#oh beloved fictional characters how you have raised my standards | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rametarin · 3 years ago

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I didn’t want to reblog another long post, so I’ll just say my own thing here.

Gatekeeping fandom is good, ackshully.

Especially since we have a certain pattern of person, call them, “SJWs” if you want, that deliberately creep into a fandom with their values and shamelessly, deliberately, use it as a platform. They CONSCIOUSLY do this. They DELIBERATELY do this.

And then they have the audacity to see false positives and imagine dog whistles everywhere of things outside THEIR orthodoxy in the fandom being -isms, or -gnies. Accusing the people already there of being “out of date” and “toxic”, when it’s neither toxic nor uninclusive- it just isn’t rearranging itself to accommodate Intersectional Feminism or giving Intersectional Feminists voluntary control over everything from how something works to how it’s defined.

That to them is tantamount to being Nazis. And that’s kind of how you can tell they’re the same sort of daft, disingenuous fucks that wrap up socialist or ancom shit in supposed social progress. And if they could they’re reshape EVERYTHING to match their sensibilities, because their sensibilities are, “our way or you die.”

If you spend enough time peeking through academic papers and colleges you even learn there’s a thing many of them do. Which is, “Queering,” characters on purpose, to make them unpalatable or untouchable to cis/het people. That’s culturally like raising a flag on something to annex it and landgrab it.

And if you say, “hands off, this character isn’t gay?” They pivot and declare you’re just a homophobe whom is afraid of change, tell other people that and then talk in the broad bruckstroke about, “society is really so homophobic/afraid of new ideas. :c”

These people don’t even want to be part of that fandom for the sake of being in the fandom. They just want it because they want the fandom to perpetuate their values and parrot their beliefs and spread it to everybody else that wants to participate in that fandom. Do you like this popular thing? Okay, you can have popular thing, but only if you hug this Courtney Love doll and buy it and pet it and love it as part of the package deal!

And as part and parcel of the demanding to not just define the fundamentals and parameters of a fandom, they also demand to reinterpret the history of said fandom based on how out of orthodoxy to their values they find it to their own beliefs. So, was the hobby primarily done by white men in the past? Then naturally they’ll automatically paint it with a broad brush and say, “this hobby was very unwelcoming to non-whites and women in the past because of icky homophobic and misogynistic men!” Regardless of how many authors were beloved by the fandom that were female, regardless of how many women were equal fandom members before- they weren’t the Intersectional Feminist types of fans, so clearly they were “closer to the Daughters of the Confederacy than real people,” right? That’s how that works, apparently.

So yes. We had a taste of this in the 90s, but the feminists/radfems at the time weren’t trying to infiltrate the fandom and take it over to be about feminism. They were shaming boys and other girls for liking the big booby comic book girls as sexist and objectification and trying to get comic fans to abandon comics in order to pressure the companies economically into changing.

“These comics are written and drawn by MEN! MAAAAALE GAAAAAAAAAZE!!! Sexualized girls are only okay when WOMEN are drawing them and writing them for the authenticity!” And there were not many women that either liked comic books or wanted to BE in them, so they’d maintain that impossible standard to try and coerce the boys to FIND women for the sake of having a woman on staff, just to assauge their, “icky boys aren’t allowed to do this without me declaring it wrong” qualm.

And true to form for Progressives, give an inch and within a short period of time they just want more, and declare what was offered before was just to mollify or patronize them. “Oh so women can tidy up and do the low work. Why no female CEOs in the company yet? Why not Editor in Chief?”

But the way the Intersectionals do it is new. Rather than just stay outside the fandom because “yuck it offends my sensibilities, it shouldn’t exist,” they try and appropriate the fandom and then contribute rules and policies for it.

We saw this in the years leading up to Gamergate. The Subverters infiltrated video game journos, got incestuous and buddy-buddy with both Triple A industry people and independent game creators and traded favors, financial, sexual and other, for good reviews. Folks like Anita Sarkesian trying to make a name for themselves by already being insiders and getting plugged by the conspirators to LOOK like she was anything more than a plant for that cause, using other peoples video game playing footage in her critique videos, styling herself a holistic “girl gamer” and waxing poetic about “those awful neckbearded dudebros questioning my gamer cred! Tch!”

And so that romantic boogyman became a thing that they perpetuated. “The gatekeeping, woman hating, manbaby Gamer.” Where they then added in racism and male chauvinism and traditionalism and transphobia because you know you can’t just leave it at “misogynist.” Not, “in this society.”

Gamers protesting and demanding that game journalist magazines state their relationships to the creators for full disclosure got them retaliating asymmetrically, though. The FBI investigated all those, “threatening and trolling social media messages” that supposedly got Zoe Quinn and Sarkesian to leave their houses, “for fear of an attack,” and they got nothing. A few of them were caught doxxing themselves on purpose on 4chan. Quinn herself being part of the SomethingAwful’s Crash Override forums, where they’d do shit like this to troll and harass people for fun. They KNOW how to false flag and make it look like a bunch of angry dudebros did it.

Statistically the number of harassing egg names was far lower than the messages either girl received that was NOT harassment or threats, merely replies they didn’t agree with or didn’t appreciate. And yet they still ran around screaming about “all those misogynistic dudebro gamers” that were “harassing and doxing them.” And that boogyman became the party line. That Gaming and Gamers were full of toxic, misogynistic, racist manbabies SOooOoOooOO intimidated by, “women finally in what they feel are THEIR spaces,” that they’d try to run them out.

That’s how they interpreted it and that’s how the history books they write will repeat it.

They try and make a great big public show about “entering this toxic space” to flip it and civilize it, but what they’re really trying to do is officially own it. As a fandom, as a space and as a culture. And that entails being able to say what goes, what’s acceptable and what’s not, and set the tone and culture for that space. Meaning, to be able to gatekeep the product.

Rather than just decry the product, they decide they’re just going to mutate the product by slow assimilation, until the product doesn’t even resemble the original product anymore. They do this shit with comic books, videogames, and now they’re working on doing it to beloeved novels and their fandoms. It’s like forcibly marrying them to terrible people, so you can never have a fandom WITHOUT those people in your space trying to insist their interpretations of things are original canon, ever again.

And the sickest part is, these people DO NOT stop at fiction. That’s why this shit is called Cultural Marxism. Because it’s not much different from the way communists and socialist guerillas act and operate when it comes to land, resources and industry. They take over public spaces and forums and use a combination of instittional corruption, terrorism and violence and vandalism in order to destroy or silence competition.

They’ve even infiltrated the Linux community and taken over most of that, via Linus Torvalds’ daughter. You can’t have ANYTHING around these people, because they just sit and wait and conspire to come in and make even a simple community mural to revolve around whatever social issue and specifically their philosophy’s take on it being THE only valid take on it that everybody else must now interact with, good or bad, but they can’t ignore it anymore.

This is, also, partially why they hate it when fandoms are gatekept by singularly powerful individuals. Like say, authors of their own works. They don’t like singular owners of enterprise and property, because it prevents the mob from taking them and then dictating TO the creator, “this is the PEOPLES property now. WE decide, as the most powerful clique, what is true and real with it and what isn’t.”

Because like what happened with Frank Oz of Jim Henson Studios. An activist gay writer declared that Bert and Ernie’s relationship was “canon gay,” because he wrote them as canon gay lovers. There was a great big information cascade as all these affiliated journo companies published articles about how “happy they were to see Sesame Street and the Children’s Television Workshop as representing LGBT people in public!”

Frank Oz spoke up, set the record straight, “These characters were made by me and a friend and were meant to depict a platonic male-male relationship. They aren’t gay but I’m glad you could identify with them.”

That poor old man caught so much shit. They called him a homophobe, said he was, “stealing Bert and Ernie from them,” that he should just shut up and “let people have this.”

No. Fucking no. These people are fucking conspirators, believe wholly in dominating and taking shit over by moving their people into a thing until they have the warm bodies and the institutional authority to crowd out oppositional voices, then have the audacity to SCREEEAAAAAAM bloody murder about the dangers of anybody else organizing to contest them because, “The Nazis are gathering to attack us poor innocent minorities!!” Counting on the ignorance and unsuspecting nature of people to not know such a thing is fake or the totality of the situation.

That’s why they’ll keep this shit on the downlow and call anybody that accuses them of doing shit like this a liar or a tinfoil hat wearing conspiracy theorist. Demanding evidence, in bad faith, knowing there’s little to no way to PROVE any of this UNTIL they’ve done it, and then declaring you to be invalid since you can’t prove the conspiracy.

Because if you can’t prove it with evidence, they’ll simply say you’re a Nazi trying to smear “good people.”

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bevioletskies · 5 years ago

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all the stars (are closer) [1/5]

summary: Scott is a washed-up comedy actor and an ex-convict, unable to find enough work to pay child support. Hope is a famous action star and the daughter of one of Hollywood’s most beloved couples, still struggling with the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death. When Hope’s estranged father casts them in his directorial debut, a romantic drama with a script that’s more truth than fiction, they find themselves tangled in a mysterious conspiracy that just might explain what really happened to Janet Van Dyne all those years ago.

a/n: Fic title is from the song All The Stars by Kendrick Lamar (with SZA).

word count: 4.4k | ao3 | tag

To the surprise of practically no one who’d known him in his childhood and his awkward adolescence, Scott went into comedic acting soon after graduating university (with a master’s in engineering, no less), having spent many of his late nights doing stand-up instead of studying for exams. To the surprise of nearly everyone, however, he then went on to become moderately famous.

“He was always better at making me laugh than making me cry. Well, until the end,” his ex-wife Maggie had said with a bittersweet smile on a morning talk show once. She was an actress as well, often erroneously underappreciated in supporting roles, and was now engaged to a man who was known for guest-starring on every cop procedural that was still airing long beyond its expiry date.

Maggie hadn’t been talking about their divorce, exactly, but rather, the cause of it - Scott had spent three years in jail for trying to expose a crime ring inside the film industry that no one wanted to admit existed, three years of their daughter’s life he could never get back. His career had also come to a complete standstill ever since, and though he’d made half-hearted attempts at a comeback, he never seemed to be able to make it to where he had been.

“You gotta do something different here, Lang,” his agent had said to him after the third movie premiere in a row in which he’d spent most of it mulling over how much of his paycheck had gone to child support. “Look, there’s a director who’s been chasing me down, wants you to read for a part. It’s not your usual, though - romantic drama, Oscar bait, whatever you wanna call it. He’s already got his lead actress. You know Hope Van Dyne?”

Scott promptly jolted out of his apathy-induced haze. “What?”

Hope was the result of a rare Hollywood happy ending, the daughter of two silver screen icons who had been staples of drama films in their prime and had gotten married after working together and discovering a mutual secret love of science. They later started a scientific research foundation together as an anniversary gift for the world, focusing on funding biological innovation and children’s education programs. It was declared the Hope for Science Foundation during the opening ceremony, where the two of them posed for pictures and talked to reporters while cradling their newborn daughter in their arms.

It hadn’t all been picture-perfect though, as her mother had died in a plane crash when she was seven. Her father’s last role had him playing a surly but well-intentioned detective, with one particular scene that critics loved where a six-year-old Hope had appeared as his character’s daughter. No one had heard from him ever since. When Hope started appearing in action movies in her twenties with a dozen martial arts credentials and her mother’s last name instead of her father’s, rumors followed her everywhere she went. In short, she was the last person whose name Scott had expected to hear.

“Be careful when you meet her, alright? Everyone says she’s...intense.” His agent made a face. Scott was too stunned to make any sort of face in return.

For one reason or another, Scott found himself standing outside the director’s house a week later, debating whether to ring the doorbell, knock on the door, or turn right around and never come back. The decision was made for him when someone walked up beside him, rapped their knuckles sharply on the door, then stepped back and promptly directed their attention to their phone. He turned to stare incredulously at Hope herself, dressed in a smart pantsuit far nicer than his button-up shirt and jeans, making no attempt to acknowledge his presence.

“Hello,” he said rather stupidly. She didn’t respond. “I’m, uh, I’m Scott. It’s nice to...nice to meet you.” More silence. “Y’know, my agent didn’t even tell me anything about the director or the movie, so I don’t...really know what I’m doing here?”

“Is that a question?” she said shortly. Her voice was softer than he remembered from the handful of movies he’d seen her in, but there was a bite in her tone that made him wince.

“No, I really don’t know what I’m doing here,” he admitted, chuckling awkwardly. She seemed unamused. “But you gotta know something, right? And that was a question,” he added at her pointed eyebrow raise.

She suddenly shoved her phone in her pocket and pushed past him to open the door, which had apparently been unlocked the whole time, barely waiting for him to follow. “Hank is waiting for us in the sitting room.”

“Wait,” Scott called after her, hastily shutting the door behind him once he’d stepped inside. “Who?”

The first thing he noticed was how eccentric the house was, looking every bit as old-fashioned as its exterior had been, with Victorian-style furniture, elaborate wallpaper and wainscotting, and dimly-lit lamps in every corner that made it feel more like an atmospheric showroom than an actual home. It took him another few seconds to notice that Hope clearly knew her way around, striding down the hall and through a series of doorways until they finally came to a stop in a room occupied by another man.

Scott did a double-take at the sight of the man - he was notably older than any director Scott had ever worked with, well-dressed in a wool sweater vest, slacks, and a tie, peering at them through his translucent-rimmed glasses with a piercing gaze. What was most notable, however, was the fact that he was definitely Hope’s estranged father.

“Hank,” Hope said neatly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Hope. Would it kill you to call me ‘Dad’?” Hank let out a world-weary sigh, sinking into the plush armchair behind him and gesturing for them both to sit on the fainting couch opposite. Hope immediately sat down; Scott was still looking at him dumbfoundedly. “Mr. Lang, I see you’ve already met my daughter.”

“Yeah, uh, she’s great,” Scott said, turning to look at her. She was already back on her phone. He turned back and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Pym, huge fan of your work - ”

“It’s ‘Doctor’ now, Scott. Spent my early retirement putting my mind to good use.” Instead of accepting Scott’s proffered hand, he gestured toward the bookcases behind him, practically bursting at the seams with volumes on things like quantum physics, time displacement, and other topics far beyond Scott’s master’s degree. “Sit down.”

Scott finally took a seat, sheepishly tucking his rejected hand away. “Sorry - Dr. Pym, I didn’t realize you were directing now.”

Hope scoffed. “You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Tell me - ” Scott glanced between them, but neither seemed interested in making eye contact with each other. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

“To make a long story short, I need more than just a good performance out of you.” Hank leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at Scott so intently he could feel his ears burning. “What can you tell us about the Ghost conspiracy?”

Scott groaned, leaning back to rub his eyes; he could feel a headache coming on already. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me. No disrespect to you, Dr. Pym, but I left all that behind me the second I got out of jail. Besides, they had me sign a bunch of agreements not to talk about it, it was all very legal. Even if I wanted to talk about my theories, I can’t.”

“But it’s not just a theory, is it? It’s real, all of it,” Hank insisted. “People were disappearing and - ”

“Almost thirty years later and you still can’t let this go.” Hope finally put her phone away so she could narrow her eyes at her father. “We have more important things to be focusing on, Hank. Dragging in a has-been who might know something about this stupid cult theory just to feed your obsession over Mom’s death is a new low, even by your standards.”

“Don’t you talk about your mother like that,” Hank growled, suddenly rounding on her. “Show some respect.”

“Fine. Then we can go back to not talking at all,” she replied. She got to her feet and promptly turned to walk right out of the house, her heels clicking sharply against the glossy wood floors. Hank sighed, sinking further into his chair, making no move to go after her.

Scott, who was trapped in an unpleasant combination of feeling utterly confused, awkward, and shocked all at once, slowly stood as well. “There’s no movie, is there?”

“There is,” Hank said resignedly. “And I need both of you, more than you could ever know.” ______

Scott barely slept at all that night, staring up at the ceiling with everything he knew and everything he thought he knew rolling around in his brain. He had only stayed at Hank’s house for another few minutes, hoping to get a clearer picture of what exactly he was expecting from him, but Hank had only said that he would get in touch when they were ready. Scott wasn’t sure if “they” really included Hope, given that her car was long gone by the time he walked out of the house. She seemed about as interested in entertaining Hank’s schemes as she was in...well, just about anything else.

Still, Scott found himself on a sunny San Francisco backlot three weeks later, sitting in a hair and makeup trailer with the air conditioning blasting comfortably through his unwashed hair. He had signed a contract after it had been extensively combed through by his lawyer, and a script had finally been mailed to him last night, though he knew its importance was secondary to Hank’s true intentions.

If Hank and Hope were even just a little bit less intimidating, Scott would have turned down both the movie and the mystery, but he had to admit - if nothing else, he was intrigued. Neither of them seemed to be able to talk about Janet beyond using her as a weapon against one another, and he couldn’t blame them. He remembered how he could barely bring himself to talk about Cassie during the first few months of his incarceration, how he couldn’t bear the thought of how much he’d disappointed her. He had wondered if she would want to see him after he got out, if she would want to remember him at all.

The sharp bang of the trailer door being flung open startled Scott right out of his thoughts (and his chair). He glanced in the mirror to watch Hope walk in and sit down in the seat beside him. The assistants immediately began to panic, scrambling to dig through their kits and find what they needed for her. Hope remained as disinterested as ever, silently sipping on her coffee and scrolling through her text messages.

“Morning,” Scott chirped. She side-eyed him over the rim of her cup. “Hey, don’t you think it’s weird that we haven’t done a table read or pre-production or...y’know, anything?”

“Hank invests his time and money into what he wants, not what’s actually needed,” she replied, her tone dry. “If you were expecting this shoot to be like anything you’ve ever done before, you clearly don't understand what’s really going on here.”

“I don’t, because neither of you are telling me anything,” he pointed out. “And I’m not an expert on this stuff. There are probably a dozen people out there more qualified to help him than me, why can’t he just ask around?”

Hope glanced briefly at the makeup assistants still rooting around the bottoms of their bags for products, then leaned in close, her mouth nearly brushing against Scott’s ear. He shivered. “Hank hasn’t been focusing on the real problem that I went to him for. There’s a man determined to blacklist him permanently from every connection and every social circle he’s ever had, ruin his reputation, and deplete my family of the fortune that my parents built. He only knows this because I told him, which is why he has to be discreet. He also thinks solving the conspiracy will somehow stop this from happening. I think he’s really lost it this time.”

“So who is this guy?” Scott asked quietly. “Why does he have it out for Hank?”

“Darren Cross was a would-be protégé of his. Child actor he met during the filming of his very last movie...the one that I was in, too.” Hope leaned back in her chair to look at her own reflection in the mirror, eyes glazing over as she became lost in thought. “When...when Mom died, Hank left everything behind, including his promise to Darren that he’d take him under his wing. He couldn’t handle being abandoned.”

“What happened to him after that?” Scott pressed.

She let out a quiet, harsh laugh. “Among other things, he became the CEO of my parents’ foundation. It was poetic to the public, but what it really was? It turned out that a mutual spite for Hank was a negotiation point for starting a business relationship between us, and so I made it happen. I was the one who put Darren in that position.” Her head bowed. “I made us vulnerable.”

Scott blinked. “I’m so confused.”

Hope sighed, rolling her eyes so hard he suspected she would have pulled something had she not likely done it thousands of times before. “Try to keep up, I’m not here to babysit you. I’m here to help Hank.”

“Really? Because it kinda sounds like it’s the last thing you wanna do.”

“He abandoned me right after Mom died. Since then, he’s only come back into my life a few times, and usually not by choice.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to believe the things he believes, but...part of me wants to entertain the idea that somewhere, somehow...she’s still alive.” ______

The end of the fourteen-hour shoot left Hope half-collapsed in the driver’s seat of her car, completely and utterly drained, both physically and emotionally. She knew Scott was familiar with her work, but she knew nothing of his - comedy had never been a draw to her, not when her life had been so deprived of it. Her expectations for him had been low, and she’d made that obvious from the beginning, but what actually happened in front of the cameras left her silently impressed. Still, it didn’t make his presence any easier to accept.

She had been eighteen when she’d agreed to meet with Hank in person for the first time since her mother’s death, with every other encounter being expertly maneuvered by lawyers or assistants or any other number of sneak tactics he’d used to attempt reconciliation, to no avail. He’d told her about the Ghost conspiracy, showed her all the news clippings and redacted documents and photographs he’d collected, telling her it was likely Janet had gotten too close to the truth and had been taken from them as a result. Hope then spent the rest of her life holding steadfast to the plane crash that everyone believed to be true, mostly out of spite. However, six months ago, she ended up calling him with a new proposal, because now, they were racing against the clock.

“Darren wants to cut off all program funding and shut down the Foundation, start it from scratch with his name on the side of the building,” she had said to him over the phone. “He wants to discredit you, blame you for Mom’s death, and...he’s been siphoning money elsewhere. Offshore bank accounts, shell companies, things I can’t trace myself, but I know it’s happening. We have to stop him before this turns into something bigger than just us.”

Hank had paused; even after all their years apart, she could still picture him narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “What is he up to?”

“I wish I knew.” Hope had pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers in agitation. “I’ve caught glimpses of his phone and his work desktop - emails, invoices, redacted documents - but I don’t know where to begin. I...I need your help, Hank.”

Another pause. Then, “I think I found a guy.”

She had blinked. “...who?”

A sharp knock-knock-knock on the passenger door window promptly pulled Hope out of her reverie. She flinched further when she realized who it was. “Oh, god.”

Scott shot her a bright smile, though even he was starting to look exhausted as well. “Hank wants to do a nightcap at his house, said he wanted to go over the details.”

“Of course he does,” she said bitingly. “Fine, I’ll meet you there.”

“I, uh, I don’t suppose I could get a ride with you, could I?” he asked, his grin turning into something more sheepish. “I’m still not clear to get a driver’s license yet, I’ve been taking ride services ever since - ”

“ - ever since you got out of jail,” Hope interrupted. Her eyes were narrowing more and more by the second. “Just get in before I change my mind.”

The drive to Hank’s was uncomfortably silent for the first few minutes, though she could tell he was itching to talk, his fingers drumming an irregular pattern against the windowsill. “So that was, uh...that was something.”

“What was?” she said shortly.

“O-kay, never mind,” he mumbled to himself. For the first time since she’d met him, he almost seemed embarrassed.

She cleared her throat, feeling a mild sense of pity for him that she was sure would pass. “It was definitely...different. But we both know the movie isn’t what matters here.”

“Right, but we still have to do the whole - ” he waved his hand aimlessly “ - the shoot, post-prod, press, y’know, the usual. Unless Hank decides to shelve the project if we get this done first.”

Hope suddenly slammed on the brakes without warning, causing Scott to jolt forward. All the air was knocked out of his lungs from the tug of his seatbelt, causing him to wheeze; she ignored him. “Why are you even getting involved? You could’ve easily walked away from all of this.”

“Well…” He paused for a moment, partially to think about what he felt and what she wanted to hear, but mostly to cough and catch his breath. “...you have to understand, Hope, I don’t get a lot of options or opportunities these days. It’s hard to find work of any kind as an ex-con, let alone in an industry as messed up as this one. So, after listening to Hank and listening to you, I mean, how could I not help, especially if I’m the only one who can? That’s how I felt the first time I got involved, and that’s how I feel now. If I can figure out this weird conspiracy that’s been haunting me for the last six years, I can prove to my ex and my daughter that I didn’t do what I did for nothing.”

She made a quiet noise in the back of her throat, so low that Scott nearly missed it. It almost sounded sympathetic. “I...almost forgot about your daughter. I know all about Maggie, but...I guess you both kept her out of the public eye. That’s not what my parents did with me.” She lowered her gaze to the steering wheel, unable to look at him. “What’s her name?”

“Cassie.”

“It’s a pretty name.” Hope, to Scott’s surprise, cracked a small smile. “If you want what’s best for Cassie, you might want to start by protecting yourself first. You may be sure about what happened to you in the past, but you have no idea what’s about to happen in the future. None of us do.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like an adventure.”

Hope snorted, shaking her head, though it seemed more playful than it had before. She let go of the brake to step on the gas again, still smiling as she pulled the car back onto the road. ______

After the excessively long discussion at Hank’s house, where, to Scott’s disappointment, Hope fell back onto her stone-faced stoicism and strong contempt for her father, Scott took a car home, not wanting to bother her further. His mind was still reeling from everything they’d talked about, all the (legal) details he’d shared, all the information Hank had, all the interruptions Hope made to remind them of the more immediate issue at hand. Ten minutes into the ride, Scott leaned forward to gently tap on the plexiglass and request that the driver make a detour.

He found himself standing on the doorstep of a house far nicer than his, in a gated community he had once known. It was only a few blocks over from where he and Maggie used to live when they were together, a step-up from the crappy apartment they had when they were first starting out, young and fresh-faced and naïve. He took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell.

A moment passed before someone answered, the door swinging open sharply. To Scott’s dismay, it was Paxton, Maggie’s fiancé, staring him down in complete disbelief. Scott grimaced. “Hey, man. Is my daughter home?”

Paxton scoffed. “You’re not supposed to be here, Lang.”

“I know, I know. I just...it’s been a long day, and I thought I would stop by and say hello. Can I at least do that?” Scott pleaded.

The decision seemed to be made for Paxton, however, as there was a sudden pattering of a little girl’s footsteps thundering down the hallway, and she practically barreled right into Scott’s side with a delighted squeal. “Daddy!” Cassie shrieked.

Scott let out a sigh of relief, crouching down and melting into her embrace, instantly soothed by the feeling of her face burrowed in his neck. He then pulled back a little so they were eye-to-eye. “Hey, peanut,” he said softly. “Been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“For good reason,” Paxton coughed, though he stepped aside so Scott could cross the threshold and get into the house. “I’ll tell Maggie you’re here.”

“Wait, no, don’t - ” Paxton disappeared up the stairs before Scott could stop him. Scott groaned, looking back to Cassie, who merely shrugged. “So what’ve you been up to? All kinds of trouble, I bet.”

“No way,” she protested. “I’ve been super good. Mommy said so.”

“That’s good,” Scott murmured, cupping her face in both hands so he could push her hair out of her face. She was a little taller than she’d been the last time he’d seen her, though her eyes were just as big and round and expressive as ever. He then realized she was wearing the pyjamas he’d bought and sent her last Christmas, which he had wrongly assumed Maggie had just thrown out before Cassie ever realized they existed. “Hey, uh, I’ve been working on a new movie. I’m not really sure if you’ll be old enough to watch it when it comes out, but it’s different than the stuff I usually do. And I’ve got some...interesting people I’m working with.”

“Int’resting how?” she asked.

“It’s a father-daughter team. Just like you and me,” he replied, poking her playfully in the stomach, causing her to giggle. “What do you think, peanut? You wanna act with me someday, too?”

“Scott, let our daughter have a normal life, please.” He glanced up to see Maggie standing at the top of the stairs, her arms folded across her chest defensively. Paxton was hovering at her back, glancing between them like he was watching a tennis match.

“How can I? Have you seen the house you guys live in?” Scott remarked. “What’s the mortgage like?”

“I’m not here to argue with you, Scott. I am here to remind you that you can’t just come by whenever you feel like it,” she said, furrowing her brow at him. “And it’s late. Cassie has to be in bed in fifteen minutes, she has gymnastics tomorrow.”

“Wait - I brought you something.” Scott pulled out an envelope from his back pocket and held it out to her. She made her way down the stairs to take it, eyeing it suspiciously as if she expected it to explode, and carefully pried it open. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was.

“Scott, this is - ”

“Six months’ worth, yeah,” he nodded. “I know it’s nothing compared to what you guys make, but I just wanna do my part. I wanna do what’s right.”

“But where did this come from?” Maggie sputtered.

“I got an advance payment for the project I’m working on,” he explained. “Just started today, actually.”

“Daddy’s doing a movie. He says it’s diff’rent from his other stuff,” Cassie informed her, smiling toothily.

“Scott, if you’re getting involved in something immoral again - ”

“Illegal, even,” Paxton interjected. Scott couldn’t help but think he tended to forget that he only played a cop on TV.

“ - then I want no part in it, and I don’t want a single cent,” Maggie finished, turning to shoot Paxton a dirty look.

“I promise, it’s honest money. I’m going straight. I’ve been going straight for the past year,” Scott insisted. “I just meant ‘different’ as in ‘different genre’, okay, it’s nothing to be worried about! I’m turning it around, Maggie. I swear.”

“Well…” She sniffed, carefully tucking the cheque back into the envelope. “I’m not cashing it until I know you’re in the clear. So go home, Scott. I’ll call you later this week, we can talk more about this movie of yours then.”

“I’m shooting all week, so I’ll text you when I’m free instead,” he suggested.

“Fine,” she said, pursing her lips. Scott knelt to give Cassie a hug goodbye, sneaking in a quick kiss on the forehead despite knowing he was already pushing his luck. “Can you at least tell me the name of one of your co-stars or something? Just to, I don’t know, make it sound more legitimate?”

Scott paused, straightening up. “Hope Van Dyne.”

Maggie scoffed incredulously; Paxton made an odd choking noise in the back of his throat. “Hope Van Dyne, are you serious? Everything I’ve heard about her, all that stuff about her parents, I mean...she seems...intense.”

Scott glanced down at Cassie. She grinned, reaching to squeeze his hand. He squeezed back, chuckling mostly to himself. “So I’ve been told.” ______

a/n: I've been wanting to write a multi-chapter AU for Scott/Hope for ages, but could never quite think of a concept that would suit them specifically. Then this popped into my head after watching the trailer for Once Upon A Time In Hollywood and remembering how much I enjoyed The Nice Guys, and here we are! I started a post-Endgame fic focusing on the Ant-fam a long time ago as well, but that'll probably come after this one is complete.

As you've probably noticed, this fic is going to mash up elements of both Ant-Man movies in different ways. It'll also go back and forth on the film industry aspect and the conspiracy hunt aspect, with some chapters focusing on one more than the other. Next chapter will be posted next Friday and I'm hoping to post this weekly. Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I'll see you next time :)

#scotthope #hopescott #langdyne #langdyne fic #scotthope fic #myfic #myfic: all the stars #marvel #long post #i'm having a v good time writing this so i hope this is interesting to at least one other person lmao

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