Arcadia, Chapter 1

My submission for the 2021 Hinny birthday challenge for the HG discord! Thanks to Liza for organizing, to @accio-broom for the Brit-pick, to @secretkeeper13 for the beta, and to anyone else who helped (I'm probably forgetting a few folks, apologies).

The challenge theme this year was content based on TV! This is an (extremely loose) X-Files AU, but you absolutely don’t need to be familiar with X-Files to understand this :D

TW (spoilers): swearing, references to (severe) mental health concerns, (eventual) consensual relations

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D A Y  + O N E

The woman probably finds herself charming as she stands in their driveway, her hands clasped in frozen excitement.

But Ginny just finds her creepy.

Really fucking creepy.

Harry drops hired car into first gear as they pull in. This woman— the head of the village council, Ginny reckons, the one she spoke to on the phone— wears perfectly-pleated Chino pants with a lavender jumper draped across her shoulders.

Her attire is standard for a posh village… especially a new-build village, one with a covenant and loads of stupid rules. It’s the woman’s eerie, opened-mouthed grin that shoots a chill up Ginny’s spine.

Her stark white teeth glint in the sun, but her smile doesn’t move an inch… and the longer Ginny stares, the more unsettled she grows. The only thing larger than her grin is the mane of yellow hair that surrounds her face like an ersatz halo.

Harry clears his throat as he turns off the car; Ginny realizes this is the first sound either of them has made since leaving London.

Awkward.

She reaches for her door handle, but the random woman gets to it first.

“You must be Jenny and Henry!” she shrieks, yanking on Ginny’s shoulders before she’s even unbuckled. “Oh, sorry! Love, do let me get the strap!”

Ginny’s on her feet and pressed to the stranger’s perfumed bosom before she has a chance to tell her she can manage just fine herself, thanks.

“Lovely to meet you in person!” the woman cries, nearly shaking with enthusiasm. It’s not until Ginny’s returned a weak squeeze that the vice-like grip around her middle weakens.

Rubbing her aching shoulder, she sneaks a glimpse at Harry; while she fought for air, he apparently climbed out of the car, only to stare at the two of them like a deer in the headlights. Now his elbow’s at an awkward angle, his hand behind his back, which could only mean one thing: he’s reaching for the wand in his back pocket.

Shit.

Ginny shakes her head and hopes her eyes convey what her lips can’t: She’s just a standard Muggle weirdo. Relax.

“I’m Jane. Jane Connors. In the flesh!” The woman (whose voice Ginny now finds painfully familiar) throws her hands in the air and twirls on the spot. “I take it you’re Jenny and Henry Petri!”

Harry interrupts with a booming chuckle before Ginny says a word; in three quick steps, he’s wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “That’s Pee-tri, actually. Like the dish,” Harry— Henry— adds with a wink. “And speaking of dish…” His eyes travel over Ginny, his voice going all deep and silky.

She bites back a shudder, hating the way her stomach drops as his fingers graze her arm. All that keeps her grounded is knowing the truth: Harry’s good at his job, nothing more. The only reason he’s suddenly become a skilled actor is that his career demands it.

Hers does too, she reminds herself firmly. And if she has any intention of successfully completing her first solo mission, she needs to get her shit together. Now.

Ginny blinks up at Harry, appropriately sobered; his eyes glimmer with mirth. As suspected, he’s only doing his job. Touch is just part of the assignment description. He has no way of knowing what it does to her— because really, truly, it shouldn’t.

And maybe if she keeps telling herself that, it’ll eventually come true.

Harry winks at Jane, tugging Ginny against his side. “My new wife and I had a long journey from the city! We were hoping to get some alone-time before tucking in, I’m sure you understand.”

Jane looks puzzled. “You— but it’s 5:43!” An uncomfortable giggle burbles from her lips. “You must be moved in by 6. Surely you’ve read the covenant rules?”

“Erm… may have missed that one,” Ginny lies. “There’s quite a few, see. We’re used to—”

But Jane shoves her fingers into her mouth, cutting her off with an ear-piercing whistle. Just as quickly, another chill races up Ginny’s spine. People up and down the street emerge from their semi-detached homes and race towards them, their faces in downcast unison.

They’ve all been watching. Waiting for the signal. Ready.

Ginny’s not sure how long ago the Department of Mysteries delivered the moving van and left it on the street, but the horde of random people aren’t fussed with the details, either. Within five seconds of Jane’s whistle, the strangers throw open the back door and begin an unloading process that reeks of military precision.

“Here’s the house key!” trills Jane, pulling it from her pocket. “Oh, and Petris!” She turns to Harry and Ginny, wagging her finger. “I’ll also need a copy of your car key, ASAP. We’re firm believers in the buddy system here in Arcadia.” She returns her attention to the stone-faced neighbors, who are now scurrying to the door. “This way, friends— right this way!”

“I— that’s really unnecessary,” Ginny says, bewildered, as people rush inside their new house, boxes in arms. “We’re perfectly able to—”

“Nonsense!” cries a man with grey sideburns as he takes a box from the back. “We’re neighborly here. You’d better get used to it.”

“Yes!” chimes another voice. A chubby man wearing a Polo and a golden necklace emerges from behind the lorry, hurrying up the walk. “We’re like a family here. We all— oh no!” He lets out a startled cry as a box labeled FINE CHINA topples from his arms and lands on the pavement with a thump.

He rushes towards it, face falling, but Ginny’s main concern is the box’s silent descent; she runs over, making a mental note to have a word with the designer of these props. Would something noisy and fragile have killed them? For fuck’s sake...

“Sorry,” the man says with a pained wince. “I’m just so clumsy. I-I promise, I’ll—”

“It’s fine,” Ginny soothes, dropping to her knees. “Don’t worry, really. We aren’t too big on dishes.”

Maybe if she keeps him talking, he won’t realize it’s bloody empty. Seriously, this is amateur shit. Luckily, he’s too distracted to notice.

The man offers a sheepish smile. “I’m Mike. Mike Snodgrass. You may have seen Mike and Jess in the resident guide, but erm…” He trails off, sadness in his voice.

Ginny cocks her head to feign confusion, but of course she’s familiar with Jess Snodgrass, 25, reported missing last November. Her photo’s been on Ginny’s desk for almost as long. Even now, Jess appears in Ginny’s mind with such startling clarity that she can almost see her beside Mike... all 5 feet of her, with curly red hair, bright blue eyes, and a lopsided grin.

Jess Snodgrass… Arcadia’s third missing person. The first to disrupt the couples-only disappearance pattern.

Mike shrugs. “But erm… it’s just me now,” he repeats. “I’m a primary teacher at Saint Julian’s, just up the road.” He nods to his left. “So if you’ve got any homework or school questions, give me a ring!” He pastes on a smile that doesn’t match his eyes; it’s an expression with which Ginny’s well-acquainted.

“I’ll have to remember that, Mike Snodgrass,” Ginny says, shaking his hand.

She immediately regrets it.

Seeing Mike Snodgrass on paper is one thing, but touch makes him human. His hand feels big and warm, his smile earnest and sweet; he reminds her so strongly of Neville that her stomach aches. Ginny breathes through her nose and focuses on the way his necklace — a medallion of Saint Julian, appropriately enough — sparkles in the sun.

“Like I said, I’m all alone,” Mike repeats, offering his hand to help her up. “If you ever need anything, Jenny, don’t hesitate to ask!”

Ginny taps her chin. “Actually, I do have a question! I reckon it’s just a rumor, though. You don’t have to confirm or deny.” She winks at him and leans in as a woman in a fleece jumper rushes past.

Mike’s smile widens, his face brightening… and ah fuck, that one hurts, because she’s about to break his heart.

“Mike…” Ginny murmurs, studying his expression. The more she says his name, the less he reminds her of Neville; she wants to keep it that way. “With everyone being so bloody hospitable here, how come there are so many disappearances?”

Mike stops bobbing. His smile vanishes as quickly as the former occupants of Jenny and Henry’s new home. When Ginny looks back into his eyes, her gut plummets with a sensation of wretched familiarity.

Because she expected sadness on his face… the same type she saw when he mentioned Jess’ name. Sadness she can deal with; sadness is painful, but she sees it all the time.

She sees something worse, though.

Fear.

And not day-to-day fear. This isn’t like hating needles or avoiding clown movies. Mike’s face is filled with the sort of wide-eyed, gripping, primal terror that seizes your insides in a vice. This is how you’d feel if your entire family were held captive in a dungeon, and a single word to the wrong person would spell their deaths.

Or how you’d feel if your ex-boyfriend were the corrupt government’s most desired fugitive… and you still fancied him very much, indeed.

“I… n-no idea,” Mike finally stutters, blinking. Then he sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his expression brightening again.

“So what do you and Henry do for work?” he asks in a booming voice, his grin now unnaturally wide. “We’ve got a carpool to the city if you’re interested. Reducing our carbon footprint is of utmost importance here in Arcadia!” He finishes by spreading his hands in each direction before placing them on his hips, that shit-eating grin still plastered across his face.

In another life, Ginny might’ve laughed. There certainly would have been a lot to cackle over, if she had the luxury of easy laughter. After all, she may as well be living in an am-dram nativity performance, complete with an overeager Joseph beckoning her to the stables after her harrowing desert journey.

Now, though, his reply only fills her with sad, professional detachment. Because fucking hell, how much did this poor man rehearse to get that line right?

She takes pity on him and snaps the bait. “My husband and I work from home,” she says, matching his volume. Someone’s clearly listening; it’s the least she can do. “You won’t see us out much.” Ginny brings the box to her hip. “And seriously, don’t worry about replacing the dishes, either. We mostly do takeaway.”

“No, let me bring you new ones,” Mike insists, his eyes pleading. “Tomorrow? Would that be—”

“What is this?” a voice demands from the back of the truck. Ginny peers around Mike’s shoulder. The man with the gray sideburns stares inside the lorry with a look of disgust.

“A trampoline!” Harry says, stepping aside as another neighbor races past. “We’re thrilled to put it in the garden, aren’t we, Jenny Cakes?”

Jenny Cakes. Is he fucking serious? Two can play at this game, prat.

“Indeed we are, Hen,” she croons, leaning into his side. “Jen and Hen.” She heaves a dreamy sigh and stares into his eyes. “We even rhyme!”

“Rhyming or not, this isn’t allowed,” the man barks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d have to apply for a special exemption with Mr Gogolak, but in the meantime…” He checks his watch. “5:53. Seven minutes. It’ll have to go in the garage tonight. I’m Oliver, by the way— Oliver Skinner.”

Harry gives him a theatrical scowl. “I’d say nice to meet you, but those who are enemies of trampolines are generally enemies of mine.”

Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but Oliver remains unamused. He raises his pointer finger as if to say something, but Harry gets there first.

“Onnnnly kidding!” Harry winks and claps his shoulder. “Hope we can be fast friends, Oliver.”

Oliver just glares back. “Count on it.”

_______________________________________________________

Ginny’s taking this whole thing very seriously. Not that Harry blames her.

Her voice echoes against the walls of the empty home as she paces around the sitting room, her camera flipped outward to record.

Despite his five-year Auror career, Harry has no real concept of what Unspeakables do. Which, he supposes, is by design. He knows they… know things. Secret things. Things you’d be happier not knowing. He also knows that Kingsley isn’t fond of them. Or perhaps it’s Attica Monkstanley, Ginny’s boss, who King dislikes in particular. Attica’s famous for her refusal to disclose anything — ever. This ranges from potential terrorist plots to her favorite type of sandwich. Thus, Attica isn’t particularly popular. After a career built on helping absolutely no one outside her department, the request for Auror backup on an undisclosed, top-secret endeavor went over about as well as a hippogriff stampede in a posh tea room.

Harry sighs at the blank walls of their would-be living room. King’s in charge now. Big in charge. He or Robards were the obvious choices to accompany Ginny — sorry, Unspeakable GW — on this mission, but when you’re Big In Charge, you call the shots. The shot King called was to pass the assignment to Robards, who in turn passed it to Harry; Robards decided he didn’t need to (direct quote) “take off a week from pre-existing assignments for some fake marriage, new-build village bullshit in the arse-end of Muggle nowhere.”

Admittedly, Harry’s in a bit of a lull at the moment. He’d been assigned to track and recover Yaxley, but that trail went cold on the border of Romania. Harry’s certain he’s just beyond their reach, maybe hiding in a cave, but seeing as how Harry’s not Big In Charge, his opinion doesn’t exactly matter.

Which is precisely how he’s found himself in this bland house in the village of Arcadia, pretending to be married to his ex-girlfriend… who, incidentally, he’s still hopelessly infatuated with, even five years after he ended things.

Because Harry Potter is nothing if not pathetic.

There’d been no realistic way to decline the assignment, though. Not that he’d tried. Seriously, imagine explaining that to your boss: “Mm yeah, sorry King, I can’t do my job because I still wank to the memory of Unspeakable GW riding my—”

Ginny’s narration jerks him from his thoughts. “It’s 6:15 PM on our first day of the assignment,” she dictates into her phone. “Auror Potter and I are secured in the home, posing as Muggle couple Jenny and Henry Petri.”

“Pee-tri!” Harry corrects, throwing his voice across the room.

He hopes he’s loud enough for the camera to detect, but he isn’t exactly brave enough to find out. Harry picks up their empty curry boxes and scampers into the kitchen without so much as a backward glimpse. He may have been forced into this assignment, but he’ll be damned if he can't have a bit of fun.

Her narration stops as he dips out of sight; if Harry were the gambling sort, he’d bet all the gold in Gringotts that she shot him a two-fingered salute away from the camera.

For some fucked up reason, the thought stirs something warm and exciting that lies dormant in his stomach. What’s worse is this feeling almost makes him smile.

No.

Harry draws a breath as he enters the kitchen.

As Kingsley’s told him several times, this arrangement is strictly business— regardless of his past with her. And in retrospect, yeah, the whole setup is an easy way for King to A) refuse responsibility himself, and B) put Monkstanley in a tough spot if it goes pear-shaped.

Harry pops open the rubbish bin. This is just the sort of liability King’s always looking to avoid, really, but— wait. He blinks down into the bin to make sure he’s not just seeing things, but nope… for some reason, the interior is divided into three sections, each in a different color.

Huh! Harry mulls this over before picking the blue bin at random and tossing the containers in. Maybe he’d know what each color meant if he bothered to read the covenant rules. Fortunately, he had much more exciting plans that particular evening involving Ron, loads of butterbeer, and a Canons/Falcons match from hell.

Whatever. Surely Arcadia would make an effort to clearly explain their recycling system if they really cared about the planet.

He returns to the living room just as Ginny’s providing a more in-depth introduction. “Right. I’m Unspeakable GW, badge number”— her voice becomes garbled gibberish, an extra level of concealment, before slipping back to normal speech— “and we’re here to investigate the series of unexplained Muggle disappearances in the village of Arcadia. As this may involve a potential escapee from the Thought Chamber, the Department thought it best for me to investigate. The Thought Chamber’s been my area of expertise for four years…”

Harry sinks into the sofa as she continues; he’s unsure if he should be sad or impressed that this is teaching him more about her job than she ever shared. Not that she did this for long while they were actually together, mind. Nonetheless, his chest flutters again with that stupid bittersweet pride as Ginny scans the room with the phone camera. All of this pageantry is necessary for her job, he knows. Careful documentation. Detailed recordings.

But for fuck’s sake, look at how much she’s done! She’s the youngest Junior Unspeakable in history, soon to become Senior, if this mission works out. She’s composed, she’s eloquent, she’s graceful. Another smile threatens to break through before Harry suppresses it; he just hopes that there’s someone in her life to remind her of how special she is.

She’s really dressed for the part, too. Harry’s certain that none of this is actually in her wardrobe. Seeing her out of jeans and a jumper is off-putting, but she’s done it so damn well. She once told him that most of her clothing choices were based on how easily she could wear them flying.

He swallows the sadness creeping up his throat. He doesn’t even know if she still flies, but she doesn’t in this outfit, that’s for damn sure. Her trainers are impeccably white, with a floral button-up blouse done up to her neck. She’s a bit like a young, beautiful Aunt Petunia; Harry reckons this is more or less the goal, but when she turns around to describe the stairwell, his eyes drop to her arse.

Shit.

He glances away as quickly, but he got a good look. Her casual trousers are rolled at the ankles, but they’ve done nothing to make her look… plain. Harry shuffles on the sofa, desperate for anything else to think about. Somehow, Aunt Petunia’s face still puckers in his mind’s eye, but now he can’t escape the mental image of her bent over the oven of 4 Privet Drive, only this time sporting a round, perfect—

“Potter’s here for backup,” Ginny says, returning to the sitting room. “I’m on primary investigation.”

Thank God; he sighs at the welcome distraction before remembering that bantering with her has always been an effective palate cleanser. So he does that, instead.

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry calls, leaning back against the cushions. “There’s nothing less interesting than the suburbs. Which is why I could never do your job, Jen.” He ends with a wink, resting his hands behind his head.

Ginny arches a brow, holding the camera in front of her. “And please take note, Attica, that the next time this happens, I’ll be the one to choose the names.”

She means it casually… he knows she means it casually. But something in her words pricks him. Irritates him. Wedges beneath his skin.

“Quite an assumption I’ll ever spend this much time with you again,” Harry mutters under his breath.

Shit.

He freezes. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, at least not so… bitterly. Once upon a time, he possessed the social graces to think before replying like that— but days of interpersonal nuance are long gone. They belonged to a carefree teenager with few thoughts aside from the next time he’d run his fingers through the thick, red hair that currently swayed in a long ponytail.

By the time he looks back up at her, Ginny’s face is filled with disappointment. And she’s closed her phone.

“I’ll have to redo that last bit of filming,” she says with a sniff. “But for what it’s worth?” She raises her chin. “You didn’t mind spending time with me in the distant, distant past, Auror Potter.”

Ha!

That was a tremendous understatement.

He’d been in love with her. Stupidly. Disgustingly. The first six months after the war were a blur of sex and mourning. They’d been so punch drunk and delirious that they probably used each other’s bodies more than either of them knew. He really thought they’d have a future, though… that they’d end up getting married and buying a house. Except theirs would have been different than this one. Filled with far more character and history and warmth. Their home would have smelled like baking bread and sounded like kids giggling and felt like a soft blanket on a cold night.

But none of that had anything to do with the way he snapped. So why bring it up, really?

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, tucking his hands beneath his bum. “That… I didn’t mean. I’m sorry. I just meant that we don’t see each other much, and…” He lets out a slow breath. Best to stop talking before he digs himself deeper.

“I forgive you,” Ginny says quietly. A full second passes before she offers him a smirk. “As long as I can still call you Pookie Pie in front of the neighbors.”

Harry blinks at the carpet with a sad smile. “Deal.”

i’ve got the girl on my mind (all the time)

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Featuring: Smut; Humour; Light D/S; Vaginal Fingering; Oral Sex

Words: 4299

Summary: Carol’s wearing a suit. Black, tailored to perfection, but not feminine. The top two buttons of her stark white shirt are undone and her tie is loose around her neck. Her eyes scan the room absently until her gaze lands on you and she’s smiling even wider, lifting her glass and giving you a wink. 

“Oh my God, Bucky, she’s coming over here. Go away.” 

“What—why?” 

“Because I’m either about to embarrass myself or get seduced and I don’t want you here for either.” 

(Spoiler alert: it’s the second one.)

A/N: Woman Cozily Cupping Mug Secretly Thinking About Getting Absolutely Railed by Carol Danvers. This is just a silly little smutfic that I had way too much fun writing. Hope you enjoy! Title from Girls by Beatrice Eli.

“Hey.”

You look up from your computer screen to find Carol Danvers standing in your office doorway, still in her suit from the mission you’re currently writing your report on. She’s looking at you with the confident little half-smile you’ve become very familiar with over the past few weeks. It’s a look that never fails to bring a heat to your cheeks. And other places.

“Uh, hi,” you manage. You can see Bucky smirking at you from his spot lounging on your office sofa, his broken arm resting in a sling against his chest.

“Thanks for your help back there,” Carol says. “You too, Barnes,” she adds, with a nod in his direction. Bucky’s “help” in this case was mostly leaning over your shoulder offering unsolicited opinions on your work and avoiding the many elbow jabs you attempted to land to his ribcage.

It’s not easy being the Avengers’ favourite analyst.

“No problem. Anytime,” you reply.

Carol nods, says a quick, “See ya,” and then she’s gone, striding off down the corridor.

“Bye,” you sigh wistfully.

Bucky chuckles and your eyes snap to him. “You alright there, doll?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice. You glare at him and he only grins wider. “You just seem a little flustered is all. Heart’s beating a little fast.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bucky—you blush like a schoolgirl every time Thor looks at you.”

He squawks but can’t deny it. “Whatever,” he mutters, standing up and heading for the door. “Enjoy filling out your mission report and pining. I’ve got my own cocky blond captain to welcome home.” He winks, graciously letting the pen you throw hit him in the chest before he leaves.

You turn back to your computer and try to focus on your work, but your thoughts keep straying to Carol.

Bucky’s wrong; you do not pine. You only think about her when she’s around. And even then, only once or twice a day. Just casually wondering what she’s doing and if she might stop by your office.

Four or five times, max. Thinking about what she’s wearing, or if she’s done something different with her hair.

Okay, ten times total, on a bad day. Imagining how that easy confidence might translate to the bedroom. If her powers mean her fingers never cramp up, or if her jaw never gets sore.

Bucky’s right; you do pine.

You can’t help it! There’s just something about Carol that has you reverting to the heady infatuations of your teen years every time she’s around. She’s just so fucking cool. To the nerdy teenager you once were, she’s the coolest girl in school whose attention and approval you’re desperate for. To the nerdy adult you currently are, she’s the coolest girl in the universe whose attention and approval you’re desperate for and whose pussy you’d absolutely kill to eat like a five-course meal.

Luckily for your sanity (and your dominant hand), Carol’s not actually around that often. You only met her after the Snap was reversed, having been one of the Capital-D-Dusted, but she seems to spend most of her time checking in on the gazillion other planets in the universe.

At least, she used to. Apparently in the last few months she’s decided to reconnect with her birthplace, because suddenly she’s spending more time on-planet than off. This means the chances of her stopping by your office or running into you on the new-new compound have gone way up. Once every few months has become once a week or more.

Today’s little exchange is the second time she’s found you this week. She stops by, stands in your doorway in ripped jeans or a leather jacket, smirking like a fucking female James Dean, while she casually compliments your outfit or your work or the music playing from your computer. Which would be great—if you had any idea what it means.

You know what you want it to mean, but you and Carol have been doing this little dance for weeks now and she hasn’t so much as asked you if you like coffee, let alone invited you to drink some with her sometime.

Sure, you could ask her out, but you’re not about to risk getting rejected by Captain fucking Marvel and then having to guide her through some villain’s lair over comms the next day.

Shaking your head to try and physically dislodge all thoughts of Carol from your brain, you settle back into your mission report, determined to prove Bucky wrong for at least another hour or two so you can finish up and get home to your empty, lonely apartment.

+++

A couple of weeks and a handful of run-ins with Carol later, you’re standing in a ballroom on the compound in your nicest dress, taking a night off from thinking about Carol. Or trying to, anyway.

The Stark Foundation is hosting a charity gala, raising money for relief efforts for those impacted by the reversal of the Snap. It’s not really your thing, but the Avengers are required to attend and you never pass up an opportunity to watch Steve try to withhold his deep annoyance at having to interact with the richest members of American society.

“Look at his hand, Buck,” you point out. “We’ve reached the clenched fists portion of the evening.”

Bucky nods, taking a sip of his champagne. “Next up—the jaw muscle.”

“Poor guy,” you sigh. “He looks great, though.”

“That he does,” Bucky agrees, eyes scanning the room. “Speaking of looking great—” He lets out a low whistle, nodding his head toward the bar. You follow his gaze and your jaw drops.

“Oh my God.”

“Yep.”

“Look at her.”

It’s Carol, because of course it’s Carol. You weren’t expecting her to be here tonight—she’s not an Avenger in any official capacity and she doesn’t seem the type to enjoy a fancy party—but there she is, standing at the bar talking to Nat and surrounded by a handful of the One Percent.

And she’s wearing a suit. Black, tailored to perfection, but not feminine. The top two buttons of her stark white shirt are undone and her tie hangs loose around her neck.

You watch her laugh at something Natasha says, as she surveys the room absently, completely ignoring all the people clamouring for her attention. Then her gaze lands on you and she’s smiling even wider, lifting her glass and winking at you from the bar.

You manage a little wave back to her as your heart races and Bucky starts to laugh next to you. Carol leans down to say something in Nat’s ear that has her smirking and then she’s walking toward you and your heart stops entirely.

“Oh my God, Bucky, she’s coming over here. Go away,” you hiss.

“What—why?”

“Because I’m either about to embarrass myself or get seduced and I don’t want you to here for either. Go rescue your boyfriend.”

Bucky scoffs but does as you ask, snatching another glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and heading toward Steve.

You have just enough time to swig back the last of your own glass and set it on a table before Carol’s standing in front of you, looking even better up close.

“Hey.” She greets you with a smile.

“Hi.”

“Love the dress,” she says, eyes sweeping down your body. She pinches a fold of your skirt between her finger and thumb, tugs at it lightly. “This colour looks great on you.”

“Oh, um, thank you. You look great too. Very James Bond,” you note and Carol grins. “How are you enjoying your first Avengers party?”

She rolls her eyes. “If one more man tries to tell me about his very cool job managing hedge funds I’m gonna blow a hole in the ceiling and fly out of here.”

“That is, unfortunately, one of the hallmarks of these things. The finance guys, not the ceiling holes,” you clarify. “Though actually, that’s not unheard of either.”

She laughs, about to say something else when her eyes drift over your shoulder. “The vultures are circling again,” she whispers. You turn your head to see a handful of men in expensive suits lingering a few feet away, obviously waiting for an opportunity to introduce themselves to Carol. “You wanna get out of here?” she asks. “Maybe go somewhere a little quieter?”

For a second your brain is frozen solid. You’ve never actually heard that phrase outside of movies and TV, and in movies and TV it usually only means one thing. But this is Carol Danvers and real life and you have no idea if she wants to fuck you or if she really does want to continue your conversation somewhere she’s not at risk of being interrupted by Elon Musk or a random politician.

“My office is just upstairs?” you offer once your brain thaws. There’s a part of you that wants to say, “Or how about we go to your room?” But that’s about ten times more suggestive than you’re comfortable being. Plus, the residences are on the other side of the compound so it’s also not that practical.

“Sounds great,” Carol says with a grin, and then she’s leading you out of the ballroom, a strong hand pressed to the small of your back.

+++

Carol leans against the wall while you fumble with your key card, hands in her pockets and looking so fucking good you want to fall to your knees and beg her to fuck your face right there in the hallway.

Neither of you said much during the short walk to your office but there was an almost palpable tension that has you keyed up and leaking into your panties even though Carol hasn’t so much as touched you beyond a guiding hand on your back.

In the next sixty seconds, as your pass your key card over the pad on the wall and reach down to open the door, it becomes very clear Carol meant “somewhere quieter” exactly the way they do in the movies.

As soon as the door is open she’s pushing you through, kicking it shut with her heel as she pushes you against the wall, hands pressing firm on your shoulders. You gasp when your back hits the wall.

She leans in and your eyes slip shut, waiting for her lips on yours, desperate to finally know how she tastes. But the kiss doesn’t come. She stops with her lips just inches from yours—you can feel the warmth of her breath against your face—and waits. You open your eyes and find her smirking, watching you burn for her and you nearly whimper, another rush of wetness flooding your underwear.

“Please,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself. You’ve wanted this for so long you think you might cry if she doesn’t at least kiss you.

“Please what?” she asks, voice calm and low like she isn’t standing between your spread legs. Like she isn’t affected at all.

“Kiss me. Please.” You can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed by how easy you are for her.

“Good girl,” she says softly and finally closes the distance between you. Her first kiss is sweet—a gentle press of lips, a soft hello—but it quickly turns deep and devouring. She licks along the seam of your mouth then sweeps her tongue inside until you’re gasping for air.

Jesus, it’s even better than you could have ever imagined. You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like this, so thorough and greedy. Carol tastes like chapstick and rum and you’re drunk on her in moments.

One of her hands rests on your waist, while the other grips the back of your neck, holding you in place for her. She sets the pace, giving you time to breathe with teasing kisses along your jaw and neck before pressing her lips to yours, again and again.

She nudges her thigh between yours, pushing up against your cunt through layers of fabric and you grind down against her, moaning into her mouth at the pressure on your throbbing clit. Carol’s hands start to work at the hem of your dress, rucking it up your legs in fistfuls until she’s stopped by the barrier of her own body. She shifts her leg back, chuckling as you whine at the loss, and tugs your dress up so you’re exposed from the waist down.

She takes a moment to look at you, trailing her eyes from ankle to bellybutton and back, stopping at the space between your legs.

“Hold this,” she says, passing you a handful of your dress, and freeing up her own hand. She taps two fingers on your panties, just over your clit, and even that is enough to have you gasping. “Cute,” she comments, and then she’s sliding under the waistband and her fingers are on your bare skin.

She wastes no time, pressing her fingers between your folds. She quirks an eyebrow at the sopping mess of you, almost shamefully wet for so little contact. “I told you,” you stutter through shallow breaths, “you look good in a suit.”

Carol grins, dipping two fingers into your pussy. You roll your hips to try and coax them inside you. “I must look really good if you’re this easy already,” she teases.

She drags slick up to your clit, circling it as she kisses your neck, sucking occasionally then dragging her teeth over the tender flesh. It doesn’t take long before you’re coming, cunt pulsing as you moan her name. Before you can catch your breath she’s pulling you away from the wall, gripping you by the shoulders and turning you around. She marches you the handful of steps to your desk, leaning in until her lips are next to your ear. “Hands on the desk,” she orders.

You eagerly comply, resting the heels of your palms on the sharp edge of your desk. Carol unzips your dress, then pushes the straps off your shoulders and down your arms, pulling them over your hands one at time. The dress falls to your feet, followed by your panties, and suddenly you’re completely naked even as Carol stands fully clothed behind you.

She takes your hands in hers, gripping your wrists, and moves them to the other side of the desk, before pressing a palm to the small of your back with just the slightest hint of her power. She bends you over until your breasts press against the cool surface and your back is forced to arch, ass tilted on display for her.

Her hands stroke down the skin of your back and you shiver.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll warm you up,” she says, even though your trembling has nothing to do with the temperature of the room and you think she knows that.

She nudges her foot against one of yours and you widen your stance, spreading your legs wide. Her hand follows the curve of your ass to where you’re still wet and dripping for her, fingertips teasing at your opening.

It hits you suddenly that anyone could walk by and catch you in here. They’d take one look through the glass walls of your office and know. You didn’t even think to flip the switch to opaque the walls and now it’s too late; the panel is next to the door and you wouldn’t move now if flames were licking at your heels. Anyone passing by would see your dress on the floor, see your legs stretched wide around Carol’s figure and they’d know.

To your surprise, the idea of getting caught only adds to your excitement. You don’t have time to ponder your newly discovered kink because two of Carol’s fingers press into your pussy and immediately start thrusting fast and hard, working you back up so quickly your head spins.

The room is soon filled with the sound of her fingers moving inside you and the wet slap of her palm hitting your ass as she fucks you. Your whimpers and moans rise to join the chorus.

Carol presses close to your body, her front against your back, and the coarse fabric of her suit on your overheated skin adds to the fire building inside you. The vulnerability of being completely bare while she’s fully clothed and holding all the power has you melting against the desk, boneless and soft, there to take whatever she gives you.

Her lips press against your cheek in chaste kisses and she licks into your open mouth but you can’t keep up, so overwhelmed with the pleasure of her fingers inside you. She’s up to three now, filling and stretching you, fucking you faster than any normal human could.

She stands up straight again and brings her other hand around your hip to stroke at your clit, matching the speed of her thrusting fingers. You’re coming in seconds, even harder than before, clamping down on her fingers in vice-grip pulses as your hips stutter and jerk.

Carol brings you down gently this time, letting you hold her fingers inside as her other hand circles your clit slowly, giving you every aftershock of pleasure she can. She bends over you again, pressing gentle kisses to the sweat-slick skin of your neck and shoulders as you come down, only sliding her fingers from you when the last pulses are gone.

You manage to turn over, leaning back against the desk on boneless legs, just in time to see Carol licking at her fingers with a pleased-sounding hum. She winks at the hitch in your breath. “That was amazing, baby. Thank you,” she says.

You gape at her. “Thank me? Thank you. I’ll never be able to work here again,” you muse, breathless and hazy. “I’m only going to be thinking about that.”

She laughs and leans in for a kiss, trading the hint of your taste on her tongue.

“Can I go down on you? Please,” you blurt when she pulls away.

Her eyes widen slightly, like maybe she wasn’t expecting you to return the favour, but her lips curl in a teasing smile. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” She trades places with you so you’re standing in front of her as she leans against the desk. “On your knees,” she commands, and you follow, sinking to the floor on top of your discarded dress.

She undresses, but only as much as she has to, slouching off her jacket and leaving her shirt and tie. She undoes her belt buckle with deliberate slowness, then the button and fly of her pants. Finally, she toes off her shoes and removes her pants with surprising grace, and of course, she isn’t wearing underwear so you’re inches away from dark blond curls and pink folds. Your mouth waters with anticipation. You glance up for permission and Carol nods, spreading her legs. “Go ahead.”

God, you want this to be good for her. You settle in, resting your hands on the hard muscle of her thighs, feeling the soft hairs there against your palms. You spread her open with your tongue and take a few exploratory licks, getting her taste in your mouth, earthy and sharp, before you focus on her clit.

As expected, Carol takes charge of this too. She grinds against your lips, fists her hands in your hair to guide you, and keeps up a steady stream of praise. All, good girl; right there; doing so well for me, baby.

Other than the words spilling from her lips she’s quiet mostly, heavy breathing and the occasional gasp, but you know you must be doing something right because there’s no shortage of slick wetness seeping from her cunt to coat your tongue. You feel a distinct rush of pride whenever you manage to make her moan.

You pull out every trick you’ve got as you work, needing to make this good; you can’t bear the thought that this might be the only time you get to do this.

You lap at her clit in long, firm strokes, not sure how she feels about penetration and unwilling to take your lips away from her clit to ask. You keep your focus there, encouraged by the way her hips buck and her breaths get shorter and sharper like they’re being forced from her lungs in time with your tongue.

“Right there,” Carol gasps. “Don’t stop—fuck.” Your jaw aches but you hold steady, flicking over her clit as quickly as your tongue allows as her thighs tense and her breathing stops entirely. Then, with a long, low moan, all the tension leaves her at once as she comes, hips stuttering against your face. You slow down but keep up the motion until she twitches away.

Licking your lips, you sit back on your heels, face turned up to look at her. Her hair is messy, her cheeks and lips flushed deep pink, and her brown eyes seem even darker. She’s undone even more buttons on her shirt at some point and it gapes open, revealing a plain white bralette and an appealing strip of pale skin.

She smiles warmly down at you. ���You look good on your knees,” she says, and your face burns as she studies you. Her eyes flit from your face, where you feel your mouth and chin still soaked with her slick, down your naked body, to your hands clasped in your lap. She reaches down, swipes a thumb across the mess on your face and presses it between your lips. Automatically you suck, pulling the taste of her into your mouth again until she takes her hand back.

There’s a moment or two of silence, and as you become aware of the soreness in your jaw and knees, and the fact that you’re kneeling naked on your office floor, you can’t help but start laughing, giggling uncontrollably as you flop down to sit on the floor completely. Carol laughs too, though less hysterically and seemingly in reaction to you more than any humour she finds in the situation.

“Oh my God,” you gasp through peals of laughter. “We just had sex. In my office. Where I work. This is not at all how I imagined this would go.”

Carol’s eyebrows raise at your accidental admission. “How exactly did you imagine it?” she asks. “And how often?” she adds, quirking her brows playfully.

You cover your face with your hands and groan as heat rushes to your cheeks yet again. Luckily, Carol rescues you from your embarrassment, effortlessly pulling you up from the floor for a kiss before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Wanna get a pizza or something? I’m starving.”

+++

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting in a booth at the only pizza place in town, the two of you the only diners in the restaurant. Carol’s telling you a story about a brawl she got into at a bar on some planet called Argor while you both devour greasy slices of cheap pizza. Her feet nudge against yours occasionally under the table and she touches you casually as she talks.

You’re surprised at how comfortable it is between you. Even as you got dressed, handing each other articles of clothing you picked up off the floor and walking to the garage for your car. Carol’s easy charm and confidence keep the conversation running smoothly, and something about her demeanour must rub off on you because you don’t feel awkward at all.

You revel in the way she can be so dominant and poised but such a snarky dork at the same time, and you find her wide, genuine smiles just as charming as those cheeky little smirks.

As you’re nearing the end of your meal, with no mention of going out or even hooking up again, you decide you have to ask. You’re stupid enough (and infatuated enough) to agree to whatever arrangement Carol is looking for here, even though you know casual sex will only end in heartbreak for you, but you have to at least know, at the risk of spoiling the entire evening.

“So,” you start, gathering your courage. “Was this just—I mean, are you only looking for something casual right now, or?” you trail off.

Carol blinks at you over her coke. “Are you asking if I’m only interested in sex?”

You nod.

“Um, no,” she admits, shrugging. “The plan was actually to ask you out tonight. I was gonna show up, flirt with you a little—did you know you’re very cute when you’re flustered?” she teases, tapping your shin with her foot before continuing. “Then I was going to ask you out. But then you were wearing that dress and I got kinda carried away, I guess.”

“Oh. Wow.” Somehow, even after having her interest in you very must confirmed (at least physically) you still weren’t expecting that.

She nods. “Yep. I mean, I’ll be honest, I definitely would have tried to fuck you on the first date” she says, grinning at you over her drink, “but I did plan on there being a first date. Not that I have much experience with those on Earth, in this century.” She pauses, considering. “Is karaoke still cool?”

“Was karaoke ever cool?”

Carol’s lips twitch but she holds back her smile, quirking an eyebrow at you. “You should watch that attitude, baby, or I might have to punish you,” she says, pitching her voice low and smirking when your breath catches.

If you thought having a conclusive answer to the question, “Is Carol Danvers into me?” would keep her from dominating your thoughts, you were dead wrong. You’re pretty sure you’re going to be thinking about her even more now.

Bucky is going to be unbearably smug about it.

+++

A/N: Do I have a whole backstory of how Reader and Bucky became friends even though it has no relevance to this fic? Yes, yes I do.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed 😊 (Also, if you notice any typos or grammar mistakes, feel free to let me know!) Text divider courtesy of writeyourmindaway!

Alternate Endgame

Summary: Fuck Endgame. Reader has precognitive abilities and we’re gonna fix this stupid movie.

Warnings: Cursing, endgame spoilers, maybe some tears?, fluff

WC: 4816

AN: It took me for-fucking-ever, and it is CRAZY long, but here it is.

Forever love to @writingwithadinosaur​ for CONTINUING to put up with my empty promises to write.

You woke with a start; heaving deep breaths that just couldn’t seem to fill your lungs. You were coated in a sheen of cold sweat. It had been months-- no, years since you'd had a premonition that strong, and you were more than a little shaken.

Not thinking you reached over for the man sleeping beside you, but your fingers only met cool sheets. Of course they did. It had been 5 years since Sam had… disappeared, he wouldn’t simply reappear in your bed because you’d had a vision. No matter how much you wanted him to. 

Before Thanos, Sam had been there for you. You’d started as teammates, then friends, then more. Sam was everything. He was sweet, funny, and loyal. The fact that he was gorgeous certainly didn’t hurt either. He’d helped you process your visions. He’d hold you, press kisses to your temple, and let you talk through what happened if you could. If you couldn’t he was more than up to distract you. God you missed him. You missed his touch, you missed his voice, missed the tiny birds he’d draw on your mirror, or mission paperwork, or the small bird figurines he’d hide throughout your room. It hurt even more intensely, waking from a vision after so long, and finding him still gone.

As moments passed, and your breathing became less panicked, your mind began to clear, and details of your vision slowly, but clearly came back. Pain, a lot of pain, and death. There was hope, you thought for a second that you’d heard Sam’s voice… but there was so much risk involved. And the deaths you saw… you couldn’t take anymore death.

FUCK no. You wouldn’t let it happen like that. No way.

Knowing that sleeping again would be impossible, you dragged yourself out of bed, intending to make coffee, but paused at your bedroom door. Turning abruptly, you walked instead to your closet. Reaching onto the top shelf, you pulled down a large zip top bag with a few of Sam’s sweatshirts inside. You pulled one out and quickly re-sealed the bag. Bringing the fabric to your face and inhaling the lingering scent of detergent, cologne, and Sam, had fresh tears springing in your eyes. But it also brought a sense of determination, and confidence. 

Sam was with you. He wasn’t gone permanently, and he believed in you. He loved you.

Pulling the sweatshirt over your PJs, you left your room with a new sense of purpose.

…

The Aether; the reality stone. One of 6 infinity stones that had enabled Thanos’s snap. It had been given to the collector many years ago, and it was your only hope. 

Of course, that was assuming that the rest of your team figured out the whole time travel thing. 

Exhaling, you shook your head in disbelief. Time travel. 

Aliens, gods, titans, and now time travel. 

Before Carol had brought Tony and Nebula back, time travel would have been as ridiculously out of reach as it sounded. But with Tony back? You could see time travel being a distinct possibility, and a quick one.

Tony was refusing to help, which hurt, but you understood. He didn’t want to risk losing his daughter. Given how life seemed to take from Tony, his resistance made sense. Were Morgan your daughter, you wouldn’t risk her either. 

Although, caution didn’t sit well with Tony Stark. You had a feeling he would be unable to keep himself from at least trying to work out time travel now that he had an idea. He would try, and probably tweak his equation until it functioned flawlessly.

Tony would figure it out. And when he did, he would feel obligated to help; he wouldn’t be able to keep the knowledge that the team needed away from them. That meant you needed to learn as much as you could about the Aether before Tony figured out time travel. If it were anyone else, you would have had plenty of time.

Your original plan, to ask Thor, was a non-starter. The god of thunder had been through the fucking ringer. Honestly, you were shocked he was doing as well as he was. As soon as you could, you planned to sit with him awhile. Nothing invasive, but you got the feeling he wanted to talk, but didn’t know where to start.

Dr. Banner was able to fill in some blanks for you, but not enough.

Thankfully, once you were able to contact him, Wong was a veritable treasure trove of information. He was able to walk you through the process of using an infinity stone, being that he was the only one left alive who had done so in the past. Or, almost the only one.

“Rocket,” you called. The small creature had been across the room, talking to Thor, but came over as you waved him to you. “I need your help.” 

“With what?” he seemed genuinely curious, and then a little taken aback when you began to explain.

“I’m not sure you’ve been told what I can do,” you began. When Rocket shook his head, you explained your premonitions.

“And these visions are always accurate?” he asked, his furry little face serious.

“Yes. The visions are accurate, but meant as a warning. So far, when I have interfered, the future has been altered, and whatever I’d seen could be avoided.” Then, you proceeded to tell him about the future you’d seen in your most recent vision. “I can’t- I won’t lose any more of my family, Rocket. This plan I have, I- it will work, but I need your help.” Your expression was beseeching.

The raccoon didn’t ponder long though. “What’d’ya need?”

“I need you to tell me as much as you can remember about when Quill held the infinity stone, and when we have to go and retrieve the fucking things, I need you to help me get a specific one.”

Luckily, Rocket was willing to trust you. Something told you he didn’t trust easily, especially not when what you were telling him couldn’t be proven one way or another, but he’d lost a lot of people too. It seemed he was ready to take a chance.

When it came time to be split into groups to collect the stones, Rocket helped to ensure you were on the team with him and Thor, headed to Asgard.

Next step. Rock climbing practice, a lot of it.

…

“Bruce, I need a favor.” You crossed your fingers, hoping he didn’t ask too many questions regarding your request. 

Though Rocket knew a good portion of your plan, he didn’t know all of it. The fewer people who knew, the better. It wasn’t easy to convince Bruce to give you the extra pym particle. You’d stopped Scott from accidentally using one up, so there was one left, but Bruce was hesitant to give it to you. It wasn’t until your eyes began to water and your voice began to crack that Bruce caved; he couldn’t handle tears. Though you hadn’t planned to cry, it had worked in your favor. 

Actually, the hard part was getting Bruce to keep his mouth shut about you having the extra particle. Bruce had a hard time lying to anyone. You needed everyone as in the dark as possible, especially Clint and Natasha, or your plan wouldn’t work.

…

“See you in a minute,” Natasha said with a smile. You gave a smile back, hoping it didn’t appear strained and took a deep breath before “jumping” to Asgard, ten years in the past.

Thor was thoroughly distracted, with good reason, so it was a good thing you had Rocket on your side.

“I hope you know what you’re doin’,” Rocket grumbled as you took the carefully contained Aether from him.

“You and me both,” you replied quietly. 

“Good luck.”

You gave him a small smile before triggering your suit.

…

You appeared just far enough back that Nat and Clint didn’t hear you, but close enough that you could see them heading up one side of the mountain. They headed up the side that was clearly meant to be climbed, you however, went to the opposite side; a sheer rock face with a drop from an unbelievable height.

You’d received an odd look from Tony when you’d asked for a part of Peter Parker’s Spiderman suit. He’d given the gloves to you without asking the question that was clearly on the tip of his tongue, but you knew there would be many questions later as a result. The gloves’ grip wasn’t nearly as strong as it would have been for Peter, but they would be much better than nothing. Your other tools had been easy to obtain and stuff in a backpack; a combination ice axe and climbing hammer, pitons, carabiners and high strength climbing rope. Hopefully, the practice you’d managed would be enough.

Taking a deep breath you reached up and began your ascent. You needed to get as far up as you could and quickly, so that you could be in place and relatively stable when you needed to use the stone. 

You forced the pitons into the rock face and secured yourself, freeing your hands and arms to use the stone, and more importantly, catch Natasha. The two tasks had to be done simultaneously, or your plan wouldn’t work. 

Vormir’s guardian, and Clint needed to see Natasha fall, and believe she was dead in order to free the soul stone, but Natasha couldn’t die.

It felt like no fucking time had passed between when you finally anchored yourself and you could hear Nat and Clint arguing. 

“Showtime.”

Using the stone, you warped reality around yourself not a moment too soon, as Natasha was suddenly hanging just above you.

“Damn you!” Clint shouted. Natasha had clipped him to an anchor she’d shot into the cliff, saving him, and now she was dangling from his outstretched arm.

“Let me go,” she said, almost calmly. 

You knew in her mind, she was doing the right thing. Knew she was decided, resolved.

“No, please no,” Clint was crying. This would destroy him.

“It’s okay,” Natasha soothed ineffectively.

“Please-” Clint begged, but Natasha kicked off the cliff, forcing Clint to lose his grip.

For a moment, it felt like everything froze, then you blinked and reality seemed to split in front of you. You could see what you’d created for Clint and the guardian to see, but you could also see Natasha hanging safely from the second piton you’d secured just to the side of you. 

“What the-” she broke off, seeing the distorted reality of herself falling to her death. When you reached over and touched her shoulder, her head whipped around, suddenly able to see you and the reality stone.

“What the fuck-” You silenced her with a finger to your lips. You weren’t sure whether or not you could be heard by Clint or the guardian. Waiting just a few seconds until you saw Clint disappear, you released the control you had on the stone and gestured for Natasha to trigger her suit to return home.

She looked like she really wanted to argue, but she did as you asked.

Clint’s knees hit the floor and he almost dropped the soul stone when he turned and saw Natasha standing beside him. Tears were flowing down his face and all sorts of nasty curses in a multitude of languages flew from his lips. 

“Don’t you ever fucking do something like that again! Do you hear me, Tasha?! Fuck! You can’t give your life for mine. What the fuck were you- how did you-” Clint cut off and pulled Nat into a tight hug.

“I can’t promise never to do something like that again, Clint. I don’t know what happened. I thought-”. Natasha cut off too, tears in her eyes. She had been resolved to die to save Clint and the others, but she was glad she hadn’t had to.

“What exactly happened?” Bruce asked, looking from Nat and Clint to you. 

“What?” Clint asked, looking from Nat to you.

“Ask them. I sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening,” Natasha said on a long exhale.

You noticed Rocket and Tony were also looking your way. When Nat pulled far enough away from Clint to face you, they both looked at you too.

All eyes on you. Great.

“Well, I had a vision…”

You explained part of your vision. To be fair, you would have explained the whole thing, you wanted to, but there was a niggling feeling at the back of your mind telling you that you weren’t done. You couldn’t tell everyone. It sucked, but your friends-- your family would understand. When it all worked out, you would tell them, but not yet.

…

The final tweaks were made to the new gauntlet. You watched as Tony, Rocket, and Bruce hovered around the thing, clearly unsure if it was ready.

But you were only barely watching. As Tony’s attention was drawn away, you drew over to his latest Iron Man suit. You’d talked with Rocket, and had some idea the power the stones would put out, with that in mind…

“FRIDAY, could I bother you for a moment?” you asked politely.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

…

Not a fucking moment after Bruce snapped his fingers and the compound was totaled. Most of the structure was underground, along with several of the team.

Shit. 

The worst part of having premonitions was that you couldn’t see everything. The visions  would scare the shit out of you, and give you just enough information to run on, but never the whole picture. Thus, you found yourself running with Clint and Natasha through an underground maze of destruction trying to avoid the fucked up alien hoard that was chasing you. 

ANY of that information would have been nice to know ahead of time.

It also would have been nice to know that a past version of Nebula was somehow in the present. 

Fortunately that problem was “solved” when present nebula showed up and shot her past self… God you couldn’t wrap your head around all this shit. 

A fight was underway as you cleared the tunnels, and it did not look good for your side. Although you noticed with a little shock, that Steve was holding Mjolnir. Or he was until Thanos knocked it from his hand, and cracked his shield. 

All you could see then was Steve, barely standing, alone, facing an army increasing in size. Your heart was racing. You knew Steve wouldn’t give in. You hadn’t seen him die, but that didn’t mean his life wasn’t at risk. Fuck! What were you going to do?!

Then a voice you hadn’t heard in years crackled over the comms, “Hey, Cap, you read me? Cap, it's Sam. Can you hear me?” and a glowing yellow portal appeared next to Steve. “On your left.”

Seeing Sam, in his Falcon suit, fly through the portal, you almost hit the ground.

“Sam,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, but a growing smile on your face.

“Hey babe, miss me?” You could hear the smirk on his face, and though it would have bothered you before, it made you laugh now. 

Your team had a chance. Hundreds of portals opened and thousands of people poured from them. You could vaguely hear chanting from the Wakandans, and see glowing shields being formed by the masters of the mystic arts. New hope and resolve formed in your chest.

“Every fucking day, Sam. Now let's end this so I can yell at you for disappearing on me.” He laughed, and you both ran into the hoards of Thanos’ followers.

…

Unfortunately, though the reinforcements were amazing, and desperately needed, Thanos and his army weren’t backing down.

Carol powered through ships, and struggled with Thanos, but she couldn't overpower him. When you saw her fall, and Tony began approaching the giant murder grape, you recognized your time to act.

“Carol,” you called as she rose, shaking debris from her hair. When she met your eyes, you waved her over. During the fight, you’d managed to speak to Thor, Dr. Strange and Wanda. They all knew you had a plan, though Strange seemed dubious, and they had all agreed to help. The fact that you’d managed to corral them all was a fucking miracle in and of itself, but what you were about to do, was still gonna be difficult.

Your group managed to stay out of Tony’s field of vision. What he was about to attempt, had to happen. What you needed was to reach him in time to alter the aftereffects. 

“I am– inevitable,” Thanos announces, snapping his fingers, which would have been gut wrenching, had the mad titan actually had the infinity stones in his gauntlet.

However, unbeknownst to him, Tony Stark had swiped them right out of his hands. Tony Stark, who was now pulsing with immense amounts of gamma radiation and pure power from the ancient relics.

“And I– am– Iron Man.” Tony snapped his fingers. That was your cue. You, and the most powerful teammates you had, reached out, and took Tony’s left hand. Power and pain radiated through your body. And that was all you remembered.

…

The rocky ground beneath you was not comfortable, but you were barely aware of the sharp stones digging into your back since your whole body felt like you’d been in a car accident.

“Fucking ow,” you groaned.

“Well what did you expect? Trying to divert that level of radiation; you’re lucky your crazy stunt didn’t kill you!” Dr. Strange was in full lecture mode it seemed. You could hear Thor and Carol talking just behind you, and when you cracked your eyes open, you caught a glimpse of Wanda’s magic trailing behind her. Your eyelids felt like there were hundred pound weights on them. Why couldn’t you keep them open? 

Wait! 

It took a full second and a half for your brain to re-engage; quickly recapping the past few days. You bolted into an upright sitting position, all but shrieking in pain as your gritty eyes frantically searched for one figure amidst hundreds.

“Hey kid, you gonna explain all this to me now? I don’t like being in the dark.” You looked directly behind you and burst into tears. Tony was looking at you with a slightly exasperated look on his face, belayed by the small smile on his lips.

“It worked,” you sobbed.

“I don’t know what all has been going on in this place, but I know you’re not supposed to be upset that we won,” came Sam’s voice. He walked up behind Tony, clapping him on the back as he stepped past him to crouch down beside you. “Hey, Gorgeous. I missed you.”

A wet laugh exploded from your chest, “I fucking missed you too, Sammy.” Your eyes overflowed and your smile wobbled as he rested his forehead on yours. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you,” he soothed, cupping the side of your face and rubbing across your cheekbone with his thumb. He was home. Sobs shook you, and you knew it would be a while before you were able to stand. Or it would have been if Sam hadn’t picked you up and insisted on carrying you.

He didn’t let you out of his sight for several days.

…

It was actually weeks later, after some of the rubble had been cleared from where the compound once stood, before you finally explained what had happened. 

Not everyone was able to cram into Tony’s living room, so some people; Dr. Strange, and King T’challa and his people were there via remote communication. Rocket had even rigged up some sort of communications device into the Guardian’s ship so they could hear too.

“I had a vision,” you started. You were sitting in Sam’s lap, across from most of your family. Natasha sat in an armchair, with Clint perched on the arm. They’d both gone home to see his family almost immediately after the fight, but they both insisted on hearing what had happened.

Scott and Hope shared a couch. Bruce stood just behind it. 

Steve and Bucky were standing next to each other just to the side of you and Sam. They weren’t standing beside you, they wanted an explanation just as much as the others, but the two men were close with Sam, so it seemed they wanted to show that they supported you, as his girlfriend.

Tony was in an armchair across from Natasha and Clint. Thor stood behind his chair, and Wanda sat on the floor between the couch and Tony’s armchair. Even Carol was there, she sat backwards on a kitchen chair that she’d dragged into the room.

“We figured as much,” Tony replied. He smiled as his daughter ran into the room and all but threw herself onto Tony’s lap. He picked her up and situated her comfortably before continuing. “What exactly did your vision show.”

“For the most part, I saw just what happened. I saw you figure out the time travel thing. I saw us split into teams to get the stones. That's where I intervened,” you paused. Sam gave your hip a gentle, supportive squeeze. You hadn’t told him what you’d seen yet, but he knew you. Knew you were trying to say something that had gone horribly wrong. 

“I asked Bruce for the extra Pym charge, and I asked Rocket for some information, and to help me get on the team that went to Asgard.”

You saw Thor straighten then. He’d begun to take care of himself again, though you knew he was still overwhelmingly sad and lonely, he seemed to be working his way out of the deep rut he’d been in. “I don’t recall actually getting the stone. I was too distracted by my- my mother. Rocket did not show me the stone either. I just assumed he had it.” Thor looked at you, an unidentifiable emotion on his face. “Why did you need to be on our team?”

“I needed the reality stone. Wong and Rocket helped me get an idea of how to use it. And then I needed the extra Pym charge to take me to Vormir.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “I was supposed to die, wasn’t I?” she asked calmly. Clint stiffened beside her.

“No, you died in my vision. You weren’t supposed to die. That’s why I fixed it,” you gave her a look that brooked no argument, and she smiled in return.

“I used the stone to make it look like Natasha had died. Clint and Vormir’s guardian had to believe that it had happened. The only way to get the stone was-” 

“To lose what you loved,” Clint finished for you. You nodded. “I had to believe it or it wouldn’t have worked.” You nodded again, though he hadn’t phrased it as a question.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that, Clint, but it was the only way I could think to make it work.” You really were sorry. You knew Clint sometimes woke from horrible nightmares, occasionally about his family disappearing again, but also about seeing Nat fall.

He shook his head, and you let the subject lie.

“No wonder you were so fucked up when we all got back,” Steve said quietly to Clint. Then he turned to you. “That’s not it, is it?”

“No.” You looked to Tony.

“The suit wouldn’t have held that much power,” Tony concluded. “I didn’t think it would, but I didn’t have the time to strengthen it. I just didn’t know-”

“I know,” you said. “I had FRIDAY make some tweaks when you weren’t looking.” If it was possible to look proud and affronted at the same time, that’s how you would have described Tony’s expression. “Then, using the info I’d gotten from Rocket, I figured out how to displace the power, instead of letting it hit you alone.” You nodded at Carol, Thor, and Wanda. “I pulled the strongest people I knew, and lined us all up behind you before grabbing your shoulder just as you used the stones. The power was distributed to all of us, and we were able to hold, and diffuse it with no ill effects. I don't think it’s something anyone could have thought to do in the moment, it only happened because I had that vision.” You looked at Nat and Tony again. “After all we’ve been through, I couldn’t live in a world without you guys. Any of you,” you added, looking at everyone.

Tony had his arm wrapped tight around Morgan. And you heard a muffled sob from just behind you, turning a little, you saw Pepper. You winced, you hadn’t intended her to hear this. She saw your expression and shook her head. “Thank you,” she mouthed before walking to Tony’s side. She gave him a kiss and held his free hand in a death grip.

Clint had a grip on Nat’s hand too. White lines formed at the corners of Thor’s mouth, and Wanda looked like she was having trouble processing all the emotions in the room, but her eyes focused on you. 

“Why didn’t you tell us all this?” Bruce asked; he’d been quiet the whole time, though he’d known you had something going on earlier than most.

“I was afraid that if I said something, it would change something. I had no clue what was safe and what wasn’t and I knew-” you cut off, shifting to grip Sam’s hand, clearing your throat. “I knew if everything happened as it should, the dusted people would come back. I couldn’t risk that getting fucked up, just like I couldn’t let what I saw happen to Tony and Nat.” You squeezed Sam’s hand. “I’m sorry I kept this from you all, but I really couldn't risk it.” You closed your eyes, tilting your face to look at the floor.

You heard someone approaching, and felt Sam shift, but you didn’t open your eyes until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Natasha stood in front of you. As you looked up at her, you heard another set of footsteps approach. Tony appeared behind her. Steadily, your whole family came close. Natasha pulled you up, and into a tight hug. You felt Sam rise from behind you, he kept a hand on your hip. Tony put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing. Steve gripped your other shoulder. Bruce had a hand on one of your arms, which were around Natasha, and Clint gripped your hand. Looking around the room at the others, you saw pain, and gratitude in every face. 

“Don’t keep shit like that to yourself again, you hear me?” Natasha grumbled, tears in her voice keeping her tone from being very threatening.

You let out a choked laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

“Clearly your best is damn good. I’ll take that any day,” Tony said. Tears were in his eyes, and there were tracks of them on his cheeks. “You did a good job, kid.”

“We’re proud of you.” Steve gave you a smile. Clint met your gaze and though his eyes were still warry, he gave you a smile, squeezing your hand.

Sam’s hand ran up and down your lower back as Natasha and the others stepped back. “You’re amazing, baby. You did good, just like always.” He wrapped his arm around you from behind and pressed a kiss to your temple. 

Everyone settled back into their seats before Steve spoke again. “Is that all you changed? Nothing else we need to know.”

You laughed a little, drawing everyone's gazes again. “Well I did change one more thing, it wasn’t big though.”

“What was it?” Steve asked. 

“I kept Scott from accidentally using a Pym Particle when he was talking about how they worked. That was the only way I could have one to use.”

Hope rolled her eyes, “seriously, Scott?” Clearly she was well aware of Scott’s inability to be smooth.

Scott’s face was beet red, but laughter filled the room. It seemed that the group would be able to move on from the news after all.

“I wasn’t gonna use it!” Scott insisted.

“If you had to be stopped, then yes, you were going to use it,” Hope argued, rolling her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

The room filled with laughter and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. Leaning back into Sam, you let a long sigh escape you. It was over. The world was readjusting to having its missing members back, and after 5 years, you knew it would take a while, but, looking around the room, you had hope for the future.

You had your family after all. Your family, and your Sam. Everything was as it should be.

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Best Films of 2017, Part IV

We’re getting closer. Part I, Part II, Part III. GOOD MOVIES 42. A Quiet Passion (Terence Davies)- I think the biggest strength of this film, a pretty conventional one by Davies's standards, is a drive inward that is steady but not judgmental. Dickinson's retreat isn't treated as tragedy, but as a natural trajectory that was there in the first scene. (A lot of the heavy lifting is done by Emma Bell, the actress who plays young Emily with constancy.) The life of the mind is a lonely one, but there isn't much choice in the matter. The film moves along in a leisurely way, matching the long days of such privileged people, and it's funny until the bon mots drift into Frank Underwood territory that doesn't make sense. And the parts of the movie that don't work, the ones that succumb to the biopic mold, feel like that: told in the cadence of a joke but a bit empty. 41. Stronger (David Gordon Green)- For most of its running time, Stronger is a raw film bolstered by searing, sharply felt lead performances. It doesn't take the easy way out or succumb to cliche, suggesting that, gasp, maybe being a symbol for an entire city could be exhausting and frustrating. Then, quite quickly, it gives in to all of the cliches. The conversation with Carlos would have been an awesome deleted scene. 40. Split (M. Night Shyamalan)- Shyamalan flat-out knows how to make this kind of movie. It's not without its faults--can you even complain about his tendency to cast himself anymore?--but his cross-cutting game hasn't slipped a beat. The film is composed and patient, but it doesn't trespass the self-indulgent line the way that some of his earlier work does. Some of the abuse stuff is handled clumsily, but I suppose it has to match the touch of the psychology material, which can only be breezy and flippant. Here's what's different about the filmmaker's approach: Shyamalan hasn't guided many actors to great performances. (I guess Haley Joel Osment is still number one.) But this movie is James McAvoy's performance. He gets to have fun technically by switching back and forth among the personas, but the serious business is the fact that the whole thing's tone rests on his shoulders. Like many successful B movies, it has a fluidity that allows the audience to laugh at it, laugh with it, or be genuinely scared--sometimes in a span of minutes. If McAvoy hadn't gone all the way, the movie wouldn't have been able to.

39. Molly’s Game (Aaron Sorkin)- This movie has a lot of the things that make me love movies. A scene in which someone flushes drugs down the toilet and hides valuables because the feds are coming. Self-effacing but rousing speeches that reference classic literature. An "I'm good for it" sequence dedicated to someone's gambling downward spiral. Cleavage. But all of the things I'm describing are window dressing, and this is maybe the first Aaron Sorkin screenplay that has more fat than meat, as tasty as that fat may be. The film's thesis shines in Idris Elba's strangely-accented monologue, the one that starts with "Is this what a RICO suspect looks like?" It seems to suggest that the world is indeed rigged against women, but it might be because they have more integrity than men, which makes it more difficult for them to succeed. It's an interesting notion, and the figure at the center of the film might be perfect to prove it, but there are so many flashbacks and scenes that feel obligatory to get us there. 38. Star Wars: The Last Jedi (Rian Johnson)- Good, if micro-managed in the way that a film-as-shareholder-commodity has to be. It's interesting to me that, though there are only nine movies that take place in this universe, the storytelling is more codified than any other genre I can think of. Even though it's less clinical than The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi has to jump through an inordinate number of hoops to be "a Star Wars movie." No matter how these are sold, they all have the same beats. That history is a gift in some ways. Even though we haven't heard from him in thirty-plus years, Jedi Master Luke's personality tracks in every way. It makes total sense how he would hold people up as symbols instead of personalities, and the movie benefits from the archetypes its predecessors have created. On the other hand, I think we spend thirty minutes on a mission that fails, and the movie hangs Finn out to dry. It's a sort of Empire mandate that the characters have to be separated from one another for the majority of the running time, and that makes for a strained middle section. I get that people like these movies because they're engineered and manicured for maximum pleasure, and I cherish the goofy bits like the drunk creature thinking BB-8 is a slot machine. Maybe these just aren't for me. Until I cry at the end. 37. Win It All (Joe Swanberg)- It ends abruptly and doesn't get as psychological as it could, but Win It All is designed for maximum pleasure. There are a few inventive gestures that make for a jaunty hang--I loved the superimposed counter that showed how up or down Eddie's bankroll was. Jake Johnson, who co-wrote, has real rakish chops. 36. American Made (Doug Liman)- It's helpful to compare this movie to T.C.'s summer disaster The Mummy, which cast him as a static rake. Doug Liman presents the same smiling mug, but he punches a few holes into the persona, letting us see the shortcomings of T.C.'s Barry Seal if not the delusional quality that the actual man must have had. (The movie tries to sell us on boredom as the main motivation for a near-suicide mission, but it was probably more complex than that.) The actor is at his best when he lets himself seems slightly dumb, when the audience is a few steps ahead of him. Luckily, that's the whole film. It helps that this is the first Liman movie since the original Bourne Identity to have a vibrant "stolen" quality to its visuals. American Made careens through its beats at a breakneck pace, and the biggest flaw of the movie is that it remains that fast at the end, when we need more answers. 35. Mudbound (Dee Rees)- A true ensemble, Mudbound has a deft hand with its own emotional effects. Dee Rees knows the moments that matter--the reunion of father and son after the War is unforgettable--and she nails them. The ending is a poignant culmination of a lot of momentum. Much of the film's success comes from real Movie Stars, Jason Mitchell chief among them, elevating their characters past types though. And some of them don't get there all the way. Jason Clarke's Henry is pretty much Unfeeling Man's Man Farmer and Jonathan Banks is totally Racist Pappy. (Not a joke: His character is actually called Pappy.) In the end, I can't help but suspect that similar characters and situations--he drinks to forget what he's seen!--haven't been staged better elsewhere.

34. Raw (Julia Ducournau)- These types of movies--by that I mean late New French Extremity, I guess--have to go too far. If they didn't, they would lose the perverse aesthetic high ground that they're all so smug about. So it goes too far, but I would like to show Raw to someone making, say, an X-Men movie because Julia Ducournau crafts more immersive world-building in twenty minutes than some of those movies do in multiple entries. The beginning was jagged, but when the storytelling settled into itself, it reminded me of Repulsion because the taboo that guides Raw starts out as a metaphor, then becomes a device, then becomes literal, and then it circles back around to metaphor. Maybe that journey is the reason it exists.  33. Get Out (Jordan Peele)- I saw this movie twice. The first time I was kind of cavalier about it. The line I said at parties was: “I personally prefer genre movies that let you attach social commentary to them. The subtext is the text here.”  Knowing the film's secrets the second time around helped me to appreciate the performances better, especially in the powerhouse hypnotism scene. Kaluuya has to play an everyman but also, for obvious reasons, an everyman who stands out. The balance of vulnerability and heroism that he pulls off is impressive, armed with a fake-smile that is perfect for the micro-aggressions he has to stand and take. Chris embodies a civility that lets him stay in the house past his level of comfort, but he’s smart enough to insist on leaving when some horror protagonists would get illogical. I still think the film escalates a bit too quickly from suspicion to actual danger, and, man, I don't know what that TSA investigation tangent is doing at such a crucial moment. But I'll admit that I didn't give the film enough credit in February. Comedies of manners are common; horrors of manners are rare. 32. Logan Lucky (Steven Soderbergh)- From a screenwriting perspective, there are probably two schools of thought for heist movies. Approach A outlines every detail of the plan; that way, when the characters overcome their challenges, we are more impressed because we were warned of the dangers in advance. Approach B leaves the viewer in suspense, and the hurdles pop up for the viewer in a way that mirrors the characters' surprise. I prefer Approach A, and I think there's a degree of difficulty that can't be discounted there. In fact, there's a sort of joy of exposition that is unique to the heist genre and jives with Approach A. Logan Lucky operates mostly on plane B, and it frustrated me at first in what seems like a sterile, straight first act. But then, as I try to avoid spoilers, it goes so far past what we thought the heist would be, and it branches out into Soderberghian "what was actually happening during that time" territory. I had to re-evaluate my prejudices as I joined in on the fun. Despite the inevitable "What It Did Wrong" YouTubes that some killjoy will make, I didn't notice any narrative cheating. Daniel Craig is the eye in the zany storm. 31. The Big Sick (Michael Showalter)- I feel slightly diminishing returns with each super-autobiographical portrait of a comedian. As heart-wrenching as this one gets, it follows the beats that we're used to, right down to the rock-bottom argument with a fast food cashier. Cue the twenty different endings and the uninspired visual style. But why be a sour-puss when faced with a movie so sincere and eager to please? Besides keeping all of the subplot plates spinning, besides being fair to the female character, the film offers original moments and ideas. The triangle that emerges among Nanjiani, Romano, and Hunter authentically captures the way decorum frost melts once two generations realize their common ground. And "the movie that a guy shows a girl to test her taste on a third date" is something that I myself am guilty of, but I haven't seen it portrayed in a film. What isn't unique in the big structural picture is completely unique in certain moments. 30. The Belko Experiment (Greg McLean)- Its ending is only "good enough," but The Belko Experiment is my kind of ultraviolent trash. I would be perfectly happy if we could get the White Stripes of Experiment movies on odd years and alternate them with The Strokes of Purge movies on even years. For one reason or another, empathy machine John Gallagher, Jr. is still in his Hi, Mom! or Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight phase. When he gets his Taxi Driver, watch out.

29. The Lego Batman Movie (Chris McKay)- I laughed twice during the opening production logos. Of course it devolves into everyone teaming up to save the city, as the straight versions of these movies do, but The Lego Batman Movie, especially in its lower stakes first half, was one of the funniest films of the year. I'm kind of thrilled that the satirizing of tropes I cherished from the margins in the '90s is now de rigeur, sponsored by the same studio that has shoved cliches down our throats. Will Arnett deserves special mention for inhabiting this specific version of Batman so well that he makes you rethink 70+ years of the character's make-up. It's no small feat. This movie, yes, probably counts as a slip-up of my superhero ban. I didn’t realize that until I was halfway through.

28. A Cure for Wellness (Gore Verbinski)- This is a difficult film to recommend because, if the person you're talking to cares only about story, he won't like it. It's strained and sometimes illogical, a "you can never leave" story that has been around the block a few times. But look out for the Miami Viceans on here when this film gets reconsidered for its visuals because, I'm telling you now, A Cure for Wellness has the most stately and controlled images this side of Kubrick. It's a perfect reference Blu-Ray if you still care about such things. Verbinski is credited with the story, and I doubt he told the screenwriter much more than "water, wrinkled faces, the color white," but he does some things with that sandbox that I haven't seen before. 27. It Comes at Night (Trey Edward Shults)- It Comes at Night never completely explains its own horror conceit of encroaching "sickness"; even by the end, there's a lot that we don't know about the apparently apocalyptic event that has singled out the characters. That presence of an absence is the film's greatest strength--it allows us to attach to the human frailty at the center without distraction. However, it's the film's greatest weakness as well because it's what keeps the proceedings small, like a cost-cutting measure. In capturing bleak human frailty, Trey Edward Shults knows exactly what he's doing. He uses literal darkness to suggest emotional darkness, and his script guides the viewer along character arcs without holding anyone's hand. A character uses the word "brother-in-law" instead of "brother" and, because of the context, it produces as much of a gasp as a gunshot would. I didn't recognize Riley Keough at first, which is an excellent sign for a young actress. There's a moment when her character catches another character eyeing her breasts, and she tugs her shirt with a unique mixture of flattery and shame. I can't wait to see what she does next. 26. Wind River (Taylor Sheridan)- If a movie has a scene of #RennerSeason making his own bullets, then my fingers won't let me give it lower than three stars. He's amazing/hilarious in this as the know-it-all spirit warrior--basically Steven Seagal in a better actor's body. He's perfect for squinting and selling lines like, "You keep looking for clues...but you're missing all the signs." Taylor Sheridan's screenplay is tight and meticulous in a way that we used to get all the time but feels special now. The backstory is doled out with care, and every character is rich enough to get a moment to shine. He shoots his own material with less visceral impact than someone like Denis Villeneuve did, but he does lend a specific sense of place to the film.There's a crucial late scene that sort of solves the mystery for us, making everything that comes after seem like falling action baggage. Your mileage may vary, but I'm not sure there are other ways to get across the information. I was okay with it. 25. The Post (Steven Spielberg)- The Post is a great time at the movies, but it's ultimately a bit too much of a movie for me. It has a hand-held lightness to its look, an energy that belies how quickly it was made. Streep's Kate Graham has a satisfying arc that eschews a lot of the grandstanding that this type of picture would normally lend her. Her lesson in confidence is laid on thickly, but Streep doesn't play it that way. Unfortunately some of the brusqueness I like in the filmmaking carries over to the screenplay. It offers few of the laughs-in-crisis that make individual Spielberg scenes so good, and most of the conflicts resolve themselves just a little too easily. ("I wonder if the guy I think has the papers actually has them...yep, after a few calls, I found out he does.") The less said about the cartoonish Vietnam protestors and the CCR needle-drop, the better. Overall, do I prefer the lean, realistic version of this story over the more belabored, showy version? Sure.

24. The Work (Jairus McLeary, Gethin Aldous)- The Work is undeniably raw, pure, and effective in the emotion it documents and generates. The access given to the filmmakers as they capture a group therapy program in Folsom State Prison is unbelievable. But for that reason, there's something on the margins of the film that feels exploitative and violating to me. I'm interested in how Bloods and Aryans console each other, not to mention how the most damaged figure is not a prisoner at all. But I get the sense I shouldn't be watching any of this. 23. Marjorie Prime (Michael Almereyda)- I like everything that this chamber piece specifies and everything that it decides to leave vague. The film is unsentimental, considering how sentimental this premise could be. It seems bent on reminding us, sometimes tragically, about how we shape our own memories until the original moment is gone in every way. I'll admit that it seems a little slight by the end, despite the weight suggested by what I just described. Even when it's surprising you, the film never writes in capital letters, and part of that feeling comes from bland visuals. But that's a small complaint for a film that is grappling so palpably with the challenges of authenticity in modern life.

oklahoma,kansas,and tulsa trip aftermath

Attention readers: this big journal entry was written three weeks ago i came home from my 2 week vacation. enjoy Greetings everyone, this is Fido Artz and I am finally back home from my two week and ½ vacation in Oklahoma, Kansas, and Tulsa. And it certainly was a adventure that had its ups and downs compared to my other one from 2015 I figure I should start with how it begin. It was going to be a once year thing where me and my mother, around the spring of April visiting my family and relatives who lived or moved over there for 2 weeks which was April 21st for this year. The plan I thought was changed was that our friend will be driving us to the Vegas airport on the 20th. Turns out, the original game plan still stands. We packed up our things and our ride picked us up and we drove to Vegas, Nevada. At certain times my stomach was a bit achy from the trips but I took some medicine such as motion sickness pills. From there we stayed a night at my friends parents house, which had no wi-fi but good hospitality and visiting went good. Next day, me and mom got dropped off at the airport and we just look around, played with a few slots, and then depart to the 7am plane. Personally even though I am person who takes a step out of my comfort zone. But I was not a fan of traveling too far out of town or flying across states with some turbulence. But we managed to get though it okay and landed at Tulsa airport in Oklahoma where my uncle at the arrival picked us up and drive us around town. It was a ok town, but rural life doesn't really have much of a appeal to me but also one thing I dislike about the certain parts of town is its religious beliefs it has rather then it having a spiritual belief, and not to mention tornado warnings if you don't keep watch. Besides those, my uncle dropped us off to my grandmother's house. Where we begin our 1st week visit. Our visits sometimes had been easy going yet little drama occur here and there at times. But me and mom easily get these conversations back on a rational level adverting conflicts. we had fun at the Choctaw Indian casino and I walked away with $48 then added on $30 to my winnings which would be $72 I think. Then we also went to a bigger Choctaw Indian casino and hotel in Arkansas. Where we celebrated my uncles birthday on April 25th. We had a good time but I feel bad for my uncle who has been having bad luck, one of them is finding his horse trigger, dead on the pouch of his house, which he had to gave a burial. He expect that trigger picked a fight with his other horse's which resulted in that incident.So we figured me and mom should spend tonight as my uncles house and at least cheer him up and make his life a little better. We took a walk through my uncles property which is a little pond, the woods, and the boat. Then we met his animals such as the 2 other horses one horse is named Scout and a small pony named Joey. We try to pet them but something spooked them and me and my mother almost got steamrolled by them, luckily we got pushed out of the way before it can fully happen. And I also had to help my uncle figure out the VR goggles for his phone. It works but unfortunately his phone system is not compatible with the google cardboard system which tracks and navigates where you look at in a 360 3d video. And neither is mine sadly. Next day, my mom wanted to visit my mom's dad & my grandfather and other uncle's grave and leave flowers by their headstones. And that brought back some sad memories to her, especially that time where he passed away on 2005 and she went to his funeral. But I know and feel, that they are both in peace. After that, we went back to grandmas for a last visit. We try to help her find a place to stay or buy a temporary mobile home she can make a temporary home until her house upcoming renovation. She was a bit against the idea of staying with friends, family or in a trailer or hotel because she is worried about her cats and dogs safety or having a rocky relationship with certain members. We also spotted a mobile home on sale which we all thought it work. But after closer inspection by my grandmother and uncle, she declined on it. So we tried. Next day came, our visit with my grandmother and uncle done, said good bye,and my sister and her new love picked us up. We left Oklahoma and head out to Coffeyville, Kansas where my sister and the kids has moved to a new 2 story house in town similar to the other one from my 2015 trip. Its a nice house outside but inside a another story. After we made it to Coffeyville, I get to know my big sister, her new friend who is a cop, and my 5 nieces and 2 nephews. We ate a Chinese buffet restaurant which is a few blocks from the house. Then we started our 2nd week of the vacation.And we find out that they are moving out to a new house yet again. Which is a pretty nice looking house. Visiting has been going good but me and mom start to get sick to our heads, but its very temporary. This also happen with me in Oklahoma My nephew points out that there are huge allergies here in this state. I don't know how allergies can cause symptoms but I am glad they are temporary. We still manged to have fun and visiting and also ate another buffet which is a steak one rather then a Chinese one. Went shopping, attempted the claw machine, and just hang out with my nephew in his room up stairs and I also got my own personalized bible from my sister. Despite the ups and downs of this week I feel there are overall things I did not like, one of them is trying to keep up with my online class. its been tedious to fit that in along with my visits with family, one example would be my 3rd vocab journal. i thought i submitted that assignment complete with my commentary and use of the words in sentence before packing up to head to vegas and catch a plane to kansas and oklahoma. only to find out around one of my visits in Oklahoma, i didn't submit so i had to find the vocab words and definition of every word again but left out the commentary because i was running out of time. so it was a last minute thing i will take responsibility for. Which earns me partial credit. The movie review based on a artists biopic assignment also faced a similar circumstance with time. because i doubt i would get to watch the entire movie while being on vacation. but i seen most of the movie and get the idea of the artists, characters, elements, without giving away too many spoilers. And most of you know i used to do movie reviews online on DA before but those reviews pretty much tells a movie from start to finish and goes into too much detail. so i try to avoid that with this review assignment and pick out the highlights and interesting main plot points and focuses. But in the end of that concern. I have been doing pretty good on my traditional art class with a 92.28% so far I am going to focus on the 3 last remaining assignments with no hitches in between. The vacation was over, we packed up and my sister drove us to Tulsa and dropped us off at the Tulsa airport. knowing that we had a good visit, we got passed security checks and sit down to wait for our plane Allegiant Air to Vegas. Until.. the flight got delayed and then suddenly got canceled til tomorrow due maintenance and everyone was not happy. Instead of having my sister picking us up and going back to Kansas. We are given vouchers and then we took a shuttle bus to a hotel which is not far from the airport and just settle down and eat at a near by Denny's. And apparently this is not the first time this Allegiant Air flight delay and cancellation happen, infact it has happen 2 or 3 times this week. I enjoyed the hotel, but I really wanted to go home as planned, I just had a good time but I just feel like overstayed my welcome, Kind of similar to the Markiplier vs delta airline story. Next day, me and mom both checked out and get on the shuttle bus hoping that we finally get on a plane and fly to Vegas so we can get home. We got past every mandatory thing and had lunch. Then wait and here we go again with Allegiant Air the delays keeps stacking up. Even though I am a nice guy. I got to confess I was getting little peeved inside with this situation. And the other customers are getting more angry, heated, and tired if they had to be canceled and sent back to their homes and hotels again. But instead of canceling the flight. They decide to send in what they call a rescue plane to get us to vegas. We waited for its arrival, they give us sodas and pizzas. However the wi-fi handling there was extremely terrible and spotty for laptops and phones alike. Moments later. The plane shows up and then we board the flight. And that patients of waiting have payed off. And before you know it we are flying to Vegas. I think the staff handled the situation perfectly this time. But I think Allegiant Air is going to have to pay for me, mom, and everyone's for may 1st incident. Personally I think Oklahoma, Kansas, and Tulsa are good places to visit to family but not a place I rather moved too if I had to deal with common occurrences such as tornadoes and storms. We finally made it to Vegas, and our ride picked us up, we stayed a night at his parents house from 2 weeks ago. Then say good bye and then set course for Ridgecrest,CA. My hometown. We also stopped at baker to check out a cool attraction I remember seeing when I was kid. It was called alien fresh jerky and it was awesome and got bigger last time I seen it with my dad. After the drive we finally made it home. And that was my 2 week vacation in Oklahoma, Kansas, and Tulsa. And boy this took a lot to remember, write down, and cram in a single journal. Compared to the 2015 vacation, this one was more layed back and mellow. Had its ups and downs. But it was still a good vacation. I also liked that most of stayed in touched with me during my trip and it really means a lot to me to have you guys involved with what I am doing outside of my art, animation, literature, and such endeavors by being more interactive with you guys though messengers, skype, discord, telegram, notes, and statuses. You guys such as AlterEgoAndie, Thunder-Clap-Clide, 8TeamFriends8, and Jasonbrambletail have been getting me through tough spots in my life and my trip. Thank you all so much for being good friends. And thank you all for reading all this, I look forward to your thoughts on my trip and other topics. And now I am going to go rest up for the day knowing that we made it home. Until next time as always, this is Fido Artz have a blessed good day and stay artzy ^^