#his presence alone keeps the other four from becoming agents of chaos

[inamindfarfaraway]

My DuckTales (2017) Future Headcanons

The McDuck-Duck family, plus friends and allies, adjust to their new normal (how many normals have they been through now? They’ve lost count) in Duckburg. Della is not happy to learn that Bradford engineered her stealing the Spear of Selene with the intention of her family losing her. It sparks a conversation about that incident and what followed and long story short, Donald inspires Della to go to therapy. It’s greatly beneficial for overcoming her trauma from the moon. She acknowledges that she should have gone earlier.

All the remaining FOWL agents except Steelbeak are at least temporarily imprisoned. Steelbeak flees to St. Canard, where he usurps several gang leaders and establishes himself as a criminal mastermind and eventually arch-enemy of Drake, Launchpad and Gosalyn. Before Drake leaves, Launchpad and Fenton finally clear up that Fenton has always been Gizmoduck. An embarrassed Drake agrees to drop his rivalry if that mistake is quietly forgotten.

A few weeks after “The Last Adventure!”, Donald and Daisy go on their long-awaited trip, the unplanned presence of Donald’s new foster daughters May and June turning it from a romantic escape to the bonding journey of a family unit. May and June are desperately eager to engage in “normal kid stuff”, but their immaturity, reckless enthusiasm and not knowing how to operate without high stakes and clear objectives only cause chaos. They’re left feeling less normal than ever. They apologize to the couple for ruining their private recreation and are assured they don’t need to. Donald and Daisy’s unconditional love and patience help them learn to relax. For the first time in their lives, they are their own top priority. Daisy starts to become a second mother figure to them as the toxicity of their relationship with Black Heron sinks in. She and Donald do get some alone time, don’t worry.

May develops a passion for poetry and literature, the hobbies therapeutic as well as fun. The more levelheaded, reserved, thoughtful twin likes the escapism creating grants her due to her struggle to let go of Bradford and Heron’s conditioning for the first couple of years, and her past in general for much longer. Daisy nurtures her creativity and May’s clingier with her.

June is more flexible, gregarious and confident, and adores wildlife, the weirder and less understood the better. She sticks up for the stereotypically ‘gross’, ‘creepy’ or ‘evil’, or plain obscure animals with a strong sense of duty. Donald has to stop her keeping the dangerous creatures they encounter on adventures as pets. She admires him and ecstatically accepts being adopted. For my much more in-depth personalities for the sisters, see here.

Scrooge takes to fathering Webby like a… well, a duck to water, albeit he's a little overprotective, though Beakley and Donald have a lot of advice on that front. Webby changes her surname to Vanderquack-McDuck. She and the triplets’ dynamic is basically unchanged because they just can’t bring themselves to consider her their first cousin once removed. It’s too weird. They’re siblings. But balancing the other members of her two ‘trios’, Lena and Violet and May and June, is a little awkward at first. Violet adapts quicker, able to empathize with the clones’ feelings of isolation and sudden exposure to a new, vastly more complex, bigger and warmer world; then they bond with Lena and find a sisterly mentor in her over all being magically created, abused, manipulated and treated as expendable tools by a villain to destroy Scrooge, a parallel so uncanny it had been making her kind of uncomfortable before. The four end up close friends and the trios merge into a fivesome.

Fenton and Gandra finish the Gizmocloud and unveil it to the public, getting married on the celebratory high. The VR technology makes them a lot of money, but they donate most of it to promising scientists and projects that could better the world.

Huey is named a Senior Junior Woodchuck the year after Violet was.

Louie’s apology has awoken Doofus Drake to how twisted his idea of friendship was and how badly he’s treated the people in his life. He embarks on a very, very, very gradual redemption arc. He offers his parents a sincere, profound apology. Although they appreciate it, they can’t forgive him yet. BOYD’s kindness and patience draws him out of his spoiled rotten ways, to an extent. BOYD is learning assertiveness from Gyro, and excited as he may be to have a brother who respects and loves him, he does put his foot down and establish boundaries. Louie also shows Doofus what he could be if he embraced his family. Doofus can’t ever make complete amends with his parents and the rest of the kids and always has an immature, possessive side. But he reaches a strange peace with BOYD and Louie.

Negaduck returns in a grand debut in St. Canard. He kidnaps Gosalyn to lure Drake into a death trap and almost succeeds, Drake too stunned and horrified by realizing Jim Starling’s fate to fight back fast enough. Only Launchpad’s intervention in the nick of time stops Negaduck. The stressful ordeal strengthens the found family. Drake officially adopts Gosalyn. Launchpad spends more and more time with Drake and Gosalyn, and Della prompts him to figure out that he’s attracted to Drake. Drake confirms that he feels the same way. Gosalyn acts disgusted when they get sappy, but everyone knows she’s overjoyed. With Scrooge and the Ducks’ blessing, Launchpad permanently moves to St. Canard. He makes time to visit regularly.

The Gizmocloud and its successors enable amazing progress, but democratizing super science leads to wider abuse of it. A plethora of supervillains spring up in Duckburg and St. Canard. Fenton finds himself overwhelmed, so Gandra repurposes her cybernetics to become his partner, the superhero Cyberhen. They fight back the crime wave in half the time.

Upon hearing about this during the heroes’ video chat, Gosalyn begs a stressed Drake to let her assist him with her own invented persona: the Quiverwing Quack, an archer and Darkwing’s sidekick. Drake firmly refuses, unwilling to risk her safety. The reboot’s version of “The Quiverwing Quack” from the old Darkwing Duck series ensues. The main divergence is that here Gosalyn knows better than to give Negaduck a vendetta against her and overall has a stealthier approach to crimefighting, befitting her father’s “terror that flaps in the night” theme but contrasting his showboating. She points out that she participated in the final mission against FOWL. In the end Drake agrees to let her be Quiverwing when it’s absolutely necessary.

At Donald and Daisy’s wedding, chief bridesmaid Della confesses that she’s in love with Penumbra during a tipsy speech about love. Penumbra is flustered and needs time to process. Eventually she realizes that her care for her first real friend doesn’t quite align with her other friendships. Still confused and apprehensive, yet hopeful, she agrees to date Della and see how things turn out. They turn out well. The boys are supportive. Louie confides in Della that he isn’t sure he could ever get used to a third parental figure, but is happy for her nonetheless. Della assures him that in a milestone for her, she wants to take this relationship slowly. She finally tells him and his brothers about their father. She rushed into things with him, their passions heating fast only to cool just as quickly; neither of them were ready to be responsible for themselves or each other. The triplets were the last straw. She has no regrets from that fling, except that choosing to keep her sons over her boyfriend was ultimately somewhat meaningless in the next ten years. The boys are touched to have the last remaining family closure they needed.

Huey excels at school, throws himself into advanced science courses and volunteers in multiple charity projects. He embraces his musical talent and joins the choir.

Dewey continues his pilot training under Della and is his high school’s star athlete. He actually does grow rather popular without actively intending to, because of his fun, amicable, goodhearted personality more than anything else. Later he attends a prestigious flight school for extra training and credentials.

Louie is initially set on taking business and economics classes, but some introspection points him down the path of criminal law.  Helping people, solving mysteries, finding loopholes, giving big speeches about why you're right. It suits him. An understanding of economics still benefits him, however - his saving skills make Scrooge proud. He also does film studies and runs a film club.

While the triplets never stop adventuring, them preparing for their mundane careers leaves the girls the most reliably free young adventurers in the family, Webby in particular. She studies history, mythology and languages, but adventure and everything related to it is her favourite activity. This means she spends a lot of time with Scrooge and his interest and expertise in business rubs off on her. She and Lena become a couple in high school.

Violet has similar accomplishments to Huey. They do many classes and charity projects together and bond deeply during them. She plans to research the properties and applications of magic, effectively creating a brand new branch of science.

Lena performs averagely to badly at school and can’t figure out what she wants to do. She’s uncomfortable committing to long-term decisions and changing the status quo she’s worked so hard to earn and keep. She’s just happy with her life now.

May and June are homeschooled by Beakley in the mansion. Their chronological age is still in the single digits and their previous education, though dense, was concentrated around crime and is mostly inapplicable in normal life. They’d be behind in normal school. May hones her artistic voice and befriends Emily Quackfaster helping her in the library. June prefers zoology and does work experience at an animal shelter.

BOYD could breeze through school, computer brain and all, but deliberately stays in his biological age group to make friends. Gyro upgrades his body to better resemble a growing teenager’s every year on his birthday. He studies robotics and psychology, to further his quest for comprehension of himself and others, which he’s realized is a common experience among many people.

Gosalyn is a troublemaker and borderline delinquent according to some of her teachers; unbeknownst to them, her outings as the Quiverwing Quack are increasingly frequent until she’s basically always accompanying Darkwing. Drake and Launchpad marry in this timeframe. Her fathers and friends encourage her to apply herself more and she discovers topics she genuinely enjoys, like sports and engineering. 

Scrooge admits that he hasn’t actually made a will since he “always thought about dying as something that happens to other people”, but he’s come to recognize that his fantastical and scientific means of staying alive aren’t infallible, his family have the maturity to handle his fortune, and surprisingly even to him he may not want to live forever. He definitely doesn’t want to outlive any more of his loved ones. His parents and sister can tell him immortality has its downsides (the last visit to McDuck manor, the teens had to snap Fergus out of an existential crisis). And he knows that he couldn’t bear to outlive his younger relatives. Thus, he finally writes a will with his family’s input. It goes through a dozen drafts. Most of his family and employees have their own self-sufficient careers and he respects that, not that they’ll turn down generous shares of the fortune and certain possessions. The natural successor is his daughter, Webby. She proudly steps forward to run McDuck Enterprises and all that entails when he passes. The thought of a world without Scrooge McDuck is terrifying and sobering to everyone, but that world will be in good hands.

Goldie hates to admit it, but her age is catching up to her too. Her and Scrooge’s fiery on and off relationship simmers down to just on. He promises her that she’s welcome in his home and she accepts. They don’t bother to remarry (“ex-everything” includes ex-spouse), but simply enjoy each other’s company without the previous catch of Goldie’s inevitable departure or betrayal. The teens get used to calling her Aunt Goldie. To everyone’s surprise, hers most of all, she doesn��t mind it, especially from Louie.

Della and Penumbra marry five years after Donald and Daisy, combining the wedding customs of their two worlds. Penny is more an aunt than a mother to the triplets.

The boys know they’ll always have a home at the manor, but all decide to move out to go to university. Even Louie can’t wait to prove his sharpness to the world.

Huey and Violet begin dating in university. They’ve been attracted to each other for a while now, but were too awkward to act on it.

The triplets, Webby, Violet and BOYD graduate university. Della and Donald cry and hug watching the ceremony. There’s a huge party.

Huey and BOYD are inventor and roboticist partners at the forefront of their fields in the Money Bin’s laboratory. Huey maintains his relationship with Violet, including virtually when her work takes her far beyond their humble home. Little does anyone know (well, the Ducks and Scrooge and Webby and Lena and Violet and obviously BOYD and the Crackshell-Cabreras and the Mallards and Gyro, but nobody else!), Huey becomes the second, upgraded incarnation of Gizmoduck after Fenton and Gandra give up heroics. Oh, and none of their robots ever turn evil.

Dewey, honouring both Donald and Della, is a naval fighter pilot. He also does search and rescues, which might be his favourite part of having a pilot license. Adrenaline and altruism!

Louie is in the top tier of criminal defence lawyers. His proficiency at proving clients innocent or getting them lighter sentences is renowned and he sticks to his principles, refusing to defend a truly immoral client while fighting and exposing the injustices and corruption in the system.

Webby, the worthy heir to Clan McDuck, lives in the mansion and shares Scrooge’s fortune and some of his duties. Lena moves in with her and they tie the knot in their early twenties. But whenever Webby can she’s out joining the Duck twins and Sabrewing sisters on adventures. She starts several new charities and donates copious amounts to services addressing poverty, homelessness and abuse.

Lena travels the world protecting magical phenomena and organisms from the Phantom Blot and his fellow magic haters; exploitation and mishandling by normal people; and damage to the environment - magic is often tied to nature. After she settles into the mansion permanently and Webby’s thrill-seeking dies down a notch, they convert the manor’s unused space into a sanctuary for homeless, abused and neglected children, offering lodging, therapy and recreational activities.

Violet accompanies Lena to research and collect samples of the supernatural. Magicology is rapidly gaining traction. She later returns to Duckburg and opens a magicology department in Huey and BOYD’s laboratory. She proposes to Huey and they marry the next year, both thirty. She gives lectures on magicology in person and online.

May is a poet and the new librarian of the Money Bin’s Archives, while June is the caretaker of the ever-expanding Other Bin and its supernatural menagerie. They have soft hearts beneath their intense protectiveness of the valuable (and often dangerous in June’s case) property entrusted to them and are fond of visitors, especially children. They help their sister and sister-in-law with their sanctuary. The Money Bin now hosts tours to increase public appreciation for the McDuck-Duck family’s achievements and contributions to society.

Gosalyn, aka the Quiverwing Quack, is Darkwing Duck’s equal and goes on patrol alone more and more frequently. Once Drake retires, she’s an independent superhero. As a civilian she’s a professional hockey player.

No matter how far apart everyone lives or works, the family always reunites for Christmas and Scrooge, Webby, the twins and the triplets’ birthdays.

[doshmanziari]

Aldrich and the Desacralization of Dark Souls 3

Aldrich, the obsessive-consumptive cannibal saint, is one of Dark Souls 3′s most interesting figures when one sees his actions and inferred character as representing a prominent facet of humanity’s spiritual position at the time of the game’s setting. If we look at Dark Souls 3′s landscape as an assemblage of symbolics, and compare it to Dark Souls’ arrangement, we see that an inversion has occurred: the zenith is the human domain of the High Wall of Lothric, and the nadir is Irithyll/Anor Londo, once the apical sunlit land of the gods, now chilled, darkened, and sunken. And yet, even if Anor Londo only ever represented the power of a pantheonic institution, its ruination and darkness here is a much more troubling scenario; because at the “zenith” we find only stasis or stagnation, a reflection of the psychology of prince Lothric himself who has selfishly fended off fate through elusion and inactivity (if we note the series’ pattern of things being what one makes of them (i.e., reality is what one believes it to be), we may wonder if Lothric’s lameness was not self-willed��). On the broadest scale approaching metatexuality, we see too that Dark Souls 3 is the series at its most complex and diffuse, with the collective mono-myth responsible for the Age of Fire now distant, separate, very nearly nonexistent.

For an example of this, let us look to the swamp around Farron Keep, where we must put out three flame-beacons corresponding to the Witch of Izalith, Nito, and Gwyn’s deific family. This sequence is an initiatory rite of passage, but, rather than entering into a mystery for contact with the numinous, we perform willful ignorance for mere tribalism (to witness it, anyway). For it is only through this symbolic act of un-remembering -- the nullification of the sustaining flame of myth, the obscuring of its principal actors -- that we are granted access to the Keep proper, and then to the Abyss Watchers, a clan of warriors who represent, to an extreme, “mass-mindedness”: directionless, hollow zombies who do not even remember the name of the knight they model themselves upon. All that matters here is the Clan, where insular, infinite warfare is mistaken for life-sustaining meaning (I’d make special note of the fact that the Abyss Watchers all resemble one another; the violence done to another is, in truth, violence done to the self: self-oppression misinterpreted as empowerment). As César Daly wrote, “To neglect history, to neglect memory, that which is owed by our ancestors, is then to deny oneself; it is to begin suicide.” The great abundance of such details makes it all the more startling when Shira, in the Ringed City, says to us, “Speak thee the name of God” (i.e., Gwyn).

No one can seem to agree on what exactly constitutes or delineates the Age of Fire or the Age of Dark, but Dark Souls’ Serpent Kaathe refers to the latter as "the age of men.” Given the evidence, it is difficult to not see Dark Souls 3 as marking the beginning of such an age, or at least the transition between the two. But what liberties has it brought? They are, I think, the pseudo-liberties of a desacralized world. Narratives have become aimless, attempts are made to plug up voids without examining root causes, and the self cannot be harnessed for purposeful actualization. If we seek a demonstration of the latter, think of our first major combative encounter in the game with Iudex Gundyr, whose body, midway through the fight, unleashes a chaotic mass of black, writhing forms uniformly termed the Pus of Man. The Pus of Man reappears during our initial exploration of the High Wall of Lothric, this time out of a couple of standard Hollows. Once the Pus of Man has emerged and is aware of us, any semblance of the host’s self-control is usurped by total destructive instability.

In our own bodies, pus is the result of infection, and its treatment is its release from an abscess; but the Pus of Man, thus released, does not allow for healing, because its internal causes, a symptom of a shared spiritual crisis, have gone unchecked for too long, and so it assumes complete control. It is, on one level, a coup by the id, which Freud describes as “...a chaos, a cauldron full of seething excitations. ...It is filled with energy reaching it from the instincts, but it has no organization, produces no collective will, but only a striving to bring about the satisfaction of the instinctual needs subject to the observance of the pleasure principle.” It would also not be inappropriate here to look to the concept of humorism, wherein humans’ personalities are regulated by vital body fluids, and where we find (within the most popular, four-component model) “black bile”, a secretion whose associated qualities are coldness and dryness and whose effect is melancholia: “a mental condition characterized by extreme depression, bodily complaints, and sometimes hallucinations and delusions.”

The Cathedral of the Deep is representative of the same crisis, but diverges in the shape of its consequence. If the Pus of Man recalls Manus, whose “humanity went wild”, and signifies degradation with “seething excitations”, then the Cathedral of the Deep -- a religion and a site -- signifies degradation with stagnation. Inside the Cathedral, we find that its nave and south transept is thick with liquidized decay, the perimeters encrusted by mounds of corpses. These are the matter-of-fact results of both mortification of the flesh (done by flagellation) and Aldrich’s cannibalism, prior to his relocation. What’s relevant here is the material stasis. Richard Pilbeam, in his video “The Bastard’s Curse”, compares aspects of the Deep faith to those of Shinto, placing specific emphasis on the cleansing properties of water. He notes: “Water will wash away impurity, but only if the water remains in motion.”² The motion of the water is the motion of a dynamic, reciprocal spirituality. Our own bloodflow requires circulation.

All of this talk of the body, ruptures, and liquid brings us back to Aldrich, the Devourer of Gods. Despite his title, the only god we are explicitly aware of Aldrich having consumed is Gwyndolin; but the sheer extent of rotting flesh and bones (some, no doubt, of mortals) in Aldrich’s current habitat, the appropriated chancel of the great Anor Londo cathedral, is evidence of innumerable, unseen feasts. Inspecting the soul of Aldrich, we are told that when he “...ruminated on the fading of the fire, it inspired visions of a coming age of the deep sea. He knew the path would be arduous, but he had no fear. He would devour the gods himself.” It again behooves us to approach the matter in terms of symbolics, poetic substitutions, and understand this envisioned age as a radically desacralized state of being, one where the Age of Fire has been permanently entombed, replaced by a humanity misled by vacuous obsessions which is then itself overcome by what those profanities manifested. “In time, those dedicated to sealing away the horrors of the Deep succumbed to their very power,” the description for a robe worn by deacons of the Cathedral of the Deep reads. “It seems that neither tending to the flame, nor the faith, could save them.”

Aldrich, as a deiphagous agent (although perhaps not godly to begin with himself), of course has deicidal associations.³ Most pertinent would be the filicide of the Titan Cronus, who devoured his children in fear of his prophesied deposition. We are told that Aldrich “had no fear”, but this is, I think, an ironic statement. In the same way that we may compulsively eat in order to fill an emotional-existential void, Aldrich feeds to fill the void of Dark Souls 3 which has, as M. Christine Boyer writes in reference to modernity, “[closed] off any meaningful access to the past.” Yet his murderous feasting prepares himself and the world for another void: that of the “age of the deep sea” (to be slightly literal for a moment: what, on Earth, is more akin to a void than the ocean’s depths?). At the Ringed City we observe resonances of this behavior in the locusts, who primarily inhabit the dim mire at the city’s bases (the resemblance to Oolacile’s predicament is unmistakable), and “were meant to beckon men to the dark with sermons, but most of [which] are unable to think past their own stomachs.”

We should also recognize that Aldrich did not act alone. He “had the desire to share with others his joy of imbibing the final shudders of life while luxuriating in his victim's screams.” Recall that certain deacons of the Deep are bloated, including the deceased Archdeacon McDonnell. These are ministers who have oftener partaken of feasts. So here is also a distortion of that communal principle wherein participants ingest the deity/deities and affirm life through its nearness to death. This ingestion recalls the older meaning of “embody”: “a soul or spirit invested with a physical form.” George Hersey writes, of the ancient Greeks and their sacrificial rituals, “Whatever form the victim or offering took, once it was [...] full of the god, [...] the divinity became too immense, too terrible, to be contained. It was necessary to break apart the offering. Yet even after death -- perhaps especially after it -- the animal’s carcass, the god’s container, was steeped in his presence. This is why the worshipers ate parts of it: the act was not just feasting, but communion. The worshipers’ own bodies combined with parts of the victim’s to express the fact that the god had entered them. The victim’s body parts were in fact ‘reconstructed’ now in a different way, by uniting the bodies of the worshipers.”⁴

There is no concern for any of these vitalizing affirmations with Aldrich and his followers. Indeed, we see that Aldrich himself has become “too immense, too terrible, to be contained” (just like those aforementioned “horrors of the Deep”), and so his body is coagulated hemorrhage. Constructive concepts such as selflessness, spirit, metousiosis are nullified, as the consumptive process, one of intense sadism, functions as its own end. Aldrich is both terribly and mundanely a narcissistic parasite. During our fight with him, he will burrow into the refuse of the arena to temporarily escape -- a tactic that is emblematic of his self-regressing psychology, where nothing matters except gorging, sleeping, and surrounding oneself with a playpen of mud to dive into and thus hide from the world. Remember, now, that Aldrich was canonized as a Lord and remains one. Hawkwood, a former member of Farron’s Undead Legion and a resident of Firelink Shrine, wryly and accurately comments that this was “...Not for virtue, but for might.” And when we venerate sheer might, we venerate persecution.

From this perspective, I think it is not an accident of phrasing when the description for human dregs, an object sometimes released by slain Deep devotees, says that they, once having sunk to the “lowest depths imaginable, [...] become the shackles that bind this world.” To bind something can mean to unify it, to adhere components together and provide a sort of structure; but this is done with shackles, items associated with repression and enslavement. It is another echoing of that “self-oppression misinterpreted as empowerment” (or, analogously, freedom). There may be no better conclusion to this essay than to remark upon Aldrich’s death at our ends. As the battle progresses, Aldrich’s body becomes enkindled, speckled by embers, to the extent that any zone he occupies catches on fire. This is not so different from Yhorm or the remaining Abyss Watcher; after all, they are Lords of Cinder too. But I believe that, for Aldrich, this can be read relative to the sacrificial ritual which ended with roasting specified parts of the animal and then eating them. Thus, when we kill Aldrich, even if we cannot adopt and atone for the sins of his actions, we can at least break that insatiable cycle and consign his body to the purifying fire -- so that we may, finally, take and imbibe his soul.

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¹ Dark Souls 2 quickly presents us with an example of this when a handmaid gives us a featureless human effigy and says, “Take a closer look... Who do you think it’s supposed to be? Think back, deep into your past. Yes, it’s an effigy of you.” Consider also the case of Miracles, which are not instructions but stories. Once read, they turn real -- fiction tangibly weaponized.

² See: Misogi and kegare. The concept of the sacred grotto is apposite, too, if we imagine that the latter-christened Cathedral of the Deep neighbors one. In Heavenly Caves, Naomi Miller writes, “Fascination with the grotto is rooted in the story of creation. While understood as a source of life and as a sacred spring in the classical world, in the Old Testament the grotto is often equated with the void and hence with chaos -- the formlessness that precedes the beginning. [...] ...within the Temple in Jerusalem, beneath the Stone of Foundation in the Dome of the Rock, was a cave known as the Well of Souls. This fountain of perennial water within the Temple may well allude to the cisterns and reservoirs known to be under the Holy Rock, but it also has metaphysical significance and refers to the mouth of the abyss identified with the subterranean torrent located at the earth’s center, from whence the rivers of Paradise went forth to water the four corners of the world...”

³ An example of deicide which is often not thought of as such is that of Christ, who, in his self-sacrifice as the human avatar of God, clears the way for a radically new covenant.

⁴ Walter Burket, in his book Homo Necans, posits that such sacrifices “were much later reenactments of primal ritual murders in which a god-king was killed and consumed.”

[bigskydreaming]

Ok, but how would you writte a court of owls and a dick grayson fanfic, focusing on the abduction too, after all the traumas that being destained to be a talon could carry with?, just imagine dick noticing his family could have known this, and then boom, someway the court makes his way to dick core, bat fam have to fighthim, but focusing in all those conflicts and not only the fights

LOL I have a few different Court of Owls’ ideas running through my head at any given time, but for various reasons, some of which I can’t even identify, they almost always tend to be AUs of some kind, where I also play around with different takes on the family dynamics or how the family comes together in the first place. I have no clue why that particular plot point, the Court, tends to pair itself with unorthodox Batfam takes in my head, tbh. It just does.

As an example, the one I’ve come back to the most often and most recently when fiddling around with various WIPs when the chaos of my life these days allows for it, lol.....its called “Where Last We Left Off” and it goes AU from general pre Flashpoint comic book continuity when Dick is still Robin, around fourteen or so. Long enough into his time living with Bruce that they’ve reached a point of considering each other father and son, even if neither is saying as such yet, and past the point where the Titans first formed and and even after Kory first came to Earth, so Dick has well established friendships with Garth, Roy, Wally, Donna, Lilith and Kory at least.

So in it, I set up an initial prelude and then there’s a time skip to five years later, where all the actual fic takes place. My premise is basically that Batman has been operating in Gotham for about seven years by the prelude, Batman and Robin about four or five, and its only in the last couple of years that Batman’s started coordinating more consistently and officially with other heroes as a member of the Justice League. And the point of departure happens when the Court uncovers Batman and Robin’s secret identities while trying to rid themselves of Batman’s interference in their operations even though he’s not aware of them just yet. When they realize that Robin is none other than their intended Gray Son, they decide to try and kill two birds with one stone.

Cue Dick’s abduction, but with a twist. Rather than make him a Talon and subject him to the Talonization process or whatever that’s called, and employ brainwashing or mind control techniques to control him, they make themselves known to Bruce as the ones who took Dick, give him a taste of what the Talons are capable of and make sure he gets a good look at the changes to their physiologies and mental states, and then they make their demands. They won’t subject Dick to any of that.....so long as Bruce agrees to hang up his cape and cowl, and cease all vigilantism and contact with other heroes. They give him forty eight hours to make his decision, and leave him with the body of one of their Talons to ‘study’...in essence, making both an example of how little they care for their tools and think nothing of disposing of one, and to give Bruce more information than he really wants at the moment of all the kinds of things that Talon was subjected to in the ‘making’ of him. 

Unable to find a hint of where they took Dick before the deadline, even when Bruce calls in Clark, Barry and a few others for help searching, Bruce ultimately agrees to their demands and ceases all activity as Batman in exchange for the occasional proof of life demonstrating that the Court are holding up their end of the bargain. If they see even a hint of vigilantism or working with other heroes, they warn, they’ll have no further use for Dick except as just another of their Talons.

Heartsick and with no real idea how to spend his days at first, or inclination to put much thought into coming up with ideas for that, as well as refusing to even speak with Clark and the others, let alone Dick’s friends, at the risk of that being overseen or heard and deemed ‘working with other heroes,’ Bruce ultimately funnels most of his time and energy into charity works and projects mostly born of idle ideas he remembers Dick mentioning every now and then, when complaining about how stupid the way certain things worked or skewering various flaws in the typical upper class reasonings of people he was expected to converse with at various galas....and then venting to Bruce all the way home.

Eventually, Bruce meets Jason in a different way than in canon, but still takes him in. Not to replace Dick of course, or because he’s given up on him (if he ever did that, after all, there’d be no reason for him not to go back out as Batman). But rather just because he has to do something, and the thought of caring for Jason and trying to be for him what he was for Dick, or at least hoped he’d been, it sparks the first real motivation he’s had since the abduction. The one thing he can’t bring himself to regret is taking Dick in, even as he blames himself for thinking so selfishly, since if he hadn’t done that, this would never have happened to Dick (not knowing yet that the Court was always intent on getting their hooks into Dick whether he was in the equation or not). But the point is, he can’t honestly say he wishes he’d never taken Dick in, even as selfish as he feels for that, so he doesn’t let his misgivings keep him from following his instincts with Jason, telling himself it’ll be different since he’s not Batman anymore. (Bottom line being his choice with Jason is still about Jason, not just as a proxy for Dick or anything).

Not all that long after, different events than canon result in him taking Tim in as well (with Tim not aware of his past as Batman at this point in this AU, since I’m positing that Dick was abducted before Tim happened to see Robin doing the flip that let him connect the necessary dots there). And not long after that, Bruce takes in Duke as well, and then finally, about a year before the five year time skip to present day, he takes in Cassandra, due to Barbara’s influence.

Babs has one of the bigger divergences in this AU, as I’m switching things around a little specifically to set Dick’s abduction at just before Babs becomes Batgirl. So she’s not really one of his friends at this point in life, and she sets out to become Batgirl pretty much right after Bruce hangs up the cape. Unable to even confront Batgirl as himself, lest the Court see that as an attempted return to vigilantism, but paranoid that they might view Batgirl as his attempt to work via a proxy, Bruce does a most un-Brucely thing....he anonymously tips off the Commissioner about his daughter’s vigilantism, and Jim Gordon puts a stop to that by unapologetically even playing the guilt trip card to keep his daughter from risking her life night after night. So Batgirl retires almost as soon as she begins, but that doesn’t mean Babs is out of the game by a longshot.

A big part of the reason for that divergence is I’ve always felt that Babs was going to become Oracle one way or another, no matter what road she took there, and although I love her as Batgirl, I don’t view it as fundamentally essential to her overall character as other early personas of other superheroes are. And despite the Bat theme, Barbara has never been dependent on Bruce either for guidance or resources, let alone validation......so I wanted to play around with what happens if you cut the Batgirl portion of Barbara’s life out of the picture completely.

So basically, she just starts becoming Oracle even earlier. She promised her dad she wouldn’t risk her life on the streets in a cape and a mask. She made no such promises about putting her computer skills to use for the greater good, in whatever ways she deems most efficient. Which ultimately leads to her working as a superhero information broker for a growing number of vigilantes who have no idea their cyber eyes and ears isn’t even quite of legal drinking age just yet, and from there, forming the Birds of Prey as satellite agents for missions she directs them towards in a Charlie’s Angels kind of way, where she’s just the voice on the radio so to speak. One of those missions results in Dinah, Helena and a couple others crossing paths with Cassandra, who returns with them to the States. She’s still just a teenager though, younger than when she first crossed paths with the Batfam in canon, only about thirteen here. And the Birds don’t think any of them themselves have the kind of home and stability they all agree she deserves, so they ask the ever mysterious Oracle if she knows of anyone....not realizing just yet that said Oracle is barely a decade older than Cassandra herself at this point. But the Oracle knows all...so she has an idea.

Bruce, being the Walking Guilt Complex that he is, felt shitty about interfering in her attempts at vigilantism even as much as he believes he made the right choice there. So after he adopts Jason, he contrived an excuse to hire Barbara in specific to be Jason’s tutor and catch him up to speed before he went back to school, so he’d have reason to allow Babs to become a regular presence at the Manor, and an excuse for him to help her out any way she might need or want. Not that she ever took him up on this, which frustrates him to no end, cuz can’t a billionaire just assuage his guilt complex in peace already, damn. But regardless, between Jason, Tim and Duke, she’s become a regular fixture at Wayne Manor over the years, even though for the opposite reasons as Bruce initially ‘hired’ her. After all, all three boys are basically geniuses in their own respective fashions, so its not like they need tutoring in the conventional sense once they caught up to speed in whatever ways they needed. 

Rather, Babs is their tutor specifically in the areas of ‘making sure they don’t get so bored with their schooling, they turn to blowing things up and/or world domination as a hobby’. Basically, an overachieving perfectionist know-it-all hired to help three overachieving perfectionist know-it-all kids reach their full academic potential unhindered by their conventional schooling, which at this point is basically just something that Bruce insists on so the boys get regular social interaction, while Babs concocts their actual curriculums that actually interest them and they do on their own time.

Anyway, so while seeking a placement for Cass that Babs thinks is deserving of her, she ultimately thinks of Bruce, and calls in that favor, albeit in a most unconventional sense. Babs doesn’t know Bruce was Batman at this point either, given how effectively he covered his tracks when he hung up the cape and how pointedly he’s kept away from all vigilantism since....but she knows each of his three boys have very different backgrounds and had trouble adjusting at first because of various issues...all of which Bruce spared no expense in addressing, more in terms of his own direct focus and parenting rather than fiscally. He’s a good dad, here, a great dad, since he’s basically poured all the energy and drive he once devoted to vigilantism to what he now feels he should have focused it on instead....being the father he wished he’d been to Dick and wasn’t going to make the mistake of not being now.

All of which makes Babs think that he might not only be willing to take in Cassandra, but that he might be the best one for her. And so after a lot of cloak and dagger obscurity that would be completely unnecessary if all the parties in question knew all the relevant information about each other, Cassandra ends up at Wayne Manor too. 

All of this is essentially backstory for the in between time between the prelude and the actual fic, unveiled and doled out via information conveyed in the present day. But where the actual fic begins, Bruce is committed to being Superdad to Jason, Tim, Duke and Cass, none of whom know he was Batman or the true nature of what happened to their mysterious elder brother who according to the news and what little Bruce and Alfred are willing to say, was abducted years ago with no attempt made to seek a ransom and no idea who did it or why.

Meanwhile, the kids have their own secrets, as Cass has been sneaking out into the city at night and stopping petty crimes and running into some girl in a purple hoodie who calls herself Spoiler. Tim’s preoccupied with a longtime personal quest of his....figure out who the elusive Oracle, all-knowing master of the cyberways is, and in doing so perhaps win their approval and mentorship. And Duke’s metahuman abilities have recently begun manifesting, and Jason ends up helping him test them and figure out what all he can do (after Jason catches Duke in the act of practicing his ghost vision and Duke has to convince him he’s not crazy and nobody needs to tell Bruce). 

And that in turn leads to Duke exploring the house with aid of his powers, trying to learn more about the mysterious missing eldest, and Jason distracting him every five seconds by whispering “what do you see now,” because Jason has also long been endlessly entranced by the mystery of Dick Grayson, and also, Jason has no chill.

With all of the above being the dynamic in existence in ‘present day’....when Dick escapes the Court and returns home.

So the story itself is all about Dick trying to deal with the aftermath of everything that happened to him while the Court’s hostage, and everything that didn’t happen to him and that he missed out on, coming in at the eleventh hour to a family that’s now almost fully formed all in his absence....with a seat at the table that’s been reserved for him the whole time, but with him uncertain as to where and how he fits in all of this.

All while being as cryptic about things as possible, because the one and only thing he and Bruce seem able to agree on, after their bittersweet reunion that doesn’t go how either of them ever imagined it....is to keep the other kids out of all this by any means necessary. Upon learning that Bruce hasn’t been Batman in years and the others know nothing about any of this, Dick’s firm on believing they should keep it that way as he doesn’t even know them yet, but he does know he isn’t willing to risk anything like what happened to him happening to any other child, related to him or not. And Bruce is perhaps too willing to accommodate Dick on this because he still feels this is all his fault, and telling the others everything would mean admitting to them what a terrible father he once was.

Which, he wasn’t, is the thing. One of the many things Dick’s struggling to reconcile now, because just like in the comics, Dick’s early years with Bruce were good more often than they were bad. He realizes upon seeing how easily the other kids interact with Bruce in a parent and child way that this is something he’s envious of, and in hindsight wanted even before he was kidnapped, but now he doesn’t know how to voice that or his fear that that Bruce would only be willing to offer that to him now out of guilt, that if he’d really wanted that kind of relationship with Dick, they would have had it before he disappeared.

Add to that the fact that Dick can’t make up his mind whether he’s grateful and touched that Bruce gave up being Batman just for the chance it might keep him safe from the fate of the Court’s Talons.....because sometimes, Dick resents it deeply...or not resents, per se, but more that he didn’t know the specifics of what was going on in the outside world beyond where the Court kept him, or that they’d made Bruce give up being Batman....so finding that out upon escaping is messing with his head more than he expected, and now he can’t help but feel aware of all the people over the years that could have been helped by Batman but weren’t, because of Dick. Basically, the Son of the Walking Guilt Complex, aka Walking Guilt Complex Jr., is blaming himself and his getting kidnapped, for being the reason Bruce isn’t a superhero anymore.

Meanwhile, it was not a good idea to keep all of this hush hush, if for no other reason than that its impossible to recover from a life-changing ordeal like this at home, when that home is filled with four other people you and two others are all committed to keeping the full details of what happened a secret from. Its not at all the homecoming Dick was picturing and had dreamed of, and he catches himself at times feeling resentful of the others for being there at all, before feeling guilty because the truth is he really is glad that Bruce took them all in and has been good for them, that he still found a way to help people and be true to himself even without being Batman.

There’s other stuff involved too, like the fact that Dick is still keeping things from even Bruce, like everything that happened to him in the Court, because a) he doesn’t want to talk about it, b) he’s afraid of the guilt spiral it’ll send Bruce into, to know that all this time he’d done everything he could to keep Dick safe by giving the Court no reason to break their word....when they never actually made any promise not to try and break Dick by methods not part of their usual Talon process, and c) he doesn’t want to talk about it.

And of course, all his old friends and teammates desperately want to see him and reconnect with him, which he fluctuates between wishing it was easier to explain who they were and have them around without risking their own identities with his new siblings.....and being grateful that keeping the Big Secret from said siblings meant they could only be around so much (like Clark and Diana, etc, who now simply would not be kept away period)....because like with Bruce, Dick is having trouble coming to terms with how much they’ve all changed while he was gone and how much he’s changed, and what this means for them all and how they even FIT now, if they even do at all.

All of which ultimately builds to Dick sneaking out at night to return to vigilantism himself, which makes Bruce throw an epic freakout when he finds out because he only just got Dick back and is not about to risk losing him again. And with Dick trying to convey that he NEEDS this, now perhaps even more than he ever did before, because its the only thing he knows, the only thing that feels familiar, feels right at this point, while everything else is confusing as hell. And even more than that, he needs it in order to feel like the last five years haven’t cost him everything, that they haven’t...’ruined’ him, because what’s the point of him even being home if he’s just as lost and confused as ever and he can’t even save people, do the one thing that’s always made all the shit he’s ever been through feel worthwhile, like it means something?

He needs it, he can’t give this up forever just because something terrible happened one time, that probably would have happened in some form even if he hadn’t been a hero, given what he found out from the Court about his family line. And he’s not wrong to feel that way, is the problem, much like its a problem that Bruce isn’t wrong to feel that if nothing else, its too soon for Dick to be doing this again, and he hasn’t remotely handled any of the many issues weighing on him and the trauma he’s still unwilling to address.

And it doesn’t help that all the while, Bruce has been wrestling with his own uncertainty as to whether to go back to being Batman now that Dick’s safe again and the combined might of the Justice League and Titans have followed his escape route back to the Court and come down on it with extreme zeal. Or whether he even wants to, anymore, if he can justify the risks it includes while now a father in truth not just to Dick but four other kids too (and yes, Damian exists in this AU, he’s just not here yet). He doesn’t want to leave any of his kids without a father, and even more than that, he doesn’t want any of the others following in his and Dick’s footsteps, which also plays a factor in freaking out at Dick’s quick return to a mask.

But he can’t deny that he does miss it too, and more importantly, he misses the way he and Dick used to understand each other without a word, in perfect sync as they swung over the city together. He can’t help but feel like it would be so much easier for him and Dick to understand each other, communicate with each other, if they were back on the same page even if just for one night for old time’s sake. And also he worries about Dick maybe growing to resent his siblings if he feels like they’re the only reason he won’t go back to being Batman, he won’t let there ever be a Batman and Robin again....which then startles him into worrying that on some level he’s afraid of growing to resent his other kids for being the reason not to do that. And around and around and around it goes.

And then the other kids figure it out in their own ways and everything really blows up.

And its hard and messy and painful and nothing short or easily fixed. And there are no good choices or easy choices or right choices. Just a lot of good people trying to make the most good come out of the most bad, and not a clue what that actually means or looks like, let alone how to go about it. 

Ultimately, its Dick at age 19, coming of age in the most unconventional of ways, trying to figure out who he is and who he wants to be after everything that’s happened, and dragging his whole family along for the ride as they’re all forced to ask the same question and then compare notes and hope that even if they’re not all on the same page, they’re all at least somewhere to be found in the same book.

Its about how you can’t go home again....even when home is exactly where you left it, and everything looks exactly the same but everything is different and nothing and no one will ever be the same ever again.

But that doesn’t mean the trek isn’t worth making, because sometimes the only way to make it forward to who you want to be now....is to first go back to where you last were when last you trusted who you were and what you wanted. So you can make your peace with leaving that road untraveled before finding your new direction and setting forth on that road instead.

*Shrugs* So yeah, that’s my ideal Court of Owls related fic. “Where Last We Left Off.”

Not quite the kind of fic you were describing, lol, but I do seem to insist on being unconventional with my takes, lmao.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 1)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count:  3,755

Section Warnings: mild language

~~~~~

The view from Julie’s home office had always provided some solace. A calm had washed over her the very first time she stared at it months ago. She’d been alone searching for a new place to move all of her stuff into as soon as possible. Well, not alone if you counted the perky real estate agent hovering in the doorway. Back then, she had no idea what her next step would be. But this little view of nothing special hit the pause button as all the pieces of her life crumbled out of her control. The view had been a distraction amidst the decisions and paperwork and phone calls. Everything that came along with severing the life she had built with the man she’d married.

She could hear her spry sixty-six year old mother passing the vacuum downstairs in the living room. Again. For the second time that day. Bless her sanitation compulsion. It’s only going to get worse now that she had to leave her house for this fumigation fiasco… will never hear the end of how she always knew keeping a clean house was important. Julie sighed. It will keep her from mentioning Steve for a while. That’s a positive.

She’d started her work project that Saturday morning at the PC atop the corner desk. A wall slathered in a turf green color with the precision of a five year old had been her view past that computer screen. Wish I’d had time and money to paint the whole house before moving in.

The uncomfortable office chair and the ache in her lower back had shifted Julie’s location by hour four of her remote work day. She gave in to try and subdue the pain, pulled out her laptop and sank into the sofa bed. The discount furniture had proved remarkably comfy. It was also positioned at a perfect height under the two side by side windows. The view looking out over her small backyard was always filled with entertaining items.

It was a standard middle class development. No HOA in this joint. Her neighbors to the left had perfected the art of hoarding chaos in their backyard. Every inch was filled with something either garden or tool related or well past its usefulness. Julie had a quaint covered patio right next to their property line. Mom, the one with the green thumb and outdoor enthusiasm, had sat under it more than Julie had over the past few days. Nature is better experienced behind a pane of glass. I’m too sweet for those mosquitoes.

A beautiful dagwood tree skirted the other fence line toward the far edge of her property. It’s branches brushed over the detached carport capping off the incline from the long driveway. This divorcee didn’t have it in her budget for a two car garage. But, she did like the fact that her car wasn’t the first thing a guest saw in front of the house when they drove down the road to visit. The quaint cape cod had a simple charm to it, with another small dagwood by the porch.

You should have taken Steve for everything he was worth. Oh, her mom’s never requested, yet always given, opinion when it came to her ex. If only she did have some of that superstitious Italian ability to curse others. Steve’s dick would have fallen off a long time ago. 

Nope, this view had been just enough for Julie when she’d moved in three months ago. After the divorce had become final. And then, last week, somehow, she’d managed to convince her dead-set-in-her-ways mom to leave her row home in the city and stay with her, instead of at a hotel during the necessary remediation. 

You try and talk an old school Italian into leaving their home unattended. Try, I dare you. 

Julie’s younger brother, Joseph, was on the west coast with his wife and two sons. There was no way, as much as her mother worshipped the ground her son walked on, that Joey would be able to come and rescue Mamma Mia for this one. Knowing their mother was with Julie made little brother feel better. He’d uttered that phrase over a video call, his youngest boy squirming in his lap and grabbing for the screen. They both wouldn’t be alone for a little while, he added, which cut Julie in a way that she was sure he hadn’t intended. It’ll keep Ma busy, Jule-Jule, having you to fuss over. Like she used to do when we were kids. 

As she tapped with an absentminded rhythm on the down arrow key, trying to focus on the spreadsheet, she couldn’t help but steal glances at the patch of unoccupied concrete driveway in the other neighbor’s yard. The one neighbor she’d only seen on two occasions. But, both times, he had been a glorious sight to behold. The man she’d learned was called Dean Winchester.

The first time she’d spotted him, Julie had been outside late one evening, only a couple days after moving in. Her cleaning of the backyard had gone better than expected that afternoon. Even a run in with a spider had not scared her inside. Normally, she would have abandoned any items and cleaning supplies in her wake of fright. That was not an option. Cause I don’t have anyone around to kill them. She faced the one-inch eight legged fiend like a trooper, brushing it into the grass. 

The finishing touch of her busy day had been the placement of two wicker chairs and a tiny table in the covered patio’s alcove. Spring had not officially arrived yet, but she’d risk putting the outdoor furniture where it belonged. Her frame sank into one of the chairs with a wine cooler in hand, her aching feet propped up in the seat of the other. She tugged the cardigan sweater closed at the slight chill in the air.

Her chatty neighbor Wes, the one with the hoarding problem, had talked her ear off for a good half hour. She basked in her accomplishment as the sun set and she was talked more at than to. He seemed quite content speaking over her as she attempted a conversation. Not in an overbearing or conceited way. It was reminiscent of an excited child who couldn’t wait to get all the details out about their amazing story. His partner, Samuel, would try to steer Wes back and remind him to wait his turn in the most patient of ways. Julie had no energy left to struggle and simply listened. It was what she was good at, after all. 

Julie quickly surmised the amount of alcohol they imbibed could be part of the reason they got along so well. They were night and day. Wes worked in construction, had a scruffy stark blonde beard that matched the ponytail, and lived in faded jeans and a Phish t-shirt. Samuel was a retired Executive Director and dressed like one of those distinguished older gentlemen in a Land’s End catalog.

The couple had eventually turned in, wishing her a good night. Julie sat, alone, in the dark. She was too tired to get up. Her lids were getting heavy. A loud rumble from a vehicle had stirred her awake. She cursed at falling asleep, outside, leaving herself vulnerable in a new place. The open wine cooler bottle hung in her hand at a precarious angle. She placed it atop the table and prepared to lift her ass out of the now uncomfortable seat. Then, she spotted headlights creeping up part of the driveway she could see past the other neighbor’s house. There was a good 30 feet of grass between her chain link fence and the neighbor’s drive. 

A motion sensor light kicked on. The massive front of a vintage black car came into view. It pulled in slow and cautious like a boat approaching a pier. The engine ticked off and grunted at the journey’s end. Then the driver’s door swung open. And, in the darkness, under the covered patio, Julie could feel her mouth start to dry up at the sight of the man who’d been behind the wheel.

She couldn’t explain the reaction, even thinking about it now. But, there’d been something overwhelmingly masculine about the way that figure eased out of the car. The presence triggered her senses into overdrive. There was no flight or fight response. All freeze on her end.

Work boots landed on the concrete in a secure and smooth motion one after the other. Her ears tuned into the thud of his soles, then the shift of toe boots sliding against gravel. The fluorescent light played with the shadows and cut a chiseled physique out of the contrast. The buzzing sound from the bulbs over him intensified in her ears. Like he was generating energy. The tingling sound crested in waves in her direction. She licked her lips. A metallic, coppery flavor laced the air. The taste reminded her of when she had accidently touched a live wire and received a mild shock.  

She dared to tilt her head. Her black rimmed bifocal prescription glasses got a clearer image of this man. He dipped back into the car to pull out a duffel bag and tossed it by his feet. He wore dark jeans draped over muscled thighs and a pair of bow legs. She made out all those details thanks to the light shining down and carving out a pronounced oval between those legs. A plaid shirt fitted and hugged a set of broad shoulders. The hem of the shirt hung in the perfect spot above… well, maybe that was when her mouth had completely dried up. That man had an ass so perfect, so curvy, she’d never seen a male backside look that good in denim.

My mind has to be playing tricks on me. She shook her head to rid her brain of the fuzziness. Or, that wine cooler was a lot stronger than I expected. There’s no way the rest of him is that… this... perfect.

And, then, he turned into the light, and gave her a glimpse of his face. And proved her goddamn wrong.

He bent down to grab the bag off the ground and swung the door shut, producing a squeak. But, the squeak could have been one of disbelief coming from her mouth. A spiky, short cut of hair topped his head. The profile of this man had sharp angles in all the right areas. Dips and swells in every other spot of his face brought to mind those old Guess jeans ads Julie had seen in countless magazines growing up. She’d wished the moon and stars wiped away in that moment and willed the sun to rise instead. She wanted to see every inch of him and take in all that was reserved for the shadows.

And as quick as that, he was gone, with a confident posture and matching swagger. He disappeared down the driveway. He must have gone into the front door of his tiny house out of view. A couple seconds went by and then a light filled one of the small square windows. But, she saw no movement. Then another window snapped on in illumination. This one was situated on the wall of the house closer to her property. But, still nothing. No sign of him, not even a passing shadow. Both lights eventually turned off. Back in the dark, Julie gasped for the air she’d been denying herself as she spied on this other neighbor. She scurried back in the house like a mouse.

The wheels of the unplugged vacuum cleaner rolled along the hardwood in the first story directly below and rolled her out of the recollection. Mom was moving to another room to continue cleaning. Little to no insulation in the walls and the small square footage made everything way too easy to hear in this house. Her mother’s snores in the first floor bedroom last night had woken her up. She frowned, realizing she could no longer watch the occasional soft porn in her bedroom without the use of headphones. She was fifteen all over again.

Not that I’ve needed much in terms of arousing material since my other neighbor. Dean.

The man had no routine to speak of that she could discern. The car might be parked in the driveway for a week or two, then gone for one week. Then back for only a day to be gone again. For a month after that first sighting, the only sign of him being home had been the car in the driveway. Her voyeuristic tendencies shifted into high gear. She found the views from her office window and the sliding glass door leading out to her yard even more interesting now.

She resorted to asking Wes about the neighbor when the car had disappeared again for a few days. Wes’ eyes lit up in obvious appreciation at the question that bright Saturday morning. “Oh, you mean Dean? Dean Winchester. Been around for a couple years. Keeps to himself... and his yard mowed in the summer, when he’s around. Quiet. Well, except for his radio when he’s working on the Impala. Thank God he’s got good taste in music.”

“Impala?”

“His car, sweetie.” Samuel had snuck up behind Wes and clarified.

“Oh.” Julie did not know enough about cars to have identified the model. She discerned the basics. It was black and bulging and could batter ram her compact into an accordion if they’d ever gotten into a crash.

“It’s a beauty. His pride and joy.” Wes tilted his beer over toward Dean’s driveway. “I got to look under the hood of her once. I offered to help, but…”

“He’s got a clear indication of how good you are with cars, Wes.” Samuel raised an eyebrow and pointed to the rusty, old truck behind them.

“My financial ability doesn’t have anything to do with my knowledge and skills in car repair,” Wes huffed.

“I could make a counter argument, but I’m hungry and really want you to cook tonight.” Samuel tapped Wes’s shoulder.

“What does he do for a living?” Julie asked.

“He can’t really talk about it.” Wes nodded in an exaggerated manner.

Julie could feel her mouth turn down in disappointment. “Why not?”

“He’s hinted it’s government related. Possibly Homeland Security.” Samuel added.

“Oh. Wow.” The hours kind of made sense. But, the tiny house in this mediocre neighborhood didn’t line up with the salary that went along with a job like that. She kept the opinion to herself. As she usually did with most things.

That afternoon, Julie had gotten a bug up her ass to clean the second floor. Her mom would be coming to visit the next day. The last thing she wanted to see her do was pull out the mop and bucket. I’ll have to lock up all my cleaning products. Of course, mom’s sneaky little self will probably pack up her own arsenal of weapons in her car. 

After she’d finished with her bedroom an hour later, she’d attacked her office. The windows, inside and out, had been begging for a proper wipe down. She raised the roman shades left by the previous owners to the very top of the sill, coughed at the dust, and then lifted one of the windows up enough to tilt it into the room. The pane rested against the sofa back. Julie started to clean the exterior.

A breeze pushed in through the screen while she worked. It forced her to time the spraying of cleaner fluid so she didn’t end up with chemicals in her face. When things settled, she bent into the task and wiped. Outside, an angry engine rumbled off to the right. She knew that sound. She’d only heard it once before, but it had ingrained itself into her brain. She licked her lips, like Pavlov’s dog. Her mouth curled into a smile now that she could attach a name to the other neighbor. Dean’s home. Her heart sped up.

Daylight. Moment of truth. The rag dropped from her hand. She looked around for the binoculars. They waited on the sofa’s side table, having been fished out of storage after that first night she’d seen him. Her fingers tugged the window screen up. An unpleasant squeak from the vinyl rubbing together clawed at her inner ear. She hunched down and sat on the sofa, barely tipping her head up over the bottom window sill. Her hand snuck to her left and snatched the binoculars. 

She could only imagine how ridiculous she looked at that moment. Yep, you’ve brought out the voyeur in me, Dean. Or, should I call you Mr. Winchester, until we’ve been properly introduced? Please, God. If you’re going to throw me a bone after all this shit with Steve, let this man be a hunky neighbor truly worthy to have spent this much time obsessing over.

She rested the binoculars on the bridge of her nose and tried to focus through the magnified lenses. Sparkling wheel rims, up close and personal, edged into the scene, along with the rest of the car. The anticipation of how much more of Mr. Winchester she might be able to see had her movements searching and tracking in a frantic pace. The binoculars landed on the driver’s side window. Only seeing the outside reflection made her heart drop. The engine ticked off. Then, the door opened.

Showtime.

“You wanted me to check in, Sammy. For the third time, I’m fine.” The clarity of the voice wafting up to her perch from the second story made her gasp. Could I be this lucky? It’s like I’m in the perfect sound traveling angle possible.

After the shock of the eavesdropping accessibility died down, she gasped for a second time when she saw Dean emerge from the car.

Holy shit.

Dean glanced around the yard, checked his surroundings and stilled. He leaned on the side of the car and stared into her yard. Julie guessed jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt might be his attire of choice. But, good God. Hunky didn’t do him justice. He was fucking gorgeous. Rough, scruffy, a bit aged. Yet, he was also perfect model material with a boyish hint underneath. He had a well proportioned nose, dimpled chin, and a very nice set of lips with just the right amount of pout. His brown hair had a combo of red and golden highlights in the sunshine. The only thing she couldn’t make out well enough from the distance was his eye color.

“Things are good. Just got back home from a hunting trip. Yeah, I’ve been tracking the news. Run of the mill stuff. Happy days are here again.”

And, the voice. Holy shit. It was deep, with bass, and reverberated like his car’s engine in her ears. 

“How’s things out west?” He nodded, apparently listening to a long explanation. “Eileen?” Another nod, then his eyes widened. “Really? Congrats on knocking her up, little brother. Finally. Only been with her for two years. ‘Bout time.” He smirked. The grin faded into a serious, tight expression. His jaw clenched and Julie heard a moan leave her lips. “Nah. There’s no reason for me to head your way. I’m fine. Someone’s gotta man the east coast. Most of our headaches popped up here in Delaware years back, remember?” He tilted his head from side to side and rolled his eyes. “Well, you never know. Better I stay here. Just in case. Listen, catch up’s been great.” He pinched his nose. “I’m beat. Just want to sleep for a week. Yeah. Will do. You too, Sammy.” 

He propelled himself off the side of the car and reached in to pull the same duffel bag. The car door squeaked shut. And, he was gone again. Julie had gotten herself together after a minute or so and went about the window cleaning. The job was not as thorough as she had planned. A distracted focus had her staring at the Impala and Dean’s house for the majority of her time at the window. 

And, maybe he had slept for an entire week after that. The car didn’t move. When she’d leave for work in the mornings she’d take her time by the sliding door to lock up. Easing down the concrete path toward the carport at a languid pace some days. Careful lawn inspection or a trip to check on the patio might fill a minute or so on others. With always the glances up in Dean’s general direction. 

But the car would be there in the mornings and when she arrived from work for a few more weeks after that. Then, the erratic disappearances began again. The fun game she was playing of hide and seek with someone not even in on the diversion only turned into disheartening disappointment. He had the hide part down.

“Giulia?”

Mom called up to her from the stairwell and the memory escaped.

“Yeah?”

“Want lunch?”

“I’m fine.” She readjusted on the couch.

“I’m going to make some pasta fagioli, then, for dinner later. Going to go sit out on the patio.”

“Sounds good.” Mom enjoyed talking to Wes and Samuel. Julie thought her mother didn’t understand much of what Wes said when he’d had one too many beers in him, which was pretty much all the time. But, she laughed a lot. It was more about the company lately.

Her mother muttered something in Italian. “Don’t work all day! It’s the weekend.” Julie didn’t bother to respond. The sliding door whooshed open and then rolled shut. Her mind wandered back to Dean. He’d been gone for three weeks at her daily tick count. Maybe he really does have a secret government job. But, what the hell popped up in Delaware years back? Delaware never made the news on a national level. Well, except for Wilmington being the murder capital of the United States a few years ago. He couldn’t have meant that, could he? Maybe he’s undercover, living just outside the biggest city in the state in good ol’ Pike Creek? She shook her head. Dean had become a distraction and now a point of worry for her. And, she hadn’t even met the man.

She huffed, then typed an email, wrapping up her extra work on the weekend. “Time to get out of these pajamas and take a shower,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

Part 2

Series Page

[deadendtabletop]

A SYSTEM AGNOSTIC MAGIC ITEMS POST

Gemstone of renewal Considered to be a true source of immortality, the gemstone keeps the user alive by fusing with their being. As long as the gemstone remains fused to the user, they will immediately be revived by any trauma but will not regenerate any lost limbs, prevent their aging, cure diseases, purge poisons or help them recover to full health. In the event that the wielder's body is atomized, the gemstone will keep the user alive and somehow aware, until its effects are undone by an appropriately powerful magical effect. The black hand of Aver Null When Aver-Null, high deathspeaker, perished on his final battle, his body was paraded across the length and breadth of the kingdom, where his body was picked apart by the pious and the overly zealous that came to view it. These body parts were gradually incorporated into a number of magical workings and items, leaving just his blackened hand as the last remaining vestige of his mortal remains. Magical users that wish to invoke the powers of the hand of Aver Null can break away a finger to bring a single powerful necromantic effect into being or use them to incorporate into a suitably powerful artifact. At this time, its little finger and its nails are missing, presumably having already been used by an industrious adept. Ever-Hammer This blacksmith’s hammer allows the user to create masterwork armour and weapons, even if they have never worked metal before. The catch? Once they start they cannot stop. Ever. After claiming the lives of its first few users the hammer was hidden away, to prevent further loss of life. However it was eventually uncovered and put to use once again. However this time its owner is a cruel slave master, who forces disobedient or otherwise useless slaves to use it, to milk as much possible profit out of them before they inevitably perish. The blade encarmine Despite its name, the blade encarmine is not in itself a weapon but instead an intelligent curse that infects its wielder's blood. When the blad encarmine wishes to assist its user, its shoots out of the wielder's body, taking the shape of a magical weapon that is appropriate to their situation which can harm even magiacally augmented creatures or otherworldly beings. This harms the wielder considerably and could tear older wounds. The blade, however, is also affected by its host's emotions while possessing a sort of intelligence and could lash out at someone that draws the host's ire or even attack a friend that attempts to remove it. In the event of the wielder's death, the blade can renaimate the body for a limited time, until it can infect a new host. Navel of Worlds A small grey pebble, looks like nothing really. Is much heavier than it appears. It can be used once a year to open up a portal to another plane of existence, and must then be given to a stranger on that plane for it to work again next year. The portal will be open for anyone of the opener’s choosing, until the next dawn. The Aeon Vambrace An ancient artifact of immense power, the Aeon Vambrace offers complete invlulnerability to its wearer's forearms and them alone, leaving the rest of the body susceptible to harm. This aspect has caused the rumor of an Aeon set of armor to exist, which makes the wearer functionally invincible and grants them a number of extraordinary powers as well. While there is no truth to these rumors, seekers of the set will often try to steal or gain ownership of the Vambraces, hoping that this will somehow unearth the remaining parts of the artifact. Amulet of Roses Created by an ancient order of assassins against a group of vampiric tyrants, the Amulet of Roses makes the user's blood and fluids highly caustic to any undead being. Prolonged use of the Amulet can cause the wearer to "flower", with rose-like growths blossoming over wounds, up to roots sprouting from their heels, rooting them to the spot. Any wearer that dies while wearing it will explosively blossom into a rose bush, the blossoms and wood of which repel the undead. The candle of dawn Seemingly mundane, the candle of dawn burns with a different magical fire depending on the spoken command word: The first causes a blade of silvery flame to whip out of the wick, grievously harming creatures of the night and the undead. The second command word causes the candle to shed an ord of bluish light that repels demonic and otherworldly entities. The third command word causes the candle to release a burst of golden light, instantly undoing any nearby illusions. Any use significantly consumes the wax of the candle, which is irreplaceable. Some say that it is the last remaining part of an ancient safegard against the Night Court, but those warnings go largely unheeded. Folly Intelligence-eating invaders from another plane of existence, the Folly disguise themselves as magical items of considerable power and appear to be so at first glance. Wearers that wield of use the Folly become absolutely convinved that these items are the real deal and will rationalize why an effect may have failed in any way possible, except by blaming the Folly itself. The effect persists until the Folly has turned he user into a helpless bumbling idiot, at which point it leads its weilder to a convenient position and consumes them, fueling their transformation to their next form to lure a new victim. Logovos An ancient Elvish long bow, said to be the first bow of the summer court. The wood is always blooming with small flowers and smells of long summer day. Legend says the wielder of the bow has the right to challenge for the seat of summer and rule the court. A Vorpal Sword named Pookie The last word to remain from the deadly lexicon of a forgotten civilization, Pookie is an intelligent sword reprusposed from an enchanted executioner's axe. While the sword remains as lethal as ever, with the ability to even cut through magical barriers with minimal effort, it is very much embarassed of its name (which it is compelled to utter when asked) and will avoid speaking unless circumstances force it to. Bagful of heads Used by necromancers to complete spells requiring skulls, or other parts of a humanoid head. Works like a Bag of Holding, in that the user can request a specific part of the head, and heads will not rot while inside the bag. Bagful of Heads will not be able to be used by anyone without an Evil alignment, and will use teeth at the opening of the bag to bite hands of non-Evil PCs attempting to use the Bagful of Heads. Heads must be furnished to the bag by the Evil PC, if a particular type of humanoid head is needed. Also useful for bounty hunters. Holds up to 50 regular sized human-type heads, or 10 Giant-sized heads. Bag remains the weight of one human head, no matter how full. If the bag becomes empty, a new head must be provided in 24 hrs, or the empty Bagful of Heads will attempt to eat the owner's head in one yawning bite once per hour until a new head is found for the bag. Signet Ring of Chaos Intended for use by michievous individuals or agents of Chaos, the signet ring will always create the illusion of the user possessing a rank that will more effectively allow them to spread dissent. When used to seal a document, the seal will not only produce an almost perfect replica of the intended seal but will alter the sealed document for maximum discord. These effects remain in place as long as the signet ring is worn and persist even after the wielder has perished. When a new wielder tries the ring, the events 'reshuffle', making them excellent choices for destroying historical or other records. These effects are beyond the agent's control however and may shift, often putting their own lives or missions at risk in the process. Collapsible Hive karak of Tammaz was an eccentric even amoungst enchanters. This however was one of his great breakthroughs. It is a golden figurine of a bee, about 4 inches long and immaculately detailed. When a woman who has had children wipes the figurines eyes with honey, it comes alive and multiplies into thousands of copies of itself, made of golden light. In the next hour, they will make a beehive that is about 20 feet tall and 50 feet wide from golden light and local materials. The person who activated the bee, anyone she touches on the eyes with honey, and any of her family or lovers will be welcomed and protected by the magical bee constructs, and fed a nourishing but sickly sweet honey. Anyone else who comes near will be viciously attacked. The next day the bees will industriously take the hive apart, and return bact to the initial figurine. The Reaper’s Mask A featurless sheet mask that covers the entirety of the wearer's face, the Reaper's Mask allows them to converse with the dead and interact with ghotly presences, as long as the user makes sure to dip the Reaper's Mask in blood regularly. However, the Mask attracts predators from the afterlife as well as overly ambitious necromancers, not to mention the original Reaper, who doesn;t appreciate the fact that their mask has been misplaced. Picky the Lockpick A lockpick once wielded by a legendary thief, picky instantly undoes any lock with minimal effort, up to and including magical locks, arcane barriers or metaphorical locks, like repressed memories or past lives. However, Picky ocassionally requires venting by its wielder. Failure to do so results in an explosive lockpick that undoes any kind of binding, attunements or containment measures within a very large area with possibly catastrophic results. Wizard burger Made of real ancient wizard (supposedly). The pickles humm and crackle, and the cheese whispers. When consumed, gain 100 temporary hit points, +12 to AC, and a faint onion aroma. Spell fades after four hours, and the eater of said burger gains poisoned status for another four hours. This can not be removed my magical means. If a non-wizard eats it, nothing happens.

Horn of doom or glory (1 remaining charge)     The horn was a gift from a god saddened by the deaths in a battle. It has been coveted by armies in dire situations snd changed the fate of many great events. When one blows the horn, the mightiest member of the opposition is magically compelled to enter into a duel with the user. No one else will have the strength to intervene. The winner of this duel turns the entire coflict in their favour, and the god curses the losers. The losing side's strength flees them. Their morale breaks. They become lambs to the slaughter. The scarlet standard Once the shroud of a child-king, whose mother attempted to resurrect in defiance of the gods, after he was tragically slain in his very first battle, the scarlet standard has the power to restore the dead to life but at the risk of incurring the gods' wrath. Any dead person wrapped with the standard will return to the land of the living but will be plagued by vermin, find that the earth they step upon is blighted or inexplicably drive those he meets into fits of rage. However, they will find that they are far more capable of placating the undead or the damned, who will consider them kindred spirits, of sorts. While this does not alter the resurrected person's character, it may very well cause them to cross paths with previously friendly and more pious champions they might have thought as friends. The forgotten prince's crown The most prized possession in the Beggar Lord's hoard, the Forgotten Prince's Crown allows the wearer to assume the form of a noble warrior, his name and deeds lost to history and time. While wearing the crown, the wearer is whisked away to a pocket realm, where their body is mended of its ails and wounds and they are pampered by beutiful otherworldly presences. While in the pocket dimension, they assume the role of the forgotten prince, walking in a perfectly sculted body and speaking with a voice that commands even the bests of the field into submission. They are returned back home the next day and while their wounds remain healed, their chronic ailments return within the next few hours, the experience lingering in their minds during the weeks it takes the crown to recharge. Archbeatous, the Geomancers Warhammer An enchanted menhir infused with a trapped elemental, Archbeatous guards the entrance to the Sepulchre of the Old One, smashing any grave robbers or cultist that venture to close to the UR-god. During the centuries, archbeatous has picked up a number of songs and can be heard humming a jig while smashing invaders to bits. A small cult of roving strongmen have also gathered around the Archbeatous, which enjoys the company as they use it to measure their strength against each other. Pickled Seer This seer that has been pickled can be consumed for temporary ability to see A) into the future B) a remote location or person or C) a person’s or object’s past. Bardoon's Instant Transposer This small silver box with engraved with caterpillar and butterfly imagery looks like it would only hold an item no larger than a fist, however the enchantment allows it to hold much more, similar to a bag of holding. unlike a bag of holding though, this item allows you to imprint an object using a command word, thereafter any objects you put in the box should they be made of the same materials, will be transposed into the shape of the imprinted object, for example, if one imprints a longsword to the boxes memory and then tosses in some steel wood and leather, they would be able to pull an exact replica of the imprinted object. Morgan’s Perilous Oddity The item always remains hidden, either obscured by a veil, stashed away in a box or hidden inside a bag. While in this state, the item is impossible to describe. Those exposed to the item are unwilling to do so and any attempts to divine its nature or specifics always result in failure. Exposing the item to another living, intelligent being always results in an extreme, catastrophic reaction: some fall to their knees at the sight of it, while others will go berserk and attempt to destroy it or the wielder. There appears ot be no connecting thread or means to deinfe what results in these reactions. After having been exposed, the item will obscure itself once again, inside another container or via other means. Book of the Mother A book of children’s stories and nursery rhymes that when read aloud to a small child at dusk will cause the child to be comforted and sleep soundly. The child is also bound to the reader for ever and will be at a disadvantage to disobey requests made by the reader until the enchantment is broken.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CaptainCanary fic: (I Don’t Believe in) Destiny (ch. 10 of 11)

Leonard Snart is back, finally pulled from the timestream where he's spent the last four years. But he wasn't alone, and the repercussions of that will echo through the Legends, the Time Bureau, and beyond.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll bring everything around full circle.

You can also read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

---

Ch. Ten: Every Game We Played

The Legends aren’t there. Not yet, anyway.

Ava stares out the viewscreen of the bureau mother ship as they come in over the wreckage of the Vanishing Point, blasted and silent and dark. There’s no sign of the Waverider. To her right, Druce is stone-faced, looking down at the wreckage of his past—and future?—home.

The blast of the exploding Oculus wellspring hadn’t wiped out everything—which doesn’t seem to make much sense; wasn’t it a freed supernova?—and there’s enough surface there to make the stand Druce wants. There’s even the ragged shell of a building around what Ava believes was the wellspring.

She bites her lip. Leonard Snart had caused this. But given all she’s learned���

“All hands brace for landing,” intones the pilot of the mother ship, a woman Ava had known by another name who now calls herself Liri Lee. Druce had gotten to so many of the bureau, so many people who believed they deserved more, knew better, because they’d been, for a while, custodians of time.

It’s true. Even with good intentions, power corrupts

Still, Ava rips her mind away from that. She braces, as directed, for landing. And she controls her expression as all those on the bridge…10, in addition to her and Druce…look to the Time Master for direction.

Druce scans them, then nods regally.

“I must go to the wellspring,” he announces. “There, to await the enemy. The others…keep them away.” His gaze hardens. “And you will be rewarded.”

The others don’t look at Ava, their supposed director, at all. They salute Druce, as does Ava, slightly belatedly.

Game time.

*

The bureau has already landed at the Vanishing Point.

Sara, looking out the viewscreen of the Waverider, takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She’s not naïve enough to believe that Ava isn’t there, given the presence of the bureau mother ship, but she’s trying not to think about it.

Leonard, to her right, glances at her. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Sara doesn’t pursue it.

Mick, to her left, mutters something under his breath. “Well,” he says, “Time Bastards are here. OK. Everyone clear on how we’re playin’ this?”

They’ve talked and talked about it, but it really all comes down to something too simple to even be called a plan.

John snorts. “The usual,” he says cynically, leaning against the holotable. “Chaos. While handsome there,” he nods to Leonard, “strolls through it all and goes for the wanker who started this.”

Sara rolls her eyes, forebears to mention that he really doesn’t have to be here—heaven knows John’s prone to wandering off on other business—and admits that he has a point.

“Yeah,” she acknowledges. “That’s essentially it. Gideon, would you pull up the info on the Time Bureau agents we know are in on this?”

Names and faces flash on the screen. Sara’s seen all the data before, but she studies it intently again, considering abilities and matching them with the teammates around her.

One, whom Mick had known as Walker Gabriel, is a bull of a man, and Sara knows that—should he become a Time Master—he’ll be an enforcer and hunter not unlike Mick had been, just much higher up. She already knows that Mick has called dibs on facing him, and she’ll respect that. It seems like there’s bad blood there.

The others: Hand to hand. High-tech combat. A touch of supernatural ability or more. Weapons expertise. High versatility.

In an uncanny way, Sara thinks, they really do mirror the Legends. Is this really how it was always meant to be? Legends vs. Time Masters, again and again and again?

“Versatile, my ass,” Charlie mutters from behind her. Sara glances around in time to see her cracking her knuckles. “I’ll show that minger who’s versatile.” She gives Sara a wolfish grin.

Sara grins back; it’s better than worrying. She pulls the viewscreen back to its view of the wreckage of the Vanishing Point and then glances over at Leonard.

“You ready?” she asks, trying to sound confident.

She expects snark in return. But Leonard’s eyes are cool and serious. He gives her one sharp nod, his gaze still on the viewscreen, on the place where he’d died…or they’d thought he had.

“Yes,” he says, voice low, intense. “It’s time.”

She doesn’t think he means the pun—but with Leonard, you never can tell. Sara reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing once, then lets go. They’d said what they needed to say to each other, last night.

And it is, indeed, time.

*

Druce’s people are waiting for them. Sara, bo in her hands, in full uniform, leads her own people toward them. She doesn’t look around to see when Leonard ghosts off on his own. She keeps her eyes forward and on the enemy.

The woman at the front of that group…it isn’t Ava. It’s a tall redhead, who’s watching them with equal parts wariness and what seems to be disgust. Sara, for now, resists the urge to glance around, looking for blond hair.

She flourishes her bo and reaches for cool confidence with a side of attitude.

“Well,” she tells the scowling woman, the one Mick had identified as Liri Lee. “Fancy meeting you all here.”

The woman laughs. “You are under arrest,” she says bluntly, coolly. “Legends? Agents of chaos, more like.” She nods sharply, looking around at them. “I’ll never understand why we just didn’t put you down like the mongrel dogs you are. Time was ordered and controlled until…”

Mick interrupts her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, staring over her head at Walker Gabriel. “Less talking. More fighting.”

And he brings his heat gun up and fires.

Well, it’s not how Sara might have chosen to start all this, but it works. The other woman leaps out of the way, Gabriel roars and charges Mick, and the fight is on.

Sara whirls as Lee turns for her, blocking and feinting at the redhead. She hears the other Legends engaging the other would-be Time Masters. And she counts as she glances around: one, two, three…10 total, looks like.

No Druce. But she doesn’t see Ava either.

Where is she?

*

The shell of the Oculus wellspring building is just that…a shell. Leonard strolls in like he owns the place instead of his terrified dash from last time, but his heart is thudding so loudly in his chest that it seems far louder than his own footsteps.

On some level, his own body remembers what happened here. The fear, the anger, the regret, the salt and sweet of Sara’s kiss. Staring at her as long as possible, trying to take her image with him into the night.

And then Druce. One last bit of defiance before it all went away.

This time, the Time Master waits for him here. Leonard can see his figure on the platform where the device that harnessed the wellspring stood—stands. The man, who’d worn regular, if nondescript, clothing of the time while he’d held Leonard captive at the Time Bureau, is now back in the sort of robe he’d worn before.

And he’s watching Leonard approach with an expressionless face—but furious eyes.

Ah. It’s nice to know he’s managed to piss off the Time Bastard again. Leonard slows just a little, adding a touch of swagger, a smirk touching his lips. Racing heart or not, he’ll be damned if he’ll show anything other than insolence.

He halts at the far end of the bridge over to the device, studying Druce. Waits until the other man decides to speak...and then promptly beats him to it.

“Well,” he drawls, folding his arms, “seems we wound up here regardless.” He tilts his head. “Too bad it’s not gonna go the way you think it’s gonna go.”

The words appear to infuriate Druce even more—just as Leonard wants. His eyes flash, and he takes a few steps toward the other man, almost involuntarily. Leonard can now see the large knife in his hand. A killing weapon; a gutting one. Peachy.

“You…” Druce starts.

Leonard inspects his nails. “Yes,” he says curtly. “Me.” He lifts his eyes, then, letting ice fill them. “And I’m gonna win this time, too.”

His taunting is working. Druce’s face goes hard, rage spilling over into features and body language. He takes another few steps toward Leonard.

“You are nothing!” he cries at Leonard. “Do you know how old I am? What I have seen? I walked the streets of ancient Athͮenai; I have dined in the halls of the lords of the future. The man named Chrysós brought me forward from my homeland and I became his better. I…”

“Don’t care,” Leonard cuts in nonchalantly. (Though he’s kind of wondering about this “man named Chrysós.”) If Druce gets just a little closer, he’ll be able to get a hand on him and start this whole thing. “You’re still…”

“Freeze!”

Leonard’s heart contracts, mostly for Sara’s sake, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Druce. “Seriously?” he yells, however, at the sound of Ava Sharpe’s voice. “You’re using cold puns? At me?”

He can see the blond woman moving in from his left…and, then, the glint of light off the gun in her hand. Crap.

Druce smiles smugly. He’s still just a little too far away for Leonard to lunge for.

“Director Sharpe!” he says, raising his voice. “Excellent timing!” The tone dips as his eyes bore into Leonard’s, and he takes a step backward. “The release of energy should happen as close as possible to the device and the wellspring as possible. But I don’t have to be the one who kills him—as much as it would be gratifying.”

In his peripheral vision, Leonard sees Sharpe move closer. He takes a reluctant step out onto the bridge, toward Druce, who takes another step back too. Then Druce turns, moving closer to the center of the platform, trusting the bureau director with his back. He’s that sure of her.

Leonard hears Sharpe draw in a quiet breath, and he dares a swift glance at her. The bureau director’s face is still and thoughtful, and her demeanor isn’t nearly as committed to her course as he’d figured.

So…he rolls the dice. He transfers more of his attention to her, even as Druce raises his voice, saying something else. Sara had loved this woman—still does in a way, he’s sure of it. There’s got to be something there.

“Sure you wanna do this?” he says very quietly.

Her eyes flicker—and Leonard’s suddenly very sure he’s right. He gives Sharpe a tiny nod, and just like that, they’re on the same page.

“Sara truly was telling the truth,” Sharpe says quietly. “All of it.”

“Pretty sure she wouldn’t lie to you,” he says just as quietly. “Sara takes care of the people she cares about. She’s lost too many of them.”

Ava nods, as Druce, realizing something is happening, turns back toward them. And then, in a lightning-swift move, she shifts, turning the gun on Druce.

The Time Master’s jaw drops.

Leonard watches as he struggles with what’s just happened. The look on Druce’s face is priceless, disbelief and horror and anger warring with each other. Anger wins.

“You were supposed to be one of us!” he roars, spitting mad. “A Time Master! You idiot! You’ve thrown it all away!”

Sharpe retorts, but Leonard is suddenly hearing words spoken not so long ago.

Find a crack in what’s supposedly meant to happen.

Ava Sharpe had, after all, become a Time Master, in the way things went before. Now, she wouldn’t be one. Because of her own decision, her own choice--the things that all time turns on.

One little crack is all you need to start it.

“Do what you need to do,” Sharpe tells him, voice controlled. “I’ll make sure no one else interferes.”

“Got it.”

There’s no more point in waiting. Leonard takes three swift steps toward the incensed Time Master, who’s still staring at Sharpe. And almost before Druce realizes it, Leonard grabs his arm. The other man tries to pull away, and it would be just a bit too easy to fall.

But Leonard closes his eyes, lets the temporal energy surge, and then twists.

*

When Leonard had worked his smaller time tricks back at the ship and outside Salvation, Sara hadn’t felt anything. John and Nora had said they could sense a flicker of some sort of energy, and Charlie had described a sort of unnerving feeling during some of the bigger surges of time. No one else had noticed.

But when something happens at the Vanishing Point, even as the Legends are still facing off with Druce’s people, everyone feels it.

Sara thinks it feels a little like the bottom dropping out of the world—or her stomach, maybe both. She stumbles, catching herself, even as things feel like they start to whirl around her. She hears her team cry out around her, and tries to look, but everything’s blurry.

And then it’s done.

Sara’s stomach tries to revolt, but she controls it, drawing in a steadying breath, grip tightening on her bo, and looks for the team. Predictably, it’s the more magical members of the group who’d felt the discharge of energy the most. Nora’s down, but Ray’s standing over her, ready to defend her. John looks a little worse for wear, but he’s on his feet—more or less. Charlie…well, Charlie’s on her hands and knees, throwing up.

And there’s one of Druce’s Time Bureau people headed right for her.

Sara yells, feeling like her voice echoes oddly, and runs toward her teammate even as Zari whirls and does the same. The man—someone named Ryder, Mick had said—glances her way, raising a weapon, and Sara crashes into him, grappling briefly before she disarms him and lays him out on the ground.

There’s a noise behind her, though, and she whirls, realizing belatedly that she’s still a little dizzy. The woman Liri Lee is right on top of her, and…

And then Lee goes flying, knocked away by the burst of some sort of energy. Like the stun guns the bureau agents sometimes use, Sara thinks…and then blinks at the person who’d wielded it.

“Need some help?” Gary Green grins at her, incongruous in his thick dark glasses and dark suit, there at the Vanishing Point.

“What?” Sara manages, glancing around. Gary’s not the only one. Other bureau agents—not the ones answering to Druce—are helping the Legends who’d been most affected by the time surge and facing the renegade bureau agents.

“We kinda stowed away,” Gary tells her. “Director Sharpe didn’t like that Druce picked all the people on the mother ship. I, uh, got a group of the ones she trusts most together.” He gives her a lopsided smile, obviously proud that he’s one of them. “Thought we might be needed.”

Hope rises in Sara’s heart. “And where is she?”

He glances toward the wellspring

*

When Snart had grabbed Druce’s arm, they’d both suddenly glowed with a blue light so bright that Ava had taken a few steps backward, lifting an arm to shield her eyes. Things seem to spin, and then she sees a surge of energy down in the wellspring channel below.

She has just enough time to worry about that—a scaled-down supernova, Druce had said—when the light freezes, sort of, flickering in place. Controlled and steady, she thinks dizzily.

Is Snart—the man who destroyed the Oculus—creating it after all? She can barely see their shapes in the radiant energy by the Oculus device.

It surges again. Ava closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, both men are gone. Vanished into the light.

*

It’s kind of nice to know that after all those years of developing concentration and attention to detail—first to spite Lewis by becoming a better crook, then because of his own pride and love of a challenge—it’s all coming back to help him now.

Leonard will admit that this is a far greater challenge than most, though. He has to use the temporal energy to keep himself, Druce, and the device and channel for the wellspring the only things that are hurtling back through time, or he could age the others here out of existence—which doesn’t bear thinking about. And Druce, once he gets over his stunned surprise at what Leonard’s doing, tries to take over, but Leonard mentally strongarms him away.

I’ll show you willpower, asshole.

And…there. So long ago. The moment the supernova was born, and a ship—a sphere?—hovers not so far away. Leonard wonders, but this is not a point when he can hesitate.

He takes a deep breath and…stops time.

The supernova fills the wellspring. The device glows. The Oculus exists once more.

And Leonard takes himself and Druce into the timestream itself.

It’s blue, all blue light and nothingness. They’re surrounded by it. Leonard, watching, see Druce’s eyes widen with…fear?...before the other man controls his expression.

“The Oculus,” the Time Master breathes. “You destroyed it…and then you created it. Symmetrical.” And then he chuckles, giving Leonard a knowing look that turns his stomach.

“Ah,” he says. “After all, you’re still the pragmatic one. And while I don’t know precisely how Ms. Sharpe’s…change of heart...will affect things now, there is room for one more member on the High Council. Is that what you want? Because…”

Leonard laughs in his face.

“Nope,” he tells Druce. “We’re just here to make sure you don’t find ways to do this again.” He pauses. “Someone called it ‘breaking the chain.’ Doesn’t matter if it happened before. It’s not happening again.”

The Time Master blinks at him, clearly surprised. “But it has happened,” he says fervently. “It must happen. Or you would not be here, I would not be there. Those so-called Legends, they would not be here. Time is a line…you may move back along it, or forward, but you can’t just split it off.”

Leonard thinks of “wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff” and the web of Hypertime that Mary had described to them. “Nope,” he says again, folding his arms. “It stops here.”

Druce’s eyes narrow. “And how, Mr. Snart, do you presume to do that?”

Leonard smirks at him. “Not me,” he corrects. “Them.”

The blue light brightens. Druce puts a hand up, looking almost frightened again. Leonard watches as the light takes a vaguely humanoid form, and the very same feeling of presence he’d felt while trapped here before.

They’d tried to help him cope, then. He knows that now. And he’s pretty sure he knows why. He’s been in juvie or jail or prison plenty of times himself.

The timestream…Time Force…regards Druce, then glances back at Leonard, who nods to them.

“Go ahead,” he says. “He deserves it.” He looks back at the Time Master, smirking. He might be more or less a good guy now…but that doesn’t mean he has to be nice.

The other man stares at him. “But…you…”

Leonard’s smirk grows. “You’re the one that imprisoned them and used them,” he says, looking back at the humanoid Time Force. “I’m the one who freed them.” He pauses. The figure of blue light takes a step toward Druce, who tries to back away but can’t. “Which one of us do you think they feel kindlier toward?”

Druce looks like a man facing his worst nightmare. “But you created the Oculus!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s controlling anything this time around…or ever again.”

And then the Time Force reaches out and grabs Druce’s arm, much like Leonard had earlier. Light flares—and they both vanish. Leonard feels a surge of power as the other man’s own store of temporal energy goes back to where it came from.

It’s all rather anticlimactic, really.

Leonard lets out a long breath, then glances around, trying to work out how he’s going to get home. He has power here…maybe he always will…but that doesn’t mean he wants to stay. He’s spent enough of his life in the timestream.

He only wonders a moment, though. That’s when the light brightens…and a humanoid figure appears there again. This time, though, they’re choosing to appear much more lifelike.

Leonard smirks a little. “So,” he drawls, studying the Time Force’s chosen form, “is this a way of pissing off the competition in the realm of...hmm...humanoid personifications of abstract concepts? By borrowing the form of the other guy’s representative?”

The entity studying him in return looks just like Barry Allen, at the moment, although they’re wearing a blue suit instead of a red one, and their eyes are nothing but blue light. They don’t respond, but they don’t seem ill-disposed toward him. Fortunately.

“So,” Leonard tells them, driven for once to fill the silence, “the Oculus is still a thing. Or a thing again, I don’t know. But no one’s gonna be controlling you with it now.” He eyes the avatar. “I kind of get the impression you wouldn’t be as easy to control anyway, now that you’re more awake and aware.”

The Time Force studies him…and then smirks. It’s not quite an expression Leonard’s ever seen on Barry’s face before, although he’s pretty sure he’s seen it in the mirror. Then, the being reaches out and takes his hand.

And with the gesture comes a question, asked directly into his mind.

It’s all Leonard can do not to jerk his hand away.

“No,” he says firmly. “Sorry, but no. I have...a lot of things to do. A life to live. But I don’t want forever.”

The entity that had just offered him immortality in the role of their caretaker inclines their head. Then they tilt it inquiringly, another clear question.

“OK, there are a few things I wouldn’t mind changing,” Leonard concedes. “If you don’t mind.”

When the Time Force indicates that they don’t mind indeed, he carefully opens his mind and lets them see, getting a prompt affirmative. Then the avatar lifts their blue-light eyes to Leonard’s and smiles again, stepping closer, a clear suggestion in their posture.

Time to go home.

Well, since Allen’s now married, he might as well enjoy this while he has the chance. Leonard closes his eyes against the light as Time-Force Barry’s lips touch his, warm, soft, and crackling with energy.

And then he’s falling into that light, again.

*

Ava feels like she can still see the afterimage of the blast on the inside of her eyelids when she hears someone—Sara—calling her name. She turns, watching the other woman—and some of the other Legends, plus the familiar sight of Gary and her other most-trusted agents—running toward her.

She waits uneasily for them, but Sara doesn’t hesitate. When she reaches Ava, she pulls the bureau director into her arms, hugging her soundly, spinning her around until Ava’s breathless.

“Thank god you’re OK,” Sara says, staring at her. “You are OK?

“I’m fine, Sara, I’m fine.” Ava reassures her. She starts to speak, to explain her change of heart, to apologize for not listening before, but Sara’s looking at the center of the wellspring now, and her face is still. Frozen.

Before she can speak, though, Mick Rory reaches them, scanning the area, his face a study in conflicting emotions.

“Snart?” he barks. “Where is he?”

Ava spreads her hands out before her. “He vanished. He and Druce,” she says helplessly. “Neither one of them has reappeared, although that did.” She finally turns and studies the light in the wellspring and the device atop it. “They brought it back anyway. The Oculus device.”

“It’s not like it used to be,” Sara tells her quickly. “Or, at least, it won’t be if Leonard did what he planned to.” She studies it, biting her lip. “But…”

Her voice trails off. And Ava can’t think of a damned thing to say to her.

*

It’s obvious…at least Sara hopes it is…that Leonard had indeed broken the chain. They’re all still here, after all. They’ve won. And Druce is gone.

But Leonard is gone too.

Sara stares into the wellspring as if it holds answers. But it didn’t last time, when it was blowing up around her, and it doesn’t now. But what if…

She turns, holding her hand out to a startled Ava. “Can I borrow your time courier?” she asks urgently. “Maybe…maybe he’s stuck again. Maybe we can get him out.”

The other woman blinks at her. “Well, yes,” she says, starts to remove the device, “but…”

“Blondie, it’s not the same.”

“But we have to…”

“Sara!”

They all turn, and Sara focuses on the figure at the entrance to the wellspring building. It’s Gideon, who’s been part of the Waverider during all this, now back in her humanoid android form.

Even from here, Sara can see her smile.

“You’re needed back on the ship!” the AI calls, amusement and relief in her tone. "There’s something there you need to see!”

[whatscallion]

rise: ch. vii

//- A Medieval AU based on some Marvel parallels that follows Natalia Romanova in her rise to divinity.

Chapter Summary: Brother Ivan is pissed.

Chapter Word Count: 1,198

Previous Chapters: Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six

Tagging: @cptsteven @blackberrywidow​ ( message / ask to get tagged! )

The Burning of St. Johann would invariably be written through the ages to create more a legend than an act of sheer defiance and eradication. It was to become another tale interwoven through the farce that had become the New Age Order. Johann would be made the martyr of his generation, the ripples of his faith extending outward through the lands in which he had quietly ruled over. While the realm held together as if nothing had transpired, a cataclysm had sent a tide of change to flow forth from the smoldering remains of a dynasty steeped in the innocent blood. The toppling of a regime was sure to bring about rebirth of something new, a phoenix born from the ashes of failure to allow the edge of efficiency through example.

In an ideal world filled with ideal inhabitants, this would’ve been the case, but in the vacuum St. Johann left in the crippling wake of his death, greed flourished. Insatiable in a quest for more power, those who were deemed to sit just beneath that of The Order’s leader saw fit to relinquish themselves of the tainted titles they held in feigned purity. The sheep were left without their shepherd and improvisation became justification for acts beyond that of even the most impure of Cardinals. Assets were fought over, bloodshed forcing bystanders to remain as wary as the tumultuous first few who dared to stand against The Order.

These wanton usurpers were christened close disciples of St. Johann’s teachings, birthing a New Testament of an already stained accord. They were followers of footsteps made of fire and ash, straying only to better fit the environment of their empty pockets. They failed to recognize that in Johann’s madness and greed, strict guidelines were imposed to keep chaos at bay and the collars tight around the Instruments he controlled. Without the Head of the Divine Serpent, numerous ones took his place, yet organization eluded them through greed. Cooperation required an amicable nature and an even spreading of tithings.

Mankind warped through the image of His wrongful gaze would not allow for others to take what was so begrudgingly given. Luxuries were stripped from the humble servants, wrong only in their blind ways, in order to satiate the unending hunger for power, for wealth, for fear. Together as one beneath the Patriarch, they fell into prickly factions in his mortal absence, divided in the vacuum of nature.

Brothers turned to enemies.

Cathedrals to fortresses.

Kingdoms to battlefields.

Blood turned black in the moonlight as it coated the grounds surrounding these makeshift and miniscule war states. To lead their sheep into battle, newfound Men of the Cloth would provide more fantasy than religion, coaxing through lies woven like filigree into false scripture. A serpent’s tongue hid behind the pearly white teeth that had bitten all the hands that fed them.

Uniformity fell through the hands of wayward children, their adulthood a charade to impose a trustworthy sense of being. These leaders who took His name in vain were no more dealers in faith, but proprietors in terror and fear. No longer did they speak of a forgiving Lord, but a wrathful one, playing more and more upon the indication rarely heard of through Johann’s teachings. Mercy was God’s great gift, yet it was Man who had to be the wrathful agent, created in His hidden image.

The weaker of the flock was weeded out, either pressured to submit or simply wiped from existence with divine allegiance. Ravenous were these new factions, perpetuating fear as steady as the reliable tide. Through and through, conformity reigned through the eyes of false prophets and their subjects. More often than not, a more powerful hunter would call upon the flimsy faith in which they operated and war waged. Layer upon layer of interpretation created less a religion, an enigmatic creature wrapped in the fake ideals of its creator. On leathery wings, the word spread on the forked tongues of demons, whispering into the dark corners of the night and malleable minds of the frightened.

No longer did the Three Bloodlines hold power to them, their purity muddled in frantic necessity to create more and more Instruments. Prowess was watered down as cardinals dispersed among the crowd, no longer necessary in their foreboding presence as those who sought them were deemed unworthy of their afforded connections and knowledge. Shedding their crimson cloth, the men who delivered even the most sinful of acts blended into the sheep as wolves with only the notion of biding time. They collectively knew their time would come again, just as it had been told time and time again through the thin lips of St. Johann.

Should The Order fall, there would be another rising from the grave, and their new shepherd would be humble before them. He would grovel at the feet of peasants, asking for forgiveness simply by existing. It’d been assumed the Father’s prized Brother would’ve been the leader of all that was left behind, coated in ash. A tap was all that was needed to breathe life back into the old ways, and surely the scourge of The New Order would eliminate these factions, drawing them together once more.

That’s what this should have been in place of the petty division of holiness: The New Order.

Contingencies had been in place the moment Johann gained a following, yet there was no acting upon it. Ivan had wandered from his divine path, blinded and numb by the searing thought of revenge. The bloodline had been sullied by reputation alone, and nothing mattered more than offering for a demon that had been the ultimate deception. These small pockets of brethren were approached, the offering always the same.

Join me in our righteous duty, or face the judgement of St. Johann.

Little known were the details of demise befallen the once proud archbishop, yet the rumor had spread just as quickly as the destructive fire that had engulfed their beloved temple. Whispers between royalty and poor alike, there was something far greater to be feared than that of the petulant toddlers fighting for a thread of power. Perception was being twisted, those ruled over becoming self-aware and creating their own images from word of mouth alone.

Brother Ivan was amassing an army to battle the God Widow, yet fear stained the faces of his reluctant soldiers, each one holding a thought of the fiery deity they were to somehow slay. Rumors and reputation spread, and the divinity of the inevitable shadow battle would undoubtedly be told through the ages, though that was not the intention of Brother Ivan. He cared very little for how long his name lived on the tongues of others. Fury fueled a need to eradicate as opposed to a need to remain immortal. This was judgement. This was punishment. This was reckoning in its bloodiest form, and he would have his daughter’s head on his lance by year’s end, no matter the cost.

She is the blackening fire.

She is the light and the dark.

She is the embodiment of perfect imperfection.

A phoenix.

A wolf.

No, Matthias would’ve spoken. She is but a raven among canaries.

[tomorrowedblog]

Friday Releases for March 5

Friday is the busiest day of the week for new releases, so we've decided to collect them all in one place. Friday Releases for March 5 include Chaos Walking, Boss Level, Boogie, and more.

Chaos Walking

Chaos Walking, the new movie from Doug Liman, is out today.

In the not too distant future, Todd Hewitt (Tom Holland) discovers Viola (Daisy Ridley), a mysterious girl who crash lands on his planet, where all the women have disappeared and the men are afflicted by “the Noise” – a force that puts all their thoughts on display. In this dangerous landscape, Viola’s life is threatened – and as Todd vows to protect her, he will have to discover his own inner power and unlock the planet’s dark secrets.

Boss Level

Boss Level, the new movie from Joe Carnahan, is out today.

Stuck in a time loop, doomed to repeat the same day over and over again while being hunted by dozens of deadly assassins, a man struggles to find a way out of his strange predicament.

Boogie

Boogie, the new movie from Eddie Huang, is out today.

From acclaimed writer, producer and restaurateur Eddie Huang comes his directorial debut BOOGIE, the coming-of-age story of Alfred “Boogie” Chin, a basketball phenom living in Queens, New York, who dreams of one day playing in the NBA. While his parents pressure him to focus on earning a scholarship to an elite college, Boogie must find a way to navigate a new girlfriend, high school, on-court rivals and the burden of expectation.

Coming 2 America

Coming 2 America, the new movie from Craig Brewer, is out today.

Set in the lush and royal country of Zamunda, newly-crowned King Akeem (Eddie Murphy) and his trusted confidante Semmi (Arsenio Hall) embark on an all-new hilarious adventure that has them traversing the globe from their great African nation to the borough of Queens, New York – where it all began.

Dreamcatcher

Dreamcatcher, the new movie from Jacob Johnston, is out today.

Dylan, known to his fans as DJ Dreamcatcher, is on the brink of global stardom. Everything changes the night of Cataclysm, an underground music festival, where two estranged sisters and their friends meet Dylan. After a drug fueled gruesome event, things begin to spiral into a 48-hour whirlwind of violence and mayhem.

My Salinger Year

My Salinger Year, the new movie from Philippe Falardeau, is out today.

New York in the 90s: After leaving graduate school to pursue her dream of becoming a writer, Joanna (Margaret Qualley) gets hired as an assistant to Margaret (Sigourney Weaver), the stoic and old-fashioned literary agent of J. D. Salinger. Fluctuating between poverty and glamour, she spends her days in a plush, wood-panelled office – where dictaphones and typewriters still reign and agents doze off after three-martini lunches – and her nights in a sink-less Brooklyn apartment with her socialist boyfriend. Joanna’s main task is processing Salinger’s voluminous fan mail, but as she reads the heart-wrenching letters from around the world, she becomes reluctant to send the agency’s impersonal standard letter and impulsively begins personalizing the responses. The results are both humorous and moving, as Joanna, while using the great writer’s voice, begins to discover her own.

Sentinelle

Sentinelle, the new movie from Julien Leclercq, is out today.

Transferred home after a traumatizing combat mission, a highly trained French soldier uses her lethal skills to hunt down the man who hurt her sister.

Sometime Other Than Now

Sometime Other Than Now, the new movie from Dylan McCormick, is out today.

Sam (Donal Logue), who after his motorcycle is damaged in an apparent crash into the ocean, becomes stranded in a small New England town, finds refuge at a run-down motel looked after by Kate (Kate Walsh), a similarly burnt-out, lost soul. The mystery around Sam’s presence in town unravels when it’s discovered that his estranged daughter Audrey lives there - the daughter he hasn’t seen her in 25 years. As he tries to bridge the gap between the little girl he left long ago and the woman who grew up without her father, Sam learns he was never cut-out to be emotionally connected to anyone - unless he falls in love with another soul just as lonesome.

The Devil Below

The Devil Below, the new movie from Bradley Parker, is out today.

A group of four amateur adventurers who specialize in exploring remote and forsaken places pay a visit to Shookum Hills, a town in the remote Appalachian Mountains, which was abandoned decades ago due to a mysterious coal mine fire.

Keep An Eye Out

Keep An Eye Out, the new movie from Quentin Dupieux, is out today.

Belgian funnyman Benoît Poelvoorde (Man Bites Dog) is Commissaire Buran, a good, bad cop interrogating Fugain (Grégoire Ludig), an average Joe who discovered a dead body outside his apartment building. As the film begins, Fugain must, on an empty stomach, explain how and why he happened to leave home seven times in one night before coming across a corpse in a puddle of blood. Since he’s the investigation’s only suspect, Fugain’s anxiety is already sky-high when Buran leaves him alone with Philippe, a one-eyed rookie cop with bizarre speech patterns and a few minutes to live.

Raya and the Last Dragon

Raya and the Last Dragon, the new movie from Don Hall, Carlos López Estrada, Paul Briggs, and John Ripa, is out today.

“Raya and the Last Dragon” takes us on an exciting, epic journey to the fantasy world of Kumandra, where humans and dragons lived together long ago in harmony. But when an evil force threatened the land, the dragons sacrificed themselves to save humanity. Now, 500 years later, that same evil has returned and it’s up to a lone warrior, Raya, to track down the legendary last dragon to restore the fractured land and its divided people. However, along her journey, she’ll learn that it’ll take more than a dragon to save the world—it’s going to take trust and teamwork as well.