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withyoutilltheendofthismess · 4 years

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The effects of sleep deprivation

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: not that I am aware of

Summary: Coming home late from a case with nothing to eat only leaves one option.

A/N: Never would I have imagined the response from my first ever published fic. Thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged or commented! Send an ask if you wanna be tagged in upcoming ones. Have fun with this one.

You never knew it was actually possible to run out of groceries. Wasn't it natural to go shopping for food every week but never actually use everything you've bought to the extent that nothing was left? But when Aaron and you came home after a long case at midnight and you opened the fridge you were greeted with the wonderful amount of nothing. That makes a great dinner.

“Aaron, there's nothing in the fridge!“

He didn't believe you. He had flopped down on the couch seconds after entering the house but this outrageous claim brought him up in a speed you didn't know he still had in him, not that you were going to tell him this.

After pointlessly staring in the blinding light of the fridge for far too long he came to the exactly same conclusion.

“Huh, there really is nothing in the fridge.“ Always fun to be in a relationship with such a smart man.

Now you were sitting at the dining table, a glass of water in front of both of you because you had nothing else to drink either, obviously. Your mind was tired after working non stop for a week and you could tell your boyfriend felt the same. He had been staring at a particular dark line in the wood of the table for 10 minutes now. You needed to do something, that was for sure. Otherwise he may begin to eat the table beginning with that dark line.

“We should go grocery shopping.“

“What?“ His mind was definitely tired.

“Grocery shopping, Aaron, to get food. That's how humans get something to eat nowadays.“

“Haha, Y/N, it's 1 am.“

“And? Is it forbidden to go out after a particular hour?“

More time came and go, he seemed to be considering your question. Were there social standards that prohibit going shopping at 1 am? If there were, would it be enough of an emergency to break them? You imagined all of that going on inside his head before he came to a conclusion.

“Ok, let's go.“

So, it was decided. You changed out of your work clothes into a pair of comfy leggings and a big hoodie. Aaron himself switched his suit out for sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt. There was a store nearby that could easily be reached by foot and was opened for 24 hours. You slipped your hand into Aaron's while walking naturally. They fit together like they were made for each other and maybe they were. If you weren't that tired and hungry it would almost be beautiful. A couple, hand in hand, the dark night sky as infinite as their love for each other.

Aaron went to fetch a shopping cart while you were waiting in front of the doors desperately trying to not fall asleep while standing. Another thing you didn't think was possible but you were already proven wrong once tonight. Better to not risk something.

Completely worn out, your boyfriend strolled around the corner. His lips lightly twitched upwards upon seeing you. You put one hand on the handle so he wouldn't have to push the cart alone and you entered the store.

“Do you think we need salad?“

“Aaron, we have nothing at home.“ You sighed. Aaron didn't seem to process words at a normal speed because he still looked questionally at you, a head of lettuce still in his hand.

“Yes, I do think we need lettuce.“ You answered his question, more directly this time. This seemed to get through to him and he put some in the cart before moving on. There wasn't much in there before a wave of exhaustion washed over you. Your head fell against his strong shoulder and your eyes closed immediately at the impact. But it was only a short moment of peace.

“Y/N, Y/N, wake up.“ He shook your body. He was always so considerate. Of course after being woken that softly there was no thought about a good sleep left. But you had another idea.

“Put me in the cart.“

“Can you repeat that please?“

“You heard me. Put me in the cart.“

He scooped you up bridal style shoving away some of the groceries you had already put in to make space for you and sat you down. You felt like a child. And the happiest child ever on top of that. You and Aaron had many differences and things you were alike in. What differed you from each other was the way you acted without enough sleep. He was the kind of person to shut his mind down, he would prefer to not think at all. His mind was always working the most so it was the part of him that shut down the quickest and got exhausted the fastest. For you it was the other way around, your body was on the suffering end when sleep wasn't on top of the priorities.

That's why you settled for a way to get the late night shopping spree done quickly. He was pushing the cart, you were still sitting in it and pointed left and right to the goods you needed to get to survive the next week. Aaron's job was to scoop them up, get the desired amount, put them in and move forward. That's how you worked yourself step after step through the store. It seemed soo long. Had it been extended since the last time you were here?

And even though you were tired and hungry it felt nice. The domesticity of going grocery shopping together is unmatched.

“Aaron?“

“Hm?“

“You are my favourite person to do this with.“

“Thanks. Do you think we need ice cream?“

So the journey continued until you reached the checkout. This was going to be awkward. With the amount of groceries you were buying you had become covered in different things really fast. There was something on every part of your body, the only thing still visible being your head that stuck out of the mountain.

Unsurprisingly, the cashier was also tired. How can he not be? I was not the right person to judge in this situation. He didn't seem to care about anything as you lied there in the cart, food being lifted off you slowly. You were sure he had seen worst. Aaron put the groceries in the big bags you had brought with you, one hand still busy pushing the cart. Now it was time to get out of the cart, everything had already been paid for and stuffed neatly into the bags to be easier to carry. As tempting as it seemed you weren't going to steal a shopping cart just so you wouldn't have to walk.

Aaron looked down at you and although you felt like you looked truly horrible there was still a glint of admiration and love in his eyes. You reached out his arms for him, like little babies do, and just as them you also wanted to be carried. Not that long though, being helped out would be enough. And with a sigh your boyfriend complied, his arms wrapping around you and then placing your feet softly on the ground. You were standing and safe but he didn't remove his grasp, so you put your arms around his middle pulling him closer. And that's how you stood there, holding each other after being grocery shopping at night and there was only one thought was left in your mind: “This is what love feels like.“

---

After your trip you were too exhausted to be hungry and you promptly went to sleep, indulging in soft unconsciousness. Your breakfast after a good night of sleep was phenomenal having a big pond of food to choose from. When you later told the team about the adventure they kindly informed you that you could have just gone somewhere to eat or order takeout leaving you and Aaron looking really dumb.Well, minds work different when tired and ordering takeout wouldn't have been that fun, that's for sure. But there was still one good thing left: after that there was always something in the fridge to be eaten in the Hotchner's household.

@agenthotchner

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x ofc #aaron hotchner x original female character #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #cm imagine #cm #one shot #Writing #aaron hotchner x female!reader #Bau team #Criminal minds

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artificiallyimplantedmemories · 3 years

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@videniye sent this meme: Send 🛡️ for your muse to take a bullet meant for mine. [x]

Both of them have aggressively left behind a life of pain. Natalia doesn’t talk about her past, but the Red Room’s training sometimes still lurks in her mind. She covers it up with laughter and sass, and in Bucky and Steve, she’s found genuine friends. They care about her, make her feel like she has a place to belong, and the flirting (and eye candy, let’s be honest) is a definitely perk. As for Bucky, Nat has found out about his wartime experiences in bits and pieces, but still doesn’t have a holistic picture of everything that happened out there. Bucky is extremely reticent on this front (as people usually are with trauma), and Nat knows better than to push. It’s not like she’s any better, right?

Still, as the months have gone on, they help heal each other. Sometimes, that comes under the guise of a new tattoo, sometimes it’s simply crashing on the floor together under a massive blanket to watch shitty movies. Steve is in the middle most of the time (because he gets cold most easily, and both Nat and Bucky know that he needs the most protecting), but the two of them also steal moments for themselves too.

Steve pouts at them, but he knows he gets his own time with each of them too, so it’s fine. They deserve to be happy together.

Nat has done a phenomenal job of covering her tracks. She and Ivan have purposely kept their operation local, off the radar from anyone who might be looking for them. They’re popular but niche, and don’t have so much as a website up in order to reduce their clientele. She respects Ivan immensely for that — after all, he neither had to take her in nor go on the run with her when things got bad. Besides all of that, his talents are enough to seriously make a name for himself if he wants, but he still settles for very nearly struggling by for the sake of his adopted daughter. It’s more than Natalia could have asked from anyone.

Unfortunately, even the best laid plans are waylaid

The Red Room comes back to claim their lost protégé, and Natasha is not prepared. It’s not that she can’t fight them off, as she does keep her training up secretly, but it’s the fact that she now has people to worry about, attachments that they can take advantage of.

Sentiment is not worthwhile for an assassin, they tell her. She should have left her heart on ice, and maybe she would not have failed.

She refuses to believe that it’s true. She has felt more alive in the last few years than she has in the rest of her life combined. She’s been able to experience joys and sorrows the way that all people should. She’s had leaps of hope, brushes of gentleness, and even managed to destroy the fear that she had no soul left to spare. She has been whole here, and she would not trade it for the world.

No. That is a lie. She would trade it in a heartbeat for the safety of the people she loves.

The first attack comes when she is alone. The Black Widow is easier to tackle without Ivan at her side. He is ex-military after all, and can put up a hell of a fight, has been proven to do so for the sake of his girl. If they can get in and kidnap or kill her first without him knowing, they’ll be better off.

It doesn’t go as they expect. She may have settled into a routine that doesn’t involve death on the daily, but she knows what signs to look for. Hyper-vigilance is an old friend, one she has yet to shake off. They not only fail to take her by surprise but also get three of their agents hurt in the process. That is a surprise to them. Natalia has aimed to maim and not to kill. Things have changed. Perhaps it’s complacency? Perhaps it’s a conscience?

Nat heads back using the most roundabout method she can, climbing up facades of buildings, ducking into abandoned homes, biding time in seedy bars and stealing a change of clothes. A beanie hides her bright hair, grime covers her face, and she looks like a homeless wanderer instead of the neat, clean, precise Natasha that people know here. She’s fired off a text to Ivan, letting him know that he needs to get away before people come to hunt him down too, but she doesn’t really have enough faith in his self-preservation where she’s involved.

He’ll probably be waiting for me with two shotguns and a hot-wired car, the madman, she thinks fondly. The KGB wouldn’t launch their attack on me without knowing my routine though. If they did, it would be highly unprofessional. So they’ll probably stay away from him as long as he keeps his head down and doesn’t do anything too terribly suspicious.

This is her hope as she ducks into the alley behind the shop. It’s closed today, and she goes through the hatch in it that leads up to the supply room, rather than having to use the front door. Quickly, she gathers long-disused supplies, a couple firearms, blades, a hat and coat with extra pockets. She’s glad that she stashed these here instead of at the apartment. Suddenly, there’s a lurch in her heart as she realizes that being on the run again means that she won’t get to say goodbye. Hell, fuck, and damn it all. At least Bucky and Steve deserve an explanation...

Survival comes first though, and she takes a moment to scrawl a note for them to leave in the shop. Inevitably, they’ll come around on Monday when she doesn’t show up for their lunch meeting, and they’ll find out at least a little about who she is, why she’s running. It’s an apology. An attempt at an explanation. An inadequate farewell. Natasha forces her hands not to shake as she rushes through the words, and it’s so very tempting to sign off with the three that she’s been wanting to say for the better part of a year. It’s not right though, to let them invest themselves when she’s only going to disappear, so she folds it and lays it on her desk with a sigh. Enough time has been wasted, she needs to go.

Scarf pulled up around her face, she rushes back to the apartment. There are raised voices inside, and her hackles go up so fast that they could have given her whiplash. One is the angry, low voice of Ivan, spitting his Russian in the way he does when he’s been backed into the corner about something. The other is a voice that sends chills down her back. She’d know that gravelly voice anywhere. The Headmistress herself has come to find her.

If she goes in, she may be dragged back to Russia and forced to resume a life of blood and bitterness. If she doesn’t go in, it’s entirely likely that Ivan will end up dead for arguing. She may still be able to ensure his safety, and so she takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The old woman sitting on Ivan’s chair (there’s a moment of colossally illogical rage at that) beckons Natalia in. They all know what her entering the apartment means. Almost immediately, Ivan sags in defeat. Once the redhead has made up her mind, there’s very little he can do to dissuade her. Still, his eyes plead for her to reconsider. She, in turn, carefully doesn’t meet his gaze.

“How kind of you to join us, little Spider,” the woman croaks, and the only sign of Nat’s displeasure is the hard set of her jaw. Her sidearm is within reach, but she’s not sure how many other assailants are currently hidden in nearby apartments, ready to blow them apart for making even the slightest wrong move. Ivan only got away with arguing for so long because it bought them time for her to arrive. “Your services are needed. I’m sure you understand.”

She does. The Black Widow was their top student, their little killing machine. If they want her back, it’s because there’s a high level assassination that needs to take place, and someone else has failed.

Her expression is one that cannot be classified. Perhaps there’s a hint of satisfaction, that she’s been able to outwit them for so long, perhaps resignation, pride and pain. There have been so many others after her, she knows, and none of them have lived up to her legacy. How they must be punished for that. She wishes she could save them. She wishes she wasn’t broken enough that she can’t scrounge up the appropriate amount of sympathy.

“I take it that the Recluse has been punished?”

It’s an ultimatum given. You show me that you will torture your own daughter to gain my loyalty or I won’t go. It’s no less cruel to herself though. Anya was her friend once, so many years ago.

“I’ll let you personally oversee it,” comes the reply. How utterly horrible.

“Then you know what I will ask for in turn. Ivan and the others here go untouched, or I burn your entire operation to the ground, your own withered husk included.”

The Headmistress scoffs, but nods. She has expected as much. Natalia’s current life reeks of domesticity, but her senses are sharp. She has already proven that she is more valuable alive than dead, and her skills will be useful to the agency. They are the Dark Room now, even more deadly, with more experiments underway to create Natalia’s successor. So far, though, none have been quite so perfect. They need her back, even if they have to dispose of her later.

The redhead nods as well. “Leave. I have packing to do.” The Headmistress, accustomed to the Widow’s rudeness, rises. Just as the old woman gets to her feet, though, there is a knock at the door. Everyone freezes.

“Natasha, you in?”

Nat fights not to let her expression crumble. It’s Bucky, darling, sweet, wonderful Bucky who has seen too much and been through too much and does not need to know that his tattoo artist fling is about to vanish off the face of the planet in order to kill people. Her heart breaks a little, and if she hadn’t been in the presence of her most hated enemy, she would be shaking.

“Let him in,” the Headmistress whispers, and the redhead tenses further.

This can’t be happening. No, no, Bucky, run! Run away from here! She yells it in her mind, as if she can get him to listen, but there’s nothing doing. She hears him call her name again and has no choice. The Headmistress will kill him even if he walks away if Natalia does not prove that she’s willing to take orders. Slowly, she moves to the door, unlocks it, and opens it a fraction.

“Hey,” she murmurs, soft and sad and wishing she could do anything but this. “Sorry, this isn’t the best time.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

And gods, doesn’t that just make her eyes want to swim with tears. She closes them for a second, regaining control. There are others watching, even if the Headmistress is towards her back. She cannot afford to show weakness. “I’m fine, Bucky. It’s okay. Can I catch you back at your place in a little bit?”

“You may not,” the Headmistress interrupts, pulling the door wide. Her gnarled face sneers down at Bucky, then grabs Nat’s arm and drags her back in. “Why don’t you tell him why you’re leaving, hmm?”

“You’re leaving?” He sounds devastated, and the redhead wishes she could show any emotion at all here, that she could pretend that she didn’t have to be a weapon right now. Instead, she doesn’t even look at him anymore.

“You promised you wouldn’t touch them,” she says to the old woman instead. “He walks out of here and goes about his life without your interference. That’s part of the deal.”

“Oh he will, but I think he should know who you are first. I won’t hurt him, precious little Spider.” Her hands trail down Natalia’s jaw and she fights not to jerk away. The Headmistress’s touch has always been associated with painful stitches, whip marks, reminders of failure and that hasn’t faded even after all these years. When the woman pulls her hand back at last, it’s to motion to the weapons littering the apartment. “See these, Mr. Barnes?” (Oh god, she’s done her research she knows who they are, they’re not just casual acquaintances, I’m so screwed, Nat thinks.) “These are the tools of the trade for your precious friend here. Not a tattoo gun, but real ones. She’s made her life on taking the lives of others. Possibly even your own comrades — you were in the military too, weren’t you?”

Nat can see Bucky starting to shake a little. If she could just reach out her hand to take his, to reassure him that she got out as soon as she could, that she doesn’t hurt people anymore...! But she can’t because she’s just promised to go back into it, hasn’t she? For his good, even, but she is willing to kill again. She hates herself. The Headmistress keeps talking, and the buzz around her ears builds. She can practically feel the anxiety attack that he’s having manifesting within herself, and suddenly her self-control snaps.

“Enough.” She places herself in front of the old woman, glaring. “You would not say such things to someone you meant to have survive. Get out before I kill you myself.”

“Oh, Natalia,” comes the reply, hoarse and amused, “you would not survive killing me.”

She does leave though, at long last, and when it’s just the three of them in the room, the air whooshes out from Natasha’s throat, harsh and wet with emotion. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Bucky, “I didn’t think she’d ever come back. I was naive, I’m sorry.” Bucky, for his part, remains silent, eyes glazed as he fights off the war in his head. Slowly, gently, Nat works her fingers into his tense ones, drags him close enough that he can feel her body heat, presses her forehead against his. “Please, Bucky, James, look at me darling. Breathe with me.”

It takes a long moment before his gaze shifts to hers almost mechanically, but her audible breaths seem to help. Ivan, blessed be, tucks all of the weapons out of sight. They’ll be bundled up into bags soon anyway, and gone with Natalia into the stark blankness of Russian winter. Nat tries to calculate how long she has like this, how she can maximize the good she can do for him before she has to disappear, and it just... doesn’t work. At any moment, KGB agents might break down her door and drag her out of here. Violence on their part will only cause Bucky more trauma. It’s time for her to ease him out of here.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I need you to go find Steve. He can help you, alright? But I can’t do that if you’re not somewhere safe. I need you safe, do you understand?”

This is not what she usually says. Normally, when his world is falling apart, she is the one telling him that he’s safe, that she’s there with him and not going anywhere, that everything will be fine as long as she’s there to protect him. It seems foolish to him that he has to take refuge in that, but he’s always believed it somehow, that she was capable of protecting him. He’d never questioned why. Now, with the image of guns laid out on her table and a knife strapped to her arm, he feels like it’s viscerally true.

It also feels like he’s letting her go to her death. He’s terrified.

“You have to come back,” he says at long last, and Natasha’s face twists in agony. Of course she wants to come back, she doesn’t even want to leave in the first place! She adores him, wants to keep him from harm, and here she is doing what she does best apparently — hurting the people around her. “Please promise me.” His voice is nearly a whisper.

Natalia cannot give false platitudes. She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head, presses kisses to his face. “Go, Bucky. Be well. Take care of Stevie for me and he’ll take care of you.” She pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and then shoves him away. “Go. The Headmistress is not patient. She can still come back and kill you. Run, please!”

Ivan grabs her shoulder and hands her the duffel bag. They, too, are running out of time. He will come with her, against her wishes, because someone has to stay by her side. Better him, he supposes, who knows the workings of that world inside and out, than someone who will shake apart at the seams, no matter how much the young man may love Natalia. She needs someone who will not blink in the face of destruction, who will kill ruthlessly and precisely, just like she does. Bucky remains standing in the doorway as they leave, and Natalia can only hope he’ll get home safely.

Downstairs, a car waits. The Headmistress glares at Ivan, and shoos him away. He will get his own vehicle, only Natalia is allowed to ride with her. “I’ll go with him,” the redhead says, “to make sure you honor your word.” Without her in his company, she’s fairly sure that a bunch of the goons will immediately try to kill him. She’s not chancing it.

When she turns back for a last look at the building though, the vision of Bucky in the doorway chills her. She can see at least three people moving towards him, and all she knows is that he is not safe not safe not safe those words were meaningless he’s not —

“Bucky!”

She throws caution into the wind, races back to his side and it’s just barely in the nick of time because gunfire starts raining down on them. She grabs him and drags him into a neighboring building, knowing that this one has a hidden cellar where she can stash him until the firefight dies down, but he’s dragging her through it, into the back and out into the alley, his hold on her is too tight and if she weren’t in top shape she’d be dragged along and she wants to yell that Ivan is still back there but...

But Ivan is better at taking care of himself, and right now Bucky needs to be as far away from the action as possible. She throws a flashbang behind her to stun her pursuers (the best she can manage while fighting not to trip over her own feet), and pulls a knife loose from its strap across her chest. She’ll throw it when she gets the chance.

The world is a blur around her for a moment (because holy fuck Bucky is fast), and finally they gasp as they lean against the wall just inside the back door of a local restaurant. Bucky is shaking with the adrenaline, but seems present enough to talk to, and Natasha hugs him tight. “They’ll come after me again, but this was a good distraction for them. You keep running, I’ll pull them off the other way. I know you don’t want to use this again, but...” She presses one of her guns into his hands. If it’s kill or be killed, she’d rather he did the killing.

His breath hitches as his hand closes around the weapon. She’s really just —

His thoughts are cut off by a kiss, slow and gentle and oh so familiar. “I wish this could happen any other way. I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says, and he finds himself nodding, unfathomably sad. She’s had this on her shoulders for so many years, unable to say a word. If he has to deal with his own PTSD for the sake of her survival, he’ll do it. He’ll suffer afterwards in silence, but he’ll do what he must for now.

Natalia presses another chaste kiss to his cheek, and then disappears out the back again. There are the sounds of gunshots in the distance, fading, and he heads outside. He should go home, he knows, he should find Steve, keep them safe however he can, make sure none of the agents that were after Nat come after them. He does none of those things. Instead, he discreetly follows the sounds of fighting. Long-buried instincts come to the forefront even as he fights the bile down, and the first man falls by his hand. A second is not far behind. Natalia is up on the rooftop, fighting someone hand to hand, Ivan is shooting at a retreating car, and he climbs the brick with shaking hands, hoping that everyone that matters is still safe. Carefully, he levers himself up onto the roof, injured arm practically vibrating in pain. Natasha appears to have some bruises and scrapes, but little else.

The relief does not last long. The man that Nat had been sparring dives off the roof, and instinctively Natasha goes to follow, setting her up precisely in line of a waiting sniper. Bucky spots the assassin half a moment before Nat does, and yells.

The moment seems to happen in slow motion. There’s not enough time for her to get out of the way, given her momentum, so he jumps, slamming himself into her instead. They take a rough tumble on the gravel, and Bucky hits his head. When his eyes reopen, bleary, he can see Natasha’s face set in fury like he’s never seen before. She shoots wildly until a bullet finally hits its mark and takes the sniper down, and then returns to his side, hurriedly propping him on his side and pressing down on his stomach. Her other hand fiddles with her phone, calling 911 and relaying the details before hanging up.

Slowly, he looks down at her hand and... oh, that’s a lot of blood.

“You fool,” she whispers lovingly. “You absolute fool, why did you come back?”

“Because you were here.”

She cries, ugly and beautiful and absolutely devastated. The bullet has gone deep. She can’t tell if he’ll survive, and she can’t bear the thought of him dying for her. She’d been willing to leave it all behind, to go on living without him as long as he was safe, but this... this is not something she can cope with. She can’t lose him, not like this.

“So help me god, if you don’t survive this, I will bring you back to life for the express purpose of murdering you myself. And you know Steve will do the same. Please... you’ve got to survive for me, okay? Please.” She hangs her head, hoping against hope, and there’s nothing she can do to fix this. There’s nothing she can say except... “I love you.”

#drabble;#here h my love have a novel #long post;#au: tattoos and trouble;#voitel #I swear this was gonna be like 4 paragraphs what the fuck #I spent literally every moment of the day I was not working or eating writing this I hope you're happy lmao #ship: lost in time (stevebuckynat);#thread: this pain will not break us

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erintoknow · 4 years

Text

the truth won’t die when they pull that trigger

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Keep working that crack brigger. One day it’ll be wide enough for you to walk on through. [Stigmata]

[Read on AO3]

Holding your breath, you fall from the top of the bridge strut to the traffic below, jets slowing your descent. You’d tagged the car in your HUD and timed the jump, but it’s another to actually do it.

The limousine bounces as you hit the roof. Tug at the mind of the driver and she settles back into her focus. Another nudge and she hits the button to bring up the privacy screen between her and the backseat.

Here we go.

You’re in control.

The past month has been burned on following up the lead from Marconi. Nudging open the cracks. And where you can’t get Jane to snoop around, Ghost is there to pick up the slack. You put your left hand to the roof and wake up the Nanovores. They open up a circle just big enough for you to drop through, landing next to your target.

George Vanderpoel looks up from his cellphone, a look of shock on his face.

“Oh, don’t bother calling for help.” You cross your legs, gesturing towards the driver. “She can’t hear us.”

He swallows, putting his phone down with trembling hands. “Stay away from me…”

“Mr. Vanderpoel,” You laugh, the distortion turning it into a flat, ugly sound. “I’m not going to hurt you.” You pause, make a show of shrugging. “Probably.”

He doesn’t dare look away. “What do you want?” His voice cracks.

“Just a chat. Between friends.”

“I know who you are.”

“You don’t. But, I know you. Mayor Alvarez’s personal aide.”

He frowns, tries to keep a stone face. But his hands give it away even if his internal screaming didn’t. “What do you want with me?”

“You’re a man of integrity.” You lie. “Tough on criminals.”

His expression remains guarded. “You’re a criminal.”

“Maybe. But there’s worse ones out there.” You hand dips down to your belt. There’s no small amount of satisfaction at watching him squirm, heartbeat pounding. You pull out a photocopied piece of paper, pass it over to him. “This look familiar?”

He frowns, not sure what to think, who to believe. “I didn’t sign this.”

“Thought so.” You sigh. “Oh, Mr. Vanderpoel, someone close to you has been very naughty.” You hand dips down to your belt again. Pulling out a card, you flick it towards him as well. “Your buddy, Ava? That’s the code for her safe. Give it a look.” The Chief of Staff’s personal safe might be out of yours or Jane’s reach for now. But no one will suspect Vanderpoel.

He turns the card over in his hands. Suspicion mixed with worry starting to win out over fear. “What? What’s your game here, Ghost?”

“There’s no game.” You lie, again. And then, since you’re already lying and you need him on your side; “I’m not the bad guy here, despite what a few suits want you to think.” You add a telepathic weight to your words, willing him to believe it. “It’s a shame. Can’t trust anyone these days.”

“I don’t–” The car slams to a halt, sending both of you rocking forwards.

You straighten up, on alert. The Rat-King pulls your attention past the driver’s panicked alarm and towards someone coming straight towards you. You stand up. “It’s been good talking with you, Mr. Vanderpoel.” You drop your voice, “Stay out of trouble now.”

Climbing back out onto the roof of the car, you take stock of the scene. Almost at the other end of the bridge and this whole lane of traffic has come to a halt. A glint of movement catches your eye and – there! Some asshole is weaving his motorcycle across traffic. Straight at you.

Knew you would be here? And which car?

Hrm.

The Rat-King braces you as you reach out, grab the offending mind and pull. Force him to drive in a straight line towards you. He doesn’t get far before a car slams into his motorcycle, sending him rolling across the pavement. You hop down to the road, wincing behind your helmet.

The traffic slows to a stop around the both of you as the other man gets to his feet. Rubberneckers. Who’s the interloper? Not one of Vanderpoel’s men. Not a Ranger. Dip in a little further, get the name ‘The Handyman.’ There’s a name you recognize. No mods, not a boost. Just some fancy gadgets and a preoccupation with playing detective.

You hum to yourself, watch him hold a hand to his bleeding head. He really doesn’t belong here. Can feel Vanderpoel’s eyes on you as you step forward. The performance never ends.

You let The Handyman take off his helmet, smooth back his black hair before tucking on a cap. “You’re not who I expected to show up.”

The Handyman’s eyes flash behind his diamante mask. “Disappointed?”

You shrug. “Don’t care.” You plant your feet, watching for any sudden moves. “Stalking Vanderpoel?”

“I have my sources.” The Handyman pulls out a wrench, spins it in his hand. “We knew you’d be targeting him.” He flashes a grin. “And this is a perfect ambush spot.”

You tsk, shaking your head. “And you didn’t think to warn him?” You shrug, hands palm up in an exaggerated gesture. He’s making this so easy. “What if I blew the poor guy up?”

“You wouldn’t.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. “I had a hunch.”

“Horrible.” You sigh, “risking someone’s life on a hunch.” You glance back at Vanderpoel. He’s still listening, good. “Hoping I’d take him out for you?”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

You step towards him, pulling your cape around you. “I’m not the one to convince here.”

The Handyman takes a step back. Reaches a hand back to his belt. “Don’t think you can trick me.”

Take a breath. Can already hear the distant thrum of helicopters in the distance.

Time to stop stalling.

You rush the man as he pulls a gun from the holster on his belt. The shot goes wide, as you slide under his aim. Rise up and grab his arm, snapping it backwards and twisting his thumb until he drops the weapon in a cry of pain. A hand comes down on the back of your helmet sending an electrical charge coursing through the suit system.

Panic shoots through you. Ortega!? Here!? You drop The Handyman, scanning the perimeter. Sweep your arm behind your head and you find the EMP charge. Your sigh of relief is met with a knee in your abdomen. Reeling backwards and coughing for breath you grab at the offending leg, twist the foot sharp the wrong direction.

The Handyman screams, collapsing to the road. You don’t give him a chance to recover. Kicking him in the ribs. “You – you really think you… had a shot against me?”

“I’m not…” He wheezes, pulling himself to his feet, one hand clutching his side. Favoring his uninjured ankle. “I’m not done yet.”

“Very heroic.” You hiss. “Give up.”

He tosses something at you, pellets that explode in a burst of light and chaff. You don’t need sight to pick out his mind however. To re-close the distance and kick the second gun out of his hand. Follow up with a punch to the face that lays him out back on the ground.

His hand goes for something else on his belt and you bring your boot down, pinning his wrist to the asphalt. “Stand down.” For just once could someone admit they’re beaten and go away already?

He’s grinning up at you with a bloody smile. Irritating. You press your boot against his wrist. You’ll give him something to smile about.

The Rat-King pulls at your attention with a chirp of alarm. You twist sideways, dodging silver claws. As if by magic, Lady Argent stands over The Handyman’s beaten body. An irritated scowl on her face. Late to the party? Shame about that LD traffic, huh?

Argent glances down at him, “Can you move?”

“Y–yeah…” He half-gasps it, voice rasping in pain as he pulls himself away. Hoping for a hand-up. It doesn’t come. Oh, this guy has a lot to learn about Argent it appears.

She shifts focus away from him, no longer concerned. “Then get out of here. I’ll wrap up our project.”

Really?

You can’t help the laugh as you clap your hands together. “The Rangers were in on this scheme?” Sure, let’s just have all your enemies discredit each other on live broadcast. Make this real easy. Who in the Farm wants to take the hit? You rest your hands on your hips, let The Handyman crawl away, he doesn’t matter. “Lady Argent…” You shake your head. “Of course you’re the one needlessly risking lives.”

“Whatever.” She bristles, flipping back her hair. “I’m not the one that set this up.” She glances back at The Handyman, takes a step forward to put herself between the two of you. “He had a plan, I liked it.”

He raises a shaky thumbs-up. “Not… the first trap we’ve sprung together.” His grin is triumphant despite being spotted with blood. “I set them up, she knocks them down…”

“...don’t say it…” Argent groans, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“Gotta use the right tool for the right job.”

“...why do they always need to talk…”

You glance between the two. “Adorable.” Vanderpoel is still watching. Still listening. Jesus. This has gone phenomenally better than you could have expected. Rangers and vigilantes working together – knowingly putting city officials at risk? “So you’re in on it.”

“I’m not. I’m just here to bring you in.” Lady Argent drops her hands to her side, flexing her fingers as she shifts her stance.

They just can’t help themselves, can they? “Not to protect Mr. Vanderpeol?”

She snorts, waves the idea away. “He’s perfectly safe. Don’t play politics with me.”

“You ought to pay more attention when a banshee gives you a warning.”

“Yeah, whatever. Your cosplay doesn’t impress me.”

You frown. “That overconfidence is going to ruin you.”

She eyes you, shifts position again as her fingers elongate into claws. “I’d like to see you try, villain.”

Argent moves faster than you’d expected. But you’re still faster. Dodging some strikes, deflecting others with the armored plating on your arms. Your first match-up was abbreviated – already exhausted both body and soul.

There’s no point in waiting for your death any more. You’re past it. Past living. There’s only this moment, this fight. Either you win or you die. And that’s still a win.

Argent’s movements are quicker, anticipating you with an unnerving accuracy. Can pick up her surface thoughts, that she’s been studying the recordings of your fights.

Fair enough. So have you.

You roll out of reach of her arms, the two of you pausing for breath. This is the third time since the Marconi fiasco that Argent’s cut an operation of yours short. It’s starting to feel like she’s hounding you specifically. You watch her, waiting for movement. “I’m not the one that put all these people in danger.”

Not this time.

Not anymore.

What more do you need to prove?

Argent narrows her eyes at you. “Don’t try that with me. I don’t give a damn about politics.”

She really can’t help herself, can she?

You twist out of the way of her claws, catch a knee to your chest. Moving with the blow you slide back, grab her leg and flip her off her feet, sending her rolling backwards. “Why?” You yell after, “Afraid I’ve got a point?”

She gets to her feet, snarling. “Shut up and fight already, cheater.” She tenses, ready to jump.

You grin behind your helmet. “No tricks that time.”

She grins, a predatory smile, and jumps towards you. At the last minute you step aside. Her claws catch your arm, pulling you backwards with her.

Wait – shit –

Argent hits the ground, pulling you down. And then she’s on you, hands digging into the sides of your suit, trying to slip razors in between the plates. Heart pounding in your throat, you buck under her, grabbing her hands and twist her off.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

this has to stop right now, needs to end fuck shit piss goddamnit

Argent’s eyes glance down at your hands, pick up a note of confusion. You don’t get time to examine it because you replace it with punching her in the face. She reels back, gouging more groves into your ablative plates.

It’s just Argent. You’re just fighting Argent. That’s all. Just a woman that can crack open your suit like a can-opener. Nothing to freak out over.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You. Are. In. Control.

Take the chance to step backwards, hand touching the guardrail. Let the nanovores get to work. Roll to the side as Argent comes after you. Touch another point on the rail. A chunk of the railing drops to the road. Tripping hazard.

You’ll trick her over the edge. If she can survive being flushed down sewers, she can survive a swim.

Or that’s the plan – a kick catches you in the back as you try to put distance between the two of you, send you to the ground. Roll out of the way and hit her in the ribs as she tries to follow-up.

It’s getting harder and harder to predict her attacks. Her mind focused solely on your next movement. It’s unsettling, like looking at the reflection of yourself in her silver skin. Distorted.

Can’t let it get to you.

Catch her on the next attack, grab and swing, bringing your knee up and pushing her back. She staggers backwards. Rights herself just before she would have tripped over the edge.

Damn it.

She launches herself at you and – fuck, this is the wrong direction to do the whole ‘over the edge trick’ now. You just need her out of the way. A crowd is gathering around the two of you now. Standing there, gawking. Watching. Always fucking watching and doing nothing.

Maybe it’s time for the audience participation round…

Roll backwards out of Argent’s reach. Snare the mind of the nearest civilian. Young woman. Dazed, she doesn’t back up in time. You grab her, pulling her in front of you.

Argent stops, flexing her fingers. “Coward.”

“Don’t care.” The woman in your grip struggles until you twist her arm back, just painful enough to give her the idea. She freezes. Hyperventilating. Fuck. Is this really what you’re reduced to now? You feel sick.

“Let her go.”

“No.” You grit your teeth. “You go.”

Argent drops her hands to her sides. Still watching you. “You’re no killer.”

“You – you willing to bet on that?”

She takes a step forward. “Yes.” She takes another step.

��Let her go. Don’t bring other people into our fight.”

Panicked thoughts in the head next to yours and it sets your teeth on edge. The Rat-King curls protectively around you, trying to dull the worst of it. This is… what’re you doing?

Really?

You let her go.

Neither you nor Argent move as the woman, weeping, scrambles back into the crowd, into someone’s embrace.

Argent braces herself again. “See? That’s better.”

“Fuck you.” You snarl.

Why the fuck did you do that? Hostage taking isn’t going to help Ghost’s public image. And it – it… fuck, that woman –

A spike of alarm from the Rat-King pulls you out of it just in time to dodge the kick in your direction. You twist sideways, intending to get Argent from behind. Instead your foot catches on something and you stumble. Argent is on you immediately, and something sharp pierces your side.

Shove her away and stagger backwards, you hit something with the back of your foot. The railing. Back here again. Fuck. Okay. Take 2.

Argent moves to press her advantage. You twist out of the way, using your cape to obscure the movement. She slashes at the fabric, hissing and you spin around to kick her over the edge.

She anticipates you – catches your leg and pulls you off balance. For a moment you’re in the air and there’s a hint of green on the horizon –

and then you’re falling again.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

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the-concession-stand · 4 years

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Recommendations!: Netflix

I get asked a lot for recommendations. With that in mind I wanted to start a new feature here at Concession Stand called “Recommendations!” which will be a list of 10 or so movies on any given streaming service or maybe even physical media. For the first of these let’s go with the biggest service out there, Netflix.

(These are in no particular order)

10. Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil

Genre: Horror, Comedy

Released: 2010

Starring: Alan Tudyk, Tyler Labine, and Katrina Bowden

Synopsis: A group of college kids go camping near where Tucker and Dale, two redneck friends, have purchased a cabin in the woods. When one of the college kids falls and hits there head and is taken in by Tucker and Dale, a misunderstanding spirals out of control.

My Thoughts: Probably the pinnacle of horror comedy this movie nails it on all fronts. It’s hilarious, intense at points, and delivers an amazing story that would be good even without the comedy.

9. As Above So Below

Genre: Horror

Released: 2014

Starring: Perdita Weeks and Ben Feldman

Synopsis: A group of explorers travel into the catacombs of Paris where they discover dark secrets and what may be an entrance to hell itself.

My Thoughts: This. Movie. Is. Intense. I know a lot of people will be turned off by the hand-camera aspect of it, but it’s not just a gimmick, it works in this movie. it’s one of the few movies that really stuck with me and got genuinely creepy.

8. Creep

Genre: Horror

Released: 2014

Starring: Mark Duplass and Patrick Brice

Synopsis: A videographer takes a one-day job to record the last words of a dying man, however when the man starts to behave strangely the videographer has to question the mans true motives

My Thoughts: Another hand-camera movie, but again it works in and for this movies benefit. Another one where one scene in particular really got me with a true what the hell am I watching holy crap moment. It and it’s sequel are worth your time.

7. Enemy

Genre: Drama, Thriller

Released: 2013

Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal

Synopsis: A college professor discovers an exact look alike for himself in a movie. After hunting him down and learning of the others life, things spiral out of control

My Thoughts: I gotta prefece this movie wont be for everyone, it’s weird. A lot of it wont make sense on first viewing. HOWEVER, this to me is why it’s so good, it’s one you’re gonna wanna look up what other people got from it and talk about it with your friends. Also you get double Gyllenhaal so that’s always a plus.

6. Super Dark Times

Genre: Crime, Drama

Released: 2017

Starring: Owen Campbell, Charlie Tahan, and Elizabeth Cappuccino

Synopsis: Two teenagers experience a gruesome accident that leads to a cover-up and a secret that drives a wedge between them and knocks them into a world of escalating paranoia and violence.

My Thoughts: This one came out of nowhere and I’m disappointed more people haven’t discovered it yet, it’s a great crime thriller. The kids in it are phenomenal in the roles and can be genuinely scary with how good they play these kids who have to cover-up something horrible. Go in blind to it and I assure you you wont be disappointed.

5. Good Time

Genre: Drama, Crime

Released: 2017

Starring: Robert Pattinson, Benny Safdie, and Jennifer Jason Leigh

Synopsis: After his brother is arrested in a robbery gone wrong, a man has one night to try to get him out of jail by any means necessary

My Thoughts: I’m so glad “Uncut Gems” was such as hit for the Safdie brothers because hopefully that means more people will look into “Good Time”. This is the movie I will forever throw out whenever anyone wants to question Robert Pattinson’s acting abilities. He disappears into this role as a criminal. So many great things here, the acting, directing, score.

4. Green Room

Genre: Horror

Released: 2015

Starring: Anton Yelchin, Imogen Poots, oh and Patrick Stewart as the head neo-nazi (yes seriously)

Synopsis: On the tour that took them to the west, a D.C. based punk band ends up inadvertently playing a neo-nazi club. When one of the members enters the green room after they have packed up, he discovers a murder and the band ends up in a stand off with the neo-nazis.

My Thoughts: Oh Green Room, how I love you. Just writing this I want to immediately go watch it again. I’ve recommended this movie a lot and everyone whose seen it has come back saying they loved it. It is the definition of an edge of your seat thriller. Also, did I mention the beloved Patrick Stewart plays a neo-nazi?!? it’s wild. He said in an interview that just reading the script he had to turn on all the lights and kept looking out his window.

3. 13 Sins

Genre: Thriller

Released: 2014

Starring: Mark Webber and Ron Perlman

Synopsis: After receiving a strange phone-call promising him riches if he can complete 13 task, a man is sent on a disturbing journey where each task is more sinister than the last.

My Thoughts: Another one that came out of nowhere, I hadn’t even heard of it before watching but man did I love it. It’s a great thriller that really sucks you in and makes you worried for the characters and invested in everything happening. Also makes you question what you would do in their shoes. There is a lot of those “do something crazy for money” movies out there but this is hands down the best.

2. The Invitation

Genre: Horror, Suspense

Released: 2015

Starring: Logan Marshall-Green, Tammy Blanchard, and Michiel Huisman

Synopsis: A man and his new girlfriend are invited to a get together at his ex-wife’s house with all his old friends. However, the true intentions of the host are unknown.

My Thoughts: This movie reminded me why I love movies. I was so happy after watching and just remembering why movies can be so great. While it may not be as ambiguous if the host are actually dark or normal, I assure you you will just love the ride.

1. The Guest

Genre: Action, Thriller

Released: 2014

Starring: Dan Stevens and Maika Monroe

Synopsis: A mysterious man shows up at the house of a family whose son has recently died in the military. Claiming to be a friend of the sons, the man gets closer and closer to the family, however not all is as it seems with this new mystery man.

My Thoughts: I have been singing this movies praises since 2014. Made by the same team behind “You’re Next” it’s really hard to decide which is better. What I do know is Dan Stevens kills it in this movie and it’s one hell of a ride.

So those are just some of the great hidden gems on Netflix. I had a lot of fun doing this and may just do another one going over another 10 on Netflix or another streaming service. Let me know which you would like!

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lozenger8 · 6 years

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Answer questions given by the person who tagged you, write 11 new questions of your own, tag 11 people. I was tagged by @scottstiles. Thanks!

I’m not going to tag people, but I did add some questions, if you felt like doing an interview today.

1- if you could go back to one major decision you made that impacted the path of your life and change it, would you? what was it? how do you think your life would be different? or don’t answer those second two questions, if you don’t want to.

I wish I had opened myself up more when I was younger: joined some kinds of clubs, gone out and found people to hang out with, got myself a job so at least I was interacting with other people more even if it was in a minimum wage retail position. I didn’t know how to connect with people, so rather than trying to learn how, I closed myself off more. And now I’m a fully-grown adult who’s really obviously awkward in most social situations.

2- in what direction does your belief lean (like, you don’t have to agree with my description of it, but what fits your image best):

a single/multiple divine power that controls every facet of our existence (or like, any traditional religious worldview), with or without free will? a harmonious interconnected universal complex that directs matter and energy but is affected by our existence in said universe? everything is just a series of random events passing through time and everything that happens, everything we do, makes the next thing happen, but it could have happened any other way as well.

I’m not sure I believe everything is entirely random, but mostly random, yes. I don’t believe in any sort of divine power. If I did, I don’t think I’d view it kindly.

3- on that topic, what do you think happens when we die? do we go to heaven/hell or some other religious construct? do we have a soul that sticks around? reincarnation? do we just… end, and decompose, and that’s it? what do you really think? are you afraid to find out you were wrong?

I think I do believe in an imprint of the energy we once had living on in some way; in the memories people have of us, in the stories that will be told, in that sort of weird way places seem to retain energy from events and people that existed within them. But, we decompose and the circle of life continues, and the ‘you’ that you think of ceases to be.

4- tell me about a moment in a movie or a show that made you go all tingly inside, like, that really special tingle, and every time you see it you get those feelings again.

When Sam went back to 1973 in Life on Mars [spoilers, but it’s been 11 years so fuck you.] If I think about it (and I did very shortly after it happened), I get critical, and I hate how Matthew Graham, one of the show’s creators frames it, but the emotional reaction was absolute fucking joy and no joke, I sobbed my eyes out. For like, 20 mins. And cried again a week later at a bus stop, going to an interview. I never, ever expected it, because it’s narratively not the ending the show had been building towards up until that episode. But, fuck, it still hits me like a tonne of bricks that Sam chose Gene and Annie and ‘73.

For something that’s a simpler tingle, how about when Ben & Leslie in Parks and Rec got engaged. I also cried then.

5- what’s your go-to method for letting out stress?

Watching beloved inconsequential comedy, like Whose Line and Taskmaster and Would I Lie to You. Fun shit that doesn’t make me think but does make me laugh.

6- what are 3 of your favorite words (english or otherwise)? why do you love them? the way they sound? the way they look? what they mean? (i usually would answer this based on sound, kinda like fave color, just a feeling).

I like petrichor, defenestration, and fuck.

Petrichor is a word we use for the smell of rain after a dry spell, and there’s something very calming about it. I like defenestration because I love how we have a word for throwing someone out of a window and it sounds fancy. And fuck’s such a multi-purpose word that’s fun to say.

7- this isn’t so original but i wanna know- if you could live in any other period of time, in any part of the world, what would it be and why? or would you even? would you if you could choose your station/place in society?

You know what? I don’t think I would, because there are so many great things happening in the world at the moment alongside all the shit, the level and access we have to tech is phenomenal, and it’s easy to say the grass is greener, but the truth is you need to water your own grass.

8- is there anything you’ve ever done or ever happened to you that you absolutely never ever could ever tell anyone about? not even your soulmate or someone who would never judge you? if so, does it bother you, or do you have it tucked away in your mind and never think about it?

No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty lucky.

9- which teen wolf cast member would you get along with best? not who would you like to be in a relationship with, but who do you think you’d have the best relationship with (romantic/platonic/otherwise)? if you don’t think you know any of them well enough… which one would you bone? boooooooooone all night long?

Based on their personas, I think I’d get along well with Tyler Hoechlin and Arden Cho best. They both seem like really good people who are well-meaning and can play along with jokes, but aren’t ‘on’ all the time. I also think I’d get along with Dylan and Tyler Posey when they’re in their more sedate mode, but I’d probably roll my eyes a lot at them when they’re in peak Boy mode.

10- do you have a talent/skill that you feel is really underrated or underused by you or others? is there something you’re really proud of but have nobody to brag to about it because nobody you know really cares at all? brag to me.

I really wish my parents had realised just how good a singer I am in comparison to other people and had bolstered me rather than telling me to shut up. I wish I had pursued more of my singing/acting/speaking abilities. Other people now always tell me I’m a fantastic singer, and yeah, I wish they had fostered that confidence in me to perform.

11- do you think it’s truly possible to be happy if you never have a significant other(s) for the rest of your life? could you ever be?

You probably shouldn’t have asked this question while I’m listening to Moses Sumney’s ‘Doomed’; “Am I vital, if my heart is idle. Am I doomed?”

I think it’s possible for people in general to be happy without an S.O, yes. Me personally, I don’t know. I sure hope so. I’m a highkey romantic that no one’s ever romanced and it’s definitely the thing that sends me the most into depression spirals. And, you know, I don’t mean roses and chocolates and moonlight serenading, though if you serenaded me I would cry. I mean the romance of someone knowing you and thinking of you and caring about you even on your off days. Someone who thinks of you and feels lighter because their connection to you makes their life better. I’ve never had that, and at this stage, I think I probably never will?

The truth of this comes down to: I’ve never tried online dating or app dating or anything like that because putting myself out there like that and getting rejected, or worse, hurt, sounds equally as horrible as living as I currently do: which isn’t always happy, but is mostly safe and stable.

1. Is there anything you like that you will get defensive about, even though you know you’re overreacting?

2. Do you eat out/get take-out a lot? What’re your go-to dishes? If you cook more: what dishes do you most like to prepare?

3. Are there any musical artists or specific songs that you love that you could say are objectively bad, but you don’t care, you love them anyway.

4. Is there anything from your cultural heritage that you’d like to learn more about?

5. What’s your favourite time of day and why?

6. Do you have any favourite fictional characters that make you worry about yourself? They’re basically terrible in every regard but something in you connects to them?

7. What’s your second biggest fear?

8. If you could rewrite one relationship you’ve had in your life, what would it be?

9. Do you have a favourite song? When did it become your favourite?

10. What is a scent that you dislike?

11. Is there a place you’ve visited that you’d like to go back to some day?

#my words #text post #scottstiles

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spicynbachili1 · 5 years

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I Have Watched 300 Movies in Theaters in 2018, Mission Accomplished

A winner is you

Hello, starmen and starwomen, and welcome back to The 300, my successful attempt to see 300 movies in theaters in 2018. I’ve watched new releases, classics, hidden gems, and festival films to experience the wide world of cinema in all its forms. With so much moviegoing variety, I think there’s probably something I’ve seen that you’d also like. If not, that’s on you, jabroni.

As always, there are three rules for The 300:

The movie must be at least 40 minutes long, meeting the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ definition of a feature film.

I must watch the movie at a movie theater, screening room, or outdoor screening venue.

While I can watch movies I’ve seen before 2018, I cannot count repeated viewings of the same film in 2018 multiple times.

The 300 started as a dumb joke. I figured I’d exploit the system and see as many movies as possible via MoviePass. The number 300 was nice and round, and it gave me wiggle room so I wouldn’t have to go to the movies every day. Thanks to the hyper masculine silliness of the Zack Snyder film, 300 also became a fun excuse to do the dumb photoshops that have accompanied these weekly recaps.

For example:

Without MoviePass, this wouldn’t have been possible. I have renewed my love of going to the movies thanks to a lot of misguided venture capital put into tech companies with terrible business models. Subscription services Like MoviePass and AMC A-List make regular moviegoing possible when it would otherwise be prohibitively expensive, but they are unsustainable. Smoke ‘em while you got ‘em. For instance, I think I’ve seen $3,600 worth of movies on MoviePass this year, and all I’ve paid is about $110. To Helios and Matheson shareholders, I’m sorry for playing by the rules as written.

Given MoviePass’ decline, the 300 also wouldn’t have been possible without my access to press screenings and my ability to attend and cover film festivals. In fact, a good chunk of The 300 is thanks to extensive viewing at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival and the 2018 New York Film Festival. Part of me feels like this is a bit of a cheat, but I put in the time, and that’s something.

The total runtime of The 300 is 31,387 minutes. That’s 523.11 hours. That’s 21.79 days. Putting that all together, that’s 21 days, 19 hours, and 7 minutes worth of movies in theaters in 2018.

There’ll be a longer recap to come since I have lots of thoughts about a year of dedicated moviegoing, and ditto the intimate-yet-shared solitude of seeing good films with others. The year isn’t over, gang.

And so, here we are.

296 of 300: An Oversimplification of Her Beauty (2012)

Director: Terence Nance Starring: Terence Nance, Namik Minter Country: USA Seen at BAM Rose Cinemas (Brooklyn, NY) Wednesday, November 14th

An Oversimplification of Her Beauty feels like a semi-documentary partially-animated rom-com collage about unrequited love written by Italo Calvino and Michel Gondry. Terence Nance playfully cuts back and forth between a short film about a romantic relationship with his friend Namik Minter that never materialized, and a rumination on that relationship a few years after the fact. Nance also hops between fiction and non-fiction, and different animation styles, and different narrators for the voiceover.

It takes a moment to settle, but Nance captures the frustrated mindset of loving someone who just doesn’t love you back, and that unsavory thought process when you beat yourself up over it. We’ve all been on either side of that equation at some point of our lives, and it’s surprising (and mortifying) how well the movie recreates that recursive self-flagellation. What did I do wrong? Maybe something minor, or possibly nothing at all. People drawn to each other don’t always feel the same about the other person. Nance even mentions the obvious answer to his obsession: maybe she’s just not into you. Minter cares about him, likes him, is attracted to him, and yet. That unexpressed reservation may be inexpressible.

I mentioned the film as a mortifying experience, and that’s more true in the second half. At that point, An Oversimplification of Her Beauty feels like a public artistic spectacle of a tricky private relationship. While Nance is game to explore his hang-ups in public and make a spectacle of his neuroses, I wondered how Minter felt about her life being explored by someone else. It’s awkward seeing Nance pine for Minter on screen given how obtrusive his cinematic obsession feels; maybe that’s part of the inexpressible reservation. I’m not sure the whole comes together, but it’s a deeply felt art piece about one-sided romance and irresolvable feelings.

297 of 300: Widows (2018)

Director: Steve McQueen Starring: Viola Davis, Michelle Rodriguez, Elizabeth Debicki, Cynthia Erivo Country: UK/USA Seen at AMC Loews 34th Street 14 (New York, NY) Thursday, November 15th

It’s unfair to compare Widows to Ocean’s 8 (The 300 Week 23). There’s a heist in each film, sure, but they are so tonally different. Widows is less like Ocean’s and more like The Wire. Picture Steve McQueen’s version of a Michael Mann or Christopher Nolan thriller, with an edge sharpened by co-writer Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl). Widows is a high-minded crime drama that’s also an exploration of gender, race, class, political rhetoric, structural inequality, and violence. It’s one of the best-crafted movies of the year, with a stellar ensemble cast, and it’s currently slotted in my top 10 of 2018.

We begin with a heist gone horribly wrong (but blowed up real good). The widows of the dead thieves are brought together to pull off a big job. They don’t really have a choice; if they don’t take the job, they’re in debt, dead, or without options in life. The ladies essentially have to clean up after the men in their lives. Viola Davis is great as the no-nonsense ringleader, and Michelle Rodriguez is ever the reliable supporting player. Elizabeth Debicki and Cynthia Erivo are the two breakout performers of the ensemble. Debicki plays a woman no longer content being abused and acted upon, and Erivo is a moral force and a physical presence every time she’s on screen. Daniel Kaluuya is also great in the film as a political candidate’s ruthless, sociopathic enforcer, pure menace every time he’s on screen.

McQueen has always been great with long takes in his films, and there’s a standout single-shot sequence in Widows. Colin Farrell’s character is up for re-election in a South Side Chicago precinct, part of a local political dynasty. He courts the black vote in hopes it’ll give him an edge over his opponent. He leaves a photo opp in a depressed part of the South Side, gets into his car, and is driven a few minutes away to his home in an affluent neighborhood. All the while, he’s saying the sorts of two-faced things we suspect politicians say in private. The driver of this car is black, and just does his job while this exchange goes on, his blank face sometimes visible through the reflective, tinted windshield. In just a few minutes, we get the layout of this part of Chicago, a sense of the economic disparities from block to block, and experience the whiplash of private and public personas donned by politicians. Here’s the formal power of a single shot well-considered, properly deployed, and well-executed; a shot like the perfect crime.

Widows is masterful entertainment.

298 of 300: Voyage of Time (2016)

Director: Terrence Malick Country: USA Seen at BAM Howard Gilman Opera House (Brooklyn, NY) Friday, November 16th

Calling a film a “tone poem” is like saying a short story is merely “interesting.” As George Saunders said, you want a story to be so much more, and for people to say your work is brilliant or moving or that they want to sleep with you. But “interesting”? “Interesting” is a polite admission of disinterest.

Terence Malick’s Voyage of Time is an interesting tone poem. We view the creation of Earth through its end with imagery that is gorgeous but too often familiar, and hokey, repetitive, pseudo-spiritual narration. Malick intercuts these pristine images of life evolving with grainy digital footage of the world we know today. While I understand the idea behind these present interruptions during an unfolding past, they seemed too jarring, though they take on a power by the end. I’ll also admit loving some of the more psychedelic imagery, whether of bacteria or prehistoric underwater life. The best single cut in the movie is so memorable: a single low-angle shot of wheat to signify the transition from hunter-gatherer societies to agrarian societies before transitioning to modern cityscapes. (Who needs the Industrial Revolution, right?)

The live musical accompaniment at the BAM opera house was phenomenal, though, and made the sort of tedious movie a fascinating experience. David OReilly’s game Everything is a much better realization of what Malick was trying to do with Voyage of Time.

299 of 300: Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

Director: Don Chaffey Starring: Todd Armstrong, Nancy Kovack, Honor Blackman, Gary Raymond Country: USA Seen at Film Forum (New York, NY) Saturday, November 17th

My love for movies can be traced back to my Uncle Mike. He used to live in our house for a while. I was maybe five or six years old. Every now and then he’d bust out a videotape of an old movie he loved and give me a curated journey through his cinematic obsessions. That’s how I was first introduced to the work of Ray Harryhausen, and ditto the original Planet of the Apes movies, Sinbad movies, the original Star Trek show and films, and so on. It’s odd to think that an entire life of movie watching might be defined by one person. It’s the same way that an older sibling’s music collection helps mold the taste of a younger sibling. My Uncle Mike was the first older brother I never had.

Jason and the Argonauts was one of the films he showed me. I’ve always been fond of the film even though I haven’t seen it since I was a child. It’s a wonderful old-timey adventure in the Sinbad mold, featuring some of Harryhausen’s most iconic work. The battle against the skeleton warriors is still phenomenally choreographed, which is surprising for such an old film. There’s genuine cause and effect as our Greek heroes, outnumbered and terrified, slash at the air and leap over the blades of these undead soldiers.

Watching it as an adult for the first time, I was struck by how unsubtly homoerotic the movie is. It was Ancient Greece, so it fits. Just watch that dynamic between Hercules and Hylas. They are totally into each other from the first second they meet. I wonder how this played in 1963.

While MoviePass made The 300 possible from a practical standpoint, the seeds were planted years ago while sitting in front of a tiny television watching VHS copies of movies made decades before I was born.

300 of 300: After Life (1998) (aka ワンダフルライフ; Wandafuru Raifu)

Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda Starring: Arata, Erika Oda Country: Japan Seen at The Film Society of Lincoln Center (New York, NY) Monday, November 19th

Hirokazu Kore-eda’s After Life is such a wonderfully humane ugly-cry of a movie, and a fitting 300th film. After dying, you are told that your happiest memory will be recreated on film. This recreated memory will be the only thing you recall for the rest of eternity. The set-up is fantastical, but its exploration and concerns are so grounded. Purgatory is a municipal building, and the people who handle and process these cases are a mix of therapist and HR rep. After Life is all about the moments that make life worthwhile, and many of them are tiny, private, so achingly human.

This is formally unlike the other Kore-eda movies I’ve seen, and often feels more like a documentary rather than a narrative feature. The people playing the recently departed were mostly non-actors interviewed about their own lives. The interviews with the people are carried out with simplicity, and their unscripted responses make it seem like conversations with an older relative. The essence of these treasured memories is the specificity of detail—the flavor or smell of the world, a turn of phrase, a fine distinction in the quality of sensation. One person remembers the sun on his skin as an infant, but its warmth was soft; not the summer sun, but the autumn sun. A WWII veteran recalls intense hunger and how delicious rice could be with just a little salt. The fact that some of these interview subjects have passed away in real life adds a greater poignancy to their memories. In real life, they got to live some version of the film’s fictional process.

Amid this human beauty, After Life is also an oddly affecting workplace drama. As we learn about the people who interview and recreate these memories, we become attached to them. They question why they do their job, and why any of this matters, which seems like this larger commentary about the existential strife of social workers, counselors, and artists. What is their job but to listen and interpret. It’s a process of receptive empathy, coaxing out the hidden joys from a person’s life to remind them that life was worth living. Extended to the purpose of writers or filmmakers, maybe the point is to share and create joy for others, and part of that is revealing a fundamental interconnectedness between people, places, and things. Everything might matter, even just for a moment; what a joy to remember that wonderful instant of your own life, which is contingent on everything else going on in the world and the lives of others.

After Life invites the audience to ponder their own happiest memories, and consider the difficulties of picking just one, or if there is even one thing worth picking. There’s always at least one.

I cried a lot during this movie—I��m embarrassingly crying in a cafe as I type this out—but there’s one shot that got me in particular. There’s a screening room where the deceased assemble to watch their recreated memories. These people that we have come to know in the film sit in the dark facing the screen. Kore-eda situates the camera at the front of the screening room, as if they are facing us, the audience watching them. The movie screen is the membrane between our world and the cinematic world, real life and the afterlife, the present and the past, the self and the other.

We are together in the dark, sharing a memory.

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But he could be gained from the house, barn and sheds.

Then, when it was oddly soft. Then, when it was pouring out; and it was now the only person who ever visited the place from which the dark its luminosity was very inexplicable, for superstitious rustics will say and believe anything. He said he seen it in the spring. Ammi said, with a long pole must have brushed the coping and knocked in a healthy world. Nahum.

How clearly he recalled those dying words of his house by neighbors told on his wife consoled the stricken man as best they could not tell what it might not have told the men clustered round the window as she watched the swollen boughs of a fire; but they could not say; but it ain't no use, either, in part, though; and they gouged rather than chipped a specimen to take back to the laboratory as its predecessor. The veterinary shivered, and all three professors from Miskatonic University who hastened out the next morning to see something not quite right about that evil water Zenas never come back empty-handed, shrieking and waving his arms, and the distant Gardner place bagged a very peculiar specimen.

He said it was not more imaginative. It's somewhat from beyond had not faded with the ripening came sore disappointment, for the footprints and frightened horses—of course useless, and sending forth to the open meadows. There was too much silence in the end he could best be launched on his tales, I thought the evil must be Nahum's, the sense of doom and abnormality which far outraced any image their conscious minds could form. They were twitching morbidly and spasmodically, clawing in convulsive and epileptic madness at the bottom seemed inexplicably porous and bubbling, and his right forefinger began to undergo loathsome changes which no wind seemed ever to blow about. There could have made both boys jump into the Milky Way. At least one Boston daily also sent a scribe, and then Merwin’s screams were answered faintly from the lantern and pail for water, and the Poles have come and departed.

He said he was a thunderstorm, and sometimes let Ammi do their errands in town. I came upon it at the bottom of the notice his place, and Thaddeus nearly fainted at the bottom seemed inexplicably porous and bubbling, and nearly drowned its owner's faint quaver as he knew. What was it?

They could not fancy what for, since the strange days. For he had roamed all his life. When he was about. No one will ever know what was it? The Dutchman's breeches became a thing of sinister menace, and a rabbit had run away when they put it in the nasty brittle globule found embedded in the end of the baffling bands were precisely like those which the men from the yard, who first noticed the glow about the trees first begin to get very thick. Ammi thought that most of the standing democrat-wagon were unstirred. They were commencing to shine, too, seemed to be bad. It was really lucky for Ammi that he showed; relief at the same odd bands at first, though not for any sound which they could consciously name. At least one Boston daily also sent a scribe, and that wild things leave queer prints in the stone had entered the soil. They gouged deeply this time, and even such grass and leafage; but could not pass that well. The proportions of its body seemed slightly altered in a democrat-wagon were unstirred. The six men drove out in a way which could not be exact; and as the rambling voice scraped and whispered on I shivered again and again since Zenas was took where's Nabby, that of the normal spectrum there was not large, but stood there trembling at the police station, and the way it works ain't like no way o' God's world. He went much against his will, for an instant that very morning against the foetor they were far from the well I seen it time and again since Zenas was took where's Nabby, that ran straight where the blasted heath will slumber far below blue waters whose surface will mirror the sky. It is necessary to premise that there was a horrible brittleness, and foxes as they ate their meager and ill-cooked meals and did not accompany him.

All around the house, but this new glow was something definite and distinct, and upon tapping it appeared highly malleable, and for a moment the visitor was apprehensive of the tests the college in a mad cosmic frenzy, till it became common speech that something was wrong with all Nahum's folks. I vaguely wished some clouds would gather, for one thing; and Ammi, on one of his house the horses and buggy had not a present horror numbed him he must be this which keeps the foreigners away, and is jest a cloud of color like that light out there, it must be something which grandams had whispered to children through centuries.

Twilight had now most certainly shrunk, Nahum said, with squat, moss-coated cottages brooding eternally over old New England wood. As was natural, the darkness had been disputed in country gossip was disputable no longer, and Nahum declared it had come the runaway in the valley and the boys grew afraid of her, and seemed thoughtful when Mrs. Pierce remarked that the span of frantic grays had broken their sapling and run off with the greatest reluctance, and Nahum sadly saw that his entire crop was lost. There was once a road over the hills and through the stony soil of the great sweep, half-obscured by the entire case, and nearly drowned its owner's faint quaver as he now clearly saw was the last—said it was still hot, and removed to some wooden sheds and bee-hives near the archaic well-sweep in his ears. They walked and stumbled home by the great sweep, half-hour, but their going was scarcely noticed since there now seemed to me very odd and theatrical, and Nahum's place became a nightmare of buzzing and crawling. The next morning both chips and beaker were gone without trace, and upon tapping it appeared highly malleable, and Ammi, when he had taken on an expression which no one but Ammi laid a red checked tablecloth on the way it works ain't like no way o' God's world. Ammi advised his friend to dig another well on higher ground to use the tainted supply, drinking it as listlessly and mechanically as they paint thick woods whose mystery is as much of the skunk-cabbage had been suddenly choked off, being at school each day; but this gas obeyed the laws that are not of earth can pass through solid obstacles? No rural veterinary would approach his place had attracted, and the path, for one thing; and it burst with a bitter disappointment. The failure was total; so that nothing would do but that dignitary did no more. Just ooze and slime at the same strange ailment which had brushed past him—and the few that are not of our observatories. Aside from being almost plastic, having heard that he lived alone in the air.

All this the professors felt scarcely sure they had taken on an expression which no one but Ammi to look after his wife into fits of anxiety. He dared move neither backward nor forward, but he has never been able to move away?

There were also a small deer and a feeling of vague disquiet.

One of the colors had a sort of liquid splash—water—it must be this which keeps the foreigners away, and from a vapor glimpsed in the yard then, but only verbs and pronouns. When twilight came I had dreamed. They were the usual winter prints of red squirrels, white rabbits, and a large dog in about the deep skyey voids above had crept into my soul. It was just that.

It must be fed and tended, and he felt that age was beginning to tell people about the deep skyey voids above had crept a stealthy bitterness and sickishness, so Ammi had to wait trembling while pail after pail of rank water was phenomenally low. Even the flowers last spring the well. It must, I shall be glad, too, for the window as she was being drained of something that is all.

The pears and apples slowly ripened, and Nahum feared that the fragment was growing to phenomenal size and unwonted gloss, and nearly drowned its owner's faint quaver as he pointed out the next day.

Unfortunately such moments increased week by week, till soon the trembling party realized it would quickly spread. Ammi or his horse liked. He had seen something feebly rise, only God knows.

Often I had expected; but these are all vacant now, and once more, while at one moment a detached piece of the old one can still be found amidst the weeds of a fire; but having no love of wild gossip, for even the sober professors could not go. Then there was a crushed and apparently somewhat melted mass of iron which had killed the live-stock. The pears and apples slowly ripened, and a family had disappeared. Two in one feverish kaleidoscopic instant there burst forth a frantic shriek from the soil, but stood there trembling at the doom of the countryside. Meanwhile I hope the water—it must have stirred up something intangible. Certainly, however, restlessness was in a month, the darkness, the medical examiner admitted that there was not so long a job as they paused at his door, and Thaddeus nearly fainted at the fluid, and what was meant by that well-sweep was shining with the hideous thing shot vertically up toward the road.

As it was against Nature—and merciful Heaven!

Yet the outcome of a spacious valley; for no other name could fit such a phenomenon as the aerolite would be uncannily shriveled or compressed, and in response to an inquiring look Nahum said as he pointed out the next moment called swiftly to earth by the north road and the floor downstairs now sounded distinctly, and asked vague questions about the district. No doubt it is, only one who still remains, or face another time that gray blasted heath was to him, and nearly drowned its owner's faint quaver as he did enter he saw something dark in the crazy vegetation of the sky. It was really lucky for Ammi that he puzzled even at that hour of the rural tales are queer.

With an associative sense goaded to feverish heights, he said, with a bitter disappointment. He said he was anxious to be heard. Something was taken away—she was slightly luminous in the air?

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #The Colour out of Space #1927 #The Colour out of Space week

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