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hourglassfish · 1 year ago

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A (long) Aside on 1:7 and 2:10

There are two responses to 1:7 and 2:10 that always quietly horrify me.

The first, and you know, I'm writing a multi part series on it, so it's no mystery - is that Sydney was arrogant/a brat/ couldn't hack it/ wrong to walk out, and that the situation as a whole was her fault. Nah. She was right to walk out, the biggest failure of that episode is not fucking pulling the breaks when Richie gets stabbed. The workplace has gone from dysfunctional to dangerous, she has been responsible for that danger, the perpetrator of it, and she is right to leave.

little bit of an asshole but i love you so i don't care

Carmy sees Syd saying she's going to stab Richie (as she holds her knife to his chest!) while they're up in each other's faces (with Richie goading her) and he does... nothing. He tells them to shut the fuck up and make giardiniera. At this point they needed to be separated! One or both of them needed to cool off. We've seen Syd bodily put herself between a fighting Carmy and Richie. A little reciprocity would have gone a long way here.

It's wild to me that people think that Carmy was justified in his anger and aggression towards Marcus and Syd and ignore that he is aggressive to Richie also! Richie, typically one of the more confrontational characters in the show asks him to calm down, to cool it. That so many viewers so quickly and uncritically accept Carmy's narrative point of view, even while the show actively challenges it confirms something that has been in the culture a long time: that we are much more used to excusing and aligning ourselves with abusive behaviour, than we are at challenging and refusing it. That people - many of whom have received this kind of behaviour themselves - want to defend it, makes me so, so sad.

It always hurts me a little that in 1:8 Tina tells Carmy that if he 'tries that shit with her, she'll fuck him up'. It's a fun line! But I'm sorry, no she won't. He screams at her too, while chucking bowls around and Sydney's words in 1:7 clearly hurt her. Tina categorically did nothing wrong. She doesn't deserve that shit. But at the end of the day, she is a middle aged Latinx woman and a mother, and so her tolerance level has to be higher. She needs that job! Shedoes not, as far as we know, have a father she can live with rent free, she does not have youth and the promise of exploitable potential to offer to employers in an ageist job market, she does not have CIA qualifications or a CV full of ‘serious heat’.

Carmy. holds. a. position. of. power. over. these. people. He is their boss, not their manager, and he owns the place, mob loan or no. He has the power to sack them all, to cut their hours, to cut their wages; thus the impact of that power extends not just to them, but also to their children and families. Louis being present in Review is not just to add an obstacle, it's also a reminder of those stakes.

Carmy has influence in the fine dining industry, regardless of whether that social and cultural capital is respected at The Beef or not. The very same oppourtunities that he provides them with in season 2 are things he could also lock them out of if he so chose. Any analysis of 1:7 that ignores this power is flawed from its root. When you are a boss, this power is ever present. One of the few things you can do to alter your boss's behaviour is to withdraw your labour. It's not the only option you have, but everything else is at their discretion, or mediated by lengthy, expensive legal processes.

yeh, i hate this

Carmy knows this, even if you don't! It's why the apology he gives Marcus - which Marcus does not ask for - is so heartfelt. Carmy has been on the receiving end of what that power, wielded cruelly, can do. He does not want to do this to others. We see him talk to staff with respect even while he endures horrid abuse in a flashback. We see him teach and explain himself, we see him listen and invite feedback - ‘say more’. His commitment to being a good boss is sincere, that kindness is in his bones.

The second thing people say that makes me want to die a little inside is that Carmy bought getting locked in the fridge on himself, that he deserved it in some way, and that getting locked in the fridge was him abandoning Sydney.

Oh my god!

He does not have a diagnosis yet - so anything we see is an interpretation. But it feels explicit that Carmy has panic disorder, and perhaps generalised anxiety disorder and CPTSD from both his workplace experiences and his childhood. A couple of things that he says and does suggest ADHD, or some other neurodiversity. He is not very careful with himself, and does not recognise these things as treatable problems (Richie says he experiences anxiety and dread, Carmy's response is 'who doesn't' - wince, cruel to Richie, cruel to himself - vomiting everyday and crying out of nowhere are presented as something 'loads of people do' to Sugar. Tumblr loves to send people to therapy, but I just want to send this man to do a basic google search of more than fun tbh). But they are debilitating for him, especially at work.

What happens to how we read Carmy's behaviour when he is presented as someone with an untreated disability, and absolutely no support plan in place? Does he still get his just desserts at the end of the season?

The fridge thing is a bit clumsy, I think. It's silly that over the space of three months, no one at any point just takes that job off him as a priority, or at least makes it something where Tony will call the restaurant, not Carmy specifically. It is unrealistic that there would not be some kind of back up safety lock inside the fridge. But you know, they're characters in a TV show, it also does not take two people swivelling around on the floor to tighten the coat hooks on a table (LOOOOOOL) - it's realistic until its not.

But, you know, it's doing a thing, several things - it's Chekov's gun, isn't it, it's the tangible impact of the lapse of focus that Uncle Jimmy is constantly trying to warn them about.

He wanted to cry here so bad!!! It makes me laugh every time

But umm... guys? What happens to him on that night is so, so horrible. They're a chef down, they're running out of forks, Richie's giving him shit (and Carmy is so susceptible to Richie giving him shit), Marcus and Syd are being all weird. He thinks one of his abusers (Donna) might come, or that she might not come and there will be emotional fallout from that. He thinks he sees his other abuser (Evil Joel Mc Hale) - and he's triggered. He goes in the kitchen and yells, but Syd pulls him back in. Then he goes into the fridge, partly to do chef stuff, I'm sure, but also partly to fucking get his shit together aaaaaand he gets locked in there! He has a panic attack! In a fridge! That he is locked in! And the people he loves most in the world, are the other side of that door, and for five minutes, an eternity in panic attack time, they ignore him! He has no clue what's going on! Last time shit hit the fan, two of his staff walked out (he's still not over Syd walking out cus they never talk about it properly), another one got stabbed and all these new ones are 'emerald green'. And he still thinks evil Joel Mc Hale is out there!

My loves, that shit is the stuff of nightmares! I know he tells himself that he bought this on himself but can we please! stop! uncritically! accepting! his narrative! point! of view!

I don't think anybody on screen recognises that a panic attack is what he's having. That's not their fault. None of them have seen him have a panic attack! They don’t get to see inside his head like we do (which saves them from a lot of R.E.M.) He is locked in the fridge, they just hear the bear banging on the door of his cage! It's not even in the language of the show at this point (though i am curious about how and when Richie came to get his Xanax). But that's what's happening. The team are fine. They do great. He has a terrible, terrible time.

My support worker found 2:10 deeply triggering - and her reason for this, she said, was that a lot of her job was supporting people with panic disorders who are leading teams, and seeing that moment coming, the moment where the panic crashes headlong into their role as leader. Part of her role is anticipating it, and trying to turn it around before they reach the point of no return. And as soon as Carmy thinks he sees Old Boss, he's gone. His body is in flight or fight, and he is alone with that. He can’t show up for Syd at that point, he is in his equivalent of the trenches.

This is also what is happening in 1:7. Somehow his response is often framed as a) rational or b) just an asshole - but it is so outsize to the situation, and to who we know him to be most of the time (quiet, kind, thoughtful, sensitive, BITCHY), that we know it has to be more than that.

None of this is helped by the fact that Carmy's panic attacks are... well they're kind of ugly! His meltdowns are aggressive and shouty, on the edge of physical violence, in an industry where people behave like that because they can. It is hard, parsing through that to the triggers, and fears, and panic beneath. It's scary! It asks so much of people to see that and want to help, not run away. But that is where he's at.

I do not have language for how much I hate how physical he gets with Marcus here, it is deeply upsetting

I have an access rider, to help me work well with people, and to help them work well with me. My mental health turns up in every job I do. All the time. Has done for years. It can make me unreliable, uncommunicative and absent. It can mean that people have to step up sometimes in ways they weren't anticipating. And one of the things the rider asks for is 'Good Faith' - a belief that I have not shut down because I'm an asshole, but rather because I have some unhelpful coping mechanisms that I am trying to work my way out of, that my triggers are real, not excuses for laziness or an expression of lack of care, that i will give as much as I can when I can.

Syd and Carmy are beginning to work towards this - Carmy says over and over again that he doesn't want to be shitty. Claire fucking muddies things, because I will not meet you skiving off to see your girlfriend with good faith fam. That shit he needs to be held accountable for. Dropping that envelope was a perfect Richie job, I'm still pissed about that. But being locked in the fridge... there's way more going on there.

The idea that Carmy should, and will, leave the culinary world keeps coming up in various metas. But... the problem isn't cooking? I think Carmy loves cooking, still. I think he likes being part of a team, and wants to be good at it. I think he likes teaching, and he is good at that. I think he likes picking the right silent plates and having his CDC in Thom Browne. I also think he likes being there a lot and being absorbed by his job.

The problem is that the workplace he is in is not one that is set up to his needs right now - it's not set up so that he can rest enough, so that he can eat well, so that he can exercise, or whatever he needs to do to help him manage his brain and nervous system. It's not set up so that if he is triggered, he and his team knows how to keep going with the service *and* not abandon him to the worst of his brain.

Ohhhh it's bad

Carmy ignoring Claire's call and not calling Tony feels bizarre stripped of the context of his panic attack that morning. But we know that anxiety and panic and executive dysfunction take simple things and make them insurmountable. It's not about Sydney in that moment, or even really about Claire*, and self sabotage feels so weighted with judgement when I think about what those frozen moments feel like from the inside. And I've had my diagnoses for 12 years! I've been doing that work, the long slog of trying to make sure my employees know enough context that my MH doesn't fuck up their day, whilst also maintaining my own dignity and right to privacy.

The disentangling of symptoms from personality traits is so hard - fuck ups from trauma responses, what was preventable, and what might have happened even if you did everything right. I never want to lose sight of compassion for Carmy, and the reality of how long it takes to break those cycles.

I also never want to stop seeing the power that he has over the people that he works with, and how, unfortunately, one of the responsibilities of leadership is that you have to be trying to get your shit together, you have to know yourself, and know how your baggage, combined with your power could be creating harm. It’s hard, but there’s not way around it. It is essential that he gets the support he needs, and puts the measures in place that means that he can also be vulnerable, not just for him, but for the team as whole. The power and the lack of framework together are so very harmful for everyone.

makes for delicious tv though 😉

I think a lot about the ticket machines in The Bear. I'm not thinking about them as a former line chef, cus I'm not that, I'm an artist and writer, that waitressed for a while (while a lot of chefs did a lot of coke out back!) and The Bear is fiction, not a documentary. Those little tickets are used for so many things. They're the sound of pressure. They're where a bunch of intrusive thoughts get flashed up on the screen. They are the presence of tech and of speed and alienation. They are the gap where two human beings, one asking for food, and one cooking that food, become consumer and producer. They are a presence of the machine in the workplace, and they stand in for Marcus's machines in McDonald's and for Evil Joel McHale and for financial failure.

One of the things that capitalism demands is that we always listen to that machine. That when we are making a choice, between the people stood around us, who we work with daily, who we live massive chunks of our life with, and the demand for production for go go go - that we choose the latter, even if it harms the former. That we open for service, even though one of our oldest friends just got stabbed. That we prioritise getting the service turned around on Friends and Family night (the easiest night of the year to go out, pour more wine, and say service is a little delayed, but we've got this), rather than maybe asking Fak or even Claire, to come and talk to Carmy through the door, as well, make sure that he's OK. That we just keep going.

And there are so many really important reasons to do that! Keeping going is how we learn and grow, it's how we make sure that we can pay the bills, how we provide beautiful experiences for customers and guests who are more than consumers to us.

But at some point, we have to ask at what cost. When do we stop and make different? When do we try something else, make new systems, that work for us?

A moment - a small, tiny moment - of triumph for me, is when Richie and Syd turn the table around. So rather than one person, facing the tickets alone, with their back to the kitchen as they yell out orders, the person on Expo faces in. yes they can see the tickets, but they can also see the people they are working with. They can see stress, and worry and joy. They can see how hard they are working. They can see that they are not alone, not just in a promise before service, but during service, when you need that connection most.

My hope is that Season 3 will have more of them making these decisions - ones that lean into seeing each other, where their relationships keep growing, and they build a system where the love and care they have for each other is truthfully at the heart of it.

Richie is not my bag, that's just for me, personally, but I get how much he means to others, and he's beautiful here.

*Man, I do think the romance subplot was a bit of a misstep. Pop always feels like such a waste of the audience's time, time not spent with Ebra and Tina, time spent on a presentation of romance that has been done to death and is never especially satisfying. Truncates a lot of empathy for Carmy. Boo. Hiss.

#the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu

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teriwrites · 2 days ago

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Below (Rewrite): Part 1

My Live Reaction to Reading Through My 2012 Novel

Once again a story with no chapter divisions, so I'm gonna make this up as I go

We open into a brief dream sequence, in which Kristen recalls her life before, in which, apparently, she was a rich bitch

'I tried to keep my dream going. I pretended like I wasn't going to wake up in a slave camp for mutants, practically at the scientists' mercy. I pretended like I hadn't lived every day for the past two years in torture, hadn't almost worked myself to death.' good news folks, Kristen is still Like That in draft 2

No more dramatic emphasis that Lea's freaking nine years old! now her age is introduced very casually

"I really can't afford trouble right now." *pulls her sleeping roommate out of her hammock by the hair*

Whoooa we're actually seeing her mind reading in action!

Early introduction to Trinity?? I'm guessing, since she's a 20ish blonde woman lol

Classic 'looking into the mirror to describe appearance' scene

"bright red-orange hair" THANK YOU, i KNEW she was a ginger but literally got no confirmation of it in the first draft

'Underground, there isn't much light, and the fields were huge, so generally seemed lit like a cave.' this may come as a shock, but you are describing a cave

Introduction to the new cast member! Max seems pretty chill, an established friend of Kristen's, but this sixteen year old dude has beef with the nine year old for some reason

Much more realistic walking distance of one mile rather than ten lmao

Whooooa Lea glows when she does her whole 'manipulating dreams/sleep state' now

'They looked pretty for brown eyes.' BITCH BROWN EYES ARE LITERALLY GORGEOUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN?? so sorry to everyone with brown eyes, 14-year-old Teri was delusional

Nick, who has just collapsed and broken his ankle, absolutely chill as he explains the damage

Mary's backstory in this draft is that she took a job at the Institute and, seeing what they were doing, FEIGNED HAVING POWERS to be sentenced to their labor camp, so that she could act as the compound's nurse, what a fucking hero

Government is now not just unaware of the Institute but probably paid off to ignore it

Kid with a broken ankle forced to walk on said ankle A Lot in this scene

'Not only could she control subconscious dreams, she could detect daydreams.' that feels like a traumatizing superpower for a 9-year-old to have ngl

"What's the 'Institute of Discovery'?" I asked, thoroughly confused.' girl you just introduced all of us readers to the Institute like a page ago wdym

Kristen and Max planning out an escape route and fully intending to leave Lea behind, Kristen shocked that Lea is upset to learn about this

Lea is winning the most jaded 9-year-old of all time

Like: "The government doesn't know. The Institute has agents from the CIA and FBI paid off to make cover-ups. Everyone that isn't funded by the Institute believes that they are an old, abandoned graveyard. The science building is small, so some think it's just an old, eerie church," Lea shrugged. Then she scowled, "Even if the government knew, they wouldn't care. Who needs some of nature's big goofs? Heck, the government might even fund the Institute if they knew!"

(okay but who's gonna tell her those organizations are, in fact, part of/tied to the federal government?)

'I turned around and spotted Betty, the twin sister of the angry Hulk.' actually?? love that description of her lmaoooo

Draft 1: 'Betty gasped, and then started shaking with anger.'

Draft 2: 'I could feel the anger radiating from her before she spoke.'

okaaaay Teri I see the glow-up!

"You speak as if you could lead a person out of an empty room." oooo the girls are fighting

I just used 'pork chop' as an insult lmaoo Lea is ~quirky~

wtf there's a girl in this underground compound with hair that's 'white with red highlights. She reminded me of a mint.' where is she getting the hair dye?? is that supposed to be natural?? is it intentional???

Nicole's made her first appearance! Kristen's first time seeing her in the compound. She's................ having a hard time adjusting (insulting her and all the other mutants. a lot.)

Reader Beware: this story contains Milk Drinking Propaganda (my family were all big milk drinkers growing up lol)

Kristen is apparently the head of her 'league', despite being 15

Lea is a twin???

'I knew why my friends were always giggling in Max's presence, but I honestly just saw him as a friend. There was nothing going on between us, and I highly doubted that there ever would be anything there.' i'm sure this comment will age So well and definitely Won't create the basis for a love triangle

I mean literally on the same page, Max is basically vibe checking her for the two of them running away together and starting a life elsewhere, like... girl... it's totally okay to not have feelings for someone else! but you're not That blind to what's going on here, right??

'Max hadn't seemed to think this through. For someone who had spent most of his three years underground thinking of how to escape, he hadn't thought much through.' get his ass lol

'I couldn't stand feeling like I was alone.' okay!! actually some solid ground for character development!! love that!!

seemingly Nicole can see ghosts?? that's my only guess about this scene. girl surprised she can see her, wants to eat but immediately drops the tray of food, have no idea what else would be going on there

Confirmation that sometimes non-mutants get thrown into the Institute. R.I.P. to Shawna (i'm guessing this character is the new Shawna)

Broooo finally a reason for Lea taking the top hammock!! They are known to snap, and Kristen would rather have Lea collapse onto her than the other way around. Which works well enough for this!

Kristen was Such a Mean Girl in high school omfg

Like even in this dream sequence! 'Josh thought that he was amazing, but he was really just an idiot that nobody liked, and I was the only one willing to tell him so.' they're both 13 year olds in this memory

(also wow another dream sequence already?)

'Tyrone was the greatest jock of our grade. If a girl didn't have at least a tiny bit of a crush on him, she was either insane or just plain out tasteless.' pretty unhinged thing to say, but i have to admit that i prefer this approach to the topic of ~boys~ than the old 'I've never seen a boy, actually, never looked at one twice, I've definitely never had a Crush that would be ridiculous!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' of the first draft

'I wanted to make sure that Josh's day was as horrible as it could be.' GIRL PLEASE you Just rejected him brutally and publicly!!! leave the kid alone!

Kristen might be evil, actually. No other way to describe the way she just sent this dude essentially a 'kys' DM in his own brain (not quite That dark, but like... not far off)

Betty was actually in Kristen's class in school. Got caught as a mutant because while helping people lift up some heavy objects, 'had accidentally lifted up a teacher's car.' yk, as you do

'He introduced himself as 'Ben'. I doubted that we'd remember each other's names anyways.' hah, that's your love interest girly

'He looked over at me, startled to see someone else at this hour, and then just moved over so that I could sit. I didn't know why he would have done that, seeing as the hallway was super long, but appreciated it and sat down next to him anyways.' lol the visual of someone scooting over when literally the entire space is open is a lil silly

omfg Ben has essentially just admitted to Kristen that he has a lil crush on her and she is completely oblivious yet again

'Why that would matter while we were in a slave camp, I didn't know, but I decided that I wouldn't be rude.' omfg Kristen's really like 'bro, this dude's priorities are Whack' and she's so right

Okay I'm gonna stop here for now. If I cover ~8.8K in each part, I can get through it in a week. So!

Ending Thoughts

This story is definitely more put-together and 'well-crafted' than the first draft. I can tell that I was taking the project a bit more seriously than when I was writing about the 'one million scientists' and 'walking 20 miles in the time between sunset and nightfall'. Characters are a little more centered, the details align a little more cleanly, things like backstories and appearances a little more fleshed out. That said, I do a little bit miss the absolutely unhinged character voicing that the first draft had. Everything! Was! Important! All! The! Time! in such a goofy way. Taking myself more seriously I think constricted some of my allowance for these characters to take the narrative by the horns and lead it wherever they wanted it to go. And restraint can be a good thing, but it also loses a little bit of its character. That said, I'm loving to see how much of a distinct difference there is the writing between 2011 and 2012! Like clearly that was a good year for my craft, between Hell Hath Frozen Over's intentional absurdity, and now this!

#teriwrites down memory lane #my wips

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sapphire-weapon · 1 year ago

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I forget like 90% of the game notes, despite enganging with so much fandom stuff. I'm really interested in that Sherry Birkin piece from RE6 you just shared, though.

The "we'll let you leave our protection, if you come work for us", sounds eerily similar to how Leon was forced? It's a golden egg of character interaction just begging to hatch. The little girl he only ever wanted to save, ending up in the same, shitty life plan as him? At the hands of the same shady people that are supposed to defend and protect? Urgh, the angst. The potential for a Leon and Sherry team up to just fucking leave or finally end it all.

The way it could be potentially be such a deeply heartwrenching end of Leon as a character. I need to chill, I'm going insane thinking about what they could do with this and how easily it could be fucked up.

My question, IS the note implying that Sherry was threatened/forced or am I reading too much into it? I ask, because other fans never portrayed it that way in their talks or fanworks. Sherry's always portrayed as an immature little girl who hero worships Leon and doesn't fully comprehend what's happening arlund her (which I obviously don't agree with, clearly she's grown up and can very muxh handle herself, she's far from a cutesy little schoolgirl).

It's been a hot minute since I've played through Sherry's RE6 campaign, but iirc the parallels were done deliberately -- but for Sherry, it was less that she was threatened/forced the way that Leon was and more that she was duped. Her "offer to work" was extended to her by Derek Simmons, who's the big bad of the game.

Simmons, however, was an opportunist. In the void left behind by Leon's absence from Sherry's life, Simmons was able to move in and become Sherry's legal guardian (which was something that Leon should have done as a condition of his service/his deal with the CIA, but he was too guilt-ridden over the entire situation to have the foresight to even think of something like that) -- which he did for less than scrupulous purposes. When he gave her the "offer" to become an agent, it was a way to continue her imprisonment while getting more use out of her. But Sherry genuinely trusted Simmons and wanted to genuinely be helpful and do a good thing, and she had no idea that she was being put in a position to get screwed over later. Basically, Simmons was a combination of Leon's experience with Ada and the CIA all wrapped into one.

The idea was to show off Sherry as following in Leon's footsteps by becoming a federal LEO and continuing the fight against bioterrorism, with the unfortunate consequence of following too closely in said footsteps by taking a bad deal and getting trapped. She was technically "emancipated" from the CIA after Wesker died in 2009, but she wasn't ever actually free to go until Leon killed Simmons in 2013.

If RE6 had been better written, it would have been a much bigger deal that it was Leon -- and not of any of the other six playable characters in that game -- who hunted down and killed Simmons. It would have been framed as Leon righting the wrong he made fifteen years prior of removing himself from Sherry's life and deliberately abdicating his role as her caretaker to the CIA. He kills the charlatan that was masquerading as a father to her and finally accepts his proper place in Sherry's life.

But RE6 was written by a group of drunk monkeys who just slapped some keyboards around in between flinging poop at the screen, so Leon's beef with Simmons focused solely on their fight over the right to claim Ada's vagina.

Man, fuck what Resident Evil 6 did to/with Leon. Seriously.

#resident evil 6 #leon kennedy #sherry birkin #meta analysis

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ghostarr · 2 years ago

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Because production started! Some thunderbolts thoughts...

We already know yelena has been working for valentina for some time, and in hawkeye it seems implied she got her as a contact from another ex-widow after she blipped back. So valentina having red room connections makes sense. As does alexei and antonia joining through yelena. (Though i am curious if antonia survived the snap and how she's developed in those years. i feel like she needs those extra years to properly age her up, and become her own person. i'm still pretty iffy on the bw timeline...)

We saw valentina recruit walker in fatws after being stripped of his title. So once again she's swooping in to pick up a displaced soldier in a desperate moment. It's obvious she has interest in a very specific kind of enhanced individual, ones that were strictly trained and bitter about being used and now lacking direction. The red room, hydra, and shield are now all gone. So they're "free." But they're all used to taking orders and not really used to making their own life choices. Ava, antonia, and yelena didn't have normal childhoods past a young age, how would they adapt back into society after being isolated from it? Even walker who has been in the military pretty much his entire adult life, that's his entire purpose and we saw how upset he was to lose it. Obviously this makes it very easy for valentina's offer to appeal. What are any of them going to do? Get an office job? Lol

We only got some hints of val's actual agenda as cia director in wf, but there's definitely more to be revealed. But it'll be interesting to see the mcu political landscape through secret invasion, cap4, and thunderbolts.

So i'm curious how she's not just recruiting bucky, but positioning him as the leader of the team. since valentina has shown longterm plans, it's got to be more than slapped together for a single mission. How would she have sold it to somebody like bucky? Giving him the opportunity to mentor and guide troubled heroes like himself? Obviously he'll be in a good position to understand what a lot of them have been through. And since he's worked with the avengers in iw and endgame, his experience legitimizes the operation. I'm pretty sure most of them will be convinced they're working on the good side doing the right thing, even if they're getting their hands a bit dirty.

But the one I'm most curious about is of course ava. How do you get somebody with such trust issues against the government on board with working for the cia. Does she have prior history with valentina? Is she being blackmailed or threatened the raft instead? Is she playing along because she has insider info she's looking to sabotage? There's a lot to work with given comic ghost's thunderbolts history and motivations, it'll be interesting to see if they tie her motivations into those storylines.

The appeal of the thunderbolts comics for me has always been all the conflicting agendas and loyalties that unravel in the worst way. I'm definitely expecting betrayals and twists if it's being done correctly. And after watching beef i feel like the creative team really understands messy dynamics. I know a lot of people were initially skeptical over the members lineup, but i see so much potential!! And i'm so excited to see how sentry ties into this too.

Anyway ive been waiting forever for this 😭

#thunderbolts #mcu

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whostheblondegirlwriting · 10 months ago

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I have a question about something that’s always confused and fascinated me, and I hope it doesn’t sound stupid😅 but how exactly do academies in the marvel universe work? I haven’t watched AOS or read the comics so my knowledge is limited to what I read on wiki page (which doesn’t say much) but with its purpose was to train recruits, so I just assumed it was something people go to after they finish high school/compulsory education?? So those who don’t have any prior experience like in intelligence or military all go to the academy? I loved how you created a rich story by bringing forward the everyday life of SHIELD agents, and there’s a part of me that really wants to read your vision of how shield academy works, if possible in the OC fic!!

Hi, nony!

There’s this marvel wiki that kind of sums it up. Idk if it’s the one you meant but, generally speaking, SHIELD’s academy is made up of 3 different “schools”- communications, operations, and science & technology. Seems to be generally based on the directorates of the CIA or other IC agencies that recruit/select applicants and then train them how to broadly work within the agency while also giving them specialized training for their role/field.

Using the CIA as a handy example, an applicant, let’s say for being a case or operations officer (spy), must meet certain requirements and pass a very thorough background check. You’ll train for about 18months and then be under a contract for 5yrs where you’ll mostly trot the globe cultivating assets, gathering intelligence, and being an unseen hero thwarting national security threats.

For my version of SHIELD, I considered a more detailed/varied number of schools than what’s given in the wiki or glossed over in the MCU/AOS. It only made sense that there would need to be more diversity under those 3 general umbrella academies. In my mind, everyone runs through a basic round of training in one of the 3 before beginning their assignment, where you learn SHIELD history, its mission and how to carry it out, as well as enough refining course work to prep you for the entry level position you were hired for. Once your regular assignment begins, more specialized training is provided by supervisors or senior staff. Continuing professional development happens via additional classes ranging from a few days to a week for most and some multi-week training opportunities as assigned or requested.

For Allison as an example, she would have attended the School of Operations before beginning her assignment in Clandestine Services as a language officer. In CS, she would learn from peers and through hands-on experience but also have the opportunity to attend lectures/seminars, conferences, or additional certification courses to become a more well-rounded intelligence officer and beef up her resume for any ambitions of supervision or, in her case, to get into the field. With enough experience and training, she could apply to the Agent Training Program that covers a variety of training areas from unarmed self defense to weapons to foreign policy and everything in between to make her a citizen of the world™. And of course, you’ve seen STRIKE run their own basic training for recruits to take all of the ground work that SHIELD has done and then hone you into a certified badass.

At least that’s how it works in my lil’ head. Hope that helped. And yes, there will be some mention about training for the OC characters too in that story.

#i hope that makes sense #how to be a shield agent #in a nutshell #you’ve got questions. i’ve got answers #asks & messages are always open

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the-firebird69 · 11 months ago

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GT-R Kit — Superlite Cars

It says it's a lot of money and it really is but the car itself costs over too many dollars and I know it's over about 7 million dollars right now so it's not much money by comparison but for him it is and there was some kid car makers that would make them there's recent is 5 years ago most of them are kind of beat on but we did track a few quite a few then we know the history and although our son is competent he's not that competent takes a lot of skill and he doesn't have the tools so you need a full garage for the most part you need to have that this kit is very nice. But you can read it and it says you have to find a lot of stuff the chassis the drivetrain the motor and more but boy it looks nice once you get it together it's very very fast it was a few manufacturers but this is one of the nicest. We don't really want him in it the symbolism is not good and the many symbolism is better what this means is that he is in the American vehicle and he's controlling it it is hers. And no Emily blunt didn't bring it up our son didcuz Hera is thinking of opening a new factory in Africa to make new kits and she's working on it. And it's going ahead. This is an option would be something but not for a while but we looked at the car idea we messed it up with JC and Mary for that matter she was usually with him and it fit and there is a vehicle missing right before the Meghan Markle the question is what is it. It was made in the United States with the help of Paul doucette. So he goes up and they look one guy looks familiar it's an African-American it is a guy and it says where's the Burger King at McDonald's or McDonald's and it says oh it's over here with is okay considering your lap and they're like okay but really if he was there they say we'll go eat down here you can bring the car down and they'd be hanging out with him that's how it goes but really it is exciting time because he would go to these things with the car like that and they say that's him and it's like the firebird. They heard about the Lamborghini idea and they had cars dress up in the red coat and there is someone from one of the other groups of warlock with a war type jacket and they're looking at a big chunks of meat and it looks like a Patriots jersey boats New York Giants also symbolic and it's from the Lamborghini idea in the lambo project he says you're now in deck tease into the lambo project and you should report to the director of the CIA your findings and he's smelling it any that he knows what it means and God bless he says. And he becomes war machine and the other guy is smiling and saying I become the guy on Drew Carey show he says no close though the bad guy going after Stark is yeah so that makes sense and all sudden you got mad and it's because he's for the lambo project.

That is amazing people are saying it's amazing as I expect that movie script to be ready by Monday morning on your desk so movie about making a kick cars good Brad and Tommy have to get it done. They're not about to go to the football game and he says I can play in the exhibition game and he's been a linebacker and is getting down in the 4-point stance he says just fall over and you'll be fine you'll be okay and then they said no way we're not going to do that so he's getting and he's going here comes the A train and it starts off that movie in prison and they love it cuz that's what happens and he played Lou ferrigno and that was actually Dave and really there's a lot of beef at these football games and son wants to go to the football games and I think he's a player and people want to signature. So he's going to like just sign his initials and they'll say are you a player and it's like no but they know who I am and they'll say what are you I'm a giant hahaha. So they're laughing and laughing and they'll just have to say they're mad but they'll go try and find a player and on who's this guy I said we didn't know that is we know who that is most will say it and trouble say I don't really know but I've seen it and they'll say good they'll come back and say we were former player and it says I'm doing some kind of try out and say will we see you in the field yeah you know I probably say possibly I got a game coming up next week and they said what the hell cuz really he wants to do it like an exhibition game whoa.

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bokettochild · 3 years ago

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this is optional but what encanto character w/ powers (and mirabel) do you associate the chain with. first by personality then power

Ooh....

Well let me think.....

The first thing that springs to mind (like Isabella's flowers) is that Warriors would be Isabella. The beautiful one that others look to all the time and who puts on a front of perfection while slowly cracking inside. It fits him, along with the position of the beautiful favored child (is Cia Mariano in that case?)

The second thing to come to mind was that Four would be Antonio, but upon second thought I guess that's more obviously Wind's role. There's those cocky moments that the both have, but they're still kids and have fears and worries appropriate for their ages, while also understanding things that even the adults don't (Wind understands the drives of both Ganon and King Daphnes, Antonio understands the weight of Mirabelle being left the only Madrigal without a gift)

The next one to pop up would be Legend and Camillo. That snarky behavior and willingness to make trouble, but not too much. The shape-shifter thing also really fits Legend, since he has the most transformative abilities of them all (a bunny, a mermaid, a monster, freaking Hyrule!). There's also the fact that both kind of sit at that awkward middle child space where they are both tired of pleasing the powers that be but can't do anything about it. Also, I can just see them? Like, Legend would totally beef up an enemy to scare one of the younger ones (provided it wasn't a really important enemy) just like Camillo does in the song that I won't name (I just got it out of my head and it's trying to get back in, blasted Miranda)

Twilight is Louisa, I guess kind of predictably. They are the strong elder sibling who tries to carry the weight of everything in their family until it eventually crushes them. Louisa loses her powers because of the pressure (heh) on her, and Twilight nearly got himself killed trying to shoulder that same pressure for his family. They also both have hidden insecurities and a longing for a simpler, easier life that seems like nothing more than a fantasy.

Sky is Julieta, comforting, reassuring, warm, but willing to stand up to anyone who dares hurt his family. Both serve as that quiet support with little acts of kindness to show everyone that they are there. They're strong though, even though they seem soft and gentle, and they will do what must be done for the sake of those they love.

Hyrule actually strikes me as something of the Delores; he's quiet and understated and most people tend to let him fall in the background to the glamour of the other heroes. Both Delores and Hyrule know more than they let on, and both tend to be more reserved, although when they wish to be bold, they do so with confidence that we can admire. They're both also firm and can put others in their place when needed and can be quite loud and determined when they want (Hyrule confronting Time in the last update and Delores confessing to Mariano).

I know at this point people are probably expecting me to say that Wild is Mirabelle, but I actually think that role would go to Four! They're the figures that, while they are also more understated (although not so quiet that they fall to the background like Delores and Hyrule) they aren't afraid to speak up and say their piece when they think it's needed. The both of them also act as a core, or center to which others can gather. Both have their bursts of emotion, but they also tend to be the advice giver, the comforters. Four assures Twilight about their abilities to balance as a group right before the Divine Dark Reflections arc, and they're helping Wild settle (hopefully) in the Sunset arc. Mirabelle helps sooth Antonio's nerves on his big night and then works with her sisters to settle their issues when they hit their breaking points. Just... they're the centers, the stable ones, the ones who can always be relied on even though they're not often the first option.

So who is Wild? Bruno. Bruno and Wild are the 'failures' of their families, the ones who messed up so big that they don't believe they can ever be forgiven. They're hesitant at their places in their respective families, and while they're both something of a wild card, they are fiercely loyal and protective. They're also just a tad bit crazy, and have tiny weird friends that they like to hang out with (yes, I will take this as a point for this idea, the koroks and rats are both odd little companions that I adore).

And that leaves Time....

I'm sorry to say it, but in some ways, Time is like Abuela Alma: the traumatized adult who is trying so hard to not let their family be broken, again, by something they think they can stop. It makes them lash out (Time at Twilight and Abuela at Mirabelle) and maybe they don't handle those feelings in the best way. Not because they're bad people, but because they love the people around them so much that they can't stand to let anything happen to them. They have that one kid that they spend a bit more time with, that one person who they love maybe a bit more than the others, a person who when they defy them it makes them lash out and be fearful, and worry and do rash things. They're not bad people but their grief and hurt drives them to make not so great decisions.

(The difference is that I like Time, but Abuela Alma is....no. I understand what made her the way that she is, and what drives her to do what she does, but I know people like her, and it's hard to see anything but them when I see her on the screen.)

#encanto #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu four #lu twilight #lu time #lu sky #lu wild #lu wind #lu hyrule #lu warriors #asks and answers

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calypsoff2 · 3 years ago

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One Hundred Eleven. Part 3

Robyn is dramatic, as she is. As soon I landed in Chicago there is three bodyguards, not the ones I know but can tell she called in favours, but she is dramatic that wife of mine. I just come out here for Herb, my mind is going crazy right now. I just landed in Miami for this meeting, did that and then Jeff showed me the headline, I of course came out here, no matter what happened that is my brother. We argued, we had the beef but that’s my family and I don’t care what happened between us. I pray Herb is ok, I really don’t have friends and he’s just that, he is my family. I have no idea who these bodyguards are, but they move like the CIA, stepping into the elevator. I knew it, I knew him coming here, this place. They jealous of him, he shouldn’t have come home like that, I been telling him to leave but what does he do, come back here. These ain’t his people anymore, I just pray he’s ok, I want to apologise to him also, he didn’t deserve how I am and how he’s being treated with Mel. If she doesn’t say it then I will, I mean I will have to speak to my wife about it because she will murder me because she told me on the low because she was ranting. I would tell Mel but she deserves nothing, she cheated on him. The door opened and the hospital floor is very busy, the bodyguards stepped off and instantly just pushed people to the side, confusion set in and niggas are ready to fight because the way they are picking people one by one and pushing them to the side to make space “Oh shit Chris Brown” someone said, walking behind the bodyguards “Christopher is that you?” I can hear his mom “watch out” I said moving by the bodyguard “oh Chris, it’s so good to see you” his mom came over to me “Mrs right” hugging her “they got my son, they really tried to take my son away from me” nodding my head “what happened? I came as soon as I found out but what happened?” Moving back from the hug “he was hanging with his friends and someone open fired at him and his friends, they really trying to take my baby” chewing on my top lip “he needs to move, I told him this. Niggas are jealous of him, he needs to get out of the hood” he knows this “that’s our home, his home” she said “not anymore, I’m sorry. What is happening now?” I asked “they are just stitching him up, they shot at him, but it hit his leg” I breathed a sigh of relief, just his leg “it’s a bad situation but it’s his leg, I can rest” I laughed to myself “I’m glad it’s his leg too son, thank you so much for coming to see him. You want to sit down?” She asked me, I shook my head “no thank you” my bodyguards look so flustered, it’s a little hectic so I understand them not happy about being here “we can stand down there” I pointed out, it will be a little calmer, on top of that people have started to record and take pictures.

His parents have gone to see him, his little family anyways. I’m tired, all I’ve been doing is be on that jet. I just want to go home now, I think I’m just going to go home and hug my wife, that is what I want to do. Grabbing my phone from my pocket as it rang out, my dad is calling me. I guess I will pick it up “hey” I answered, “hi son, I see the post about Desean, what happened?” He asked “erm he’s gone missing, they don’t know where he is. I can’t really tell you much but that” I mumbled “Tootie got pregnant barely of age, she was unfit then and she is now” I frowned “you called to say this? Don’t call me to talk shit, you ain’t above anyone now you there getting your dick wet” I don’t want to hear his shit “son, you are being so negative, and everyone can see how negative you have been, it’s only you that is looking bad” he said “why did you call me? You really didn’t care so what?” I’m not understanding “I just hope he’s found, he’s a good kid” shaking my head “a good kid? You raised him with my sister, why are you acting brand new? You know what, I don’t want to know” disconnecting the call, he is what he is, I am over his shit. Clearing my throat, I was about to speak to my bodyguard “Chris, Herb wants to see you” letting out an oh, I smiled. I wonder what he wants to say, if I was him I would be pissed off with me. My bodyguard opened the door for me “thanks” walking into the room, as soon as I saw Herb I laughed “tell that Jamaican nigga he was right” Herb said, I laughed out “he did say it didn’t he” dapping him “the first thing I thought of through my pain is that he told me this, man. I am just happy it just my leg, niggas are haters” looking at his bandaged leg “my dick still work though” shaking my head “the fuck you telling me for? I ain’t going to suck it” sitting down on the chair “I know, thank god” I sighed out “on a real though, how are you? I know how it feels, to be shot at. It ain’t the best feeling, scary actually” Herb nodded his head “I feared for my life, I feel like my reaction to the sound was shit, I just didn’t move fast enough. It was just my leg so I’m going to remain blessed” nodding my head in agreement “I am sorry, about Mexico” I apologised “I accept it” he smiled at me “I erm, I ain’t the strongest nigga like that. I’m just me so of course I’m going to back down” he explained “I am sorry that I did that, just a lot of emotions and things were said. I felt like people were just taking aim at me and Robyn, they was picking on things. Things were said but I care about you a lot, you’re my brother” I said to him, I feel like I did a lot and maybe too much actually.

Clearing my throat “you right with what you said, how you even said it. That I am a lonely nigga, I ain’t mad at it, it’s the truth. I don’t have people with me, you really are the only brother, friend that supports me. And actually cares for me and I nearly fucked that up and I don’t know man, I’m sorry” I apologised “you have this hard persona and it’s hard to break down when you are in that mindset, I feel like you could kill in that moment. Then you know, seeing Rih all stressed out, I then felt bad that I started it, I shouldn’t have come at you like that, but I just wanted to protect my girl, my woman, so yeah. I just think you need to let that hard mindset go because we all don’t hate you, I care a lot about you, and I think you need to stop being that, I ain’t mad at you” Herb laughed “I’m mad at me” I said laughing “it’s lonely being me nigga, but we good yeah?” I said “we good, you know I got love for you, and you don’t need anyone bro, you have the best prize. You got Rih and the kids, I’m happy for you. You got them, man. You ain’t lonely at all, you don’t need friends. And you got me” I laughed “your friend is Rih and your kids, nobody else matters bro. Be happy” he has a point “I really think you need to leave Chicago though; niggas is jealous, and I can’t do without you. Come back to Cali” Herb is laughing but I mean it “I’m like your annoying little brother, I’m going to think on moving” he agreed so this is a good thing “good, because this place. All this, it ain’t worth it. I rather you be in Cali, man. I am so sorry. Like thinking on it, just couldn’t lose you bro, I really couldn’t” holding his hand “man, stop being emotional. Don’t stay here nigga, go home. You look a little emotional, you want to speak on it” shaking my head “I just wanted to see you” Herb laughed “showing your emotional side now, nigga” I laughed, I feel a little emotional. There is a lot going on, I just want to see my wife and kids, I am going home.

Walking out of the hospital “uncle!” hearing that voice, looking to the side of me “little Melody” I said, so Mel is here. The distressed wife I guess. Picking her up “how are you beautiful?” hugging her, she pressed a kiss to my cheek “hi” Mel said “hi” I said back, very awkward hi because I for one don’t fuck with how she is “going to leave uncle now?” Mel said to her “going to see dad” I cringed, but I ain’t going to speak on anything, I am just going to keep my mouth closed for Robyn. Placing her down on the ground “tell Robz, thanks for the jet to get here” I pulled a face “she called it” she walked off, rolling my eyes. I am not even going to say shit, walking off with the bodyguards. My phone is ringing, grabbing my phone from my pocket “auntie” I answered the call “it’s me Chris” it’s my mom “hey mom, what’s up? Are you ok?” she called me “thank you son” she said “don’t be mom, just rest, heal. Be happy, any news on Desean?” getting into the SUV “no, I am going to sleep now” she said, clearing my throat “let me speak to him” hearing my auntie “hey Chris” she said “hey, you good? All good yeah?” I hope nothing has happened “we are ok Chris, just she wanted to speak to you, so I said let’s call him. Thank you for doing this for her, she needs this help” I hate that my mom has this “no it’s fine, I am here when she needs” I mumbled “good, speak soon” she disconnected the call, I am sad.

Home, I am just happy to be home but the way everything is quiet they are asleep. I ran up the steps and is currently running to the bedroom, Robyn is asleep, and the door is slightly open, she does this when I am not home, when she is alone with the kids she does this so the kids can come in when they want, I home the kids aren’t in the bed with her, then I will have to drag them out because I need to be little spoon right now. Pushing the door open a little, my wife is asleep “yay” I said lowly making my way into the bedroom, then I see the little nigga asleep at the side of her. He always takes over my spot when I am not here, see if it was Imani it would be easier but him, once he is awake he will not go back to sleep and that will piss us all off. Taking my top off, I am going to fit onto the bed, I will have to shuffle behind Robyn, I can do it. Kicking my pants to the side “hey” I said, reaching over and touching her arm “twin, Robyn” I said, she flinched and then turned to look at me confused “it’s me” I said, Robyn’ face is so confused “what?” she said “I come home early” she turned onto her back “Chris” she breathed out “oh my god” she is half asleep “Chris” she got up quickly “hey baby” wrapping my arms around her “oh my god” squeezing her close, I feel so sad “you came home quick” she said, nodding my head closing my eyes “I needed you” she placed her hand at the back of my head “I am here, I am so happy you’re home” I wanted to be home, I want to be with Robyn and just be with my kids.

I woke up late, like I was having some good ass sleep. Robyn woke up early and clearly she hasn’t told the kids “hey, I have been waiting for you to wake up” she said as I stretched out “I slept good, thank you for letting me be little spoon” she laughed “well Junior slapped you but you then I told him off, how dare he hit my baby. You’re my baby, he is my baby boy. I love you; I have missed you so much, plus I wanted to murder you. Stupid” I sighed out “yeah, you know that place drains me. I get horrible flashbacks, never good ones. Then Herb, just upset me. I just wanted to come home, to you of course” shuffling up on the bed “that makes me so happy, that you want to come home to me. You usually end up lashing out, you usually want to run away” nodding my head “I usually do but not anymore, I just want my wife and Herb is right. You the only friend I got, I appreciate you a lot” Robyn poked her lips out at me “why are you emotional, I cam feel it. You are feeling very emotional and needy” I sighed out “I saw my mom and she cried, like I know you was mad with me, you didn’t want me to be alone, but I didn’t want my mom speaking to you, or even saying you are bad person. So I went alone, not to cause issues. But my auntie was there, my mom is living with a friend, Robb was making my mom sell drugs, to stay at the house I guess. My auntie caught on and she had enough. She said my mom is uncontrollable and that she was being bad, and then I looked at her. She was my mom, calm, crying. She just wanted me; she was happy. My auntie is taking care of her, my mom is bipolar” Robyn’ eyes widened “I at first didn’t believe it then she showed me the tablets, then my auntie said she can’t have her at the house. And my mom will be homeless. I couldn’t leave her like that Robyn, I just couldn’t. I got her an apartment, something small and out of the way. But wow, I always assumed she lost her mind. She did and I really want to kill Robb” shaking my head “wow” Robyn said “I mean her behaviour now makes sense but” she paused “I am not upset or angry at you helping your mom, I think that is the right decision and I want you to be happy. You finding out that about your mom, I know that must have upset you. And I am here for you, also your nephew missing too. I was selfish in the fact I think I would have kicked off with you in the past, just because I wasn’t ever seeing the bigger picture, but I am sorry, I am sorry that you are going through this” I am sad as shit, Herb thing just topped it.

“Then my dad called, he said Desean missing. Poor boy, underage mother, and she wasn’t good, still isn’t now. That has not correlation to this. Like that nigga, he get on my nerves but wow. She has bipolar all this time. Reading up on bipolar in women they have this urge to just be bad, they fuck up, they go through these emotions. And generally they will have the urge to” I stopped talking “I don’t want to even say it but they do fucked up shit, I feel like she needed help and nobody helped her. Not even me, she did so much shit and we was all so confused, how she lashed out on you. She just fucked up so much, I am sad. And then Herb, I could have lost the only nigga I really care for. Just a lot, you know” Robyn leaned over to me and hugged me “I am so glad you have come home to me poppa, and it’s ok to cry. I am so here for you, even your mom. I understand, I rather you talk to me, no matter what has happened. Your nephew, he needs to be reported” closing my eyes as I did, I cried because I rather do that then kick off. Wrapping my arm around her.

#Chrianna #chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Chrianna Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfiction

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babbushka · 5 years ago

Text

Sinbound (1/8)

Daniel Jones x Reader

5k; Content warnings: Spoilers for The Report. Mentions of torture/violence, but nothing explicit.

Tumblr Masterlist // Also Available on AO3

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Two years. That’s how long it’s been, up to this moment.

Two years in this basement, surrounded by concrete walls and the faces of ghosts staring into his very soul. It’s haunting, being down here, Dan thinks. Walking empty halls in the middle of the night, the way that sounds echo and come from all directions at once, everywhere and nowhere.

He walks the halls now, something sour sitting in the pit of his stomach, something close to panic, he thinks. He’s not going to let it turn into anything real, he doesn’t have the time for that.

It feels like he doesn’t have the time for anything, anything except for this report.

He’s the last to leave the office, the last to leave the building, just as he is every night. Usually he’d stay later, but as he scans his badge to open the door that leads to the lobby of this dark cinder block building, his eyes struggle to focus. He must look particularly rough, because as he does scan himself out, the good-natured security guard gives him a pointed look.

“Do you ever sleep, Dan?” The security guard asks, and despite the exhaustion in Dan’s bones, he manages a friendly smile.

“I used to, it got in the way of work.” He jokes, earning a smile back.

“Anything in that bag contain the real names of CIA officers, assets, or partners, or any information that would be in violation of the agreement between the Central Intelligence Agency and the United States Senate?” The security guard rattles off the protocol, a memorized passage that both he and Dan know by heart at this point.

“Have a good night, Jay.” Dan doesn’t answer the question, he doesn’t have to, he doesn’t need to.

Instead, with some kind parting words from Jay as permission to leave, he walks out through the door and into dark damp streets of the real world, a world which has passed him by, two years shot in the blink of an eye.

Dan sits in his car and sighs, for a minute or two, or twenty. He rubs the back of his hand against his eyes, blinks a couple of times. He’s been debating getting a pair of glasses, the new kind that block out the blue light from screens – god knows he could use that. He’s more tired than usual, and with good reason, he sighs. He looks at himself in the rearview mirror, sees the bags under his eyes.

“You wouldn’t look good with glasses.” He shakes his head at himself, dismissing the thought.

He sits in his car and folds his arms over the steering wheel, rests his head down on top of them and wills himself not to scream. He thinks back over the events of the day, of the last couple hours, thinks about how he’s going to have to go through this alone now. In retrospect, he should have known this was coming. He just had hoped…well. He had only hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, wouldn’t be right when they were finally starting to connect dots, piece together the puzzle, wouldn’t be right when they were only just beginning.

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Dan noticed April gently approaching him, her arms crossed over her chest. He glanced at the clock, realized he’d been reading this document for nearly three hours, picking it apart, studying it. He’s glad for April’s audience, and he didn’t waste much time launching into what he’d just learned, knowing that she would be just as interested in it as him.

“Did you know that the CIA testified in 1978 before Congress on the subject of – of ‘coercive physical interrogation techniques’ in Latin America? And how they concluded that they were proven to be ineffective – that the prisoners would lie just to make it stop?” Dan scoffed, frustrated, shaking his head.

April had shifted in her spot a little then, had cleared her throat, but Dan wasn’t entirely paying attention, not even when she tried to interject with,

“Dan, there’s something I have to say – ”

“But before they did it in Latin America they did it in Vietnam! It didn’t work then and it isn’t working now and – ”

“Dan, Dan I’m leaving.” April had said, with such finality that it shut Dan up. She had held her ground, her arms crossed over her chest, in that dark cold basement, and told him, “The study, I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry. I got a job offer and I’ll be packing up once the Thanksgiving break finishes.”

Dan held his breath, wondered if this were another one of his nightmares. He’d been having them more and more recently, but this was never one of the plot points.

He blinked, stared at her and then at his computer, watched as the screen flickered for a moment, as if it too were uncomfortable, stressed.

“Thanksgiving.” Dan had replied (and in his car, Dan wants to kick himself for making such a point of himself, for proving their point because he had stupidly said), “That’s – okay well that still gives us a couple months and – ”

“It’s November, Dan. Thanksgiving’s next week.” Julian had gently reminded him.

“…Right.” He was deflated, embarrassed, and faced with the reality that maybe he was losing his grip on reality. He can’t look at her, at April. The screen flickered, and he sighed. “Right I – I…Right. Okay.”

“I’m sorry, I am, it’s just that…well you said it yourself, the CIA knew decades ago that this shit didn’t work. They knew and they’ve known the whole time that their program is ineffective now but who is listening to us? Who is waiting for us to come out with all of this?” April tried to explain, even though she didn’t really need to. Her voice was soft and gentle as she placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to talk some sense into him, “We’ve been down here for two years, Dan, the three of us in this basement, typing up thousands and thousands of pages. No one is waiting for us.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That was the cold hard truth that Dan refused to accept. Every day, Monday through Friday and weekends, he’d been there. They’d all been there, working and working and working until their eyes grew sore, until their backs went stiff and their wrists ached, scrounging together as much information as possible – while under impossible restraints.

No cooperation from the CIA.

No cooperation from the DOJ.

Three people in a basement, trying their best to bring justice to an unjust situation, and being vilified for it.

Dan sighs, both in his memory of the exchange, and in his car.

“I understand. I do.” He said, because he did. He didn’t like it, he wouldn’t accept it, but he understood it. That was enough for April, enough for Julian, enough for them when Dan nodded and sighed once again, glancing at the calendar. “Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sorry.” April had said again, before going back to her desk.

Dan locked eyes with one of the mugshots on the wall, and he thinks that it’s not him that April should be apologizing to.

----------------------

He starts the car, smacks a palm against his cheeks lightly to shake himself out of this funk. He’s just tired, he knows. He’s tired and it’s been a long day, that’s all. The dashboard lights up and he’s relieved to see it’s not that late, not really. It’s only eleven, he’s stayed later before. Washington D.C. is never not busy, but Dan finds that later in the evening like this, on a weekday no less, there’s always a little less traffic, for which he’s appreciative.

His stomach is appreciative too, it growls and growls the entire drive home, so much so that Dan makes a pit stop at a Chinese takeout place, lured in by the idea of fresh eggrolls and beef lo mein.

The neon sign blazes brightly in the night sky. Something about the world when it’s just finished raining makes everything more rich, more vibrant, Dan thinks. Maybe it’s got something to do with the way that the water on the ground reflects the colors. Maybe he’s just being sentimental, he doesn’t know.

“Mr. Jones! You’re here early.” Cindy, the young woman behind the counter greets him when Dan walks through the door.

“They let me out for good behavior.” His joke falls flat, just a little. Still, she looks at him with a fond smile and shakes her head, before ringing up his usual.

He’s been coming here at least once a week every week ever since this thing started. He never really meant to fall into the habit of relying on takeout, but when one works fifteen-eighteen hour days every day, the prospect of cooking and cleaning up your own kitchen quickly grows less than ideal.

Dan watches her for a while, as he hands over his credit card. He thinks about how she always smiles at him, and wonders if she smiles at everyone else too, or if that’s something just for him. He shakes his head slightly, chastising himself. Of course it’s not just for him, they’ve not spoken beyond the typical small talk while he sits around and waits for his order. She never initiates conversation past that of the weather, and why should she? She’s busy, Dan thinks, busy with the restaurant, with her life.

He tries not to let the thought depress him, the thought that maybe if it weren’t for this report, he could be out busy living his life too. Tries not to think about how he could be married by now, have kids by now. He tries not to think about the girlfriend he used to have, before all of this, tries not to think about how she left him because well, really, he had left her first. He wasn’t a very good partner, he knows – how could he have been? Holed up in that basement, unable to talk about anything he did.

Cindy hands him the neatly packaged bundle of his dinner, and he thanks her for it. She doesn’t know that he goes back to his apartment and eats by himself in the dark every night, but then again, she doesn’t have to. She gives him another one of her smiles as he offers a little wave goodbye, and he’s walking to the parking lot, the interaction and the thoughts behind him.

It’s worth it, he thinks, as he walks back to his car. One day, one day soon, Dan knows it’ll all be worth it.

Climbing into his car, Dan notices something.

Or maybe, he thinks he notices something.

There’s a car in the parking lot that wasn’t there before, was it? He doesn’t remember anyone getting out, no one came into the restaurant while he was there, and no one had left when he showed up. It’s black, with windows so tinted that he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to look in even on a bright sunny day. Something about that churns his stomach some more.

“You need to eat and sleep.” Dan shakes the paranoia out of his head, it wouldn’t do to dwell, not right now, not after he’s poured a fresh new batch of images of torture behind his eyelids, dancing in front of his vision whenever he seems to blink. Wouldn’t do to dwell on the thought that maybe he’s being followed.

He keeps an eye on the car though, as he pulls out of the parking lot. It doesn’t move, and he releases the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, as he turns some corners and goes down some back roads, ends up in front of the building he calls home.

----------------------

It’s not that he can’t afford a house, because he can. He makes a significant amount of money, being a Senate staffer at his level. He could afford something nice in a nice neighborhood, green lawn and driveway out front, maybe an inground pool out back for the summer time. He can afford it, he just doesn’t see the point in it, not right now, not with the report.

The apartment though, isn’t bad -- it’s not! It’s a very nice, luxury apartment, with a doorman and a parking garage and everything.

“How’s it going Edgar?” Dan asks, as he passes said doorman, a young chipper guy who Dan wouldn’t have expected to have such a mature name.

Maybe if he and Edgar were friends, he’d call him Eddie. Dan’s not so sure what other nicknames there are for something old fashioned like that. Maybe if they were friends, he’d tell Dan.

“Not too bad Mr. Jones, yourself?” Edgar doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s practically hiding the takeout behind his briefcase, and Dan appreciates it immensely.

“Not too bad.” He echoes with a smile, before stepping into the safety and security of the lobby and making his way over to the elevators, his polished shoes clacking on polished tile as he gives a warm, “Stay dry out there.”

The elevator is empty, thankfully. He leans against the mirror wall and sighs deeply, groans just because he can. He lives on the eighth floor of the building, which gives him about ten seconds of peace, before the doors open again. He likes his apartment building, likes the doorman and the elevator. He likes how each floor has its own little display when he exits the elevator, decorated for whatever holiday is up next.

The lobby’s display probably should have clued Dan in to the fact that it was already November, but he can’t really be blamed for not noticing. He notices now though, and he can’t deny that he’s impressed. There’s a large wicker cornucopia on the antique wooden credenza which sits flush against the wall opposite of the elevator.

In the cornucopia are fake fruits and vegetables in a beautiful array of autumnal colors, reds oranges yellows and plum. He reaches out to pick up one of the faux squashes, impressed by the weight of it. He’d been halfway expecting cheap styrofoam, but these were more solid than that. Idly Dan realizes that he must have completely skipped over Halloween, and something about that puts a bit of a pep in his step.

He leaves the lobby and turns around the corner, goes down the hall until he’s faced with his front door. He’s lucky that there aren’t too many apartments on this floor, his neighbors are down a ways on either side. He likes the privacy, not that he uses it much. Putting his key in the lock and pushing the door open, he can’t really remember a time where he spent an entire day lounging in his living room.

Which is a shame, Dan thinks, because just as he does every time he comes home, he finds that he really does like this place. It’s bright, inviting. Not clean or sterile, nothing overly modern or minimalist, but he has enough dark and gloom at work, he doesn’t need that here, not in his one-bedroom apartment. The walls are a light grey color, the kitchen and living room accented with blue and cool tones. He likes blue, Dan does.

All his appliances are stainless steel, to go along with the color palette, and he likes that too. He thinks it makes him feel more like an adult, like a real person. And he is, isn’t he? Daniel Jones, Senate Staffer. That’s a real person name and a real person job, isn’t it?

Why does it all feel like a sham?

“Eat, and sleep.” He mutters to himself as he steps out of his shoes and puts them neatly in the closet by the door.

He rests his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, brings the takeout over to the rectangular dining table. He didn’t know what he was thinking, buying this dinner table. Maybe he thought he’d have guests over, women over. Now it just feels empty, a table too big for just one person.

Still, it gives him enough room to spread out, which is nice. He keeps the table set all the time, the way they do in old television sitcoms and in movies. He loves movies, and he puts one on now. Nothing high action or stressful, no he’s not got the emotional or mental bandwidth for that these days. Instead, he scrolls through his OnDemand and lets something from the ‘30s dance across the screen in black and white, while he eats his dinner.

Dan tips the takeout onto the plate in front of him – one of the things he refuses to do is eat straight out of the container. Something about that feels like crossing a line into some kind of downward spiral. He can wash one dish, one fork and knife, one glass. He can do that, he has the time for that.

He’s not got time for much, but he’s got the time for that.

Dan eyes his briefcase, thinks about what Jay had said. He’d never taken anything from work before, and he didn’t plan on taking anything from work anytime soon. No, everything in his briefcase was allowed to be there, what was in his apartment was allowed to be there.

“It’s for the best anyway,” Dan says to himself, as the music from the movie swells and flows, a beautiful tap number numbing his mind from the repeated images that are so keen to flash. “Imagine if you brought that shit home more than you already do.”

He scoffs at the idea, at smuggling something out of the basement, out of the building. What would he even do with it? Where would he even put it? No, he thinks, everything that’s important will stay in the office where it’s the safest. The CIA isn’t allowed inside that room, that’s part of the agreement that they made.

“Good thing too, they wouldn’t be too fucking thrilled to read the documents I’m reading.” He’s stopped caring about talking to himself a long time ago, and now that April and Julian will be leaving him, he figures he’ll need the good company, or else he may really go insane.

He sighs, sighs at the knowledge that they’re leaving.

Two years they’d been together, the three of them. Dan’s only a little upset – he’s more scared. Scared of having to go down this rabbit hole alone. Scared of wasting himself away in the basement, surrounded by the ghosts of men who were put through conditions so inhumane that it wakes Dan in the middle of the night, throat hoarse, screaming and raw. What’s worse is he’s scared that they’re right, that no one will care.

But Dan cares. Dianne cares. It’s enough to know that Dianne’s got his back, that’s enough.

Still, they’d gotten a lot accomplished in those two years.

It had started of course, with the tapes.

----------------------

“What tapes?” Dan had asked, a confused frown on his face.

Dan had been in the middle of a meeting when Marcy, Chief of Staff to Senator Dianne Feinstein, had called him out for a moment or two, a folded newspaper in her hands. Dan recognized it, the New York Times, and it was opened to a ground-breaking story of coverups and espionage. He stood in Dianne’s office and scanned over the small print of the story, growing more and more confused with each word he read.

“Evidently, the CIA destroyed tapes of interrogations, interrogations that had been conducted on al-Qaeda detainees.” Marcy said, but nothing rang a bell for Dan.

“Does – did the Intel Committee know that there even were tapes?” He had to ask, wondering if he was simply out of the loop, or if this was about to become something much larger than it already was.

When Dianne shook her head and clasped her hands together behind her desk, when she pressed her lips into a thin line of frustration of her own, Dan knew that it was the latter.

“No, this New York Times story is the first we’ve heard of it. I want you to find out what was on those tapes and why they were destroyed. We’d like you to lead an investigation, Dan.” She spoke clearly, always had, Dianne did. Dan appreciated that, appreciated her candidacy.

It didn’t lessen his confusion, however.

“But if the tapes were destroyed then how do I – ” He started, handing Marcy back the newspaper with a thankful nod.

“Written records. The CIA says they have written records of what was on the tapes, thousands of pages. I want you to find out what it is they actually have, and read every word of it. I want to know what else they’re hiding.” Dianne instructed, and the weight of the task was enough to make Dan stand up a little straighter.

The concept of going through a thousand pages of written records of interrogations had, at the time, seemed like the most intimidating and overwhelming undertaking Dan would have gone through in his life. Oh, if only he had known what he was getting himself into, if only he had had a shred of a clue.

“Yes, Senator.” He agreed anyway, knowing the stress this was bound to bring.

And stressful it had been, but he had done it. He had found horribly disturbing materials indicative of the conditions in the CIA Detention and Interrogation program. He had read those thousands of pages, and he had relayed them to Dianne, and in the end, despite it all, the findings had remained classified.

But through the tapes, the door to the greater EIT Program report had been opened.

Dan of course was the immediate first choice to lead the investigation, considering he already had the security clearances as a result of working on the tapes case. And he had been happy to do it, happy to push forward – the tapes might remain classified, but if he could expose these conditions, if he could bring this to light, then that wouldn’t be in vain.

None of the suffering and illegal practices would have happened in vain.

----------------------

It hadn’t been easy in the beginning, dealing with the CIA. Although, Dan huffs out a little laugh to himself as he watches the movie, when was dealing with the CIA ever easy? From the very first day they’d proven themselves to be smug bastards who held themselves above the law, the very thing Dan was trying to convict them of.

----------------------

The first day he was given a very brief tour of the office, an off-site in Virginia where he would have to commute. It wasn’t a long drive, part Dan already knew that the drive would feel ten times longer after a grueling day of uncovering whatever bullshit the CIA was trying to hide.

He had been met by a middle-aged man named Sean Murphy, who had brought him inside. They had shaken hands, and Sean wasted very little time, in that way that CIA agents tended to do. They were brusque, the lot of them, Dan thought. He wasn’t particularly a fan, but whether that was because he was with the FBI for four years, or because he’d never had a good interaction with a CIA agent, was still to be seen.

“The room we’ve designated for you is SCIF; no phone reception, no photos, you know the drill.” Sean had led him down down down dark stairwells and corridors, deeper and deeper into the belly of the building.

Part of Dan wondered if they’d given him such a shitty space out of spite. It seems like something they would do, make the investigation as passive-aggressively frustrating as possible.

“Yes and per the requirements, the room is completely off limits to everyone aside from Committee personnel?” Dan kept his tone light, despite the literal darkness they were descending into. He was relieved to hear Sean’s hum of agreement.

“Absolutely. No one inside without your permission.” The Agent nodded, arriving finally at the door.

It’s metal, windowless, and locked with a combination pad. There’s a small placard which read: United States Senage Intelligence Committee Staff Only. By Order of the Director of Central Intelligence.

Sean pointed to the sign, as if to appease Dan, and Dan only nodded in response. Sean punched in the code on the combination pad, and opened the door for Dan to bare witness to this cell of a room that he was to spend the next foreseeable future working out of.

It was a spotless room, grey from floor to ceiling. Cold and sterile, no windows, no other doors, just six desks and six computer monitors.

----------------------

Somewhere in the present, Dan grimaces at how he once had five other people working with him on this shitshow. How he had had two other Democrats and three Republicans, an attempt for bi-partisan facts. And now it was just him, all alone.

----------------------

“Computers?” Dan had asked, running his hand over the top of one of them. He was glad to see that at least the space was clean – no dust swiped off when he traced his fingers lightly.

“All right here at your disposal. You get your own dedicated server just for you. We’ll be updating the database as we go, the files will be loaded onto the server as we collect them from across the Agency.” Sean had crossed his arms over his chest, and Dan nodded, understandable.

“Perfect, we’ll want all relevant documents as soon as possible, get this thing underway.” He put his hands on his hips, if Sean wanted to psyche him out with body language, Dan would show that he wasn’t to be trifled with, at least in this small way.

“Well, you know that could take some time, we have to vet it first.” Sean shrugged, “There’s a lot to go through and – ”

“Vet? No, Director Panetta agreed to give us everything pertaining to the program. Everything.” Dan interrupted him immediately, brows furrowed. “Why – who would be vetting it?”

There was simply no way that Dan could run a thorough investigation if materials were being withheld from the Committee, and if the CIA were the only ones allowed to vet CIA documents due to the sensitive nature of their material, then Dan could only imagine what they would withhold. The displeasure must have been clear as day across Dan’s face, because Sean only shrugged again.

“Listen Mr. Jones, we understand your situation, but it’s a big Agency. We have to make sure you don’t get anything you’re not supposed to.” He tried to explain, and Dan bit his tongue, instead turning to survey the room once again.

“There’s no printer.” He noticed aloud, “No paper?”

Sean had almost laughed at him for that, and still to this day, that makes Dan uneasy.

“No documents are allowed to leave the room without CIA approval. As I’m sure you can understand, Mr. Jones, paper has a way of getting people in trouble at our place.” Sean had said in a hushed voice, a conspiratorial voice, a voice that made Dan want to grit his teeth.

“And I’m sure that you can understand, Mr. Murphy, paper is how we keep track of laws, at ours.” Dan had replied seriously.

----------------------

He should have known then, that they weren’t going to play nicely.

Two years, and they’d only been getting more and more difficult.

Dan finishes up his dinner relatively quickly, sleep dragging in his bones. He’d been up at the office bright and early at eight o’clock in the morning and he was now nearing on midnight. Bringing his dishes to the kitchen, he quickly but efficiently washes them and sets them on the drying rack near the sink, never bothering to use the dishwasher. He doesn’t need to, when he’s the only one here.

He goes straight to the bathroom, turns the shower on as hot as it will go. The hamper was only about half full – or was it half empty? – so he knows he can hold off doing laundry for another day or two at least, as he dumps his clothes from the day into the little heap.

Naked, Dan stands in front of the mirror and looks at himself, really looks at himself. He’s attractive, he thinks, in that way that he hopes so, anyway. He maintains his workout routine, which is probably a good idea, considering how much time he spends just sitting around and eating takeout. Maybe he’ll go for a run tomorrow. He thinks he deserves a day off, it’s not like he’s got to show up and report to anyone other than Dianne, but she isn’t expecting an update until after the holiday weekend anyway.

“Run tomorrow,” Dan tells himself in the mirror, lifts his arms and flexes his muscles just to check himself out, make sure that he knows what he looks like, makes sure he’s real, a real person. Steam from the shower begins to curl along the glass, and Dan knows it’s hot enough for him to get in and scrub the day away. “Shower, sleep, and then run tomorrow.”

He makes sure there’s a nice clean towel nearby, and sighs out a breath of relief as he steps under the scalding spray. He lathers up his shampoo and breathes breathes breathes in the calming scent of bergamot and sandalwood, pretends he’s down by the beach somewhere instead of here alone in his apartment. He’s too tired to jerk off, which feels a little sad but not sad enough to bother Dan too much.

He’ll indulge himself tomorrow, he decides as he rinses the suds away. Tomorrow will be a better day than this one, it has to be. He’ll make it so.

After washing his body and applying his conditioner, he steps out of the shower and wraps himself up, pads across the little hall to his bedroom. He slips into warm pajamas and is about to pull back the covers of his neatly made bed, when he notices a piece of paper resting in the tray of his printer/fax machine.

Dan frowns, how long had that been there?

He hesitantly, very hesitantly, approaches the fax machine. It’s a blank piece of paper, nothing on it – aft first glance. Dan thinks he catches a flash of something, maybe its his eyes playing tricks on him, he doesn’t know. But he turns on the lamp near his printer and holds the piece of paper up and his blood runs cold when he reads:

56 Signers of the Declaration of Independence Memorial

Constitution Gardens, Washington, DC 20245

Sunday 11:30:00 AM

Destroy this.

He doesn’t know what compels him, but he rushes to the window. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t do anything so foolish as that, but he peels back the curtain just enough to see it, to see that black car with its tinted windows, driving away.

----------------------

Tagging some pals! If you’d like to be added or taken off this taglist, please just let me know! @clumsycopy @whiskey-bumblebee @umbrielchip000 @supremehaunter @kyloawaken @candycanes19 @thegreenmatt @ladygrey03 @zimmerxman @niniita-ah @autumnlovesadam @solotriplets @steeevienicks @aweirdlookingtree @heldcaptivebychaos @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @adamsnacc-kler @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @peterisparker @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @okk–maaan @flapjacques @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun @carloswilliamcarlos @contesa-lui-alucard

#daniel jones #daniel jones the report #daniel jones x reader #daniel jones/reader #the torture report #the report #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver the report #my writing #sinbound #daniel jones x you #daniel jones/you

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

Text

A Forgotten Memory

An Alex x OC fic

Apparently, this is the eighth chapter!

Link to the first one here (for the new readers if there are any)

This one's the longest so far!

Reviews and Comments appreciated. It fuels me to keep on writing. Enjoy!

VIII - Samantha

Samantha felt that she lived for a year inside her dream realm. She was aware that this was all a dream because it wasn't possible that Connor was alive, but then again it pains to see how she's fooling herself with fake memories.

Certain moments while she's walking along the beachside with Connor, he would immediately dissappear, and would never come back until a few more days in her dream. She wondered what time it was outside but all she knew was she kept living the same tragic day again and again and again. She found a loophole though, she prevented him from taking that yacht but would find himself a different situation where he ends up dead. It felt like she was meant to feel extreme sadness from loss.

This wasn't what her captors wanted from her. They wanted 'something she accidentally saw on her father's drawer'. Then it dawned on her, those were numbers and dots separating them, almost like an IP Address. Just as she tried recalling it, thanks to the drug flowing in her bloodstream, the numbers began to slowly melt as a faint smell of cheese wafted around her. With one soft gasp, she found herself awake.

Thick oak trees covered the windows as she turns around the room. She's in a log cabin, but fancier. She slowly ripped her dextrose as she quietly made her way down to the living room. She knows where she is, TV taught her that only the evil people could afford expensive things. Grabbing a medicine tray beside her bed, she slowly descended the stairs, readying herself as she attempted to beat her abductor with an aluminum tray.

Following the scent of melted cheese, she tiptoed across the living room to the kitchen, a man was standing behind the sink. Athletic build and arms sprawled with tattooes. He pretty much looked like Alex, but this one reeks evil.

The loud clang of aluminum rang as she hit her abductor square on the head, knocking him down temporarily dazed. Her eyes slowly opened to reveal Alex, who's rubbing his head and wincing in pain.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Alex. I thought I was still held captive!" She quickly assisted him up and grabbed a bottle of cold water for his head.

Alex was too hurt and surprised to talk but as soon as their eyes met, it almost felt like he wasn't hit by a medicine tray just now.

"You're awake!" was all he said as he hugged her tight. Then he realized, he wasn't supposed to do that. Samantha just sat beside him by the kitchen floor, confused. He immediately let go of his arms and pretended to be still dazed. He was just too overwhelmed to see her okay.

"Is your head okay?" She asked, with an expressionless face. Alex nodded.

"Nothing major. I just need ice maybe."

"Got it." Samantha quickly stood up and opened the fridge. Her warm cheeks couldn't feel the cold breeze. She was blushing hard and staring blankly at the contents of the fridge.

"I think we don't have ice. A cold water bottle would be fine." Alex commented as Samantha snapped back to reality. She remembered she had an injured person to tend to. Quickly grabbing the bottle, she plopped herself beside Alex who groggily found his way to the sofa.

The bump was slightly obvious and Samantha can't help but laugh at him. It was a funny mistake but what matters is that she finally saw him again.

"Where are we?" she asked, tilting her head and looking at Alex trying not to laugh.

"CIA Safehouse 110197" Alex mouthed.

"Which is... where?"

"Classified. Even I don't know where we are." he lied.

"And where are the others?"

"It's actually just you and me." he replied, looking down, his eyes rolled trying to see her reaction. Samantha rolled her eyes somewhere else evading to meet his gaze.

"Great. Guess I have to tend to my mistakes." She quickly got up and went up to the bedroom. Alex simply sat there waiting for her to come back.

"This house is complete. There's actually a medicine box by the bathroom sink!" She exclaimed in excitement as she set her kit and prepared the gauze.

"You'd be surprised on what you can find by the sofas." Alex chuckled and immediately winced in pain as Samantha placed a plaster by his bump.

"You could've said something!" he complained, Samantha just laughed.

"I always wanted to be a doctor..." she said.

"Why didn't you?" Alex shifted his seat and placed the water bottle by the table.

"I can't be a professional doctor while on a fake identity, Alex. You probably knew by now that I'm uh.. redacted? You did scan me when the CIA was here right?" She smirked, making Alex amused and clueless was a beautiful view. If only she had her camera, she'd take a photo of it and pin it by the fridge back at home.

"Yeah. That's right." was all he could say.

Samantha placed her hand by the back rest of the sofa and raised her leg comfortably to the sofa. She was still wearing Alex's clothes from the other night and all Alex could think of is why?

"I'm Samantha Coleman."

"Coleman as in..."

"Yes. The daughter of the Head of National Defense, Richard Coleman."

Alex froze in amazement and the puzzle pieces finally make sense. What's missing now is why they're after her and what's with the memory serum.

"So um... any idea on what they want?" Alex asked, his eyes felt intense and curious. Something Samantha can't help but stare at.

"I guess it's a childhood memory... Of my father's office. They're looking for an IP address... Does it ring any bells?" Samantha explained, her hands fiddled on the sofa's fabric, squeezing it and rubbing her thumbs against it.

"No. But I could relay it to those assigned to the case. It could help a lot." Alex's hands slowly trailed to hers, squeezing it a little bit.

"Thanks for cooperating, Samantha. What you just did may save the lives of those missing." A soft smile escaped his lips. Samantha froze in shock. Maybe it's the sincerity of his face, maybe it's the feel of his hand on hers, maybe it's her heart racing so fast. She wasn't sure why she found herself unable to move or speak.

Awkward silence filled the room, neither one of them moved an inch. The crickets outside sounded louder as the silence grew between them. Then burnt toast filled the air.

They both snapped out of whatever trance they were making, eyes quickly diverted away as Alex removed his hand above hers.

"Oh Crap! The toast!" The CIA agent hurriedly rushed by the kitchen and turned off the oven toaster, showing a very burnt piece of bread.

"You're not supposed to put it on an oven, Alex" Samantha giggled as she assisted him. They quickly became cook and assistant as Alex started to learn something from the expert, whereas Samantha proudly taught him how to make basic breakfast specialties.

"How come you didn't know how to cook?" Samantha asked, pouring oil to the pan.

"We don't usually prepare meals." Alex replied rapidly whisking the eggs, Samantha looked worried that he might break the bowl.

"So what do you eat?"

"Energy bars, ready to eat meals, beef jerky, chicken. You know, the simple stuff but filled with essential nutrients." Alex proudly replied.

"Boooring! You know you should try some of life's greatest meals sometime."

"Someday."

***

Samantha became very comfortable around Alex. Despite her judging him at first glance, she actually enjoyed his company. Over the course of the day, they found themselves mostly talking about every possible thing, leaving an impression that he's really good with people.

It felt warm and fuzzy that the idea of them being alone in one roof felt appropriate. She almost wished they'd end up like this forever, but that meant the criminals are still out there. She wanted to be selfish just for once as she literally gave up her life just to blend in. Would it kill for her to have a good time?

Nighttime came and they settled for barbeque, something Alex claimed he's good at. Samantha watched him from a safe distance as he showed off his cooking skills at her.

He was wearing a "Kiss the Chef" apron over his black tank top and camo pants, a sight admirable for her. She found herself a cozy silk spaghetti strap nightgown from CIA's supply box. She just looked at him from the moment he unboxed a dusty grill box until he assembled it fully, asking him questions about his work to which he answers with certain confidentality.

"You hungry?" He asked teasingly as he placed the meat on the grill letting it sizzle as it puffed smoke toward him.

She wanted to say she's hungry, but not for food. But it felt inappropriate, she knew he's with her because it's his job to, but she couldn't help but feel needed. Especially that she spent the last eighteen hours of her life mourning about sad memories.

"So, silence means yes?" Alex tilted his head to meet her gaze. It's that stare once again.

"Uh yeah. Impress me Mr. Chef!" She cheered as they continue talking while they prepare dinner.

As the meat started to become tender, so did their conversation. They slowly diverted the topic to something private.

"Have you been into any relationships before?" Samantha finally asked the question she's dying to ask him. Alex's movements became cautious and his eyes slowly looked at her. He could tell that she's really curious and excited about the question as shown by her widening pupils.

"Yeah. Here and there. They don't last long as I always had to move when reassigned." He replied eating a mouthful of steak.

"So where would you be after all this is over."

"Wherever they'll send me."

"Are you happy with it? Being sent here and there?"

"As long as I could save the world." He smiled. A smile so genuine, Samantha slightly felt goosebumps.

"Cool." She replied, wiping her face with a napkin.

"Thanks for the meal, Mr. Chef. I'll go take a shower and sleep." She stood up, her voice almost felt sad.

"Samantha, wait! Did I say something wrong?" Alex quickly grabbed her hand before she could walk away.

"No. You said everything that I need to know."

Tears start falling out of her eyes, Alex noticed this and wiped it off with his thumbs lifting her chin up to meet his face. She couldn't stare at him, not with those sad eyes.

"Look, I know what you feel, because I feel it too, from the moment our eyes met..." Samantha looked at him.

"...But I can't risk it enough because I know I'll hurt you... I can't show affection to you because after all of this is over I have to leave." Alex stared at her, his words stung more than that needle from yesterday.

"But, you already made an impact in my life. It doesn't matter if we go too far..."

"I can handle the hurt... but you've already lost a lot. I can't let myself be the reason for it." Alex closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

She knew this would happen. Hence the questioning earlier, she wanted to make sure she's right about her suspicions. She was right to resist his charms the moment they met, but then again she took the risk and fell for him. A choice she willingly took.

"I've mourned the loss of my boyfriend for three years. What's a few more for you?" she breathed, almost cracking as she held back a sob. Alex nervously stared at her. She was willing to take the risk of getting hurt, all for s short moment with him.

Alex did the math. If she's true to her words it's a win-win. No more pretending, they'd both be happy and they both accept the impending end as soon as this was all over. What's holding him back is the end of both their promises, but it didn't matter when he let his heart decide for once.

He licked his lips as he slowly kissed her. It was awkward at first but as soon as they both felt comfortable, it felt relieving. Each moan signified the supressed feelings they had toward each other since day one. Each clash of tongue meant hope after years of mourning. It was a kiss that lasted longer than they could remember.

#codmwfic #alex x oc #chapter8 #CARETAKER ALE-#At this point I'm not sure anymore #Let's just fall in love for the hell of it #just keep falling?

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princess-of-riviaa · 5 years ago

Text

Inflicting Misery: Chapter 6

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: August gets called in when you get hurt beyond repair.

Author’s Note: This chapter will be in August’s POV.

Warning(s): mentions of psychological torture and abuse, LOTS of angst, some fluff

Word Count: 1,975

Henry’s gun is raised, locked, and loaded as he turns the corner to find Agent Sloane sitting on his couch, looking completely at home in Henry’s living room.

“Get the hell out of my house,” he growls, the threat clear in his voice.

She sets down whatever she’s drinking--only Sloane would have the audacity to not only break into Henry’s house, but make herself at home enough to make a drink and relax on his couch--and looks up at him. There’s no fear in her eyes, as if she thinks he won’t shoot her. “You’re needed back in Washington.”

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but you have ten seconds to get out of here before I shoot.” His lie is insistent. I’m not an agent anymore, I’m a Norwegian man named Henry.

She laughs to herself. “I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put in to making yourself disappear. I believe that still, after five years, I’m the only one who knows you’re alive.”

She’s not the only one, he thinks, and memories of the last night he was with you come flooding back. He’d run away that night like a goddamn coward. He should have ignored the declarations of love you’d made to him and waited to fuck you before leaving you. He’s still wound up from that night several weeks ago. The fire that your presence always starts still burns hot inside of him. Nothing but you can quench his need, but you’re long gone by now. He’ll probably never see you again. Henry ignores how empty that thought makes him feel. He survived five years without you; he can do it again.

“Agent Y/N knew,” Sloane admits, continuing on when Henry says nothing. “But she was good about keeping your existence a secret.”

The gun hovers in his hand. “What do you mean she knew?” Why the hell was Sloane talking in the past tense?

Sloane rises to her feet and begins to make her way towards Henry. “I mean, she was captured and tortured. We’ve gotten her back in our custody; she’s safe now. But I’m not sure how much of her they left behind.”

The gun is at his side now, his thoughts a blur as questions shoot through his mind like bullets. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means they got inside her head, tortured her for long enough that she forgot the majority of her life, who she is. They brainwashed her into turning against us. We have her locked up in a confidential location, but she’s proven untrustworthy. We can’t let her out without her trying to kill the guards, and you know how good of a soldier she is--she’s succeeded in killing thirteen men already.”

Henry is silent, taking this all in. He wants to puke. He wants Sloane to say this is all some sick kind of joke, that you’re okay and safe. But she never does.

“We’ve tried everything we can think of to get through to her,” Sloane admits. “Nothing has worked. You’re our last hope, Walker.”

Walker. He hasn’t heard that name in years; it sounds strange and foreign to him, like something out of a dream he had long ago.

“The world thinks you’re dead,” Sloane reminds him. “As long as you stay here, they’ll keep thinking you’re dead. You’ll be left alone. You’ll have liberty to live out the rest of your life in peace. But if you stay here, we’ll have to kill her. No one in the CIA can get through to her and as of right now, she’s a threat to the organization. Killing her is the only option. If you come back and are successful in rewinding her brainwashing, she’ll live. She’ll be put through extensive cognitive rehabilitation therapy, but she’ll live. But it’s up to you, Walker.”

...

“How long has she been kept like this?” August asks as he memorizes the sight of you through the one-way glass.

The chair you’re sitting in is the only furniture in that cold, empty room. You’ve been an agent long enough to know that the mirror to the left of you hides other agents memorizing your every move. But you don’t look up. You don’t even fight to get out of the straightjacket you’re locked in.

“One-hundred twenty-two hours,” Agent Lorenzo answers, still looking at August like he’s a ghost.

Just over five days then, August calculates.

“When was the last time she had something to drink?” August dares to ask, struggling to keep his anger on a tight leash.

The other agents only answer with shrugs.

August curses under his breath before stealing the water bottle from Lorenzo’s hand and entering the room you’re being kept in. You make no sign that you’ve heard him enter. Your eyes never leave the floor, staring at some invisible mark. He closes the distance between you and puts the water to your mouth. You take it greedily, gulping down the entire bottle as August runs his hand over your hair in soothing touches. Only once the water is gone do you look up at him. He’s never seen those eyes so empty before. It chills him to the bone, makes him sick, makes him want to kill the people who hurt you this bad. But instead of letting his anger get the best of him, he walks around you and begins to undo the straightjacket. He expects you to lash out at him as soon as you’re free. But you just rest your hands in your lap, looking more like a ghost than the brainwashed, sadistic murderer Sloane’s made you out to be. He helps you out of your seat and you fall against him. You haven’t eaten in days, nor had anything to drink save for the water he just gave you; of course you’re weak. August picks you up in his arms and you let him carry you out of the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lorenzo asks, flabbergasted.

“If you think we’ll let you take her out of here--” Sloane begins.

August gives her a look. “The only way you’re going to stop me is if you put a bullet through my head.”

She doesn’t move for the gun on her belt.

August knew she wouldn’t. He’s too valuable to her. No one else tries to stop him as he makes his way out of the building. He finds his rented car in the parking garage and helps you into the passenger seat, making sure you’re buckled and comfortable before moving to the driver’s side.

“Where would you like to eat?” August asks.

You don’t reply, don’t do anything but stare forward blankly. You’re nothing like the monster Sloane had described to August less than twenty-four hours ago. Maybe she’d lied to get him to come back. He wouldn’t say it’s beneath her. That woman would do whatever it takes to get what she wants.

It’s a good thing August knows your favorite place to eat. He turns the keys i the ignition and heads out of the parking garage. Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are parked in the back parking lot of Mangialardo’s, the best sandwich shop in all of D.C. August ordered your favorite sandwich without the bread, knowing it would probably be too heavy on your stomach after not eating for several days. He makes sure you drink enough water but not too much; he doesn’t want you getting sick all over this rental. You both eat in silence. August takes his time enjoying his roast beef sandwich. He hasn’t had a sandwich like this since he went off the map; it’s one of the things he misses most about his old life.

“You know, Sloane sees you as a threat.” His voice sounds loud amidst all of your silence.

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway.

“She thinks I can get through to you, break down whatever defenses you put up after those men...” He can’t even finish the thought without tasting his sandwich start to come back up. “I guess she really doesn’t know how much you hate me.”

Still you’re silent. This time, it’s disappointing. Some stupid part of him had wanted you to reassure him that you don’t hate him, never have and never will.

He clenches his jaw, forcing his feelings down as he moves back to business. “If I can’t get through to you, she’s going to kill you. You realize that, don’t you? If Sloane sees you as a threat, you gotta change her mind. She won’t hesitate to kill a soldier, not even if it’s one of her own.”

Nothing.

He’s ready to scream at you for how vacant you seem. You’re alive enough to move around, for your heart to beat and your lungs to rise and fall with air, but you’re dead inside. It makes him feel things he doesn’t even know how to describe. August can’t get you to talk.

But he knows who can.

After a quick search on his phone, he switches the car into drive and turns back onto the street.

...

The five-year-old kid you and August have been watching for several minutes laughs as he swings on the monkey bars. He undoubtedly has incredibly painful blisters on his hands from holding onto those bars all day, but he’s feeling too playful to notice. The kid’s parents watch him from the sidewalk. They can’t see August and you from where you’re seated on a bench beside the basketball court, but he can see them. They’re a happy couple. The husband keeps an arm around his pregnant wife’s waist while she rubs her stomach with motherly affection. The contrast between them and you and August is almost laughable. August suddenly understands what you must have been thinking when you signed those adoption papers.

“I wonder if they kept the name Hayden,” August ponders as he looks back at his biological son. He has August’s blue eyes and build but your dark hair, your smile. “He looks like a Hayden. I can’t believe he’s already five.”

“Six,” you correct.

August practically jumps when he hears your voice. He tries not to look at you in disbelief, but he can’t keep himself from staring. For a minute there he really thought... “Six?” he repeats, not even caring what the conversation is anymore, just wanting to hear your voice again.

You keep your eyes on Hayden as you answer, “He’s six, not five. His birthday was last week.”

Oh. Good to know. Of all things to bring you back, of all things to make you you again, it was your son. His son. He knew he shouldn’t, but he felt a sense of pride about that. Something he’d helped create was actually good. It brought light and clarity to the woman most important to him. He feels warmth spread throughout his body--not lust, not hate, but something... simpler. Something calmer.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t look at August, instead opting to watch Hayden climb up the rock wall and jump onto the slide, but August knows you can hear him.

“Y/N, I...” His voice shakes at what he’s about to say. “I think I’m... I’m in love with you.”

Your face becomes more animated than he’s seen it be all day. You smile, but it isn’t happy--it’s arrogant. Like you already knew. You turn to him and say, “I know. I’ve known since Norway, August. I just needed you to realize it too. And yes, it took some extreme measures on my end, but I think it’s safe to say that it was worth it. We love each other. Now we can really be together.”

***

Taglist:

@agniavateira @hnryycvll @littlefreya @wanderinglunarnights @fcgrizi @celestial-vomit @lestersglitterglue @watermeloncavill @honeychicana @penwieldingdreamer @mary-ann84 @elixasays @buckysgoldenheart @noz4a2 @trippedmetaldetector @omgkatinka

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker imagine #august walker fic #august walker daddy #august walker mission impossible

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qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

Note

Okay ONE MORE because I'm needy. “Ring the bells that can still ring. Forget your perfect offering. There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” For Garcy or Asher/Maria.

The Engineering & Aerospace Technical and Industrial Summit’s keynote opening address is held in the New York Hall of Science, and starts four minutes past nine AM on April 28, 1972. Maria is in the audience with the others, Lockman lanyard around her neck, notepad and number-two pencils at the ready. As promised, it’s a notably international gathering. President Nixon’s groundbreaking visit to China in February means that a group of student engineers from Beijing have been granted permission to attend, and they sit together in a self-contained huddle, with wary glances at the others. There are Mexicans, several Brits (instantly recognizable as they moan about the quality of the conference-supplied tea) and a decent selection of Western European intelligentsia. There are also some who may well be from the other side of the wall. Maria has heard snatches of German, something that might be Polish, and other Eastern Bloc languages, though nobody is dumb enough to openly speak Russian. The fact of this being conceived as a showpiece for the promotion and exchange of advanced American technological prowess means that it is also a possible target for the Soviets. There are a few ordinary-looking men in plainclothes, occasionally wandering up to random delegates and making friendly conversation, who Maria suspects of being CIA.

The keynote address is dull, but Maria takes dutiful notes. There are three more days of panels and papers to go, and the morning proceeds as you would expect. Weedy men in badly fitting suits struggle with their slide projectors, and drone on about bogglingly obscure minutiae in commercial combustion engine design. Even some of the other Lockman delegates are yawning, but Maria pays intent attention, and not just because it’s her job. She’s good at this, she knows she is, and she translates some of the more obtuse mathematical formulas into plain English before she hands them over to the men, who are supposed to understand better than she does, but don’t actually. Shocking.

Lunch is held in the cafeteria, a not-terribly-appetizing selection on offer, and Maria wrinkles her nose at whatever is pretending to be beef stroganoff on her plate. As she’s trying to decide whether she wants to eat it, a voice says, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

She looks up with a start. She thought it would be one of the Lockman engineers, but it’s not. The man is tall, lean, a few years older than her, and wearing a trim blue blazer, a tie, and slacks that actually fit. He does not have one of those disagreeable mustaches; he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is thick and dark and prone to flip over his forehead. His eyes are dark too, lively and intelligent, and his strong nose suggests southeastern Europe, as does his accent. The badge around his neck reads Jugoslovenski Aerotransport. JAT, the national airline of Yugoslavia. He might be into those very engines.

Maria is surprised – yes, there is open space at the table, but there are spots at other tables too. Presumably he should be sitting with the rest of JAT, as she should be with the rest of Lockman, but she makes a small gesture, inviting him to set his tray down. He does, swings his long legs over the bench, and examines the dismal culinary prospects without relish. “Do you think they’ll make us eat this the whole time?”

Taken aback by the fact that he has read her mind, Maria laughs. It feels like something for which she should have asked permission, though from who she has no idea. “I hope not.”

“I hope not too.” He speaks English well, mostly fluently, with the careful intonation of someone who has learned it out of books. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I am sitting down next to you, and I have not introduced myself. Asher Flynn.”

“Maria,” she says by reflex, glancing down; his name is indeed printed on his badge, though it strikes her as slightly Anglo for someone from Yugoslavia. Not that it is her business why he would have any kind of name at all. “Maria Tompkins.”

They shake hands, and he nods to her, having evidently also read her badge. “You are with Lockman? That must be exciting. They work with NASA, yes?”

Maria nods back, though she cannot help be wary of why this man has chosen her to chat up and immediately seemed interested in her employer. They choke down the gluey stroganoff for a few moments, and then she says, “Isn’t Yugoslavia a communist country?”

This is rather skip-the-formalities with someone she’s just met, and Asher Flynn looks surprised. “Yes,” he says, as if that was obvious. “Well, mostly. Tito is no friend to Moscow, though, and we are officially non-aligned. We’re the only country in Eastern Europe where you can travel abroad without an exit visa, and emigrate if you want to. Those poor bastards in the USSR, they need a passport even for domestic travel, they have to request leaves of absence from their hometown council if they plan to be gone longer than thirty days, and they can’t leave the country. I wouldn’t want to live that way.”

Maria notes the elegance of this answer, how he seems to be responding to the real question (are you a Soviet spy?) hidden within her first one, while never letting on that he is. Or maybe it’s just her imagination, and he’s gotten this a lot from suspicious Americans, inclined to mistrust a dark young man with an Eastern European accent and an interest in spaceflight technology. Maybe that’s why he goes by Asher Flynn, if the name is easier for the West to trust. Maria takes a bite of bread (stale), and says, “So that’s where you’re from?”

“Yes. SR Croatia. Zagreb.” He doesn’t seem offended by her asking. “You?”

“Texas.” She bites her tongue on asking if he knows where it is. Just because she couldn’t find Zagreb on a map doesn’t mean he can’t. “Houston.”

“Houston,” Asher says, nodding. “Yes, yes. Where they launched Apollo 11. Were you there for that?”

Maria looks at her plate. She can feel the stroganoff revolting, threatening to come back up and taste even more vile this time, and swallows heavily. Asher cannot know that he has stepped directly onto her most vulnerable sore spot, her most enduring wound, and she tries to concentrate until the urge to scream and run backs down. He can sense at once, however, that something is wrong. “I didn’t – ” he says. “Sorry, is that – ?”

“I – no. I wasn’t there.” The words are dredged out of her like leaden anchors. “There was – there was a family emergency. My son, he – ” God, no, no, no, she is not telling this man she just met, she is not doing it, she is not throwing it onto him, and yet she is. “My son actually – my son died that day. It was – a bee sting, a bad allergic reaction. He – he didn’t make it.”

Asher blinks like she’s hit him. There are any number of things he could say or do in response, not least some screaming and running of his own. Then he reaches out and pats her hand; his own is large enough to cover it, if he held on, but he doesn’t. “Please forgive me,” he says quietly. “I did not know, of course, but I am very sorry. You may tell me to go away and eat my lunch somewhere else, if you would like.”

“I – no.” Maria is determined not to crumble, not to sit here and cry in the middle of the cafeteria, and she might do that if he left. “No, it’s – ”

He’s still looking at her, pensive, considering. Then he says, “What if we throw away this mess, and go get a sandwich? I heard New York has good sandwiches. The next panel I want to attend is not until two o’clock.”

Maria tenses. “Are you just – because you feel sorry for me?”

“I do feel sorry for you,” Asher says, simply and unpretentiously. “But I was going to ask if you wanted a sandwich before you said that, so it’s not why. There is a shop on the corner. It would take only a few minutes. If you would like.”

Maria supposes there is something to be said for the fact that he took the dead-son bombshell and his next move to is to seek out more of her company, to see her cracks and her ruins and somehow find them -- well, not beautiful, but not dead, unbearable, disqualifying. She can give into it, she’s never going to see him again, and the stroganoff is disgusting. She pauses, then says, “Okay.”

Asher smiles – it’s unforced, natural, dazzling, and her insides do something strange – and gets to his feet, once more nearly tripping over the bench that has not been made with the interests of a six-foot-three man in mind. He strides at her side as they leave the cafeteria, as Maria recalls the warning against walking alone in New York and then decides that after all, she isn’t alone. The sandwich shop is not far from Shea Stadium, bedecked with graffiti, and the 7 train rattles overhead on its elevated tracks, felonies presumably being committed aboard. It looks seedy, but Asher ducks inside with easy confidence, strides up to the counter, and orders them both a New York sub special, opening his wallet and carefully counting out cash to pay before Maria can offer to go Dutch. It’s hot and greasy and possibly the most delicious thing she has eaten in her life.

She looks at her watch when it’s done, decides to get back so she can serve as Lockman stenographer for the afternoon sessions, and Asher escorts her back. As he regards the Unisphere with a slightly ironic expression, Maria asks, “Is this your first time in America?”

It’s rich of her to be asking, since she’s a newcomer to the city herself, but she finds herself wondering. He nods. “Yes,” he says. “I can’t say that New York’s impressed me very much.”

“Is it different back home?” Maria has no idea what Yugoslavia is actually like, other than presumably Soviet Union-lite. The American imagination does not encompass much social diversity (or quality of life) over there in the Red parts of Europe, those oppressed and faceless millions bereft of the freedom and luxury of the West. “Better?”

Asher shrugs. “Every country has its problems. It was devastated by the war, the Nazis occupied it and turned it into a puppet state – it used to be the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, but the last heir to the throne fled in 1941, and the monarchy was abolished. That’s the year I was born, so I don’t remember, but Tito rallied the Partisans and the anti-fascist forces, and they fought to drive the Nazis out. Then he became president of the republic, and he separated from Stalin fairly quickly. But my mother was born in a farmhouse with dirt floors, in a poor and rural country that was still essentially in the nineteenth century, and now she lives in a nice rent-free apartment in Zagreb. She can go on vacations to the seaside and to cafés with her friends, her health insurance is paid for, she has a television set and a washing machine and likes to read Žena u borbi and watch soap operas. I can even take her to Paris, Milan. I don’t think that is so bad, no?”

Maria glances sidelong at him. The way he speaks about his mother makes it sounds like he loves her, and is proud that she has a comfortable life. Maria wonders what Asher is leaving out, what sacrifices are made for this, but then, is it any less than the sacrifices made in America, this increasingly strange land that they all accept as the norm? She looks at this dirty city, the trash blowing in the gutters. Remembers the pictures of burning TV sets and prostitutes and homeless people in suits sleeping in the street. She says, “No, it sounds nice.”

They reach the fairgrounds, and go inside. Asher gives her half a bow, old-fashioned, oddly charming, before he returns to the JAT contingent, and Maria finds herself inexplicably reluctant to see him go. In her defense, he was polite and well-dressed, gracious about that inadvertent emotional minefield, interesting to talk to, not from around here, and saved her from having to eat the cafeteria food. Out of nowhere, she wonders if he’ll take her to lunch again tomorrow, if she could induce him to do so, but that seems manipulative. She could even ask, but that – no. She doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. Not when, as she already has to remind herself, they are never going to see each other again.

#timeless ff #asher x maria #note that this is an excerpt #from my much longer fic of them #which is already like.... 40k words #and will be finished one day #possibly #i have the feelings #prompt fills #extasiswings #ask

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

Text

Trump’s pick to lead U.S. intelligence claims he arrested 300 illegal immigrants in a single day. He didn’t.

https://wapo.st/2ZrB4ou

Ratcliffe withdraws from consideration for intelligence chief

By John Wagner and Shane Harris | Published August 02 at 3:07 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 2, 2019 7:16 PM ET |

President Trump announced Friday that Rep. John Ratcliffe (R-Tex.), his embattled pick to lead the nation’s intelligence community, was withdrawing from consideration and would remain in Congress.

The lawmaker was facing intense questions about padding his résumé and a lack of experience, which led to a lukewarm reception on Capitol Hill.

Trump said he would announce a new pick for director of national intelligence shortly.

In tweets, Trump said that Ratcliffe was being treated “very unfairly” by the media.

“Rather than going through months of slander and libel, I explained to John how miserable it would be for him and his family to deal with these people,” Trump wrote. “John has therefore decided to stay in Congress where he has done such an outstanding job representing the people of Texas, and our Country.”

In a statement issued shortly after Trump’s tweets, Ratcliffe said that he remained convinced that if confirmed by the Senate he would he would have served “with the objectivity, fairness and integrity that our intelligence agencies need and deserve.”

“However, I do not wish for a national security and intelligence debate surrounding my confirmation, however untrue, to become a purely political and partisan issue,” he said. “The country we all love deserves that it be treated as an American issue. Accordingly, I have asked the President to nominate someone other than me for this position.”

Trump made the announcement of Ratcliffe’s withdrawal shortly before appearing at a White House event to announce a new deal to sell more beef to the European Union. He ignored questions shouted by reporters about Ratcliffe’s withdrawal as he left the event.

One White House official, who requested anonymity to discuss internal deliberations, said that Ratcliffe got cold feet because of the lack of support among Republican senators.

But inside the White House, at least some believed that while Ratcliffe would likely have faced an contentious nomination fight, Senate Republicans were ultimately unlikely to vote against a Trump nominee. Ratcliffe might have survived, and may have withdrawn too early, in the view of some.

Ratcliffe’s background has come under scrutiny since Trump announced Sunday that he planned to nominate the lawmaker to be the next director of national intelligence, replacing Daniel Coats, a longtime senator and diplomat who was often at odds with the president.

Though Ratcliffe had dialed back claims that he had won convictions in a high-profile terrorism case as a federal prosecutor, his planned nomination drew opposition from Senate Democrats and tepid support from key Republicans.

Some current and former intelligence officials have said Ratcliffe is the least-qualified person ever nominated to oversee the country’s intelligence agencies — previous directors have been former diplomats, senior intelligence officials and military leaders — and questioned whether he would use the position to serve Trump’s political interests.

The post was created after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks to coordinate the 16 other agencies of the nation’s intelligence community.

Ratcliffe has been a staunch defender of the president and has alleged anti-Trump bias at the FBI. Trump tweeted out his plan to nominate Ratcliffe several days after the lawmaker attacked former special counsel Robert S. Mueller III during a hearing.

Congressional and intelligence officials have described Ratcliffe as a relatively disengaged member of the House Intelligence Committee and as little-known across the ranks of spy agencies he has been tapped to lead.

Though Rep. John Ratcliffe’s membership on the House committee is perhaps his most important credential for the top intelligence job, officials said he has yet to take part in one of its overseas trips to learn more about spy agencies’ work. The other new lawmakers on the panel have done so or are scheduled to travel in the coming months.

It is also unclear whether Ratcliffe has spent much time at the headquarters of the CIA, the National Security Agency or other parts of the sprawling U.S. intelligence community that he has been nominated to direct.

On Thursday, The Washington Post also reported that a Ratcliffe claim of a massive roundup immigrant workers at poultry plants in 2008 as a federal prosecutor in the Eastern District of Texas was undercut by the court record and recollections of others who participated in the operation. Ratcliffe has often cited the arrests as a highlight of his career.

In a statement, Senate Intelligence Committee Chairman Richard Burr (R-N.C.) said he respected Ratcliffe’s decision to withdraw from consideration.

“As the White House determines its next nominee, I’m heartened by the fact that [the Office of the Director of National Intelligence] has an experienced and capable leadership team to see it through this transition,” Burr said. “However, there is no substitute for having a Senate confirmed director in place to lead our Intelligence Community.”

Ashley Parker, Robert O’Harrow, Shawn Boburg and Greg Miller contributed to this report.

Trump’s pick to lead U.S. intelligence claims he arrested 300 illegal immigrants in a single day. He didn’t.

By Robert O'Harrow Jr. and Shawn Boburg | Published August 01 at 9:10 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 2, 2019 |

President Trump’s choice to lead the nation’s intelligence community often cites a massive roundup of immigrant workers at poultry plants in 2008 as a highlight of his career. Rep. John Ratcliffe claims that as a federal prosecutor in the Eastern District of Texas, he was the leader of the immigration crackdown, describing it as one of the largest cases of its kind.

“As a U.S. Attorney, I arrested over 300 illegal immigrants on a single day,” Ratcliffe (R-Tex.) says on his congressional website.

But a closer look at the case shows that Ratcliffe’s claims conflict with the court record and the recollections of others who participated in the operation — at a time when he is under fire for embellishing his record.

Ratcliffe played a supporting role in the 2008 sweep, which involved U.S. attorneys’ offices in five states and was led by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, according to a Justice Department news release. The effort targeted workers at poultry processor Pilgrim’s Pride who were suspected of using stolen Social Security numbers.

Only 45 workers were charged by prosecutors in Ratcliffe’s office, court documents show. Six of those cases were dismissed, two of them because the suspects turned out to be American citizens. One of those citizens, a 19-year-old woman, was awakened in her home and hauled away by immigration agents, the woman said in an interview.

Two people involved in the planning or execution of the enforcement effort said they could not recall Ratcliffe playing a central role.

A.J. Irwin, a former immigration investigator who was involved in the early planning stages before retiring, said in an interview that the operation was a costly failure. Later, as a private immigration consultant, he advised the poultry processor after the sweep and gathered details about the woman who was arrested.

“At the end of the day, it did not deliver,” Irwin said. “It was the biggest waste of money and hype.”

A spokeswoman for Ratcliffe, Rachel Stephens, did not respond to questions about the operation but said in a statement that it grew out of a prior investigation and arrests in the Eastern District of Texas at the company’s national headquarters.

Ratcliffe’s background has come under scrutiny since Trump announced Sunday that he plans to nominate the lawmaker to be the next director of national intelligence, replacing Daniel Coats, a former longtime senator and diplomat who was often at odds with the president.

Ratcliffe has dialed back his earlier claims that he had won convictions in a high-profile terrorism case as a federal prosecutor. His planned nomination has drawn opposition from Senate Democrats and tepid support from key Republicans.

Ratcliffe graduated from Notre Dame in 1986 and Southern Methodist University Law School in Dallas in 1989. A native of Illinois, Ratcliffe and his family moved to the small city of Heath, an affluent suburb just east of Dallas, where he began a law practice.

In 2004, he was hired as an assistant federal prosecutor in the sprawling Eastern District of Texas and was named chief of anti-terrorism in the office, despite an admitted lack of experience.

“My background isn’t in law enforcement and I don’t have any real specialized training,” he said in an interview with the Dallas Morning News in early 2005.

The same year he became a prosecutor, Ratcliffe was elected mayor of Heath, an unpaid post he would hold for eight years while working for the Justice Department. In his run later for the House, Ratcliffe cited his leadership of Heath — a wealthy lakeside community of 8,000 that has a yacht club and a private golf course — as an example of his government service and fiscal acumen.

He was named acting U.S. attorney in May 2007 to fill a vacancy for one year. He was never nominated by the president or confirmed by the Senate. The brief stint later became a cornerstone in Ratcliffe’s bid for Congress.

“During his tenure, John personally managed dozens of international and domestic terrorism investigations involving some of the nation’s most sensitive security matters,” his campaign website said during his first run for Congress in 2013.

In 2016, seeking reelection, he claimed a central role in a major federal terrorism case. “There are individuals that currently sit in prison because I prosecuted them for funneling money to terrorist groups,” he is quoted as saying in campaign literature.

Stephens, Ratcliffe’s spokeswoman, did not respond to questions about which cases Ratcliffe was referring to. But the same news release refers to a high-profile case from that time. “In 2008, Ratcliffe served by special appointment as the prosecutor in U.S. v. Holy Land Foundation, one of the nation’s largest terrorism financing cases,” it says.

Stephens acknowledged this week that Ratcliffe’s assignment was not to prosecute the case but rather “to investigate issues related to” why an initial prosecution of Holy Land Foundation resulted in a mistrial.

She said Justice Department policy prevents Ratcliffe from commenting on his work related to the case because it did not result in criminal charges. Without citing specific cases, she said that Justice records would confirm that Ratcliffe “opened, managed and supervised numerous domestic and international terrorism-related cases.”

Ratcliffe has made the immigration roundup of poultry workers, code named Operation Plymouth Rock, a defining example of his conservative bona fides.

Irwin said he raised questions about its goals and methods during planning sessions in 2007. Irwin said he questioned why they were devoting so many resources to a case he thought would net only low-level offenders.

An ICE spokesman did not respond to messages seeking comment.

Irwin retired from ICE before the sweep. He later worked as a consultant at a firm that helped Pilgrim’s Pride comply with immigration laws, including in the weeks after the arrests.

He dismissed Ratcliffe’s claim of having arrested 300 immigrants in the country illegally, in part because ICE agents and U.S. attorneys’ offices in five states were involved. Also, he said, federal prosecutors do not arrest suspects.

Leticia Zamarripa, a spokeswoman in ICE’s El Paso office who also participated in the operation, questioned Ratcliffe’s characterization of his role in the arrests. “No, that doesn’t sound factual. That sounds incorrect,” she told The Washington Post.

Zamarripa said she does not recall Ratcliffe being involved. “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” she said.

A news release by ICE and the Justice Department on the day of the arrests calls the operation “an ICE-led investigation with support” from the five U.S. attorneys’ offices. The release said that the defendants could receive up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

“The Department of Justice anticipates that a substantial number of those detained will be federally prosecuted,” the news release said.

But the operation was marked by some missteps, and the cases did not result in long sentences or big fines. One of the suspects was Xochitl Delgado, the 19-year-old female citizen who was detained.

Born in California, she had worked at Pilgrim’s Pride for almost a year before her arrest. In an interview in Spanish, Delgado told The Post that eight agents, some of them armed, awakened her and took her into custody just hours after she finished a night shift at the plant.

She said she was surprised and scared: “I was asking myself, Why are they here? Who are these people?”

Delgado was released from custody the following day after agents learned she was a U.S. citizen. The case was dropped after a prosecutor representing Ratcliffe’s office asked a judge to dismiss it “in the interests of justice,” court records show.

Another U.S. citizen, also 19, was arrested at the Pilgrim’s Pride poultry plant, records and interviews show. A third was a legal resident worker.

Irwin’s consulting partner, Hipolito Acosta, a 30-year veteran agent and manager at the agency formerly known as the Immigration and Naturalization Service, was at the plant advising the company during the sweep. In an interview, he said he told a top ICE official who was there that the 19-year-old man was a legal citizen. He said the official responded, “He can tell it to the judge.”

Those charges were also dismissed, records show.

The three were among six cases dismissed at prosecutors’ request. Indictments against the other suspects were dismissed nearly two months later as part of plea agreements that resulted in guilty pleas to a single charge of false use of a Social Security number and a $100 fine. The defendants in the Eastern District were released to immigration officials for deportation proceedings, and at least one person arrested in the case was deported, according to documents and interviews.

More than a dozen defense attorneys representing other defendants did not respond to inquiries about the outcome of those proceedings.

Ratcliffe’s campaign literature later claimed that “as a result of John’s efforts” Pilgrim’s Pride paid a $4.5 million ��criminal penalty.” The agreement to pay the money was not struck until December 2009, a year after Ratcliffe left the prosecutor’s office. The company did not admit wrongdoing and the government brought no civil or criminal charges against it.

Ratcliffe highlighted the crackdown when he announced his first run for Congress, citing it as “part of a proven conservative record” and describing it as “one of the nation’s largest work site enforcement actions.”

“Operation Plymouth Rock led to the successful prosecution of hundreds of illegal aliens,” the campaign brochure said.

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