to her hair. The traffic was deceptively heavy. The train was uncharacteristically full for so early in the morning. The security guard wasn’t the usual guy. A series of small irregularities snuck up on the secretary in a way that she refused to notice until it was much too late.

The elevator dinged at exactly five after nine, and Jess stood and reached for her schedule book and the coffee she prepared for her boss just a few minutes before, a safeguard against the complaints that were inevitably about to occur.

“Good morning, Ms. Luthor. How are you?”

Without really looking, Jess met Lena’s eyes and greeted her. It took a few moments for her to realize there was another body in the elevator. A beautiful body. A body attached to a pretty face, with an angular jaw and warm, melt-in-the-sun eyes.

“Um, this is my… this is an intern. Hand-selected.”

“Hand-selected?”

“Yes, hand-selected,” Lena nodded after looking at Kara for confirmation. “It’s complicated.”

“Hi. I’m Kara,” the alien grinned, over-joyed and much too awake for so early in the morning.

“Hand-selected after you took off for 2 days?” The secretary asked, somewhat ignoring the peppy newcomer.

“Yes. Those are unrelated facts.”

“Are they?”

The trio moved toward Lena’s office as she attempted to dodge the questions and start her day as normally as she could. There was really no hope of that with her assistant and the pretty girl that was now her shadow-- a gorgeous, beautiful shadow who had dimples and a jaw she wanted to cut her tongue on--

“What?” Lena furrowed and cleared her throat as she tugged at the collar around her throat, her secretary looking at her for an answer expectantly.

“You have a full day today. Perhaps I can find something for your intern to do?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. That would be… yes. Kara, you have a knack for sciences, why don’t we have Jess set you up in the archive department. You can see what we’ve given up on.”

“Just a step above the mail room.”

“The mail room sounds like fun.”

“Then go to the mailroom,” the CEO shook her head. “Don’t go far, please.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kara fake saluted and looked expectantly at the tiny secretary who came up to just above her elbow.

Jess looked at her boss, waiting to see the truth in the present situation. She just got avoiding eyes and a stern glance. She smiled and nodded before leaving the office.

With a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Lena flopped into her chair and braced her head in her hands before shaking it against herself. She was going to lose her mind before the day was over, she was certain.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Hi, I’m Kara. I’m from Metropolis. I am a PhD student interning here for the foreseeable future. I like movies and I love ice cream and donuts. I recently discovered that of all the genders on this planet, I am mostly attracted to one but also like one person. The sun is a beautiful star, and I think sunset is superior to sunrise. My favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry or peanut butter surprise. My favorite cereal is Lucky Charms.”

The woman at the counter to the Archives floor stared at the newcomer and finally dropped her hand after shaking it vigorously. Just three years from retirement, Norah McLaughlin, the intrepid organizer of all things file related, the pursuer of patents, the copyright expert, the organizer of it all, the keeper of the history, stood at her desk and wondered what just walked through her door.

The perky intern waited for her to answer, smiling happily and oblivious to what all of that energy felt like on the receiving end.

“Ms. Luthor said that you have access to all of the discarded projects, and I would like to start looking at them. I have extensive training in the fields of what you might call astro-chemistry, physics, and a baseline, though probably above average, foray into biomedical studies on a number of...um, species.”

With an adjustment of her glasses, the intern smiled again after her description.

“I will leave you both to that, then,” Jess nodded. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

“Sure. Thank you, Jess.”

“Good luck, Ms. McLaughlin.”

The administrator remained standing there, suddenly confused as to how her day just changed from its normal, standard routine, to the whirlwind of being in charge of Lena Luthor’s personal intern.

“Where--where would you like to start?”

“I guess at the beginning,” Kara nodded, buzzing with excitement.

XXXXXXXXXX

At 1:48pm, Lena officially knew she was in trouble.

She knew it about a week beforehand when a soggy alien appeared and her brother siphoned millions into a fund to hunt and prepare for the inevitable attack, though she couldn’t particularly figure out what kind of trouble it actually was going to be. There were a handful of options, of course. The plan would implode, she wouldn’t have a plan, she wouldn’t be able to outwit her brother, or a million other ways it could go sideways.

But for a few hours, Lena allowed herself a tiny ray of hope where she got some work done and didn’t spend every moment worrying. That was almost a complete lie. She spent every other moment worrying.

“Ms. Luthor, there’s been an… incident,” Jess interrupted as Lena read over a few reports. “An incident relating to your new… intern.”

Immediately, Lena perked up at the mention of Kara. She tried to hide it with annoyance but the act of caring and worrying, they came out immediately. Jess saw it and her worst fears were confirmed.

The secretary took a seat immediately, hurrying around the chairs in front of Lena’s desk and sitting on the very edge, ready to speak quickly, and to some degree, well outside of her own area of expertise and beyond her job description.

“What happened?” Lena sighed and put down her folder.

“There seemed to be a mix up with a research lab and an old patent for flexible solar paneling sensors. There was a small fire, and a large complaint lodged by the former researcher,” she explained, looking at her notes to follow the chain of events.

Lena shook her head and clenched her jaw.

“Ms. Luthor… I don’t mean to speak out of turn--”

“But you’re going to?”

“In some weird way, I consider you more than my boss. I don’t know if friend is the right term, but I respect you,” Jess continued, softening the CEO slightly against a reproach. With Lena’s slight agreement, she felt reinvigorated. “Whatever you do in your free time is your business, but I think people are going to start to talk about your intern.”

“Oh?”

Lena felt her spine stiffen as she placed both her palms on the desk and straighted at the remark, hoping to play it off.

“I, for one, am very happy.”

“Okay…”

“And I’m sure others will be upset about it, and I can see where the legal and maybe financial backlash will come in, which is why I have to say something.”

All of the blood in her body pooled at her fingertips, or so it felt. If Jess knew, if everyone knew that she, the Luthor of the alien-hating Luthors, was harboring an alien, and a dangerous one at that, the very blood of the sworn enemy of her own blood… it was a matter of time before her brother’s retribution was paid in full.

“I’ve done a little research, and there are already whispers of this on the internet.”

“Online? Since when?” Lena balked. “Show me!”

There was an instant of hesitation before her boss’ expectant hand pushed her to handing over her tablet with the bookmarked sites ready for her perusal.

“I think Kara is a wonderful person for you to spend time with, and I like that you’ve been out of the office like a normal human. But perhaps finding your girlfriend a job at the company wasn’t the best idea--”

The words faded off as Lena sputtered out an echo of the word ‘girlfriend.’ She felt the relief wash over her instantly as she sank into her chair and looked down at the screen.

The first article was a picture of the CEO and a stranger gazing intently at each other during a rather large brunch. The speculation was loose but enough to generate clicks. The next was an eyewitness account of Lena dressing her plaything, according to the headline, and spending thousands outfitting her in designer threads.

The relief was like a drug, and Lena blushed as she saw the paparazzi pictures of the two of them, and to their credit, they did look somewhat clandestine. It was the work of a skilled lens though, she told herself, and nothing more.

She froze at the image of the two of them in the park, ice cream cones in hand, herself laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in a long time. Lena wasn’t sure she ever saw a picture of herself in which she looked truly happy. But there she was, pressed alarmingly close to Kara, and with a beautiful girl who smiled back at her eagerly. Jess was still talking, but it didn’t matter for exactly sixteen seconds.

The new realization that Lena was now the subject of the gossip columns and had a supposed girlfriend was a new level of frightening, and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t rather have her brother attempting to blow up her office.

“I’m sorry I put you in this position, Jess,” she offered. “I shouldn’t have done that to the company.”

“It might have been okay if she hadn’t actually attempted to work on a project.”

“A small fire?”

“Very small. Maybe six offices are damaged. Three totaled.”

Lena shook her head and leaned back in her chair again before digging her fingertips into the corners of her eyes.

“I suppose I should take my girlfriend home for the evening then.”

“Should we expect her back in the morning?” Jess asked as she stood.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Ms. Luthor?”

“Email me all of the information on our non-profits relating to education.”

Lena grabbed her bag and shoved a few things into it before making her way to the door in record time. She paused before opening it.

“Did she figure out the failed project?”

For a few seconds Jess paused and shook her hand with the knowledge.

“They think so. Just a few things to continue testing before results are available for you to look over.”

The CEO smiled slightly before turning the knob.

“Have a good night, Jess.”

“You as well, Ms. Luthor.”

Guilty and nervous, Kara sat in the chair by the elevator and brightened slightly at the sight of Lena leaving her office.

“I should apologize. I didn’t account for differences in atmosph--”

“You figured out how to adapt solar receptors to be extra effective while simultaneously being more malleable and even integratabtle into existing structures.”

“Um, yes?”

“I need you to tell me everything,” Lena grinned and held out her hand. “And then I think we should discuss dating.”

[fernwehbookworm]

Woke The F*ck Up- Chapter 24

April 28th, 2018

Lena tries Kara’s cell one last time, scanning the room as panic grows. After five minutes, she had grown irritated, after ten, worry had begun to gnaw at her, now it had been fifteen and Lena had called Kara four times while asking patrons and bartenders alike if they had seen her. No one had. The bartender waved her in the direction of the manager's office. It was locked and dark. The schedule posted outside the door said he was off today. Finally, Lena gives in and calls Alex, cringing as it rings to voicemail. She calls again immediately.

“What Luthor?” Alex asks irritably, clearly being interrupted and sounding a bit breathless.

“K-Kara..” Lena’s eyes dart around the bar again,

“What about Kara?” Alex bites through a gasp.

“She… she…”

“Lena, what is it?” Worry starts to tint Alex’s voice.

“She’s missing”

“What do you mean?”

“She went into the bar for my jacket and never came back. No one has seen her. She’s just gone. She won’t answer her phone either.”

“Are you sure she isn’t doing her night job?”

“And just left me standing on a sidewalk, alone, drunk, in front of the bar?”

“Shit, your right. Okay. Stay right there. Sam is on her way to get you in a Lift and take you back to the hotel. Don’t go anywhere alone. I’ll head into work and see if we can pull security feeds.”

“Okay. Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m worried.”

“Me too. But let’s try to keep level heads, okay?”

“Okay.”

**

April 29th, 2018

Kara’s head throbbed; man, she drank way too much last night. Then she remembers she didn’t drink at all. Her eyes snapped open and immediately shut under the harsh fluorescent lighting. The fuzzy images of being drugged in the manager's office pull at the edge of Kara’s brain but she can’t make out the face of whoever it was. Kara moves to sit up and rub her eyes, something heavy clanks as she lifts her arms.

“What the…”

Manacles clasp around both wrists with a heavy chain, another chain leads to between her legs and the manacles around her ankles. Already the skin of her wrists was tinged red with irritation. It takes effort for Kara to focus her eyes through the pounding of her head. She’s in a small, bare room with only one light above her. The stench makes her think it used to be a janitor's closet of some kind. A harsh mixture of chemicals and mildew. Kara groans and rubs her temples. The door bangs open, making her wince and shrink away from the noise.

“Marvelous, you’re awake. I was worried that my dear Corben here had used too much.” Kara looks up at the voice sending chills through her. She knows that voice. She’s heard it before. From Lena’s hotel room.

“Veronica,” Kara growls out.

“Wonderful, you do remember me.” Veronica’s smirk sits like poison in Kara’s stomach. Instead of responding, Kara just glares at the woman lording over her. The figure behind her steps into the light as well. A man Kara had beat in the ring a couple of times, John Corben. He was the best of the underground fighters until Kara showed up.

“I’ve heard that you were the strong silent type. Always just showing up to a fight, collecting the money, and leaving without a word, isn’t that right? Andromeda?” Kara stiffens at the use of her alias.

“Yes, that's right. I know who you are. That’s why your here after all.” Roulette continues, unprompted.

“You see, no one ever leaves my games. There is only one way out of my service and no one ever takes it. So you see, my dear Andromeda, this is not something you can walk away from. You will fight for me. Then, if you live through your trials, your skill sets will be sold to those willing to pay for them.”

Kara somehow finds it in herself to laugh. This was a stereotypical villain rant that made Kara think of a bad movie or comic books. Veronica looks at her with disdain.

“What do you find so humorous?”

“Just this whole ‘You will work for me, or else’ spiel. Very good Veronica. Very Good.”

“Oh but my dear Kara, you will work for me or else. You see, I know your whole life now.” Kara stiffens at that, thinking of her other, other alias.

“I know where your gym is and where all your employees live. I know where your sister’s apartment is. And yes, I know where Lena Luthor is staying currently. Also, I know where the girl is, what’s her name? Ah, right. Ruby. She’s currently at a sleepaway camp in England. So yes, you will fight. You will win. You will win or die trying. Then, if you live, I will begin selling your services to the highest payers. Unless you want something to happen to those closest to you.” With every word, fear lances through her heart. The only hope was that Veronica seemed not to know about Power Girl.

“Veronica, please. Don’t do this.” Kara begs.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Veronica wiggles a finger at Kara.

“Its Roulette to you. Now, Corben, get Andromeda ready for her first fight. Try and escape and I think I’ll start with that lovely front desk girl at your gym. The pretty little blonde one.” Veronica leaves with a flourish.

Kara digs her nails into her palms and swallows past the lump in her throat. This was unbelievable. She was happy. Everything was going perfectly. Then she was so focused on making sure Lena was safe that she forgot to check her own surroundings. Kara groaned inwardly as she thought of the ‘I told you so’ that she would get from both Lena and Alex. Her thoughts are interrupted by Corben throwing a bundle of clothing at her face. He then bends down to unlock her manacles.

“Change. Don’t try anything. We have cameras and men everywhere. I’ll be right outside.”

Kara sighs and looks at the clothing in her lap. Basically identical to what she used to wear in fights. Blue boxers shorts, a sleeveless blue hoodie, and a dark blue face mask. Black tape was also in the bundle for her wrists. Kara sighs again and begins to dress, at least Veronica seems to want to keep Kara’s identity secret.

**

Lena hugs Sam tight as she picks her up. They head back to the hotel and Sam forces Lena to sit on the couch while she whispers encouraging words and they wait for Alex. It’s hard. Lena feels dread seep into her chest. The past year of her life running in circles through her mind, over and over again. Something is nagging at her but she can’t figure out what. The only possibility is that some criminal or someone had figured out that Kara was Powergirl. Lena’s mouth tasted dry and like bile as she fought the urge to be sick. Panic raced through her veins as Sam sounded like a droning in her ears. It could have been hours or even days before Alex knocked on the door. Sam got up to let her in and hugged her tightly. Then Alex sat in front of Lena on the coffee table. Lena’s watery gaze met Alex’s distraught one.

“It’s not good. The footage was corrupted. We think whoever targeted Kara paid off someone in the bar to get in and out unseen. One of our tech guys found the van used for the abduction and was able to trace it back through traffic cameras to a street corner about two miles away. This is all we could get.” Alex produces a folded paper with a picture printed on it. Lena squints at the sheet, trying to make out the grainy facial features.

“Fuck.” Lena whispers.

“What is it?” Alex asks.

“I think… I think that’s John Corben.” Lena manages, flashing back to drunken nights in Veronica’s private back offices of her clubs as the man stood silently by. No doubt hearing the sounds Lena made while in those offices. She wasn’t embarrassed then but she was now.

“And who is that?”

“He’s Veronica Sinclair's personal bodyguard.” Alex visibly winces when she says Veronica’s name.

“I take it Kara told you everything then?”

“Yup. But why would she want Kara? Does she know about Powergirl?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think Powergirl did anything to interfere with Veronica’s business…” Lena trails off, remembering what one of her businesses’ was.

“Lena?” Alex waves her hand in front of Lena’s face as she zones out. Lena shakes her head and looks at her.

“Alex, do you know what Kara’s alias was in those fight clubs?” Lena asks slowly, putting the pieces together even before she knows the answer. Alex looks shocked that Lena even knew that.

“I...uh… yeah, she went by Andromeda.”

“Dammit, Kara!” Lena stands to pace and run fingers through her hair.

“What is it?” Alex follows Lena as she paces.

“Andromeda was Veronica’s biggest moneymaker. When she disappeared, Ronnie was pissed. Like didn’t even want to have hate sex, pissed. She swore to hunt down whoever it was and force them to work for her again. She rattled on and on about more and more illegal jobs and how she would target her family to make sure she couldn’t refuse. It was scary. And now, now she has Kara and obviously knows who she is. And now Kara is God knows where being forced to do illegal things just so Veronica won’t hurt me, or you, or your mother. And-”

“Lena! Breath!” Alex stops Lena’s frantic pacing by grabbing her shoulders. Lena jerks to a stop by the strong hands on her upper arms. Alex’s eyes are fierce.

“So you are saying. Veronica Sinclair is behind the underground fights?”

“And gambling clubs, and around forty percent of the drug trade. She goes by Roulette.”

“Dammit, Kara!” Alex groans and begins pacing herself.

“Okay. Well, that’s more than we had. Let me make some calls and reach out and figure out where the next fight is.”

“Don’t bother. I know where it is.”

“What? How?”

“Veronica still wants to win me back in her own twisted way. She sends me invitations to her private viewing box still. It’s so one-percenters can watch the fights and pick from her muscle for higher, and indulge in other activities.”

“Wait, like actual invitations?”

“Yeah, wait hold on.”

Alex sat on the couch next to Sam who had been letting Alex and Lena work through things. When Alex leans forward on her elbows and lets her head hang between her shoulders, Sam starts rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. Lena disappears into the bathroom and rummages around.

“You’ll find her. I know you will.” Sam whispers, Alex relaxes under her touch.

“Here!” comes a triumphant cry from the bathroom. Lena reappears with a crumpled paper as she shakes of a tissue and a floss string. It looked like it used to be nice. Gold trim and black calligraphy.

“It’s just an address, downtown in the warehouse district.”

“Perfect. I’ll get a team ready.”

“We can’t just charge in. Not until Kara is safe. Veronica may want to have revenge but if I know her, she will settle for simply killing her.”

“Lena, I am a Federal Agent. My priority is Kara’s safety. But this could be big. Roulette has been a mystery in the FBI for a long time. The DEO has even been consulting on it. This needs to be called in. Undercover team first, well, address first.” Alex holds out a hand. Lena starts to hand it over but hesitates.

“One condition. I come with you. Undercover.” Lena clutches the address to her chest, out of reach.

“What? No! It’s too dangerous.”

“Either I go with you or I go alone.” Lena raises an eyebrow in defiance. A solid five seconds pass before Alex relents.

“Fine. Give me the damn address. I’ll text you when and where to meet me.” Alex stands and takes the proffered paper. She heads to the door, stopping when Sam grabs her hand. Sam presses a hard kiss to her lips. Alex kisses her back with surprising passion.

“Be safe,” Sam whispers.

“I’ll be back.” Alex reassures her, “I’m not done with you yet, I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

Then Alex is gone. Leaving Sam staring after and wondering just what she means.

“Wow, that was… intense.” Lena chimes in behind her.

“Yeah…” Sam says faintly, then she shakes herself out of the trance.

“I need you to be safe too. I don’t like you doing this.”

“What? No kiss to go with that?” Lena teases, avoiding the seriousness of it. Sam just glares.

“Come on, let’s get you ready. What does one wear to a secret underground fight club that one’s ex runs?”

“Oh, God. I don’t even know.”

**

Lena decided to keep it simple. A long black dress with a slit up to the mid thigh and elegant black Louboutin’s and a silver wrap. When Lena reached out to Veronica about RSVP-ing with a plus one, an hour later the bellhop arrived with a simple white box. The box held two masquerade masks.

Though I wish to see your lovely face, no one else should.

Sam was dressed in jeans and a sweater, she had convinced Alex to let her sit in the surveillance van. Which Lena teased her about having the Agent wrapped around her finger.

“I can’t just sit here and wait for my best friend who may or may not live. At least there I’ll be closer and apart of it.” Sam defends.

“Sure. You're just worried about me. Not a very butch lesbian who is showing her soft side in concern for her sister. That way you can pretend it's not doing things to you.” Lena drawls out. Sam flushes in embarrassment.

“I know it’s not good. I mean Kara is in danger. But the whole, take charge and savior aroura she has going…” Sam trails off and bites her lip. Lena throws a pillow at her to snap her out of it. Lena cackles at her friends startled expression before there is a knock.

“Ass…” Sam mumbles standing to let Alex back in.

Alex is wearing a dark blue dress that takes Sam’s breath away. It hugs her hips in a war that tactical pants do not. The deep neckline interrupted briefly to have a small window just below her breasts and it makes Sam want to just stick her fingers in and tear it open. Sam swallows.

“Hey, sorry. It took too long to convince the director to move on this. It is technically an FBI case so there will be a lot of paperwork later. But we are ready now. Are you two ready?” Alex is too busy talking to notice Sam’s staring.

“Yes, here. Veronica sent these. I’m guessing the rich and powerful don’t like being known.” Lena holds out one mask to Alex. Ignoring her friend's obvious short circuit.

“Okay good. Sam, you can sit in the van, but please do what they tell you. Sam? Sam?” Alex finally notices her staring, mouth slightly agape.

Sam swallows hard. “Yeah, uh. Van. Got it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just...uhh… dress.” Sam manages.

Lena grabs her clutch and mask before brushing past the two still standing in the doorway staring at each other. “Useless lesbian.” Lena mumbles.

“Bisexual!” Sam cries indignantly.

“Still useless.” Lena retorts as Alex follows them into the hotel hallway. Sam is about to retort again when she feels Alex’s fingers brush hers and instead twins their fingers together. It’s a small thing but it makes Sam’s pulse race.

**

Kara doges and side steps as the punch rushes towards her face. As far as she can tell it’s the third fight in as many hours. Her limbs feel heavy and sluggish. Still, she manages two quick jabs to the man’s ribs and feels at least two crack. He wheezes and collapses to his knees. Cheering and grumbling erupt as money changes hands. Kara leans over and puts her hands on her knees before the large man in charge of her comes to show her back to the small closet like cell she is being kept in. There had been a hard bench that was long enough to lay on and a camping toilet added after the first fight. Kara lay on the bench with a groan. A bruise was forming on her forearm from a particularly hard block. All her muscles were screaming at how hard she was pushing them.

“Next fight is in an hour. Here’s water. The VIP’s will be here soon so you better fight like your life depends on it. Because it does.” The man says in a gruff voice, tossing two bottles of water towards her, falling short to skitter on the floor. Kara groans as she bends to retrieve them, a bruise on her ribs protesting at the movement. Kara chugs half the first and uses the rest to rinse the sweat off her arms and face. Then she begins to sip the second and stare at the wall while she counts the seconds to her next fight.

**

The bouncer takes note of the masks and waves Alex and Lena towards the nicer door. Another man opens it for the two of them. It leads to a dark staircase that they climb and shouting grows louder.

“All teams, check in,” Alex commands into the earpiece. Lena hears the odd echo of her voice directly in her ear also.

“Alpha Team Set. Main entrance clear.

“Beta Team Ready. Roof is clear.”

“Gamma has South Ally clear.”

“Delta has North Ally clear.”

“Copy. Stand by. Remember, we want to capture as many as we can but Veronica Sinclair is the priority. Wait for my signal.” A chorus of “Copy that.” follows and Alex follows Lena into a dimly lit but well-decorated room.

The furniture is lavish with leather couches and regal chairs. Attractive men and women flit from group to group serving a melody of drinks from the bar on one side. Music floats from somewhere, doing nothing to obscure the shouting reverberating through the floor to ceiling windows. Lena’s eyes trail through the room before she drifts over to them. Below is a much rougher crowd of people standing around a makeshift cage as two men circle each other and exchange blows. She feels Alex join her.

“I can’t believe this is where Kara would go. She would have rather been here than with me.” Alex whispers.

“No. This is where she came to release all her anger. This is where she came to be the darkest part of herself. She couldn’t so that with you. But she doesn't need that anymore. She needs you now.” Lena whispers back.

“You’re right. Don’t jump people are watching so I’m going to put my arm around you.” Lena nods and points below, pretending to talk about one of the fighters. She leans into Alex as she slips an arm around Lena’s waist.

“This is one-way glass. We can see them, they can’t see us.” Alex points out. Lena nods, grabbing two drinks from a passing waitress and offers one to Alex.

“No. I have to keep a clear head.”

“Just sip it. It will look weird otherwise. I’ll drink half and we can switch.”

Alex just nods and refocuses below as the match ends. She’s looking for any signs of her sister. Her and Lena continue to whisper observations in order to look as couple-y as possible to the other members of the upper floor. Everyone wore masks and people flirted with whoever nearby. On one table were little white lines of premium cocaine. In another corner was a man dispensing pills like drinks. Veronica was for sure using these events to get rich people hooked on her products. Who better than to get addicted than the rich who could buy it on a consistent basis.

“Well look who finally accepted an invitation. I never thought you would.” A silky voice disrupts the couple. It sends chills up Lena’s spine but she plasters on a smile and turns to her ex.

“Ronnie, dear. How are you?” Lena tightens her arm around Alex’s waist and Veronica’s eyes narrow at that.

“Oh good, just being successful in my business endeavors and wondering why you finally decided to join me, with a plus one.”

“That’s wonderful. Well, this lovely woman is an extra from one of my new music videos. She wanted to see how the other half lived, so I’m giving her the full experience. Plus with the whole kidnapping and helping put my brother and jail with my mother next, I think I could use some more muscle around. Just in case.”

“Well then, it’s lovely to meet you…” Veronica indicates to Alex.

“Jessica.” Ales holds out a hand which Veronica ignores.

“Let me know if you see something you like Lena. I’d be happy to help with anything.” Veronica walks away, swaying her hips to indicate to Lena that she was an option also. Lena sighed and turned away. The ring below was getting rowdy again as the audience prepared for the next fight. Lena catches a flash of blonde under a blue hood. The face is obscured by distance and a mask but Lena would recognize Kara anywhere. Blue eyes flick up to glare at the windows on the second floor, Lena inhales sharply at the split skin on Kara’s cheek and the red stains on the tape on her hands. She’s been fighting a lot, Lena can tell by the slump of her shoulders.

“There she is. We should move.”

“How do you suppose my agents get through that crowd of people, most of which are likely armed? Then get up here to arrest Veronica?”

“Point Taken. What do you purpose?”

“Well, she thinks you’re here to hire muscle. So we watch enough fights to see a selection, then see if you can get a close up look at some of them. Hopefully, we can get them both separated then.”

“Okay.” Lena switches hers and Alex’s glasses, “now go get a refill.”

Alex saunters over to the bar with the empty glass and flirts a little with the pretty bartender while Lena watches as the other fighter is brought out, a bald overly muscled man who grunts and spits. Lena slips into the mask that Kara had so long accused her of using for her singer persona. Alex slips easily back around her, playing the part of the awestruck D-Lister who was getting her dream come true. Lena managed not to flinch as the bell rang and the man let out a war cry and charged. Kara easily sidestepped him and kicked the small of the back, sending him slamming into the chain link fence that separates them from the rowdy audience. He bounces off and right back into Kara’s fist in his eye.

The crowd seems to flinch together at it and then man sprawls on the ground. He tries to stand while blindly swinging and receives a knee to the jaw. His head snaps up before he hits the ground again, unconscious. A little blood dribbles out and Lena fears for a moment that Kara killed him. But then he groans and moves just a little. Two more burly men scramble into the ring to lift the fighter up and take him away. Then another man escorts Kara out by the elbow. And she goes without a glance back.

“Wow,” Alex says softly.

“Wow,” Lena repeats.

“I always forget how badass she is. I just always see that scared little girl that my parents adopted.” Alex waits for a response but all she hears is a loud swallow. She looks at Lena who is clearly flushed and breathing shallowly.

“Lena, god I can’t believe I’m saying this, but are you turned on? Right Now? Seriously?” Alex hisses.

“No!” Lena squeaks out, “okay, yes. Sorry, but she did that so casually. It just-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Alex says sternly. Lena just laughs.

“Enjoying the show?” Veronica’s poisonous voice drifts from behind them.

“Very much. Who was that last one? She was impressive. Anything better?”

Veronica raises an eyebrow. She holds a hand out and a drink magically appears by way of a handsome waiter. She reclines in a high back chair and raises an eyebrow, looking Lena up and down. Lena looks away to push a hair off of Alex’s forehead, trying to feign uninterest. She must succeed because Veronica takes a drink.

“Yes, she is impressive. She goes by Andromeda. Undefeated so far but I still have a few fighters up my sleeve.”

“Oh? Anyone I might want to hire?”

“Possibly. I’ll let you decide later.” Veronica throws another wink before standing fluidly and sauntering away again, a queen in her queendom.

**

That was way too easy. Kara knew it was too easy because the fights had been getting progressively harder. Kara paced her small room trying to figure out why it was so easy. She didn’t break a sweat. The only thing was she had this feeling pricking at the back of her neck, like she was being watched. Which was crazy since she was, all the time. Even now she knew Corben was just right outside the door. Soon he opens the door again and prods Kara back into the ring. She stands alone this time and the crowd quiets.

The air is thick as Kara’s eyes dart about, confused. Her heart drums as adrenaline pour into her veins. The quiet is so loud that Kara could probably hear a pin drop. And then she does. Or the soft shink of metal on metal and her head jerks up. A shadow moves just above the light, then yells follow the shadow down. Kara gasps and flings herself out of the way. Kara tucks and rolls to spring right back to her feet. Twin thuds hit the ground as two men land. One pulls a dagger from the thin mat where he had plunged it in an attempt to catch her off guard.

“Shit.” Kara curses as she takes in the lean muscled men, both brandishing knives, both with murder in their eyes.

They circle in opposite directions, attempting to flank Kara. Kara keeps one on her left and one on her right. She can’t let one get behind her. Does Roulette actually want her dead now? Is she insane? Maybe she’s made enough money in the last twenty-four hours? Or has it been days? Kara has no idea anymore. But maybe Veronica has made enough money that Kara isn’t worth it anymore. A flash of metal and kara has to bat a knife out of the way and step out of the way to put both men in front of her again. She’s so tired that she had zoned out and nearly paid the price. The man stumbles into his partner who catches him to keep him from falling.

Then they both charge and Kara sinks into that space in her head. The one where nothing else matters. Where she can practically see every move before the opponent thought of it. The space where time means nothing, everything moves too slow and too fast. She flips the first man over her back, the second she knocks the knife away and jabs his gut. Then she grabs the scruff of his neck and throws him on top of his companion. They scramble to their feet again, one losing his knife in the flailing limbs. The other lashes out and Kara isn’t prepared for it. The blade grazes her forearm, sharp and burning. Bright red splatters on the ground and over the men’s dirty clothing. Kara stumbles back and grabs the wound on reflex.

Laughter and jeering echo around her as the men get to their feet. Kara takes a deep breath and re-focuses and sinks back into the empty space. Block, punch, spin, kick. Each move only using as much energy as necessary. Parry, punch, sidestep. There is the opening. Grab, twist, squeeze. The knife falls into Kara’s other hand, on instinct she takes it and plunges it right back into the man’s stomach. She ducks under a swing of the other man and steps behind him grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into a fence post, knocking him out. The man she stabbed is gasping on the ground, hands pressed over hole pouring blood out. Kara just waits to be escorted out the ring as the ‘nurse,’ a very loose term for the ex-marine with battlefield medical knowledge, rushes to stop the bleeding. Kara has seen the wound before. He should live. Corben tosses her a half used tube of antibacterial cream and tape. Kara applies it as she walks, tearing the tape with her teeth after tightly binding her bleeding arm. She’s so distracted that she doesn't even notice that Corben shoves her in a different room. A room with all of Roulette’s top fighters. Kara turns back to see Corben smirk.

“Wait here. No fighting. Speak to the patrons and be shot.” And he slams the door shut.

Kara walks over to and unoccupied bench in the spartan room and sinks into it. Making sure her hood and mask are still in place before shutting her eyes, ignoring the other men and women in the room.

**

“What is happening?” Alex whispers, seeing her sister standing alone.

“Shit. Look. Above her.” Lena points. Alex sees the two fighters perched above the ring in the rafters. Kara’s head jerks up just before they fall on her. They watch the fight unfold, Lena gasping and clutching Alex’s arms as she notices the small sharp blades. Lena can barely breathe for the next ten minutes as  Kara fights. She almost cries when she sees the blood sprout across Kara’s forearm. She barely contains another gasp as Kara stabs the man. And bites her lip to stop a cheer when the last man is knocked unconscious.

Lena flags down a waitress to ask for Veronica to get her a closer look at the product. The woman seems unfazed by the remark and nods. Lena finishes her third drink to still her shaking hands.

“She’s fine. She’s fine. She has faced worse.” Alex mutters, half to Lena, half to herself.

It just takes a few more minutes for a buff looking bodyguard to appears to escort them deeper into the building. Lena grabs Alex’s hand and swings it a little between them to try and keep up the flirtatious pretense. Veronica waits for them outside a door with an armed bodyguard. A large assault rifle in his hands. That could pose a problem.

“Lena, I’m glad to have piqued your interest. Robert, Be a dear and line them up.” The large man nods and enters the room. Shouting is heard before he holds the door back open for the women.

Lined against the wall are the fighters that Lena and Alex had already seen today, many fierce and scared, most underdressed to show off as much muscle as possible. Only one stands as a splash of color in the dull room, head down as she leans against the wall they are lined up against. Her knee juts out from her foot prooped on the wall, arms crossed, the injured one bandaged. When the door shuts, Kara stands and looks up. Dead blue eyes meet Lena’s then Kara stiffens and tears spring to her eyes. They crinkle at the corners as the only indication of the smile behind the mask. Lena’s eyes dart away to appear interested in the tall muscled woman near the middle of the line. Alex hangs back, trying to inch near the man guarding the door.

“These are my best that are here right now. I have a few that are temporarily hired out for jobs.” Veronica stands back, trying to act casual but her eyes dart between Lena and Kara. No doubt worried about recognition. It would look odd if the undefeated champion wasn’t here.

“However, be aware that their record reflects the price of hire,” Veronica adds as Lena circles the very large woman.

“Of course. I’d expect nothing less. Do you have rates and records written anywhere? I would like to know what I’m working with.”

“Yes, of course. Robert, please give Miss. Luthor the List.” Veronica asks her guard as Lena circles closer to Kara.

It happens almost too quickly to follow. As Robert relinquishes one of his hands on the gun to rummage in a pocket. Alex grabs the muzzle and yanks it sharply down while throwing her shoulder into the man, throwing Robert off balance and tearing it from his grip.

“Move In!” Alex shouts. Putting her back to the only exit of the room and training the rifle on its occupants. Robert reigns his feet and makes to lunge at Alex when a blue streak slams into him and into the wall. One quick punch knocks him out and Alex doesn't flinch her gaze away from Veronica as Kara stands. Shouts and running can be heard in the corridor A couple shots of gunfire but it doesn't seem to be a full firefight. Alex is getting a constant stream of updates in her ear as each room is cleared and as many people handcuffed as possible. Veronica tries to protest but Alex flashes her FBI Badge and hands Kara the handgun strapped to her thigh to keep the muscled men and woman at bay who look like they have murder in thier eyes. Lena had moved to stand next to her armed compatriots as they wait for the team to retrieve them.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are working the Feds.” Veronica sneers from across the room.

“My dear Ronnie, You took something of mine. I had to get it back. Despite how much I hate my family, I am still a Luthor and that simply could not stand. Also a chance to get you behind bars so you can stop showing up in my life. You, are a poisonous snake Veronica Sinclare, always striking when I’m at my lowest.” Lena holds herself proud and above it all. Veronica is about to retort when a quick knock on the door and it is opened.

Agents pour in, in full tactical gear and begin handcuffing each person inside. Alex waving them off Kara and pulling her and Lena from the room. Alex quickly leads the way through the hallways and back onto the street. Assault vehicles and flashing lights of police cars and ambulances add chaos to the night and a tall, dark-skinned man calls Alex over.

“Director. Any casualties?” Alex asks when she reaches him. Kara and Lena still on her heels.

“None. A few injuries. Only one gunshot wound. Many of ground floor escaped but I understand we have Roulette.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good Agent Danvers. Miss Danvers, please see one of our medics for your injuries before signing the release papers. You too Miss Luthor. Agent, I expect you in at eight sharp to fill out all the paperwork for all this as well.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex barely manages to suppress an eye roll as he turns away.

“I’m sorry, they know Kara is Andromeda?” Lena asks.

“We know everything. All right medic, now.” Alex steers Kara towards the truck holding the DEO medic. Kara tries to protest, but at this point, she is too tired to.

Once safely inside the truck, away from prying eyes, Kara pulls down her hood and mask. The medic does a quick look over Lena then begins a much more careful one on Kara. He unwraps her arm and cleans the cut, deciding it doesn't need stitches. The medic turns Kara’s face side to side as he cleans the cuts there as well. But Kara doesn't notice. Her eyes are fixed on Lena. They burn into Lena and The air is tense. Even tenser when the medic asks Kara to take off her shirt to check the bruising on her ribs. Finally the medic has them both sign a release form and instructs them to wait until Agent Danvers returns to escort them home before he leaves and closes the door behind them.

“Hi.” Kara rasps out.

“Hi.”

“You came for me.” Kara states.

“I did.”

“Because Veronica took something that belonged to you?” Kara raises an eyebrow.

Lena clears her throat. “Yes, well… I had to… I mean…” Lena searches for an excuse.

“Fuck it.” Lena lunges forward across the center of the truck to kiss Kara’s cracked lips. Kara winces and Lena tries to pull away with an apology already on it’s way out when Kara pulls the back of her head closer. They stay like that until Lena needs air. She pulls away and sees the deep desire in Kara’s eyes.

“I can’t just stay friends with you anymore.” Lena whispers.

“Me neither. Can we start over?”

“Yes, please.”

[purplesurveys]

874

What's something you couldn't live without, other than the obvious? It’d be very hard to have to get by without my glasses. I’d technically survive, but I’ll have to get used to bumping into things a lot and never recognizing anyone unless they’re right beside/in front of me. What's something that will always cheer you up? Dogs. Real life dogs, photos of dogs, videos of dogs, stories about dogs, etc. Who's had the biggest positive impact on your life? My orgmates. They made me happy when I needed it the most, called me out when I needed the help, and idk I’m just happy whenever I get to see them. I can’t recall a time where I felt like it was a chore to spend some time with them. Do you wear flip-flops during the winter? Sigh...moving on... What was the last thing you said out loud? I asked Nina to help me bring Cooper and his stuff up to my parents’ room; specifically, I asked her to bring his food and water bowls.

What's something that irritates you to no end? Backhand compliments. An uncle once congratulated me for getting into my dream school but ended his sentence with “are you sure you don’t wanna go to [2nd top university in the country, (which I also passed the day before)]? You’ll fit better there.” This was like two days after I found out I got into UP, so I was still on cloud nine. I don’t know how my face contorted after that but I wasn’t pleased.

Honestly, do looks matter to you? Yes, but not as much as personality and intelligence. When was the last time you had a girls/guys night out? Not sure. I just have nights out in general; I never plan out gender-exclusive hangouts with my friends. Do you still watch kiddie movies/tv shows? Sometimes, when I get in the mood to. It’s not something I feel the need to do regularly. What's your worst habit? Never learning my lesson and being careless just because everything is going well. Best way I can illustrate this is when a couple of a months ago I started getting regular headaches because I’d sleep at 3, 4 AM – I addressed it by giving myself an earlier bedtime. When the headaches went away and I started feeling better, I went right back to sleeping late lol. Procrastinating is a good example too; I’ve submitted work early occasionally and it’s satisfying as fuck, but I never learn for the most part and stick to doing stuff at the last minute. Do your parents call you by any embarrassing nicknames? No. Byn is a nickname, but I don’t find it embarrassing. Do you have road rage? Yeah but there have to be certain conditions for me to get to that point, like once I’ve seen enough stupidity on the road and I can’t take it anymore; when I’m tense about something; or when traffic has been standstill for too long. Is there a certain word that you always forget how to spell? Not really. I know my spelling pretty well. Are there any books in your room? Which ones? Yesssss but it’s mostly because I owned a lot of books as a kid and I’ve thrown none of them out. My book collection is sorely not updated because I stopped reading as I got older. Do you take too many surveys? I wouldn’t say I take too many, especially considering the fact that I used to take like 7-10 surveys everyday back in high school. I do take them regularly. Write some lyrics from the song you're currently listening to: "You know I’m always coming back to this place, you know I’m always gonna look for your face.”

When it comes to dating, what's your preferred age range? 0-1 year. When was the last time someone gave you a weird look? Continued the next morning, lol. I was dancing in my seat over dinner last night because the fried chicken we had was super good, so my mom looked at me strangely. Do you like to cuddle? Only with a significant other, and an animal if they’re willing to cuddle. Do you like the band Cartel? I don’t think I’ve heard of that band yet. Do you play any instruments? No, but I’m always wishing I could. Do you ever blare the music in the car and dance like an idiot? I used to do that when I drove to and from school. It’s the only time in the day where I’m not working and I’m alone, so I allow myself to let loose. Though I gotta say, most of it is recorded because I always have a dashcam on HAHAHAHA so I definitely have some footage I don’t want getting aired in like my funeral or something. Do you like playing in the rain? When I was a kid.

What's something you miss? Going to the mall is a big one. Anything unpleasant coming up soon? The worst thing I can think of is the first anniversary of Nacho’s passing. It’s not till September, but when I think about how March literally feels like yesterday September doesn’t seem too far away anymore. If you had a pet moose, what would you name him? Probably the name of another animal, like Cow. I’ve seen other people name their dogs the names of different animals and it has always sounded so hilarious to me. Do you often hold back what you really want to say? If it’s gonna make me look unnecessarily blunt and hurtful then yes. Are you currently wearing any jewlery? Nope. What was the last gift you gave to someone? Cooper, for Father’s Day. It was my mom’s idea but I helped chip in with the graduation money I got from one of my aunts. Do you decorate for Christmas? (If you celebrate it, that is.) We do. I’ll probably put a tree and some stockings up once I live alone, idk, just so I don’t feel too lonely. Are you hungry? A bit, but it’s manageable. On that note, I miss continental breakfasts. I’ve been having Filipino-style breakfast for months and I really would just like a goddamn croissant or bread rolls with butter for once, lol. When was the last time you went bowling? Sometime in September and October last year. Can you whistle? Yes. Is there a certain genre of music that you just can't stand? Country. Are you allergic to anything? Nope. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two. I lay my head on one and hug another. If I don’t have a ~hug pillow~ it takes much longer for me to fall asleep. You've just won a free vacation! Where do you want to go? Covid restrictions hypothetically put aside, I’d love to go on the New York/Texas trip I initially planned as my grad gift. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? I have a good relationship with my dad. But it’s not like I feel comfortable enough to tell either of my parents any of my secrets. What's your favorite thing about yourself? Gabie likes to tell me “you’re too selfless, you don’t have to help everyone” in sort of like an annoyed tone because that’s exactly what I do lol - help anyone, even if I have to go out of my way or even if it’ll inconvenience me to do it. But I love it about me. I like when I get to make people go home with one less issue on their shoulders. Do you have any health problems? Scoliosis. Have you ever had a near-death experience? Almost smashed into a car that suddenly braked while I was going 50, 60 kph. Are you extremely picky when it comes to guys/girls? That’s what demis essentially are, lol. Do you ever listen to classical music? It’s my last resort when I’m studying and no other music is helping me get focused. What was the last concert you attended? Paramore. What's a movie you'd like to see right now? (Old or new) Ammonite, it’s an upcoming film with Kate Winslet and Saoirse Ronan. Do you take life too seriously? Most of the time. I just find it necessary that way. When was the last time you were truly scared? This weekend when my mom watched a jumpscare with the sound on, so I heard the loud demon scream that came up in the end. What's the funniest trick you've ever pulled on anyone? I don’t like pulling tricks because I don’t like them pulled on me. The most I’ve done is take Gab’s phone and pretend with her that it’s lost. Do you like orange juice? I’ll drink it if it’s served for free, but I wouldn’t buy one for myself. Do you own any skinny jeans? Yes, nearly all my jeans are skinny. Do you have a diary/journal that you frequently write in? You’re looking at it. When was the last time you had a good workout? November, back when I still had that intense PE class that made me work out for an hour every Wednesday and Friday. Do you like your eye color? I find it too common but I’m not actively complaining about it. I don’t feel the need to change it. When was the last time you played with Play-Doh? Two or three years ago at a cousins’ place. One of them was still a baby then, so the toys they had around were clay and kinetic sand and stuff. What's something that you think people waste too much time on? Fighting on Facebook comments lol Do you think they should outlaw talking on your cell phone while driving? They already have, at least here. Are you embarrassed to burp or fart in front of your friends? For the most part. I’ll burp only in front of Angela and Gab. Do you like peanut butter cookies? Yesssssss, but I don’t get to have it a lot. :(

[letterboxd]

Leaking Secrets: The Gavin Hood Q&A.

“Does every person have to get to the end and succeed in overturning the evil empire? Life isn’t like that. Life is full of these small, difficult questions that cross our path.” Official Secrets director Gavin Hood on spies, lies and the scoop that made him feel like a journalist.

Keira Knightley yelling “It doesn’t make any sense!” at the television news is all of us, these days. The case for the invasion of Iraq, we now know, was based on non-existent weapons of mass destruction. There were many public servants who knew, even then, that the intelligence that was being gathered to make a case for Saddam Hussein’s overthrow was shockingly debatable.

Official Secrets, directed by Academy Award-winner Gavin Hood, tells the true story of one such public servant, Katharine Gun, a British intelligence specialist who worked as a Mandarin translator. In 2003, Gun leaked an NSA memo that sought Britain’s help to collect information that could be used to blackmail United Nations Security Council members into voting in favor of an invasion of Iraq.

As a spy tale, it’s not all cut-and-thrust action, foot-chases and explosions. The tension lies in Knightley’s performance as a furious and concerned Gun, wrestling with the decision to leak the memo, and in The Observer newsroom, where journalists (played by Matt Smith, Matthew Goode and Rhys Ifans) debate whether to publish it. Later, it turns courtroom drama, with Ralph Fiennes at the helm as Gun’s civil rights lawyer.

Some of the story’s details—as they often are in biopics—have been massaged for the big screen. In particular, a spell-check disaster by a young journalist on The Observer’s foreign desk is played out in front of a larger audience. And the film stops when the war starts, whereas Gun’s life continued to become more complex. Nevertheless, it’s rating well on Letterboxd for its taught and powerful portrayal of a small chapter in a huge and damaging political collusion.

South African director Gavin Hood won his Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film for 2005’s Tsotsi. He is best known for his work on blockbusters X-Men Origins: Wolverine and Ender’s Game, and helmed the political thrillers Rendition and Eye in the Sky. Hood worked on the script for Official Secrets with writers Gregory Bernstein and Sara Bernstein, who had been working on the story for over a decade when it appeared on The Blacklist (they share their story about the script’s development on The Blacklist blog).

We spoke with Gavin Hood in-depth about his role in bringing the political drama to life. (This interview with Hood contains spoilers for the film’s ending, but as it’s a true-life story, the details are all on public record, so proceed as appropriate.)

From left: former intelligence specialist Katharine Gun, director Gavin Hood and journalist Martin Bright. / Photo: Chris Ferenzi/National Press Club

What made you feel that now was the right time to tell Katharine Gun’s story? What compels this reflection on recent history? Gavin Hood: I’d like to give you an easy answer but part of it is that you struggle to get the film made—it’s been three years since we first started working on it. So, in some ways the timing felt right when I first heard about Katharine Gun, and then you think ‘oh my goodness, is the landscape going to change? Is politics going to change?’ and of course it hasn’t. If anything it feels more timely in this strange post-truth world.

It might sound odd to say that, but at the time [US president George W.] Bush and [UK prime minister Tony] Blair were spinning their lies for what they genuinely believed was some higher purpose. I think they at least would have felt a certain shame in being caught out in a lie. Certainly [former US National Security Advisor] Colin Powell did when he discovered that everything he said at the UN was a lie. He described that it was the low point of his career and he’s devastated by it and he’s apologized.

In the world that we live in now I don’t think certain politicians even care if they get caught out in a lie. What is truth? It doesn’t really matter what’s true. Say what you want to say.

What I liked about the story was the rather simple idea that truth matters, and certainly being true to my own conscience matters because what else are we in a democracy but a bunch of individuals? You have to make up your own minds and act on what you believe to be the truth.

That’s an easy thing to say but not always an easy thing to do. I like the fact that Katharine Gun was not some larger-than-life political figure, she was very ordinary in many ways. She’s quite like you and me when you meet her.

Katharine is not someone who seeks the limelight. She didn’t ever really think she’d be known around the world, and even now she tends to shy away from it. But what she had was a moment where something came across her desk at her place of work that she just felt was wrong and her conscience couldn’t live with it. That’s something that’s quite simple.

You had to build suspense from these small actions with most of the dramatic implications offscreen. How do you ensure a dialogue-driven film like this has the weight you need it to have to make its impact? The challenges you’re suggesting did give me pause. She doesn’t ever—as one studio executive said to me—“when does she ‘don her cape’ as the hero?” Are we really in this ‘don the cape’ world where every story has to be about someone saving the world or otherwise it doesn’t count? Does every person have to get to the end and succeed in overturning the evil empire? Life isn’t like that. Life is full of these small, difficult questions that cross our path. We make moral and ethical decisions of big and small kinds every day and that’s what gives us our life.

This isn’t a story about a person who changed the world, it’s a story about personal conscience and those little moments that suddenly, in her case, turned into a huge story. When it came out in The Observer newspaper, it was a big story, but what was sad about it was—and please excuse my choice of words—what trumped it 24 hours later was a bigger story.

What was that story? It was the story of us invading Baghdad. All of a sudden the news media—quite understandably from a purely commercially journalistic point of view—is not looking at how we got into the war because what do we want to see? Video footage of the bombing of Baghdad. Everyone was glued to that, and then it was about the embedded journalists with the troops and the almost Hollywood movie stories.

How we got there, the reasons for it, and whether we were lied to, took ages to come around again after they didn’t find the ‘weapons of mass destruction’ that they suggested [were] the reason they had to go in. As you know, the reason they had to come up with the ‘weapons of mass destruction’ argument was because they needed a legal reason to go in.

Under international law there are only two ways you can legally justify invading another country; one is that you have a UN resolution and we all go in together to stop a genocide—which is what they were hoping to get—but Katharine’s leak thwarted the plan because these non-permanent members refused to vote after it was discovered they’d been spied on. They never got that UN resolution which would have given them perfect cover.

They had to rely on the second legal justification for war in international law, which is self-defense and that was that they had to show that [Saddam Hussein] is a genuine threat to all of our safety. “He's so bad that he could launch chemical weapons on London in 45 minutes” was the Blair claim, and it turned out to be absolute nonsense.

The desire for a regime change and the belief that they would create a lovely, flowering democracy in the Middle East was their, I think, naïve agenda, but it allowed them to lie to us and then they got caught in the lie. Katharine is an ordinary person who’s part of the story of how those lies came about.

Keira Knightley as Katharine Gun.

Since this is recent history, you had the opportunity to talk extensively with many of the film’s subjects. What values did those discussions have that you could not get from the source book, The Spy Who Tried to Stop a War? The book mostly focused on Katharine’s journey and the politics around the time. After I read the book I asked if I could meet Katharine Gun myself, and [producer] Ged Doherty flew me to London. I spent five days with Katharine and some interesting things came up in our conversations that I hadn’t found in the book.

I did the same with Martin Bright [journalist at The Observer, portrayed by Matt Smith] who was not covered extensively in the book. I got a great deal of information from him. He referred me to the other journalists, Peter Beaumont [portrayed by Matthew Goode] and Ed Vulliamy [portrayed by Rhys Ifans], who told me a great bit about their sources, and then I went to speak to Ben Emmerson [Katharine’s lawyer, portrayed by Ralph Fiennes] and with him I got the most significant information that was not in the book.

I’ll give you two examples. First of all, he very carefully described how he came up with the defense of necessity that he used. He was going to call for these documents that he knew would show that the Attorney General Lord Goldsmith had consistently said for over a year that war without a UN resolution would be illegal under international law.

Three days before the war, Goldsmith changed his mind and came up with a bizarre idea that the 1991 Gulf War, which had been authorized by a UN resolution, had never really ended and so they could still use that. It was such a crazy fringe idea because we hadn’t won that war and the motion of that war was nonsense in the end.

I said to Ben, “How did you know when you called for those documents that you’d get what you needed? How could you be so sure that Goldsmith said what he said?” There was this pause, then he said to me, “Well you know [his Deputy Attorney General] Elizabeth Wilmshurst has resigned, right?” I did know that, but she never said why.

Well, he called Elizabeth and asked if he could come round and have a cup of tea with her. I said, “Wow, that’s never been in the press.” I ran back to Martin and told him how Ben told me the contents of the conversation that he had with her, which is depicted in the movie [Wilmshurst is portrayed by Tamsin Greig] and I asked him if he knew about this. He said, “Gavin, you’ve got a scoop!” and I replied, “Jesus, I feel like a journalist!” I’ve never made a movie where the people are still alive. I normally make up fictional people, but journalists do this every day.

The other example was that Ben told me about the conversations he had with the director of public prosecutions Lord Ken Macdonald, who’s a member of the House of Lords. If you’re in America, that’s like saying a senior senator is involved. Ben told me that they both had beach houses in Norfolk and they have known each other for many years, and Macdonald arrived unannounced at Ben’s home and started chatting to him about the case. It was very uncomfortable, and Ben said how it’s not appropriate and they can’t be talking about this.

At the coda [of the movie], Macdonald comes to Ben and says, “It wasn’t me who chose to prosecute,” and this interaction actually happened. I discovered with a bit more research that the director of public prosecutions in England has great autonomy to decide who to prosecute and who not to prosecute without any influence from any member of the government, except in cases involving the Official Secrets Act. It turns out that in order to prosecute, the director of public prosecutions must get the permission of the Attorney General.

That means Ken Macdonald must have asked Lord Goldsmith to get his permission to prosecute Katharine Gun, which was obviously given because they charged her. And then they must have said, “Lord Goldsmith, they’re asking for your documents, what do we do?” So, what we don’t know from a journalistic point of view is why did they drop that case? Our film ends with the case being dropped. Was it because Lord Goldsmith got a fright and didn’t want to show his documents?

I think it’s highly likely, because it took until 2010 when those documents were finally released to the public and showed exactly what they [had] suspected and what Wilmshurst said they would show. There’s an opportunity for a scoop here; for a journalist to go press Lord Goldsmith on this case. I think some have tried and he gives no comment. But what is the truth?

What is interesting is that although Katharine and Ben were relieved that she wasn’t going to prison, they actually felt they had a strong defense. Both of them to this day feel they never got their day in court, when they actually wanted their day in court. That is why Ben jumped up as the prosecutor was dropping the case and said, “Surely my client is entitled to know why, indeed the public is entitled to know why this case is being dropped.” He said to me he just had to get that on the record because they were shutting them down.

So this is an interesting thing, because as a piece of normal narrative filmmaking it just won’t fit into the box of ‘the hero is wronged, they go about overcoming the antagonist and set the world right’. Real life is seldom like that, and so the question became ‘is the real-life story still worth telling?’ and I think yes because the story isn’t over and we’re just a tiny part of an ongoing understanding of that war.

Martin Bright has said it’s both a film—because it’s performed by actors—but it’s also in some way a piece of journalism. I hope that we’ve discovered things that weren’t in the book, to answer your question. Maybe someone will pick up [where we left off]. I think that when it comes out in Britain, more so than America, where it’s far more personal to the British, there’s some significant questions Lord Macdonald could be approached [about] and asked why he really dropped that case.

Matthew Goode and Matt Smith in ‘Official Secrets’.

Katharine yelling at the news on TV was refreshing; a reminder of how frustrating it was in 2003. Things remain complex in world politics. What’s your advice for staying invested in politics while not getting exhausted? We are exhausted, and the danger of us being exhausted with the seemingly endless bitterness between both sides of our democracy—certainly here in America—and the flagrant disregard for truth by our current president, it’s easy to become jaded and give up. The problem with authoritarianism is that it relies on people giving up.

I grew up in apartheid South Africa in the ’70s and ’80s. I know what it’s like to watch a country get worse and worse in terms of its security legislation, especially in the ’80s with the state of emergency that literally had laws saying “you can be detained without trial indefinitely, without a right of access to a lawyer”. That’s how bad it got. It’s almost inconceivable to most people.

It’s very easy to get exhausted, stop focusing on our world, and stop voting. I think our greatest obligation is to do our little part. We don’t think it’s a big part, but if each of us plays our part that’s the only way our democracy works. The minute we’ve become exhausted, we’ve given up on the only system that works. Democracy is messy but it works in our favor as citizens. When we give up on it, we give way to tyranny. It sounds dramatic but I think it’s true.

I think we have to accept the frustration. We have to say “yes, it’s frustrating, it’s never suddenly going to be fine, it’s always going to be messy and require debate”. We have to embrace the messiness of it all and not give up and say “I have to do my job—I don’t have to be politically active every day, but I do have to be a good citizen, apply my mind to what’s out there, and vote”. That’s the only way our democracy survives.

There’s something interesting about what the Australians do in their voting system. They don’t actually say “you have to vote” but they do say every citizen has to go to the polls. Some people interpret that as everyone has to vote, but in fact you can abstain at the polls. You have to mark across the line that says “I don’t vote for anyone on this list”. At least for a moment every citizen is compelled to make a statement about what they think.

Lastly, what film made you want to be a filmmaker? I grew up very disconnected in South Africa. I never saw a TV set because there were none in the country until 1976. It was part of the government’s desire to not allow the outside world in. What I used to do with my parents was rent movies on 16mm, projected onto a sheet hanging in the living room. For me, every movie I saw was fascinating because it gave me a glimpse into the world overseas, but they were always about the people from overseas.

One day when I was about ten years old, I went to the cinema with my friend to watch a little South African movie called E’ Lollipop [also known as Forever Young, Forever Free, released in 1975], about a little white boy and a little Zulu boy who are friends. I remember being white-knuckle glued to my seat. It wasn’t because it was a thriller, it was because it was a story where people spoke with my accent and were telling a story about where I came from.

I’d never seen anything like it and it spoke to me. “Oh wow, films can be made about us— I can make a film about anything!” It doesn’t just have to be about something that people from overseas do. And I think that’s when the bug bit. I haven’t told that very often, thank you for asking.

‘Official Secrets’ is in US theaters now and plays at the London Film Festival next month.

[elizabeth-234]

Chapter Three

Someone to Care

Summary: What happens when everyone makes an assumption about their friendly neighborhood spider?

Chapter Two

He decided that talking to the kid would be the most beneficial way to get his point across. It was definitely not because Tony was curious. He was Tony Stark, hero, billionaire, saved the world multiple times. The kid was small town. He cringed at the callous thought.

It was about a week ago that he had Friday compile all the data he had been collecting; analyzing what times and places the kid appeared the most. Tony thought that a face-to-face, or rather mask-to-mask meeting might be the best way to start. He would be able to talk to the kid, give him all the information and hopefully he would listen. The kid would just have to; Tony was out of options.

It was late afternoon and the sun was glinting around the buildings in a halo like manner. Tony was in the air, en route to Queens. The light reflected off of his suit and spread hues of fire onto the glass panes as he passed.

“Friday, check the local news stations and social media. Any sightings?”

“Nothing yet, Boss.”

That was fine, completely normal. It was close to the optimal hour Spiderman normally made an appearance. Tony had all the time in the world and took another wide loop around a group of buildings. He hadn’t just flown around in a while and missed the calming feel of gliding through the air.

It was with luck a little while later that he spotted a splotch of red on a roof.

Swinging around he contemplated the best way to go about this. The kid was sitting on one of the spikes, casually lounging on an overhang. It made Tony’s stomach clench to see one of his legs dangling in the air. Shaking his head he decided he didn’t want to startle the kid from behind. Tony didn’t know how alert he was and accidentally cause him to fall.

Tony could tell the moment the kid saw him as his posture went instantly rigid. The kid stood up slowly and backed up to step onto the roof. He was looking around but his head kept swiveling back to Tony, who was hovering in the air in front of him. Tony raised his hands in a sign of peace and landed in front of the kid. After looking around for another 30 seconds, the kid’s eyes, what Tony assumed where his eyes, stayed on his mask.

He was shocked at how small the boy was. That aspect of his physicality never came through in the footage Tony had found but there was at least a head and a half difference between them. It took his nickname to a whole new level. His gloves were scrunched at his sides and his spine could rival a level. The kid resembled more of a cornered animal than a superhero. An uncomfortable itching feeling migrated down his back.

Tony never felt awkward. It was one of his defense mechanisms; his therapist had told him many times. Anytime he could feel his nerves coming up, he automatically brought out the more arrogant side of him out. It was one of the reasons the media either hated or loved him so much.

“I’m Iron Man. But you can just call me Tony.” Silence. The kid shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet and again he glanced behind him to another building, an escape. At once Tony gave a command and the faceplate of his helmet swung upward. It was just another barrier between them and Tony wanted to remove those as fast as possible.He couldn’t have the kid leave before they had even exchanged a few words.

With a deep breath Tony once again channeled his inner charisma; he could do this. “Here’s the deal, kid.” The kid’s face whipped back to stare at Tony. “I’m in some hot water and I need all the help I can get. I’ve seen your work and I’m a big fan. I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me out.” He flashed the kid his signature smile.

“Uh, Hello, Mr. Stark. Sir.” The kid’s hands slowly loosened up but didn’t rise to meet Tony’s outstretched appendage.

Tony was surprised at the register of the kid’s voice. It was different than what he imagined but he couldn’t quite place why. Blinking, he wondered how young the kid actually was and if it was right of Tony to ask for his help.

“Kid, Mr. Stark was my father. Call me Tony.” The kid was silent again and seemed hesitant to reply. “What do you think? Care to help an old man out? A free trip to Germany on a private jet is involved.”

“I’ve, uh, never flown on a plane before.” The words flowed quicker now, giving away some excitement. His voice went up higher, but it was hard to tell what he was actually feeling because of the mask. Tony wished he would take it off but remembered that he had promised himself not to push to hard. Not to spook the kid, to gain his trust.

“Never? Well, we’ll have to change that, won’t we?” He took a step closer and noticed the kid took a small shuffle back. Unperturbed, Tony continued forward, small steps at a time until he clapped the kid of the shoulder. Making no notice of the flinch and stillness that followed. “But before we have you flying across the globe, there are a few things we need to go over first.”

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They went on to exchange information. The whole time the kid had barely spoken and his body movements were cautious. Tony had seen his fair share of awe-struck individuals and wasn’t quite sure that was it.

Not wanting to intrude too much, he wished the kid a good night and leapt from the roof, flying back to Avengers Tower. After a shower Tony sat behind his desk scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, thinking of how Spiderman had acted.

That wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined their first conversation happening, if conversation was what you could call it. Tony had done the majority of the talking but the kid had seemed receptive to what Tony was saying. He thought he would meet a calm, suave guy. Greet him standing, hands clasped behind his back like every boss in any movie ever. Basically he was picturing a smaller version of himself. His therapist would probably have a field trip with that. Tony’s charm would accordingly take over and the kid would be in awe of not just Iron Man but of Tony Stark as well.

But instead Tony had been introduced to a frighteningly small individual who couldn’t seem to complete more than one sentence at a time. One who flinched at physical contact. Yeah, it could have been because of who he was, but Tony thought it was something more. This interaction just made Tony more and more curious. Just who was Spiderman?

With that thought reverberating through his mind Tony set to work.

Ding.

His back cracked as he sat up.  “Friday, what time is it?”

“It is 6:30 am, Sir.”  Damn. He had spent the whole night working again. His back and eyes were aching but at least his head wasn’t pounding from any late night beverages he had.  

Friday gave him a reminder to eat breakfast. Embarrassing though it was, Tony often forgot to eat. His stay in Afghanistan hadn’t helped this already bad habit. He and Yinsen constantly had to share any meals their captives remembered to bring: Tony many times went without in order to help the doctor keep his strength.

It had been troublesome trying to cope with being back, let alone eating normally and troublesome was an understatement. With encouragement from Pepper, he told Friday to remind him when he needed to eat. His ears heated up remembering that conversation. And conversation was a nice term for it. Pepper was worried, which wasn’t new, but the way she had looked at Tony made his chest clench. The shame and desire to please had bubbled inside him until he abided by her wishes. Even Friday had sounded worried during their talk.

Deep down Tony felt something else he couldn’t name, but it felt good, to know someone cared enough to argue about his health. To know someone cared enough.

Getting up, Tony asked Friday if he had any notifications. “Sir, you have a text message from an unknown number.”

Tony sighed, cautious as to what it could be. “Bring it up please, Fri.” He glanced down at his phone. It wasn’t unusual that someone managed to get his number or claimed to know him in an attempt at some type of blackmail. He’d even gotten a message proposing marriage once.

Oh. Pleasantly surprised, Tony continued reading.

Dear Mr. Stark,

        I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity to help the Avengers, to help you. I went through all the paperwork you gave me and wanted to inform you I accept your proposal. I understand all the ramifications this would entail and do not accept flippantly. I can be ready, whenever. Thank you, again.          

His first reaction was to smirk at the formal message. Who wrote a text messages like that? But mostly Tony was surprised. He thought it would take the kid awhile to get back to him, had planned for it at least. He had given him a bunch of paper work and documents, including the Accords. It had been uncomfortable putting it all together but he wanted the kid to make an informed decision, see all the sides.

Tony had been secretly afraid that the kid would not take his side; that he would think Tony was wrong and that Cap was right. “To help you,” echoed in his mind. He didn’t even realize how concerned he was until he felt a weight lift from his mind.The kid sided with him. He thought Tony was in the right or at least as right as anyone could be given this impossible situation.

No, don’t think about it yet. Tony knew he wasn’t right, but he knew Cap was even more not right. And he needed all the help he could get.

Tony figured with enough people on his side, they could just intimidate Cap and the rest into cooperating. There would be no need for any actual fighting. Sure, tensions would be high but he would have Cap back. Everyone would be together again and they could work on it from there. But right now, not knowing what was happening, was not working for Tony.

He just had to talk to Cap. If they could just sit down and talk, he could explain and then Cap could explain. And then they would be able to go back home. Handle the real stuff, not this overblown production.

He knew that Cap had gathered some people on his side. He had Friday keep tabs on everything, wanting to be prepared. And now he had Spiderman. Sure, not exactly as he had envisioned but he should never assume anyway. Reality never followed fantasy and he was happy. Beyond happy; the kid had agreed. He just had to make sure that nothing happened to him. Now that Spiderman was Team Iron Man, he was officially under Tony’s protection. Tony really wished that this wouldn’t come to violence and with everything in him hoped that they could talk. Talk and move on, how hard could that be?

“To help you.”

Sighing, Tony shook his head. He needed to finish planning.

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter Four

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 4: The Universe; Behind the Scenes

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Mentions of Past Death Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC Additional Tags: Thanos Is A Tool, Influence is Not the Same as Control, God I Want That Bathtub Summary:  Reader learns what she remembers, but not why.

“What the hel was that?” Loki demanded. “She was fine one minute, and then she falls apart over a mere face full of dust? Who does that?”

“I can think of a reason.” Thor said softly.

“Brother?” Thor was rarely introspective, and Loki didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“She’s had a hard day. She will need rest, but I have some questions first. “

“I’m sure we all have.” Loki grouched. “Seems like that’s all we have.”

                                                                                             *****

The bath was nice, though the toiletries all smelled of him. You were surprised by how much mud had gotten in your hair. You weren’t made for such bizarre happenings: magic, and kidnapping gods, and ancient civilizations being built anew. Nothing about today seemed quite real. Even time was wrong. A few hours ago you were clocking in for the morning shift at work. Now the sun hung low in the sky. Evening was coming. You’d lost an entire day. You supposed that made its own kind of sense, since technically, aliens were involved.

Where were you now? This couldn’t be your country. Yes, the U.S. was pretty big, big enough to cover several time zones, but you didn’t think there was any part of the continental United States that was night while another part was morning. You had to be all the way across an ocean, or somewhere similarly as far. What a pity. You would have liked to see that. Flying over an ocean must be beautiful.

The towels were nice, much nicer than you were used to. Everything was probably going to be higher quality than you were used to, since royalty was involved.

How were you supposed to talk to them? There was no real royalty in your country; you didn’t know the etiquette. How did one address a prince? A king? A god?

Someone had taken your clothes while you bathed. Of course you couldn’t put them back on while they were still so filthy, but it made you feel vulnerable all the same. The tunic you had been provided in their place did not fit correctly at all; it was too loose in the shoulder, too long in the arms, and too tight in the hips. This was obviously a man’s garment, olive green and incredibly soft. You didn’t want to think about it. At least the provided slippers fit correctly. Your legs remained mostly bare, but you didn’t think they were all that much to look at anyway. The tunic was made for someone taller than you, so it covered enough.

This little set of rooms was odd to you. Like a whole house inside of another building. Here a bath, there a library, there and there a bedroom. And when you tried to leave back out into what you thought was the main corridor, there was a young man in armor there to stop you. He was polite, but he spoke a language you didn’t know.

“I’m sorry.” You told him. “I don’t understand.” He led you back into the library and pointed at a chair. “Oh, I get it. Sit down and wait, huh? I can do that.”

He waited until you had gotten yourself seated before going back to his post. He must have had orders not to let you leave. Annoying, but fair; they wouldn’t want you running off, and after that small panic attack earlier, it might not be safe for you to wander around without a guide.

You started browsing through the books, but most of them were in unfamiliar languages. When Loki came to collect you, you were going through illustrations and diagrams that you couldn’t read, but found interesting nevertheless. You looked up from a beautiful drawing of a huge tree with little worlds hanging it its branches, and he was just there.

“Uh…How long-“ You began.

“You make so many little noises when you read. Do you fear silence, or are you simply that lacking in self-awareness?”

“It’s just a habit.” You said defensively. “No one’s ever complained before.”

“You live completely alone. Who is there to complain? You will have to break that habit while you are within these walls. We cannot have incessant noise disturbing our guards, or my contemplations.”

You turned back to the illustrations, cheeks burning slightly. So it was just a little habit! It wasn’t that big a deal.

“You say it like we’ve gotta be joined at the hip all the time, but that’s obviously not the case, because I just had a nice bath without you. So unless you were waiting just outside the door-which would be creepy-then I’m sure my ‘incessant noises’ won’t be as big a problem as you’re making them out to be. “

You both let the moments pass in increasingly uncomfortable silence.

“I was harsh with you.” It was a statement, not an apology, but also probably the closest you were ever going to get.

“You were. I was…rude.” You conceded. You really must have crossed a line when you called him a monster. You had let your temper and fear run off with you.

“You were.” He agreed. “You were frightened. It’s only natural. And I was…frustrated. But that time is passed, and now the time has come for greater things.” He beckoned for you to follow him, and you did, curiosity growing.

Where could you possibly be going now? Some kind of magical laboratory, to run tests on your rune? A spiritual center, to meditate on this magical connection that sapped or restored energy based on how close the two of you were? A medical area, where they might operate on your hand to learn more about it?

“Where are we going?” You asked softly.

“Dinner.” He said airily, and you snorted. Greater things, huh? Still, something as mundane as dinner sounded amazing right now. You’d technically gone the whole day without eating. Something mundane sounded very nice right about now. You might not get that again for some time.

He looked oddly normal as well, which struck you as strange. It somehow never occurred to you that he didn’t look the same all the time. But all you’d ever had for reference was video footage of the battle. He wore armor to intimidate, horns to add height. Not that he needed it. The top of your head barely reached his shoulders. You would have never expected someone like him to even have casual clothes, if all those pin-tucks and diagonal shapes counted as casual. You tried to ignore the similar shapes on the ill fitted tunic you currently wore.

It was hard to believe how much different he looked without that helmet. How much the sharpness of his face was softened by letting his hair fall lose around his shoulders.

“Like something you see?” He asked. “You’re staring, you know.”

“Sorry.” You said, embarrassment creeping in. “It’s just that you look…”

He turned to watch you, the corners of his mouth lifting, ever so slightly. “Yes?”

“You look like a man.”

He paused, the tiny smile fleeing. “As opposed to a monster?” Then he quickened his pace, and you struggled to keep up.

“That’s not what I-“

“Oh don’t worry.” He cut you off. “After all, I’ve never shown this world anything different.”

“Lo-“ You started, then held your tongue. No, you couldn’t call him by name. You weren’t friends. Whatever reasons he might have had, he was the architect of a major disruption in your life. There was no way you had a job anymore, and if you ever got home, you probably wouldn’t have your apartment either. Your houseplants were going to die. Your friends and father, and coworkers had no idea you were still alive. And all of this was quite literally by his hand.

How were you supposed to address him?

“Your…Highness?” You tried, and he made an affirming noise. “Can you tell me where we are?”

“Yes.” He said, and nothing else. It took you a moment to realize he was doing that obnoxious thing some teachers do in order to amend their students’ grammar.  How annoying.

“Please tell me where we are, your highness.” You said in a voice pitched higher than normal. Years of working in retail with difficult customers gave your demeanor a false show of being chipper. He noticed instantly, giving you a strange look.

“Within the kingdom of Asgard, but you would know this island as Iceland.”

“Iceland? How did-how am I-I…I’ve never been to Iceland.” You spluttered lamely. You had never been so far from home in your life. You’d never really wanted to. You were well and truly trapped, weren’t you? If you found that you really needed to leave, there really was nowhere for you to run. Even if you could make it out of the unbuilt city, you didn’t know where any other towns were. You wouldn’t be able to speak to any people you might find.  They would know you shouldn’t be there, see that you had no passport, no identification. They’d haul you right to jail. That was all that awaited you outside the city. Death in a foreign landscape, or prison.

“Oh god, I’m an illegal immigrant.” You murmured.

“What are you talking about?” He led you into a large room with a huge table in the center, and then right past that table, and into a much smaller room, with a much smaller table, set with three dinners, and furnished with the king of Asgard.

“Yes.” He asked. “What are we talking about?”

“I don’t have a passport! I’m illegal, I’ll be put in jail!

Thor shrugged. “You’re a guest of the Crown, at least for a little while. You don’t have to worry about it. Sit with us; eat. Ease your worries. We’re going to take care of you.”

You took a seat opposite Thor; Loki sat next to you, not, as you expected, next to his brother. It almost felt like they were fencing you in, putting themselves between you and the door. Or between you and anyone who might come through the door.

The food was simple, and looked good, if a little unfamiliar. A bowl of hearty stew, full of vegetables and tasting of herbs your tongue had never met. A little pot of creamy white stuff, topped with orange sauce that turned out to be sweet instead of spicy. A chunk of something that was trying to be bread but was actually dried fish that you were supposed to spread butter on as if it was bread. And a glass of strong cider that you had trouble actually drinking. Alcohol was usually too pricy for you, and so you never drank much.

It was warm, and it was good, and it was what your body, confused by time zones, desperately needed. You ate every bit, even the buttered fish. But you said nothing, not until Thor addressed you directly.

“I know you have had a very rough day, and I know you must be tired and confused, but would you be willing to entertain a few questions?”

What choice did you have? He was right about being tired; the hot food and cider had hit you pretty hard. But it wasn’t like you could just tell him to go stuff it either, could you? You put your customer service face back on.

“Sure, ask away!”

He raised one eyebrow at the fake cheer in your voice, but made no comment on it.

“I’d like to assure you that we keep this place very clean. No dust, unless you go near construction zones. But, if it’s not too uncomfortable, could you tell us why you reacted like that? So we can keep you safer in the future.”

Damn. You should’ve known they wouldn’t let that go. Six months ago, you had been sure he would have an answer for you; now you just didn’t know. Would he think you were crazy too? But he was a god; was it possible to lie to a god?

“I’ll know if you’re lying.” Loki said, as if hearing your thoughts.

“There’s no need for threats.” Thor chided him.

“I wasn’t.”

“If you are comfortable talking about it.” Thor concluded.

“It’s difficult.” You said. “It’s not that I don’t want to; I kinda do, and I have for a long time. But it seems like some great big secret that I can’t bring up, because most people don’t believe me, and the ones that do are sort of paranoid of being thought crazy. Look, something happened about a year and a half ago, except it didn’t, but it did. And I know you probably won’t believe me, but-“

“Half your world turned to dust.” Thor said grimly. “People, plants, animals, everything. And then it all went back to normal, as if nothing happened. But not for you. In the time between the two events, you suffered. You mourned. You struggled and starved. And now you remember, when it seems no one else does.”

Loki stared at you. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

You had gone very still and very pale as Thor spoke out that list of everything you had gone through.

“I knew it.” You whispered. “I knew it. I knew it was real. That many people couldn’t have the same hallucination. I knew you knew something!”

Thor nodded, still looking very serious.

“That’s why I went to the tower in the first place! That’s why I tried to approach you! I knew one of you knew something!”

“But the spell-“ Loki began.

“What happened?” You demanded, excitement overcoming your sleepiness.

“It’s a lengthy tale, if you’re up for it.” Thor warned, but you only nodded in enthusiasm.

“Very well. It begins when the universe does.” Wow, he wasn’t kidding.

“Thor, are you sure this is a good idea?” Loki broke in.

Thor shrugged. “Looks like something went wrong. She’s not supposed to remember, but she does.”

“That spell was cast for a reason.” Loki protested.

“Which do you suppose was worse? Being one of the lives initially lost, or being one of those left behind to live in that broken universe? Do you know what that was like? Being the only one left? I say she deserves an answer. “

Loki rolled his eyes. “No, if you recall, I was dead at the time. Whatever, tell her what you will, but I’ll not be taking responsibility when it blows up in your face.”

“Wait, you…you died? Did you turn to dust too?” That even happened to the gods?

“Not exactly,” He muttered. “It was more of a hand’s on experience.”

“He was very brave.” Thor said.

“I was very foolish.” Loki retorted, but he looked more proud than angry.

“What happened?” You asked again.

“Yes, the story. Directly after this universe came into being, there also spawned a handful of concepts; embodiments of the things that make up the universe and everything in it. These things were given physical forms, shaped into shining gems of incredible power. Wars were fought over them, and with them, but only certain powerful individuals can actually use them. I have a friend who has seen what happens when someone who is too weak tries to handle one. Not pretty, apparently. However, Loki has used two of them before.”

Pride colored those last words, and Loki looked unsure of how to take being bragged about.

“For certain definitions of ‘used’, I suppose.”

“There was someone else who wanted them, a homicidal lunatic, name of Thanos. An absolute waste of space who brought nothing to the universe but mountains of corpses. Twisted. Worthless. Seems like all he could do was destroy. The Chitauri invasion? That was him.”

“That was him.” You pointed at Loki.

“Certain definitions of used.” He repeated.

You looked back and forth between the brothers. “What are you trying to tell me here?”

“He used the Mind Stone.” Thor said. “While at the same time, it used him. It affected everyone around it.”

“Wait, you mean mind control?” You asked, shocked by this revelation. “These things have their own will? Why haven’t you told anyone? Everyone thinks-“

“Do not mistake me.” Loki interrupted. “No matter how much my brother would like to paint me as an innocent in this, I still did what I did. Those were my actions and my decisions. One can very easily be a victim, and be guilty at the same time. Take it as a demonstration of what I am capable of, just not everything that I am.” He sighed, but his expression remained neutral.

“It is however, correct to think that, without Thanos, without the influence of that stone, I don’t think I would have done any of it. But I did, and there is no way to erase that. Do not make of me something I am not. I was the person who did all those things. But I am not now, and will not be again.”

“I don’t know what to think about this.” You said, but internally you were a bit relieved. You hadn’t actually stopped being frightened of him, but it was very reassuring to know that all that malice, all that bigotry and hatred hadn’t all been him. If his words could be trusted, anyway. Thor wasn’t objecting though, so maybe he really was on the level.

“He did take his stand against Thanos though.” Thor continued. “We all did; heroes of Earth, of Asgard, of the stars. And every last one of us failed. Most of us died, either in his quest for the stones, or in the event he caused. He came into possession of all of the stones, which allowed him to reshape the universe as he wanted it to be. “

“Which was…nearly empty?”

“He was a madman. He was obsessed with his savior complex, but his bloodlust was far greater, and I think he forgot how to separate the two. So yes, instead of thinking up ways to change reality for the better, he felt the logical choice was to kill everybody.”

“He had no creativity or finesse, unless he was causing harm.” Loki muttered.

“Now this is the part I really can’t tell you about, which is a shame, because it was amazing. However, because of the forces involved, the fewer people who ever know about it, the better. But we few survivors took our battle to reality itself, and we succeeded. We regained what Thanos took from us, and erased his nightmarish vision of the universe.”

“Before separating the stones and returning them to their proper guardians, the sorcerers among us used them to cast a spell over everything and everyone; that none save those of us involved should have any memory of the event we erased. We wanted to undo that suffering, but we also wanted to prevent mass searches for the stones. We can’t risk it happening again.”

“Then how come I remember?” You asked. There was much more mystery surrounding you right now than you were comfortable with.

“That is an excellent question!” Thor said. “And since you don’t seem to have any answers for us yourself, we will simply have to add it to the pile of things we have to figure out.”

“I would like to have answers too, but right now, I’m so tired.” An involuntary yawn punctuated your words. “Pardon me.”

“Yes, of course.” Thor said. “Loki will take you to bed.”

“Absolutely not!” You screeched.

“Phrasing!” Loki snapped.

Thor looked like he was having a very hard time not laughing, which you didn’t appreciate at all. That was a terrifying prospect, and one you were not in the least willing to entertain. Loki looked perturbed as well, so at least you were both on the same page.

“I’m sorry, ____, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” A little laughter did escape him, fueling your annoyance. It wasn’t a laughing matter. Neither of these men had better start getting ideas. Just because they were divine rulers didn’t mean they could take liberties. You still had rights. Didn’t you?

“Buffoon.” Loki grumbled. “Come. I’ll see you to your room.”

You got to have your own room? That sounded promising. You followed along behind him, sleepy and quiet, swimming in the events of the day. It was all so much to take in, but maybe sleeping on it would help. Loki led you back to the set of rooms you’d earlier had your bath in, letting you inside and addressing the young man standing guard at the door. You couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the young man seemed mildly confused and upset. He kept shooting you curious looks, and eventually he patted you reassuringly on the shoulder, and nodded at you. Then he went into the smaller of the two bedrooms, gathered his things, and left. He even waved at you on his way out, as if he was trying to convey no hard feelings without being able to actually speak to you.

“Uh…Your Highness? Did I just kick that guy out of his room?” You asked, feeling very guilty.

“No.” Loki assured you. “These rooms are mine, and I decide who may use them, and for how long. There is room for him in our guardhouse, it was just more convenient for him to be close by. Now it is more convenient for you to be here.”

“Because we don’t know how far apart we can be, or for how long. I get it.” There wasn’t much in the room; a bed, a desk with a chair, a small dresser, and one window. The floor and walls were bare, and there was one lamp on the desk, but no other lights. Well, you didn’t need much right now, and you owned practically nothing here, not even the shirt on your back, so this was much better than you had feared it would be.

“I feel like we can probably have a respectable distance between us, just not miles, and certainly not an entire ocean. However, I also feel like we should sleep closer together. Partly for your own safety, and partly because it seems to me that the focus of this draining sickness was our mutual dreams. “

He took a seat in the chair while you crawled into the plain little bed.

“Will you tell me about them?” He asked. “I know we were both having dreams, and I think we were connected through them, but you said yours were nightmares. Mine were not. I wonder about the differences.”

“Ugh. They weren’t anything complicated, but they were always the same. There was this big blankness that I just wanted to sink into so that I could finally rest, but you wouldn’t let me. You just kept dragging me away, and you wouldn’t let me sleep. You were scary, and it was torture, not being able to rest.”

He nodded slowly, writing something down in a small notebook you were sure he hadn’t had just a second before.

“Mine were…similar, but the perspective was different. That void was death, and I was compelled to keep you from it.”

“Do you think we’ll still dream?” You asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

“Right. Can you, uh…”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He left, closing the door behind him. You might have heard the lock turn, but you were already drifting off.

                                                                      *********

The void beckoned you, a promise of rest and freedom, but now you knew it might not be as benign as it seemed. Loki clutched your arm, frightening with his horns and cold eyes, but now you knew he might not be as malign as he seemed. You spent the rest of your dream there, between two deceivers, not sure which one to choose.

[purficklyclean]

Yuletide Recs, Part One

I was on vacation all week for once and so I’ve really dived into Yuletide in a way I don’t usually have time for.  So many great stories this year, as usual; my top 10 from Fandoms A-M (oh, and also the number fandoms) in alphabetical order by fandom below the cut:

We'll Burn That Barn When We Come To It (11th Century CE RPF, Harold II of England/William the Conquerer)

from: h.godwinson@homespuntwaddle.com to: brn@norman.org.fr

Hi Bill

Look, can we just talk this over like adults?

And the fact that I’m saying this despite the WIRE FENCE you’ve now erected round the perimeter of my farm ought to show you that I mean it. Please reply!

Harry.

You don’t have to know anything about William the Conquerer or Harold Godwinson for this epistolary modern AU to be super fun and hilarious to read (though having some knowledge makes it even better, of course).

Refraction (17776, Gen)

Hey Ten? Do people still write fanfiction?

If you aren’t already familiar with 17776: What football will look like in the future, I recommend you drop everything and go experience that because it was one of my favorite things of 2017.  Once you’re done, come back and read this delightfully meta fic about fanfiction in the future.

cross the bridge as it burns (Babylon Berlin, Gereon Rath/Charlotte Ritter)

Don't try to put your thoughts in order. Gereon at the end of the world.

When I finished Babylon Berlin earlier this year, I immediately went to check for fic and there were like less than a dozen fics and none of them were what I was looking for, so I was SO pleased to see a Gereon/Charlotte fic in the Yuletide collection and I’m even more pleased to report that it is absolutely fantastic and captures the tone of the show so, so well.

Miss Scarlet Rolls the Dice First (Clue (1985), Miss Scarlet)

"The 1950s were good for business. The war in Korea had segued nicely into a cold war, which was her preferred kind."

Ms. Scarlet, after.

A fascinating, well-written look at Ms. Scarlet’s life in the decades after the events of the film.  I don’t even know what to say about this except it’s nothing I would have expected from fic about Clue, but I loved it and I’m so glad it exists!  It has a completely different tone from the movie and yet everyone feels completely in character; it’s so marvelous.

i found it hard, it was hard to find (The Defenders, Luke Cage & Jessica Jones)

They’re not quite exes, and they’re more than exes, and last she heard they each have someone else now to wake up next to, but she wonders sometimes still about the version of herself who could have been someplace for him to return to.

(Luke finds Jessica, after.)

I’m super behind on all things Defenders and am unlikely to ever catch up at this point, but I still love these two and I loved this fic.  It’s basically just a conversation between them, but it feels so in character and true and warmed my heart.

The Inbox of Good Tidings (Tea House (Gmail Theme), Fox)

Something is very different around the tea house. For one, it has snowed. Fox's entire routine is thrown off!

This is the most adorable thing I’ve ever read??  I’m not even sure why I clicked on it, other than wanting to know what a story based on a Gmail theme would look like (classic Yuletide), but I’m so glad I did.  It’s just a super sweet story with just the right amount of meta gmail theme content, which is something I never thought I’d type.

Performance Review (The Good Place, Judge Hydrogen)

The Judge is judged.

It’s time for Judge Gen’s latest performance review! I cannot possibly say enough good things about this fic: it’s formatting is fun, it feels so true to The Good Place, it’s HILARIOUS, and it has a perfect ending.  A must-read for any Good Place fan, for sure.

Bakes to Die For (The Great British Bake Off RPF, Gen)  

While digitizing the BBC archives, an intern who asked to remain anonymous discovered a transcript of a lost episode of the Great British Bake Off. The paper could neither be photocopied nor scanned as all the copies came out blank; and the actual footage was never found.

In the spirit of The Seventh Seal (or Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey), Death is challenged to the Great British Bake Off, and the judges and hosts are along for the ride.  What more could you possibly want out of a fic???  This script-formatted fic nails the tone and format of GBBO absolutely perfectly, while also being completely hilarious as everyone deals with Death and the situation at hand.  Also, I want to be BFFs with Bettina, the human here who challenges Death.

in good hands (Justified, Rachel Brooks & Raylan Givens & Tim Gutterson)

A hand, a refrigerator, a flood. Another hand. Raylan might be psychic.

An absolute treat for anyone who misses Justified.  Great character work, super funny writing, and a very great and very Justified-style plot featuring our favorite US Marshals.

There's No Shame in It (Mamma Mia!, Tanya Chesham-Leigh & Rosie Mulligan & Donna Sheridan)

"So… on three, then?”

And on three… they made music. It was everything Donna had always imagined it could be. The harmonies, the descants, the way their three voices blended into something so much bigger than any one of them could have been on their own. It was every reason why she’d never understood her mother’s clinging to a solo career. Why would you ever want to sing alone when you could sing like this?

I don’t think anything brought me more joy this summer than Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, but I wasn’t sure how the gorgeous scenery and fun performances and ABBA music would transfer over to fic.  However, this lovely little origin story about the beginning of Donna and the Dynamos managed to bring that same joy.  The characters are captured beautifully (really, I can’t say enough about how spot-on all three feel), ABBA is involved, and a beautiful friendship is born.