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#mib international
dailyflicks · 2 years
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Chris Hemsworth as Agent H in Men In Black: International (2019) dir.F. Gary Gray
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rebeccafergusonfan · 1 year
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Rebecca Ferguson in costume | Trick r Treat
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beheworthy · 1 year
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I love your posts talking about chris' characters and the sex*al assault they eventually go through (I didn't remember that MIB scene). I saw posts about Thor comics and how he's also stripped (lol) of his free will, the enemies often comment on his looks and he's also a victim of sex*al abuse AND r*ape. Some fans pointed out that Thor is a safe choice to be on the receiving end of this violence because there's nothing that can be done to him that will make he be seen weak by the audience :/
Post in question - X. Thanks bud :)
I'm surprised that you don't remember that scene from MIB. It's the only thing I remember. I was enraged at the absolute lack of people calling it out for being blatant assault.
Oh my god are you serious abt Thor being assaulted and r**** in the comics? :o I had no idea. When where who did this to him???? :((((
That's so messed up that people think that way but isn't that the common attitude toward male SA in general?! :| This is similar to Thor4 having Thor say that he was okay with getting stripped so that we the audience also feel okay abt it. I see what you were trying to do Waititi and it will never fly with me.
I recently rewatched all the Thor films and watching them back to back really put into focus just how much he's lusted after by everyone it's crazy.
I find it amusing that out of all his films, Chris has had creative control on Extraction and Spiderhead and these are the only 2 films of his where he isn't objectified in the least and doesn't even have a romantic arc.
He said he was happy that there was no shirtless scene in Thor3 but the director FORCED him to do it!!!! And then Waititi doubled down on it by calling Chris a piece of meat :)
At Comic Con 2019 where Thor4 was announced, Waititi went on creepily abt how there will be so many/graphic lovemaking scenes because it's a love story while Chris and Nat were visibly uncomfortable beside him. Chris even put a hand on him to make him stop.
And then we have what we had in Thor4. Waititi fans were hailing him for giving Thor a c*** so huge it makes people faint. Just wow, y'know.
With Waititi's departure, I hope Thor/Chris' days of being 'a piece of meat' are behind him.
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skazoo · 2 years
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when we twisted shadows back into stars.
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↳ lee minho x f!reader
he's coming for all the monsters that touched his past. you're coming for those who twisted your stars into shadows. they turned your lives into a nightmare, and you're going to be theirs.
length. 15.3k
genre. men in black!au, sci-fi, ANGST, crack, fluff, dumb and dumber go on a secret mission
warnings/tags. language, death and mentions of death, violence, mention of sexual abuse, substance use, mention of sex
networks. @kflixnet
notes. first of all, 25° celsius is 77 fahrenheit for my american besties. second, Y stands for whatever your initial is and M is for minho. third, a neuralyzer is, and i quote: an object that has the ability to wipe the mind of anybody who sees the flash via isolating and editing certain electronic impulses related to memory.
and last but not least, i want to kiss this fic on the forehead and tell her to be good and make me proud because she is the longest thing i've ever written.
(as always, big thanks to my bff who always finds the time to read every dumb thing i write)
i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!
(cross-posted on ao3 only)
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'Agent M: the tragic back-story of a true international hero’ 
'Most eligible bachelor: Agent M doesn't need a partner on the job, but maybe in his life...?'
'The Agency's Golden Boy saves the world once again: what happened in Helsinki'
Your eyes skim over the countless framed magazine covers on the walls as you are swiftly conducted down a long and sterile white corridor. 
The man in front of you hasn't spoken a word for the whole trip, but from time to time, he turns around to see if you're still following him and throws you dirty looks that make you speed up the pace each time.
You're nervous. You're nervous because you're right and after so many years of trying to prove it, you're scared everything is going to vanish from right in front of your eyes, leaving you with the aftermath of your wasted time and promises you can't keep. Leaving you with nothing.
She spoke of horrible things. Wars, the Apocalypse, things that would usually disturb an adult, not to mention a child. 
But still, you listened carefully to every word, trying to understand the meaning behind her ramblings, behind the fear that was perennially carved in her languid eyes. Eyes that had once comforted you through your nightmares.
Her last words to you — in the baby blue room of the nursing home in which your father had placed her after she had tried to attack you and then kill herself with an old letter opener — were that she was sorry. Sorry that you didn't believe her, sorry that she was leaving you to fend alone in a world full of dangers, sorry that she couldn't be there to help you understand.
After that, you had felt the need to trust her, the need to justify her actions. 
After that, till 24 hours ago you had been desperately searching for something that most likely didn't exist.
By a twist of fate, they came looking for you. 
Well, maybe they didn't exactly come looking for you. Let's say you ran away from the problems you intentionally created, and they chased after you for three months before they cornered you... and caught you... and offered you a job...?
The important thing is that you're here now. You can do what you came to do: find who or what made your mother go mad, find who consumed her. Find the culprit, and get revenge. On everyone, even on the Agency that stood watching while your family slowly disintegrated before your powerless eyes.
You wipe your sweaty hands on the sleek, black Agency-issued dress suit, as the big man with an evident balding spot on the back of his head that impressively reflects the white neon lights, abruptly stops before a big fancy wooden door that feels completely out of place in the hospital-like setting.
"Wait here," with a voice that is uncharacteristically high for his build, the man turns on his heels and stomps away, giving you one last glare.
Right...
You stand very awkwardly in the middle of the deserted corridor, intensely staring at the door from which you can faintly hear a conversation taking place.
"...you have to understand... not my decision... the higher-ups".
"... they adore me... a change of plans... should not be so hard?"
A robotic voice calls your code name, startling you. "Agent Y, entry please"
The door automatically opens right when a scream of indignation leaves the room you're about to enter.
As you hesitantly step in, two pairs of eyes fix on you; one is slightly apologetic, and the other wants to kill you and dance on your grave.
The man who you've never seen but has clearly some issues with you, straight up pretends you're not there and angrily bangs his hand on the polished desk that stands as a barrier between his dramatic rage and the little chubby man that looks like he's about to have a heart attack.
 "Don't waste my time and your breath and explain in simple words why I'm being assigned to this mission. Everyone knows I work alone. You know I work alone! I don't do partners", he spats out the last part, giving you a side-eye that makes you stare at him, at a loss for words and admittedly a little angry.
What is this guy's problem?
He's not very tall, but his menacing aura makes him look like a real threat. His perfectly ironed black suit hugs him in all the right places, his tie is loose, and he's replaced the standard dress shoes with heavy jet black stompers that are oh so ready to step on you, judging by the way he's looking at you right now. And his hair is purple. 
Perfect color to go unnoticed.
"Agent M, please calm down there's no need t-," the little man stops mid-sentence at the other's expression of fury.
With a big breath and a nervous look directed at you, he starts again, anxiously fidgeting with a pin on his jacket that clearly states 'AGENT D' in small black letters.
"M, listen. Like I said it was not my decision at all," he mumbles, looking everywhere but at the man fuming in front of him. “They called this morning- no, not they, he called this morning explicitly asking for you to take this case, and-and I know you work alone, ‘fly solo’, how you young people say no?” he looks at you for confirmation but his attempts to lighten the mood miserably fail, resulting in awkward silence.
Agent D clears his throat. "Anyway, I -I tried to reason with him, reminding him that you are a prodigy, right? And-and that you don't need anyone, but he told me that if you were to complain, I had to ignore you and introduce you to our new Agent-" 
"New Agen- you're telling me he paired me up with a rookie!? What the hell D!," his eyebrows raise to the roof with an exasperated expression that is almost comical.
"I'm gonna talk to him. But next time, D grow some balls and stand your ground, for fuck’s sake,” he storms out of the office, and you find yourself following him, offended and a little hurt.
"You know, your behavior makes for a very uncomfortable workspace", your voice is breathy from almost running beside him to match his stride.
"It happens, rookie, get used to it. Now stop following me" 
"Stop calling me rookie like you're so much better than me and slow down."
He suddenly halts in front of a simple black door, and you have to brace yourself to the wall to not collide with his back. 
He turns to you, towering over your frame and looking you straight in the eyes. 
"The fact is, rookie," he smirks as if he already knows everything about you, "that I am better than you. In fact, I'm on an entirely superior level you'll never reach, and that's why I and any other sane agent in this massive building would rather get neuralyzed than be paired up with you,” he mockingly boops your nose as he whispers the last part.
He opens the door and you're left with your rising anger, scrambling for an acceptable answer.
"Now, if you please… I have to go kiss my boss' ass and get rid of you. It was not a pleasure to meet you, and I don't want to see you in front of my apartment's door when I come back."
He's already walking away when you manage to shout at his back the smartest thing you can manage.
"Fuck you!"
"Byee!", he doesn't turn as he waves his hands at you.
Lost in the indecent amount of desire you have to just run and tackle him to the ground, you almost miss how the black door is left slightly open. Just for you.
If curiosity killed the cat, the amount of joy you're about to savor by doing something horribly petty and childish to the apartment of a colleague who’s most likely gonna kill you is going to bring it back.
Or so you hope.
His living space in the Agency is exactly what you would expect from a person like him: pristine stainless-steel walls, devoid of any ornament except for a framed photo of a cat-like being with more or less eight legs, a big futuristic white couch that is most definitely not Ikea with gray pillows neatly positioned, little ground lights that emit a soft neon-blue hue, and a huge mirror that makes the place look ten times bigger.
Twenty minutes have passed, and as you're looking around, you can't help but be terribly curious about this man's life.
An agent so young yet so highly respected in a business that's not exactly normal should expect to raise some eyes here and there, no?
Did he ace the aptitude test on the first try? Was he recruited because he had some special abilities? Maybe he did parkour or something like that, that's why they took him in. Was he a runaway just like you? Lost, desperately looking for something, willing to do everything to reach his goal?
Before trying to get noticed by MiB in your own illegal ways, you did your research. You studied everyone: from the clumsy and weak HR chief — Agent D — to the responsible but hardly ever seen around, founder of the Agency — Alpha.
You managed to find something on everyone because despite it being a secret organization, it had very hackable systems. At least for you.
You found something on everyone except for the frustratingly mysterious Agent M, on whom you still have nothing. Not a failed mission report, not a past slip up, not an old Facebook account created against his parent's will when he was 9, not even a birth certificate.
He was a ghost, and something deep inside you made you empathize with him. He was running from his past, and you desperately wished to tell this unknown man that you knew how hard he was fighting to remain intact, to not crumble to the ground under the weight of his desolation.
This, of course, was all before you met the man who's really just a raging asshole.
"Hey, man I was thinki-"
A scream tears itself from your throat when a voice speaks from behind you, and your fist reacts before your brain can process what's happening, punching the unfortunate figure that emerges from the dark hallway, right in the face.
"Ow-WHAT THE FUCK! That fucking hurt, what the hell!", the stranger is kneeling on the ground, hands holding his nose, and you can see his eyes starting to water.
"You scared the shit out of me! What was I supposed to do!?"
"What were you supposed- w-who even are you," he cries, you don't know if it's because of the punch or because he's not understanding anything at all. "And where the hell is Minho!?"
"Who is Minho? I don't know what you're talking about.” You ask him, not letting your guard down.
The door of the apartment opens, revealing a perplexed Agent M, with his suit jacket in his left hand and a pastel green manila folder in the other. His loosened tie and his ruffled shirt make him look more tired than he probably is.
"What is happening here? Agent J, why on earth would you let her in?", he questions the man as one would do in an interrogation.
"Why would I let her- I didn't let her in. She just punched me in the face, and you're getting mad at me?!", his incredulous mumbles culminating with a loud whine.
Agent M's hard eyes turn on you. "Didn't I kick you out already?"
"Yes, but-"
"No. Out.", he passes you to go take off his shoes.
"Who is Minho?", you manage to ask before he can say something else.
You can see his shoulders tense, and with a big breath, without turning, you hear him address the man who is still on the floor, cradling his face.
"Han, I know I told you I don't care if you call me that, but can you please stop giving my name away to everyone you meet? The whole point of code names is that they hide your identity from strangers, you know?"
"But you just said mine!"
"It's called revenge, now this," he walks towards you and without mercy, shoves you out of his apartment, "is Agent Y. She was just leaving."
The door shuts loudly behind you, leaving you alone. In a long corridor. Again.
"What am I supposed to do now, uh?!", your voice is full of frustration as you bang a fist on the wall.
Silence.
Before you move the first step to find your room for the night, the manila folder M had in his hands slides under the door, and an annoyed voice mutters words you weren't sure you were going to hear.
"The mission starts tomorrow. Be ready."
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"Unlimited technology from the whole Universe, a multi-billionaire Agency and we had to cruise around in Economy?", your tone is skeptical as you start retrieving your light luggage full of gadgets that somehow passed the security scanners, from under your skimpy seat.
The man beside you, who had begged- no demanded to take the window seat, looks at you, disgusted, "I'm sorry this was not to your liking, you ungrateful child. With such short notice Han had to improvise a little."
Ah, Han. After your little... encounter last night, you and Agent J or, like he expressly wants to be called, Jisung bonded over an early morning roast session of your common acquaintance, the one and only Agent M or, like he expressly doesn't want to be called, Minho.
Turns out Han is the most easy-going and funny guy you've met in a long time, and it makes you feel more sorry than you already are to have punched him straight in the face before he could even say a word.
"I was just saying... don't need to be so hostile. Maybe if you relaxed a little," you shift in your seat, trying to find your seatbelt, "you could find out you actually like being happy, and you could start behaving like a decent human being towards me you know? Think about that Minho..."
"First, don't ever use my name. Ever. Second, I will never relax till I have to take you around with me," he rants, looking out of the window to the ground that is rapidly approaching.
You scrunch your eyes closed and hold up a hand right in front of his face. "Whatever, Minho, talk to the hand,” you say as a yawn escapes your mouth.
You're so tired. You're tired because as soon as you boarded the plane, a baby two seats behind you started crying, all your plans to sleep during the flight got thrown out of the window, and you swear you heard him smirking from beside you like it was some kind of personal victory.
And so, for the whole trip, you have been staring at the back of the seat in front of you, wondering what you have done to deserve this treatment, and watching, staring shocked at the figure beside you that didn't seem to have any problem sleeping amidst the chaos. 
Since you can't, for the life of you, stand the awkward, long silence that's fallen between the two of you any longer before the plane touches the ground, you find yourself initiating a desperate conversation with the last person you want to talk to.
"What did he tell you?", you ask, trying to make yourself heard over the obnoxious kid in the back and successfully earning a dramatic exhausted sigh from the man beside you.
He stretches as far as possible on the narrow seat and throws you an annoyed glare. "What did who tell me?"
"The... boss? I don't know his code name."
"Alpha. He's one of the founders of MiB." The imperceptible fondness with which he says his name throws you off a little. You let your head wonder what the relationship between the two is, but your neutral expression is immediately put back in place.
"Yeah, him. What did he tell you to convince you to be here now? You know, with all the 'i don't do partners' stuff."
"Why you wanna know?"
"I'm just curious, and it's not like I have anything else to do."
He looks at you weirdly.
Minho knows his assignment very well. He knows he shouldn't trust you, and he's not about to get played by your stupid little questions.
"He told me it is a very important mission and that he wants me to teach you how to do your job properly." You can feel him studying you, analyzing you as he speaks, and something about it feels off. You can't pinpoint what though.
"That's it?"
"Yes, that's it. What did you expect uh?"
"Me? No, nothing… Well, maybe something more inter-"
"Why are you here Agent Y?", he interrupts you, and you can feel the atmosphere shift slightly. 
Maybe it's the altitude?
You know what he means. Of course you know what he means, but you try to play it off cluelessly, relying on the fake and hopefully well structured image you're going to adopt with him. "I'm here for the mission. We're both her-"
"Why are you here, Y."
Why is he asking these things all of a sudden? Isn't he the 'don't call me by my real name, or i will self-combust' guy?
"I-", you think about what you could say to not sound too suspicious, and you opt for the closest thing to the truth.
"I- you know when we're kids, right?”, you look at him expectantly.
“Before we're taught how to think and what to believe? Before that, our hearts, and maybe our sixth sense too, tell us there's something else out there, something different." Your eyes wander around to the other passengers, avoiding his searching gaze.
As absurd as it seems, you've been carrying this thought inside of your head for years, and having a real person here to listen is almost freeing.
"Now, I know what my mother's eyes saw, I know what I saw. Tell me what I'm supposed to do. What I'm supposed to believe.", you don't know if he hears the last bit because it's almost above a whisper, "I want to save those who can still be saved."
He observes you with expressionless eyes that seem to hide something more and lays back on the seat that's too small for his frame.
"Are you not going to say anything?"
What the fuck? You just told him something personal and profound, and he doesn't even look at you for more than five seconds? 
"I'm still trying to wake up, I need silence." He closes his eyes and pulls out of his ears some kind of earbud.
"Silen- a baby has been crying for the whole trip. How did you even sleep that much?" you ask, half-curious half-frustrated.
"Noise-canceling buds from the Agency. A real deal I'm telling you", he waves the two buds in the air before putting them back in his luggage.
"Wha- and couldn't you have told me earlier about this?", you slap his shoulder without realizing.
On his mouth grows a mocking smirk that's maybe the closest thing to a genuine smile you'll ever see him doing, and the dangerous conversation unanimously ends there.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Rome Airport. Local time is 11:04 pm, and the temperature is 25°. For your safety and comfort, please-"
M taps you twice on the shoulder to signal you have to get up. "Come on, we have somewhere to be."
"Ah, about that, you only told me- no, kidding, you haven't told me anything about the mission. I mean, I don't even know why we're in Rome and-", you stop dead in your tracks because, oh my god did you just follow a complete and possibly dangerous stranger in another country without asking for information beforehand?! Embarrassing.
He's navigating ahead of you through the crowded airport, and you have the sudden urge to put him on a leash to avoid having to look around for him like a lost puppy.
"I'm sorry, why did you think I gave you the folder yesterday? As a peace offering? So you could doodle on it if you were suddenly bored?"
"I was tired, okay?! You kept me guessing all night, and I figured you would have briefed me in the morning or something!"
"You figured wrong." He looks at his watch as if he's waiting for something, his sunglasses on even if it's dark outside.
"Don't be rude Minho, come on, I kno-"
He stiffens at you saying his name so freely. "We're going to meet some friends who can give us some information about what we need to retrieve."
"And what we need to retrieve is...?"
He impatiently taps his foot on the sidewalk. "A weapon. It's a weapon rookie, now stop asking questions."
A beat of silence then a loud black SUV stops right in front of you, and M signals it's your ride.
As you're entering before him, you don't miss the occasion to tease him. 
"I'm happy for you, M! Didn't think you had friends, congratulations!"
With a push from behind, you fall messily in the car, and he mumbles a 'shut up' that it's more an 'if you embarrass me in front of the people I know I will personally see to find you a one-way ticket for another planet'.
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The fact that Minho had friends was already shocking as it was, but that he had friends that were rich as fuck and literal princes of another planet? Scandalous.
When he told you his friend was hosting a private party near the center of Rome, you thought of a tea room full of distinguished gentlemen with monocles and luscious mustaches. 
What you absolutely did not consider was that Minho was maybe two years older than you and had friends his age who were young, horny, and ready to party in a huge penthouse right in front of the Colosseo.
"Do you like the music?!", Changbin screams in your ear to top the loud bass of the song.
He's one of Minho's connections, and you've been entrusted to him the moment the two of you stepped out of the private elevator and into the sea of people. 
His hair is dyed a bright red, but you swear they've been slowly changing color from when he started talking to you, and you can't understand how or why.
"Yeah!", you scream back, nodding a little too enthusiastically to make sure he understands.
"Doesn't look like it!"
"I'm sorry! I've never been to a party this big! Fuck, I've never been to a party at all, so I feel a bit awkward...?!"
He looks at you weirdly, his eyes a little sympathetic, before shaking his head and screaming again. "Oh, that's totally okay, don't worry! If you want I can give you something to help you get loose a bit! Something from my home!"
"You mean... drugs?", you whisper the last word, but you're sure he understands from the way his smile widens and his eyes twinkle with mischief.
"Well, on my planet it's just an antidepressant, but for others it feels different! You should give it a try! What's the worst that could happen?!", he thrusts a candy-looking pill in your direction, hair now a bright green.
The worst that could happen is very obvious, but you think of Minho, who's left you here, alone while he speaks with his other friend like he's babysitting you, like you're just a burden and not his partner, and Changbin needs little to no persuasion to convince you to take the pill.
From that point on, everything gets better and a little blurry, but you don't care because you feel fantastic. 
Fuck M and his superiority complex.
You're singing along to songs you don't know the words to, you're happy, you're laughing with beautiful strangers with long tails that curl around your calf, and most importantly, you're dancing on a table without a care in the world, people hyping you up from around and you feel adored.
Minho snaps his head to the closed door of the office when he hears the already loud voices of the crowd shout in appreciation.
Chan's amused voice comes from the reclinable chair behind the glass desk. "Don't worry, every now and then they get these flashes of euphoria. Go on, please"
With a scoff, Minho starts again. "Yeah, so I need information on this weapon: a shape, a location, anything really," he passes a stressed hand through his bright purple hair.
"Alpha, made it clear that it's urgent, actually I don't think I've ever seen the man looking this nervous for a mission."
"Alpha has reasons that we mere mortals can't even begin to comprehend," Chan's tone is ironic, but both Agents know it's true.
"I should know. He paired me up with a literal first-day rookie without telling me anything. I had to chase him around to get some explanations."
"Sucks to be you, but the only way he would pair you up with a nobody would be if...", the blond's words get stuck in his throat as he puts two and two together. Minho can see the gears in his mind get in place. Chan’s fingers stop tapping on the glass.
"Alpha thinks she's a threat," Minho's tone is careful as he completes Chan's thought.
"A terrorist, and not just that. Chan, he gave me her name. He gave away her name, her identity, and seemed happy while doing it."
There's an uncomfortable silence between the two. 
A silence of doubts and values. Of principles that slowly start to collapse as they're replaced by confusion and inner conflicts.
"Chan, I don't- I trust him, I really do, but the feeling of not knowing for certain that what I'm doing is the right thing... I don't know how to look at her, Chan. A name can sign your end in a business like this. It's not something that can be given out to others if you're not okay with it, and the fact that she doesn't know it- man, I feel sick every time she says my name."
"She's your mission too..."
"What?"
Chan straightens up in his chair and glances at the door. "You didn't come here just for the weapon. You came to ask me what I have on her."
Minho knows he looks guilty right now. He knows it because he looked in the mirror when he woke up this morning, and he knows it because he feels it deep inside his guts.
"I won't give you anything if you don't want to. You know that".
"I'll know. Tomorrow. Not now."
Another loud cheer resonates from the closed door.
"We'll go downstairs. Changbin said there's a free room we can stay in for the night. We'll stay there, and tomorrow we're off again.” He's tired as he gets up from the chair and walks towards the exit.
Everything moves fast and slow at the same time, with sweat running down your neck, you feel the need to breathe and wash your face with freezing water.
Changbin squeezes your shoulder with a wide smile as you pass him to go down the hallway to the bathroom that's bigger than your room.
It's crowded and noisy, and it smells like sweat and some other things you don't wish to know about. 
Even here, the air is stuffy, and you feel the effects of the pill Changbin gave you starting to fade into intoxicated exhaustion.
You drag your sweaty palms against the tiled wall to keep you steady as you stumble through the crowd of looming figures. 
You can feel your feverish skin sizzle as you grip the metal sink with both hands and stare at your blurry reflection in the mirror, trying to keep your head still and focus on your current state.
You're sick. And you're panicking. You're sure of it, you can feel as your whole body tingles, overstimulated by the harshness of the soft clothes on your skin, you can see it as you frantically search for the thin irises of your eyes, now drowned in a pool of black, and you can feel it as your heartbeat is the only thing you hear, ringing in your ears as an unsettling reminder of your stupid naivety and childish pettiness.
You recoil as a sloppy kiss is planted behind your earlobe in a disgustingly sensual way.
Panting, struggling against two pairs of confused hands roughly groping your body in a disturbingly viscid way, and when you succeed to raise your heavy head, you're met with hungry, dazed eyes that you think are blinking sideways.
It's nauseating. The feeling of despair, of utter and wretched powerlessness over your own body. 
You want to scream that you're strong, that this is not what you want, but all you do is scrunch your eyes closed, a lonely tear of frustration, and what most definitely is fear marches down your reddened cheek.
The fear of being weak is one you've been carrying around since you were little. It was your father's words or maybe your mother's actions that made you promise to yourself to never give up, to never crumble because faltering meant defeat, and defeat meant shame. 
Thinking back at it, maybe it wasn't a really healthy parenting strategy, but it worked, keeping you alive after the loss of your family and guiding you out of the trickiest situations.
And you are sure as hell not letting it stop now when you're so close to the top you can see the warm sunlight of a sweet revenge shine on you again.
Mustering all your strength, you get your head to violently loll back, slamming it on the nose of the lizard girl slithering her tongue dangerously close to your ear, and as you hear the loud crack of broken bones, you feel the corners of your mouth unconsciously lift. 
The man on the other side of you seems startled by the sudden display of violence and tries to take a shaky step back towards the exit. Tripping over someone's foot, you see him bash his head against the narrow edge of the shower and fall on his back; a smidge of blood stains pastel tiles, and you bend down to give him another punch, just for precaution, just for you.
You feel your consciousness slowly starting to slip away from you, and you manage to get to the large sliding door as it opens, revealing a very stern and very angry-looking M whose eyes widen, snapping to the comatose body on the ground and back to your disheveled appearance.
If you weren't about to close your eyes for the longest nap of your life, you would say there's a faintly panicked urgency in his voice as he speaks.
"Y, what the hell- what the fuck happened here, who-", he messily brushes your sweaty hair away from your face, and you flinch again at skin-to-skin contact, "-are you okay?"
You chuckle. Or at least you think you're chuckling, but you're just awkwardly coughing in the other Agent's face. "Ow Minho 'r you worried, mh? I'm finee."
"You look like you're about to faint."
"Yeah, catch me," you mumble.
The last thing you hear is Minho's huff as you drop your weight into his arms, and everything drifts to black.
You dream of a secret. 
You can't see anything, but you know what is in front of you, you've known all your life, and just now you're starting to see the outline, the hidden meaning, the answer.
You feel everyone walking past, everyone leaving, and then you feel him.
He doesn't move, doesn't fit in, doesn't make sense, but he's there. Waiting. Alone. Always.
When you shoot up in your bed, a shin of sweat coating your body, clenched fists piercing through hurt palms, you're the most confused you've ever been. 
You blink to get accustomed to the hot summer sunlight shining from the tall window, and you're surprised to find your eyes freshly wet from salty tears.
Candy. Party. Bathroom. Lizards. Dream. Him.
You browse through the dazed memories of your last 24 hours.
What happened was your responsibility, your fault, and you know it's just a fortunate circumstance that you're waking up unscratched and safe. Mortified, but safe.
You note M had the decency to undo the metal straps of your boots that are neatly tossed to the side of a velvety armchair.
Taking in your surroundings, you force your aching limbs to move, to find your partner, (to whom you owe a reluctant but genuine 'thank you'), and get back to work. 
After ten minutes of stumbling around broken pieces of valuable vases, glittery confetti, and an amount of wasted food that makes you wonder if people can, in fact, eat normally, you reach an untouched angle of the penthouse.
As you digest the excessively fancy living room with golden details on every piece of furniture, your eyes venture to the big terrace overseeing the ancient arena on which Minho and another man are hushedly talking.
Images of the dream flash before your eyes, and you can't help but wonder what his presence meant.
He's standing there, alert, shoulder tense, a conflicted look troubles his dark eyes, his brows furrowed, and in normal circumstances you would be teasing him, telling him to relax and stop being so sullen only something tells you this is not one of those.
You inch closer as the blond man asks M something, to which he replies with a resigned shrug and a small, imperceptible nod.
Then a familiar folder is passed between them, and you freeze, observing as M scans the paper in his hands.
The file. Your file.
Can you feel betrayed by someone you didn't trust in the first place? 
Can you be so entitled to feel like you're being back-stabbed by someone who you're actively trying to use, someone who's just collateral, someone who's just there, doing his job?
You see his eyes close for a second, and when they open you almost flinch at the disappointed rage they hold, a composed fury that's way scarier than anything you've seen him do.
M pats the other man on the shoulder and takes his leave, walking in your direction. 
Now there's the question of how you're going to proceed with this. 
When Minho rounds the corner where you're hiding, you make sure to put up a display of feigned innocence and soundly gasp as you stumble into him.
"Hi...", your voice is breathy.
"You're awake. Good, we have to go soon,” he looks nonchalant as he says it without looking you in the eyes.
So this is how he wants to get on with this uh?... he's not gonna acknowledge it or confront you or something like that?
"Yeah, I want- I think I have to thank you...?"
"I've already talked to Changbin."
"You talked to him?"
"Yeah, he drugged you, and it was wrong. I told him that."
"He didn't drug me. He asked. I said yes."
"Well, he should have known better than to offer it to you"
"Stop treating me like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you're babysitting me! With your condescending tone and everything! Stop it! It was my decision, my responsibility! I made a choice!"
"Well, maybe you should stop acting like a baby then!"
"I'm not acting like a baby! You make it impossible for me to work like your equal!"
"Y, you were high and were almost- that was not a decision! Hell, that was not a choice! And it was not your fault!". He's looking at you with an undecipherable expression, eyes wide.
"I had to carry your unconscious body out of a bathroom that looked like a crime scene without knowing if you were going to be okay! Without knowing if what they gave you was going to kill you! If you want to be my equal then start by thinking before you act out on pettiness to get attention!"
He starts marching away, expecting you to follow.
"If you want to be my equal, consider that there has to be a bond built on trust, and right now I can't trust you-,” his voice cracks imperceptibly as he murmurs the last words, "-if you act like this."
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“Look, I can understand you’re scared, I mean I’m a little scared too-"
"I’m not scared."
"No, no me neither- but you can't stop talking to me out of the blue like this,” you're full-on whining now.
He raises a skeptic eyebrow without looking at you, his eyes fixed on the road while he drives. "Out of the blue?"
After the not-so-civil discussion at Changbin's place, M has not said a word for the whole hour and a half meant to get to your target location, and you don't know if you can really blame him after he read your highly compromising, highly illegal and highly 'it's not what it looks like' private dossier.
On top of the ever-growing frustration and stress you're feeling right now, there's the constant possibility of your 'partner' arresting you and/or taking you out, and not in a romantic way.
"I know we've had our ups and downs, but can you at least tell me what your blond friend told you?"
His eyes flash for a second, and you're sure there's alarm in the glance he throws in your direction. "I- how do you know he's blonde?"
"Oh sorry, I- uh, I thought the guy we passed on the balcony while we were going away was your informant since you came from that direction, I just assumed...". Lies, lies, beautiful lies.
"I got the location. We should be there now.” He hazardously stops the black car in front of a spiked iron gate, gets out, and without waiting for you, starts climbing the only barrier between you and what you're hoping to find.
"Hiding a super-secret weapon in an abandoned warehouse is so cliché it's almost genius," you absentmindedly mutter as you try to imitate the intricate parkour move M just showed off.
"Do we know where to look?", your voice echoes lightly, bouncing from wall to wall.
"We don't"
"Perfect"
The place is big. Too big and too empty, creating a ghostly atmosphere that doesn't sit right with you.
Infinite pillars of concrete stretch through the dust-filled space, vanishing in the dark end of the east wall, and stray sun rays coming from the high and greasy windows draw abstract patterns on the grayish asphalt under your feet.
You mindlessly wander around for what feels like hours, kicking stray debris in the occasional little hole in the ground you imagine was used for draining of some sort, when you start sensing a familiar pattern.
"M..."
Not a sign of acknowledgment, but looking at them from another perspective, the holes start to form something.
"My god- M!"
Minho snaps his head in your direction from the other side of the building, eyebrows raised in a questioning look.
"M, I know what- these are stars, look! This is Algedi and that is Nashira! It's a constellation, and it points to..."
Then you see it. Hidden under a thick layer of dirt, small, utterly vapid, and yet it holds the heaviness of an apocalypse, the rage of people, and an oath of revenge and protection.
It's calling you by your name, and its familiar voice lures you in, grabs you by the hand, and asks, begs to take it with you wherever you're going. 'Take me home' it whispers, and like in a trance, you feel your feet moving without your brain's consent. 
A strong grip tightens around your wrist and snaps you back to reality.
M is staring at you alert, his hold on you stronger every second that passes.
"What?", you whisper, almost afraid to wake up the small object at your feet.
"Just... be careful. We don't know what it is."
His eyes are made of stone, expressionless, cornering, analyzing every breath, every little movement you make.
"Why are you looking at me like that?", you unconsciously step back, away from his judging gaze.
"I'm waiting..."
Another step. "For what?"
"For you to do what you're here for." 
"Which is? M, what you're saying- I don't understand...", you whisper as your hand slips into the back pocket of your ironed black pants and silently grabs the neuralyzer.
"I'm sure you don't, Agent, but I know what you are. Now open it." His head nods towards the small triangle-shaped object on the filthy floor, and you feel your stomach shrink in fear of what his words might mean.
"Minho please, I don't think I-"
As you say his name, his eyes flash with a deep and red angry betrayal.
“Activate the fucking thing!", he yells, his broad voice echos through the empty warehouse, his laser gun points directly at your face. Shaky hands give away what he looks too scared to admit.
And then it starts, the original game of cat and mouse, only today, the cat is furious and is not going to back down.
You manage to stay still. The first warning shot lands on the concrete pillar near your head, but as soon as his intentions are clear, you dash through the distance that separates the two of you and tackle him to the ground with a force you didn't know you possessed. A thin cloud of dirt rises as you roll on top of him.
"Don't consider this as an admission of fault or something like that, M. I'm merely looking out for myself right now and-"
You feel the palm of his hand connect with your nose, and your head swings back, taking your body with it. 
"Looking out for yourself, how fitting for a traitor."
"Stop saying these things like I know what you mean!" You touch your nose, and your fingers come back a deep red; you wipe them on your shirt.
"And you stop behaving like the innocent girl you think you are," he gets closer, "and show yourself for what you really are."
You block a kick aimed at your stomach and taking advantage of your position, you strike M on the back. He falls back on the ground with a huff.
With a hold on his purple hair, neuralyzer ready to make him forget you ever existed, your exasperation and exhaustion bleed through your voice. 
"And what am I!?" 
"An alien! A destroyer of worlds and a terrorist!"
Your world stops, and your eyes go out of focus for what feels like minutes. Do you believe him?
"I-I don't-", you let out a loud groan as Minho hurls you to the ground; air leaves your lungs, and you squirm in pain like a bug on a windshield.
The time to inhale sharply and a heavy boot is pressed against your chest, leaving you breathless yet again.
"You're an alien, and you think you're sleek with that- that dumb look in your eyes, but I know everything.” He's smirking but his eyebrows are furrowed in confusion like he's trying to explain the situation to himself first. 
"All this time you were looking for the weapon to use it on this world and every world you consider unfit to survive, and you knew it would work, you knew you had to be here because just as your mother before you, you are the key."
You're clawing at the shoe constricting your airways when a realization occurs, one that feels like bestowed upon you by some sadistic god that loves torturing its followers.
"It was not meant to happen like this... you were not meant to be here like this, that's why I saw you, that's why you didn't go away, you didn't have a place to go...", you pant, eyes wide.
His boot relents for a second, distracted by the disorientation of its owner, who doesn't seem to understand your ramblings, but it's ready to go back to its work as you shift slightly under its control.
"You can't really blame me, can you?"
With a knee on your neck to prevent any move, he grabs your limp hand and sets it on the little, smooth triangle that hums, emitting a soft green hue at your touch.
"You can only blame yourself, Y/N.", your name is thrown at you like a dagger, gelid and mocking as it escapes his guilty lips for the first time, and you're not sure if this is how you want him to say it. Not now, not ever, not him.
“I didn't- I did not come here for this, I swear Minho please, I thought that we- I thought we were partners, that this was…" It’s a whimper that escapes you, and you can't understand where it comes from, which pain is causing it. 
Did you unconsciously believe that the little thing of back and forth you had was genuine? That you found an improbable friend in the sarcastic and stern Agent? Are you this desperate for affection? You hate yourself, and you want to scream.
"Don’t act like you’ve not been lying to me this whole time. I’m just doing my job..."
His gaze holds a tired conflict you have never seen on anybody. You imagine him fighting against whatever he's struggling with just like he did with you: choking the worry but letting it survive because he knows that it might be legitimate. That he might be wrong after all.
With a tired shove, his foot releases your chest.
Hesitation. 
"Just doing my job..."
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Minho's life began here.
The pristine white walls of the Agency were there when he doodled on them with a permanent marker and got scolded by his father while his mother laughed. He was two.
The cool air slide that took the Agents to the garage was there when he sneaked out with Chan to sit inside technological cars and eat snacks from Starpan. He was eight. 
The strategic planetarium was there when he kissed the cute Hunvilian kid from his human studies class. He was thirteen. 
And the Agency was still there when he watched his parents beg him to end their pain and kill them before things got worse. He was still thirteen and he didn’t deserve any of it.
No one even had the time to react to the attack, and before anyone could realize what was happening, many Agents were already bleeding out on the floor, lifeless, their eyes scooped out of their sockets, leaving a hollow space from where tears of blood clawed at dull skin.
Minho remembered from his diligent studies that this was a signature move, a threat for anyone stupid enough to play hero, an invite for cold revenge given out by the Vacuis: hostile and vicious alien species, thirsty for violence and bane of the universe the Agency was created to protect.
Minho knew that being subject to the perverse manipulation of the Vacuis meant losing oneself to madness, seeing things, begging to die, but he still wondered how could his parents ask him something so atrociously vile, something so intrinsically cruel. 
Just when they thought he was mature enough to understand things, he wanted to still be considered a child before their cries; he wanted to be kept in the dark, not being able to understand what they were asking of him.
"Do it Minho, please"
"Mom why? I don't want to-why?", his broken voice tried unsuccessfully to contain the sobs in his throat.
"Minho baby, do it please. Do it for mommy, yeah?"
"Mom I can't- please I-"
"Useless Minho! If you loved us you would do it, you useless child!"
As his mother's voice echoed screeching through the death-filled hall of rotten bodies, Minho decided that he was going to be useless and save himself from something that would have been bigger than what he could take.
With shaky legs and tear-stained cheeks, he took his time to look, and when he was sure there was nothing left in their eyes, he mouthed a painful 'sorry' and staggered away, roaming the white hallways like a ghost, looking for someone he could still trust. Someone like Alpha.   
The Agency is still present now, as Minho takes the crystal elevator to the oval office that oversees every operation. The Agency is present, but he doesn't know if that's a good thing anymore.
He thinks of your eyes. How they held a confused and painfully lonely glaze, how they were staring at him and only him as you were dragged into the black windowless jet and back to the headquarters. 
But you are just like them, just mean, wretched, treacherous, manipulative, and a liar, and maybe if he keeps trying to convince himself of this, he will really believe it.
Four levels below him, you're having what you think is the beginning of a panic attack.
You've managed to stay relatively calm and composed for almost an hour, but you feel the dam of your mind starting to let all the agony and profound grief out. Letting anguish bleed through your mouth, your ears, your nose.
How could this happen? Why?
You miss your mom. You miss a guide. You miss someone, anyone. 
You let yourself slowly sink onto the cold white floor of the cold white room with cold white lights. Everything is so white, and it makes you so angry. And sad, and scared, hopeless, and after a long time of ignoring signs, of turning away your head, of waiting for things and people and answers, you cry. 
You cry, weep for yourself and maybe also for him, who you're suddenly scared to lose like you lost everyone else.
You cry because this was not your choice, nor his, and you’re starting to think that you don’t deserve all this bullshit at all. 
You cry because it hurts deeply to be a pawn.
You cry because you’re tired. And he is too.
Him. M. Minho.   
Minho.
"-Minho are you listening? I'm speaking to you Agent, I would like your attention."
"Yes, I'm sorry Sir. I'm listening Sir"
"The mission report Agent. Is the terrorist dead?"
"Dead, Sir? No... but she's confined and won't escape, Sir, maybe that's what you meant...?"
Alpha's expression falters for a second, morphing into one of veiled disgust that has Minho straighten his posture and look around the familiar office of his mentor. 
"Yes, yes, yes! Confined! You're always right my boy! But now where's the-", the man vigorously gesticulates with his hands as he impatiently paces back and forth, "-where's the thing- the weapon!"
Back and forth, back and forth, rhythmically, so creepily mechanical that Minho's convinced he could keep the time just with his steps.
"Yes Sir, I was on my way to the labs before you called for me. I'll take my leave"
The clock stops and shoots at Minho with an ominous look.
"No! No my boy-", the man whose protruding veins are dangerously close to bursting, chuckles dryly, "you see, it's a matter of utter importance, my boy. I have to handle it myself, don't worry about it, my boy"
This interaction could be considered normal if it wasn't for two key factors Minho can't stop his brain from pointing out. 
Two huge and angry red flags that have been waving right in front of his eyes from the moment he stepped foot in the office. Red flags that maybe are the last bits of something that has been going on for so long, insulting his years of training because of how blind he's been.
One: the left corner of the spotless white rug under the desk is folded as if someone tripped over it. Alpha doesn't allow imperfection.
Two: in the two decades Minho has been alive and breathing, Alpha has never, not even when he was an actual child, called him 'my boy'.
And so the first punch Minho throws lands straight on the impostor's nose. The man grunts and cradles his jaw. A cruel smirk forms on his lips.
The second punch strikes right in the man's stomach. He doubles over; a dark chuckle leaves his mouth.
The third, and the fourth, and all the ones that come after that are aimed at his disgusting bloody face that stares back at him with a calm mockery. 
A silent, knowing expression that awakes in Minho a rage buried so deep inside his unforgiving heart he almost forgot existed.
"Yes, my boy let it out," Alpha's face starts to vanish as the alien coughs. "How blinded by despair you are, how betrayed you feel, let it all out like it's going to serve something." Again that chilling laughter.
"What did you do to him?", Minho hushedly seethes, angry sobs threatening to spill out. Another punch.
"We took his face six months ago. Don't you feel stupid?"
"Shut up!" Another punch. "Answer me! Why did you take them into this?! Why now? You could have just used her dying mother! Why now!? Why him!? Why her!?”
"Look at you being greedy… she’s going to vanish just like everyone else.” The man coughs blood.
“What do you think, kid? I know you're smarter than this Minho... I know it now, I knew it when you left your parents to die a long time ago... We don't forget such things."
With these last words, Minho is left stunned, wordless. His body won’t move, he's frozen over the man. A fist hovers over the bloodied face and, only for a second, nothing moves.
“Did you really think you were lucky enough to survive the attack on your own?”, the blood in his mouth gurgles when he lets out a dry chuckle.
“Agents with a life of experience died- your parents died, and you thought you were lucky? Boy, you are an experiment, a mere representation of how cause and effect work, of how the seeds of revenge silently grow in a weak human, of how long one can live after seeing something so gruesome.”
“I-I don’t.”
“We know you don’t Minho. We know…” 
The alien wrinkly hand shoots out and grabs Minho’s neck with a force no normal person would possess. It’s like a morse, slowly closing on his consciousness, stealing him away from reality. As darkness creeps on him, he thinks he hears a voice.
“The key is passed down when an heir is born, my boy… it’s always been her Minho, she was always meant to die anyway.”
Who has to die? 
Not you. You can't die, not before he can say he's sorry. Not until he can’t save you. Save everyone. 
With the little force Minho still stores inside of his body, he smashes his foot on the impostor’s knees that buckle, giving him the time to dash to the ajar door of the office, down to the cells.
Mino runs to you. Hot, fat tears streak his pale cheeks on a path they know all too well.
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“You can’t treat me like that and expect me to help when you’ve finally lost what you believe in, M. It doesn't work like that and you know it.”
Your hoarse voice makes the bitter laugh that escapes your lips scrape your throat.
You look pathetic. You just know it. He knows it. The pitying expression he tries to hide so hard, telling you everything you need to know. 
You fell asleep on the hard floor after crying yourself to exhaustion. 
Now the sheer panic of before molds into a mask of compliance and attempted apathy, miserably failing as your puffy, bloodshot eyes and the residues of your runny nose stand out like a sore thumb in the frame of your face.
“I thought that after- I mean, I thought you were someone else…”, your voice trembles as he scrunches his bushy eyebrows in a sympathetic frown from across the laser barrier that stands between you.
“Y/N, we met a week ago, I- “
You close your eyes, head in your hands and the corners of your lips raise gently. “I know, I know. I should have predicted all this. Really, it was my mistake. It was really naive of me but you know…” 
“Y/N, if I could have done things differently, I would have. I didn’t really have a choice, you have to understand this is our job, I-”, his rambles fall on deaf ears.
“Stop.” It’s just above a whisper and you're surprised he even hears it. “Stop saying my name like you know what it means, like you know who I am. All this time, M?”  
“From Changbin’s party- but it wasn’t my intention, I just- I had to…”, he does everything to not leave your eyes. He’s climbing mirrors and you can hear the screeching of his nails every time his beliefs crumble, word by word.
“Fuck you with this ‘it wasn't my choice’ bullshit! If you really didn’t want to, you could have stopped, M! What was holding you back, uh?! Curiosity? Resentment? What!?” So much anger.
"Loneliness! Fear! I am fucking helpless when I’m alone, Y/N! I am- I was in no condition of doubting the only link to my past I had! I wouldn't have forgiven myself, and,” you can see your grief reflected in his eyes, “Y/N there's so much you don’t know about this and you have every right to demand an apology, but there's no time. I have no time to beg… “
“I’m sorry for your loss, M.”
“I feel sorry for yours, Y.”
His arm reaches for the control pad on the wall and the barrier immediately vanishes with a short buzz.
You pass him and you think you feel him lean in. To see if you’re really who he wants you to be. And not a mask. Not an impostor. 
You brush his knuckles and as you start marching towards the garage, he lets out a shaky breath. One that had been there for too long.
The drive to the only building high enough to serve as a weapon-launching spot is silent. 
It’s fast and saturated with unspoken words, both of you wanting to save explanations for after the prevention of the annihilation of Earth.
Minho is tense: his hands grip the steering wheel so hard his fingers turn white and he checks the rear mirror every ten seconds exactly.
“What happened to you?”
He looks at you for a second before focusing back on the road.
“Even if I knew what happened, what I’m feeling, I wouldn’t know how to talk about it…”
The chuckle you emit makes him turn his head again; his eyes widen at your reaction and once again he thinks about how unreal you feel. 
The curiosity of a child, the past of a damned, the mind of who’s got nothing to lose but still fights for something. Because of duty? Revenge? Maybe because of fear. He doesn't know it yet.
“What? Don’t look at me like that, It was funny c’mon.” You’re looking out of the open window; the wind whiffing your hair all over the place.
“Y/N?”
“Mh?”
“Did you really not know anything about being the key?”
You turn to look at him. “If you want me to be honest I think I know less than you”
He scoffs. “Great”
“But… I-I think- no, I know I saw you…” 
It feels so weirdly intimate to say out loud. That he crosses your dreams without looking both ways, without an invitation. Or maybe the invitation was given out by a seed of affection, of attachment to a person that understands what you feel to a certain extent.
“You saw me?”  
“A while ago I dreamt about this ‘key’ situation, like… I think my consciousness was trying to tell me what my mother couldn’t, that I was the key, that I was born for a reason and all that bullshit, and I saw you…”
He stops the car in a dark alley that you suppose serves as a dumpster for the Chinese restaurant on the main road, and the dread of having arrived fills you to the brim.
“M, everyone- my mother, my father, hell, I saw my past self leaving me, walking away, disappearing, but you stayed there.” You unbuckle your seatbelt, ready to get out of the car and into battle. “You looked lost and- and I think it’s because you weren’t meant to be in my life. Your story is not written in my destiny if that makes sense…?”
You realize he’s staring at you with a funny glint in his eyes, the corners of his mouth are raised in a gentle but small smile. “Is this your dramatic way of turning me down?”
What?
Saliva gets stuck in your throat as you frantically look for an answer in the chaos his words created in your head, and you start coughing louder and louder as he starts to… chuckle?
“Wait, I didn't mean it that way! I was just-”
He stops your ramblings with an everything-but-calming hand on your thigh. “It pains me to tell you this because you’ll never let me forget about it, but I’ll love hearing about how you dream of me after we don’t die, okay?” 
This whole thing is so weird. What the fuck is happening. Is he an alien? He’s definitely an alien, fuck what did they do to the real him.
And you punch him. 
“Ow- fuck you! What the hell was that for?!”
“Oh my- I’m so sorry! Please, you’re never like this, I thought you were an alien I panicked! I’m sorry!”
His voice comes out nasal as he pinches his hopefully-not-broken nose. “If you must know,” he aggressively jabs his pointer finger at you, “I’m a very approachable person if I don’t suspect you want to destroy my world”
An offended expression spreads on your face. “Well, and whose fault is it, uh?”
“Whatever, get out. We’re gonna talk about this later.” He slams the car door in your face and starts walking towards your demise.
You scramble out of the car to follow him. “Wait! Is this a threat?! And- wait did you just admit that you want me to ask you out?”
“Shut up, Y/N.” And he’s back to his old asshole self.
You stand on opposite sides of the large elevator that’s taking you up to the roof of the huge skyscraper; an annoying tune plays in the background of your thoughts. 
Millions of questions swim between the two of you but the knowledge that the other will not be able to answer is enough to keep a tense silence stretched while you wait for the ‘ding’ signaling you've reached your floor.
Surprisingly, you don’t think of the past, of what could have been. You don't even think of the present if you have to be honest; of the nearing possible end of the world, to your probable death, no. You let your mind wonder about the future. How you’ll grow up and gently caress your scars, admiring yourself in all the strength you own. In all the strength you are.
You foolishly whisper to yourself that, maybe, if you manage to work things out, you’ll not be alone in the future. Someone could be there, waiting for you. Staying, for once.
As the elevator doors open, a gush of air makes the hairs on your arms stand up. Or maybe that’s fear that you don't want to acknowledge.
This up in the sky the noise of the city below reaches you in a muffled buzz; the horns of the traffic, the chatter of the people, all mashed together in a low static sound.
From the position you’re in, the roof is empty, plain; a lonely reclinable chair sits in an angle with an empty beer bottle on the side. Everything is calm, normal even. 
“M, what if we’re not in the right place,” you whisper, hugging your body in an attempt to warm yourself.
“It must be here. I can’t be wrong- it has to be here- I-”
“And it sure is here, my boy” a rough voice booms from your right. 
The dark silhouette of a man stands out against the sky illuminated by a faint moon, and your body freezes as you recognize the voice. 
“Because Minho, how could you ever be wrong, uh? You’re the most intelligent human we know”.
Minho’s hands grip the gun in his holster. He’s confused and you force your brain to think of something useful, but he’s there and looking at you with nostalgic eyes and his lips wobble slightly when you tilt your head to the side trying to understand.
“Dad?” with the corner of your eye you see Mino’s eyebrows furrow deeper into his face.
It can’t be true and you know it but part of you just wants to hug the man; despite everything you miss him so much.
The figure turns to you fully, and you have to take a deep breath. “Oh, my little star, look how much you’ve grown. Your mom would be so proud of you” he coos with a sickeningly sweet hint to his voice.
Minho takes a step forward effectively shielding you from the man. “Y/N, this is not his face, I saw your father in your dossier, this is not him”
“But he is, M. I know what my father looks like-”, you insist.
“My little star, I’m sorry you had to find out everything like this. If your mother was here she would have never let the leeches of the Agency put their hands on you like this, I'm so sorry, Y/N.”
You move a hesitant step around Minho, trying to reach the outstretched hand of your dad. He’s waiting for you with a furrow along his face like some kind of ambiguous smile.
“If you knew why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have been prepared, I could have made different choices,” your voice has a whiny edge to it. “It’s been so hard and I was so lonely.” Another step closer to the man.
Minho tries to get a hold of your arm but you swiftly pull away. “Y/N, stop. He’s a Vacuo, and you know it-”
“My baby, I know. I’m so sorry. I love you”
Another step and now you’re in front of him. You reach out to him, your fingers almost touching. Too focused on the feeling of belonging, of home, you miss the devious light that flashes in the man’s gaze. Before his hand can close violently around your wrist, a bang resonates through the windy roof and you see your father die again before your lucid eyes, his expression vanishing, molting, leaving room for the disgusting and beaten up face of the Vacuo.
For a moment, while the alien lets out a dry chuckle and regains his composure, you stand there; trembling hands covering your face. 
Then you charge your fist and smash it directly in the man’s face in a manner that’s so familiar to Minho’s, that he almost wonders if he’s living a deja vu.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised but I must admit, I thought you would have been too emotionally drained after the golden boy here betrayed you like it was nothing”, he holds your hands that violently grip the collar of his dress shirt.
“Shut up and- why the hell won’t you die!? He shot you in the fucking face! Just,” a punch, “stop,” a kick in the stomach,” existing!”, the last word comes out in an exasperated scream full of anger.
“I shot his stolen face, he has to die with his original one”, Minho’s gun is still unwavering, pointing at the enemy.
“Look at you two, oh gods. My boy and my little star working together”, you harshly throw him to the ground and he coughs up blood. “When we watched you grow up, we rejoiced at your succeses, you know? In another timeline, you two would have made perfect soldiers.” 
You’re both standing over his body and you have to resist the sudden urge to grab Minho’s hand and hold it dear to life in this shit moment.
“You are my little experiments, my perfect children, and I-”, he starts to get up on wobbly legs, “and I’m sorry I have to kill you both.” 
In less than a second, the Vacuo takes Minho in a chokehold and gets closer to the edge of the roof. Your hands fly to your gun but the alien holds up a pointer finger signaling you to stop. “Tut-tut, child. You wouldn’t want me to kill your little boyfriend messier than needed, now, would you?”
You let your eyes fall on Mino’s struggling form; his expression tells you to do everything you can to put an end to this thing, but you’re an egoistic person, and you just can’t watch him disappear too.
“Why do you even have to kill us?! I already unlocked the weapon. Just leave us alone!”
“You must consider me an idiot if you think I’ll let you get out of this still breathing, love. You’re both too dangerous to be alive, too smart for your own good, my children. Oh how lucky you’re parents would have been if we didn't kill them”
Minho’s face has started to turn an unpretty shade of purple. 
“Why are you doing this!? Stop!”
The man grins, his malice as tangible as the ground beneath your feet. “Because your world still has hope,” he clenches his forearms harder. “And you all need to learn that hope won’t save you when death comes. When we come.”
And like a dramatic entrance, the weapon sitting in the corner of the roof explodes with a bright light creating a thick stream of raw power that paints the moon an unsettling neon green.
A choking Minho manages to hoarsely speak words you don't want to hear. “Switch it off, Y/N… the key… p-please.”
You dash for the little triangle that’s causing everyone so much pain and try to ignore the warning roar of the Vacuo who’s slowly killing M.
Yesterday you didn’t even know you were the key, how does the world trust you with knowing how to take back what you started?
Your hands fumble with the weapon, trying to find anything that could mean salvation.
“Y/N, you know I will kill him!”, the Vacuo tries to top the noise that the bright light is emitting, and holds a passed-out Minho. You can feel your stomach drop at the sight of his closed eyes. “Haven’t you been lonely for enough time, Y/N!? We both know you can’t lose him too, right!?”
You realize you’re crying again and, in the midst of it all, you can’t help but feel embarrassed. “Having him doesn’t mean anything if we won’t have a future!” you scream back. Angry. Sad. 
Then without having to turn your head to look at the scene unfolding on the other side of the roof, you feel it. The incumbent feeling of dread, the premonitory sixth sense that anticipates death and pain. And you really want all this to be a dream, to not be real. But your head shoots back and as if in slow motion, you see the heavy body of your partner fall from the low edge of the roof and into the rumbling city as if in slow-motion.
You know the eyes already. The eyes that gain a new determination, that are too full of rage to cry, that are ready to burn everything down to avenge, the eyes you have right now. And all you do- all you have to do is scream.  
The stream of light seems to get bigger and bigger every second that your voice doesn't stop screeching in the night air. You see the Vacuo dare to step closer to you but the noise is too much to even stand on the other side of the roof.
“Y/N, stop!”, the man’s voice gets drowned by your rage.
“You don’t get to talk!” you speak like in a trance; your voice sounds distant, it seems to belong to another you. “I’ve lost my mother, my father, and everyone I’ve ever loved because of your kind, what makes you think you deserve to destroy me too!?”
The blinding light glows larger, stronger, creating a dome in the sky, ready to devour everything under it.
“You will perish and crumble under your own arrogance, and I will be watching you beg for my mercy, you understand!?”
You want to tell yourself to stop this and operate with your rational mind because you can see the edges of the building starting to crumble and float away from their existence in this universe, but you can’t. 
You’re mourning and you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, until a scream that is not yours cuts through the air, and you see the Vacuo kneeling on the ground, bleeding out on the floor.
A quivering hand that holds a knife like a lifeline slowly rises from the edge of the building and after the hand, a head and a body and you decide right at this moment that your favorite color is the bright purple of your partner’s hair.
The knife that just sliced through the alien’s calf, comes up and down again into the man’s back once twice, impaling him to the ground, hitting him relentlessly, with an unstoppable force and pace.
The Vacuo tries to fight Minho off with everything, anything. His hands claw at the young man's tights and you see as he desperately changes his face to Alpha’s. For a moment you see Minho’s eyes widen in a mixture of guilt and shock, his mentor is looking at him with a betrayed expression, but he doesn’t stop until the body of the now turned Vacuo impostor stops moving once and for all.
The dome of green light is slowly retreating on itself; you touch the weapon once again and the familiar hum is calmer, softer.
You let your wobbly legs take you to the crouching form of Minho’s body, and you crash into him with full force.  
He hugs you, hands gripping, almost trashing your shirt and you feel him sob into your neck. Fat, salty tears wet your chest and you can’t help but mutter words you hope are reassuring. “You did not kill him, M. They killed him and it’s not your fault, okay ?”, he takes a deep breath but his cries don't stop. “Alpha would be so proud of you right now…”
You’re exhausted; the adrenaline from before quickly fading, but you don't stop stroking his hair, threading your fingers in his soft, purple locks, undoing the knots.
“I’m tired, Y/N”, his voice is small, unsure, tired. 
“I know, me too”, your eyes are scrunched closed. “Your hands are shaking”
“How much longer will this last? I don’t know if I can take it”, he’s fainting again, his words slurring together as he falls asleep.
“It’s over, Minho. I will be there to help you when you wake up, okay?” 
At least you hope you will be awake when he opens his eyes again.
In the hazed state of your mind, you hear the nearing sound of voices from the elevator doors.
Someone screams both your names, and the last thing you see before you collapse to the ground is Jisung’s worried face that mouths something. You dumbly smile at him and everything goes black.
What an unceremonious ending to your heroic beginnings.
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Yesterday you woke up in a cold sweat after three days of being asleep, and to say you panicked when you found yourself tied to a bed in a white room with a one-way mirror, would be an understatement. You trashed and screamed for what felt like hours before an alarmed nurse burst through the door with an alluring glass of water in one hand and an aspirin in the other. 
The first rational words you spoke were a mix of ‘where’s Minho’ and ‘fuck it hurts’ that miserably came out as a loud ‘fuck Minho’, and when the kind-eyed nurse, with an amused smile, nodded his head towards the huge one-way mirror, you felt like crying out of joy.
Somewhere behind that ostracizing glass, he was alive. And you were too.
Now you stand behind a makeshift curtain on an improvised stage; both your black suits ironed to perfection, your combat boots laced up. 
The white bandages that scarf Minho’s bruised neck peek out of the collar of his shirt but he’s never looked more stunning. You’re sure this could be an awakening of some sort, but at this moment in space and time, you can’t help but focus all you have on the rising anxiety that makes you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.
“Are you okay?”, you don't look at him when you speak with a breathy voice.
“Are you really asking me? You look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Calm down, Y.”
Closing your eyes doesn’t make the crowd of people behind the curtain disappear, and you know it. “I-I know, I’m sorry, I’m just- I don't do well with public speaking, or public anything really, and- why are you looking at me like that?”
His dark eyebrows are so raised that they disappear into his hair. “You’re literally the most extroverted and talkative and noisy person ever and you never shut up and you’re tryna tell me you’re glossophobic?”
You scoff, incredulous. “Oh, look at you using big words I don’t know to shit on me. ‘Look at me, I’m Minho and I love to gaslight my friends into thinking they’re dumb’. Yes, I don’t like talking in public, and?”
You stand away from him with your arms crossed and an embarrassed blush on your face you hope he won’t notice.
“We’re friends?”
You turn around and look up at him with an amused smile. “Is that all you got from me telling you to fuck off?”
“I’ve learned to filter all your ramblings”, you chuckle and miss the way his eyes twinkle at the sound of your laugh. 
“Give me your hand.”
“For…?”
“Just give me your hand!”
“Jeez, okay, just- if you lick it I'll kill you.”
He sneers and looks at you confused. “Why would I even lick your hand?”
“I don't know, It’s just to be sure and-”
And? One could ask. And what, Y/N? You can’t leave us hanging like this. But you can because he’s intertwined his long and callous fingers with yours and has gently placed them in the warmth of his suit’s pocket.
You look up at him again, this time with wonder and a soft glow of admiration, you don’t know for what precisely.
“I can talk for us”. And the weird use of the pronoun ‘us’ makes you want to kick your legs like a teenager.
From the other side of the curtain, a cheerful voice announces your code names and you step into the light before the eyes of a sea of black suits.
The two hours of the press conference pass in a blur and you’re back in your room before the sun disappears completely under the horizon.
Saving the world and surviving an A level threat apparently doesn't mean that sleep comes easy, and you find yourself lying awake in your bed, staring at the fluorescent stars you stuck to the ceiling the day you joined the Agency, and wondering, imagining what a future with this past would mean. Fear. Resentment. Maybe regret? You wish for hope.
Honestly, the only question you have to ask yourself is: ‘what do you want it to mean?’
Your bare feet seem to have found an answer because they touch the cold floor and exit the door of your living quarters, leaving behind a disheveled bed full of doubts. 
They take you up the stairs and to the other wing of the apartment building, in front of a simple black door that stares at you questioningly. 
What are you doing here? It seems to whisper when you stand immobile, not even blinking.
I don’t know. You want to answer, but talking to inanimate objects is not normal and you hold back.
You go to knock, but your hand stills, as the door is thrown open by the owner of the room, who stares at you with surprised wide eyes, and a long strip of gauze hanging from his mouth. He’s shirtless, and you can see for the first time how unforgiving his life has been.
His chest is littered with scars, some old and faded, some fresh and bold; a constellation of purple bruises chains his neck, and a string of little burns marches its way under the waistband of his pants.
The suffused light that comes from inside his apartment crowns his head like a halo. 
His head tuts to the side confused. “Wh’ ‘re yo’ doin’ here?”
“W-What?” Because you didn’t understand? Because you can’t seem to form a coherent thought? You don’t know.
He spits the bandages into his hand and throws a sheepish smile your way. “What are you doing here? You should rest.”
You scoff. “You’re walking around like this,” you point at him dramatically, “and you’re scolding me? Typical.”
He yawns a smile and scratches his neck. “I’m having problems with the whole ‘disinfect and change bandages every two hours’ thing. I was going to Han's to ask for help”
“You asking for help? A thing I didn’t know I would hear before my heroic, super dramatic death.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, happens to the best of us.”
A weird tension falls on the deserted hallway. You can hear someone’s TV humming a tune from two doors away and you can feel his eyes boring curious holes into your brain.
“I…”, you shift on your bare feet; the gray moquette of the corridor keeping them warm. 
“I could help you… if you- ahem- if you want- or-or I could go call Han and tell him you need him… yeah I’m gonna do that, cool-”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, you can help me change my bandages”, he repeats and moves to the side to let you into his apartment. Not a sign of hesitance in his voice.
“Soo… this is your… hole mh?” Oh, how you hate uncomfortable silences.
He walks to the huge white couch and lays with his head propped on the armrest. “Why are you being so weird? You’ve seen this place already, or have you forgotten about when you invaded my home without my consent and punched my best friend in the face?”
Embarrassment flushes your face. 
Fucking Minho. You hate him but not really because when you sit beside him, in the little space he left for you, the way he stares up at you is priceless, with his twinkling eyes, and the amused tilt of his lips, and the messy purple hair, the mole on his nose.
You have to physically shake your head to regain the composure he knows you lost. “I’m gonna leave if you keep making fun of me.” You soak a cotton wad into rubbing alcohol and begin your ministrations.
He pouts. “But I thought I was your friend.”
“And you are!” He hisses as you jab the cotton ball a little too harsh into a fresh wound. “But as your friend, I’m telling you that you’re walking on very thin ice” A loose strand of hair falls from behind your ear.
Minutes pass and no one says anything. You can hear his breath hitch now and then but other than that he’s a wonderful patient. Until he isn’t.
“Y/N…”
“Mh?”. You don’t look at him, too focused on applying the healing cream on his bruised neck.
“We haven’t talked about what happened”. His voice is strained by memories, and you don’t have it in you to look into his eyes.
You put the cream to the side and start cutting the bandages. “And we don’t have to.” If you could, you would forget about everything all together.
From the corner of your eyes, you see how his are desperately looking for something. “Don’t we?”
“Y/N,” his fingers brush your chin as he puts the escaped lock of hair back in its place, “I wish I hadn’t been so stupid and-”
“Don’t really know if that’s possible”, you mock him under your breath. You’re starting to feel suffocated.
His eyebrows furrow in a glare from below you. “And I should have trusted you and believed you because-”
You chuckle. “Took you long enough, uh-”
“I’m literally trying to have a serious conversation right now, Y/N!” His hands grip your thighs to get your attention. 
“And I’m trying to avoid it at all cost, Minho!”. You’re glad you don't stutter. You know you want to sound harsh, angry, and hard-headed, but the slight trembling of your lower lip doesn’t help.
Tears threaten to spill from his eyes as he takes your face into his hands and gently caresses your temples with his thumbs, a sad smile on his mouth.
“I saw someone die- I saw you die and- and I was ready to sacrifice everything for my suffering, for my pain, and I was so scared Minho, I was- I am terrified, and I would have done it all, I swear I would have let the world burn without even thinking about it if you hadn’t survived, I swear, Minho” You’re sobbing, and your tears fall messily on his face, mixing with his own.
He’s listening and you realize you’ve not had someone to pay attention to you like this in a long, long time. 
“And-and I told you I would help you, that you could lean on me but I don’t know how to do that, and I don't want- I can’t afford to hurt you more than you’re already suffering by yourself. Minho, I’m so sorry-” 
He kisses you.
You go without breathing for a few seconds before you realize what is happening. And then you melt into his warm body, completely abandoning your mind to the sheer relief you feel holding him so close to your heart, so close to your future.
With your eyes scrunched closed, you let your hands venture to his soft hair, to the nape of his neck. Your fingers trace his brows as he completely devours everything you have to say, soaking it up like a sponge, preserving it like a safe.
You taste the salt of your tears and feel his hands strangle the soft fabric of your pajamas, using it to get you closer than you already are.
And in that infinite moment, you feel okay. You feel unbothered by the things that happened to you, you feel untouched by the past. You feel normal, safe.
When you part to breathe, he looks up at you like he already misses your touch, and you’re quick to satiate his and your anger, once, twice, the whole night, the whole time.
It's a little before sunrise when Jisung reads Minho’s messages from the night prior, and anxiously reaches his friend’s apartment to check on him, only to find the two of you messily tangled in a little corner of the huge couch. Minho’s hands hold yours over his heart and your face is nestled in the crook of his neck, your lips puckered in the memory of a kiss.
SIX MONTHS LATER
You literally fly out of Minho’s apartment as soon as you recieve Agent D’s memo to come into his office for a new mission.
You awkwardly run down the carpeted stairs of the apartment building, struggling to lace up your heavy boots, fastening your wrinkled tie. 
The elevator ride is filled with buzzing excitement and your feet can’t stop bouncing up and down in anticipation. 
At the ‘ding’ the doors roll open, and from there you just sprint down the straight hallway that takes you to the big fancy door that’s still completely out of place.
A loud, muffled laugh makes you smile in recognition, and after catching your breath and smoothing out the white shirt, you knock.
“Ah! Here she is!”, Agent D beams on the other side. “Come in! Come in!”
You step in and your eyes immediately find Minho’s with an annoyed glint. 
“A new mission, Sir?”
“Yeah, yeah Y, but while we were waiting for you I was telling our Agent J here, how the Rome mission went exactly, so I’ll be there in a second…”
Han is leaning on the polished desk and shoots you an almost pleading glance.
As the man animatedly explains to an uninterested Jisung how good the two of you fought, you jab your elbow in your partner's stomach, who almost folds into two. 
“You didn’t wake me up,” you whisper-yell. “Why didn't you wake me up?”
He’s smirking, eyes concentrated on the little man before you. “You’re just so adorable when you sleep. It’s absolutely not because you bit me while we were having sex yesterday. Not that at all.”
If your eyes could roll further into your head they would. “Aren’t you a little too petty for someone who actually liked it?”
He throws a kiss at you and winks.
“Anyways,” you fix your sleeves, “you took my shirt this morning.”
He looks down at his body in recognition; the buttons on his chest threatening to pop. “Oh, so that’s why- I thought I grew muscles overnight. I was gonna brag if you got out of bed earlier.”
You snicker under your breath and, throwing one sneaky glance at Jisung’s pained expression, you grab Minho’s tie and pull him in a short, sweet kiss, one that has him smiling into you.
“... and that’s how they managed to kill the Vacuo. Isn’t that awesome? By the way,” Agent D hands you a folder with both your initials on it, “this is your mission information. I’ll leave you two to it. Good luck!”
The three of you thank him with a small bow and exit the office.
“The next time he asks for me, just tell him I died or something. It’s the third time this month he narrates every little detail of the stupid adventure I wasn’t invited to.” Jisung grumbles as he drags his feet.
“I’ve already told you it’s not something to be jealous of, Ji”.
Minho throws an arm around your shoulders and smiles down at you. “No, please. Let him continue, I want to hear how jealous he is.“
As the two agents bicker like little kids, you let your eyes skim over the countless framed magazine covers on the walls of the long and sterile white corridor. 
'The IT couple of MiB back to work'
'The battle of Rome explained'
‘M&Y: when they twisted shadows back into stars’
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cynical-sprite · 1 year
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After watching MIB International, one thought lives in my head rent free; I wanna be the middle/filling to an Agent C and Agent H sandwich🤤
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loupsgarou · 2 years
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mib international will always be easy to recall for me thanks entirely to mr. cute tushy wearing those pink slacks. that’s it that’s the post
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actualearthling · 2 years
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I wrote an article about the beginning of the MIB phenomenon yesterday. It got me thinking about pop culture. One of my favorite movies from childhood is Dark City. I'm thinking about doing an in depth article on the movie but idk. I've never written about a movie. Whaddya think? Would it be interesting?
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whatsallthisnow · 1 year
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Trying so hard to be back on my bullshit rn but I can't because the content I want to be obsessing over doesn't exist and I'm too depressed to make it myself.
Anyway, who remembers the feathery blue alien hitman from MIB: International because that's peak character design right there
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Coming home from a dinner at a friend's house. Finding this on the TV. Thank you all bisexual higher beings. 😍
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I’m calling it now. the head boss dude is going to betray them. Actually, I called it a while ago, but since I’m alone rn I’m putting it on record here and ya’ll are just going to have to trust me
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somestorythoughts · 1 year
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MIB International knew what they were doing when they had Chris Hemsworth throw a tiny hammer at someone and have them catch it without issue.
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herpderpingest · 2 years
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I feel like Men in Black: International was kinda boring, but at the same time I liked Agents M & H together and want to see more of that.
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japinha1978-blog · 2 years
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Pawny 🥰🥰🥰
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beheworthy · 1 year
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The Utter & Absolute Mistreatment of Agent H in MIB: International
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Getting absolutely enraged at the mistreatment of Thor’s character is a cherished and well-documented hobby of mine. Seeing that stoop to a new low as his clothes got ripped apart in a fUnNy scene in Thor: Love and Thunder made me want to talk about another Chris Hemsworth film that destroys his character and falls flat on its face.
Men In Black: International is a 2019 film starring Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson as agents of the top secret organization Men In Black (MIB) that monitors extraterrestrial activity on Earth. Probationary Agent M/Molly (Thompson) of the New York Branch is sent to London to investigate some strange happenings there and goes on a globe-trotting adventure with Agent H/Henry (Chris) to uncover the traitor in the organization aiding an alien invasion.
When the film was universally panned upon its theatrical release, the focus was largely on the terrible story, screenplay, and the writing of Thompson’s character. And they are big culprits. But I believe the biggest issue no one talked about was how wrong the film does by Chris’ character Henry. Had he been done right, it could have masked a lot of other issues and elevated the film to something better.
What was his character, actually?
I genuinely cannot tell you what his character was supposed to be. Is he the seasoned badass this rookie Molly teams up with? Or is he the bumbling buffoon who can’t do anything right and yet is getting partial treatment from the boss? Or is he clumsy but ultimately has his heart in the right place and that is why we should be rooting for him? The answer is none of them and all of them and that is precisely the problem.
Keep reading
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ioveobi · 4 months
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pawny (steve!), you are the true hero
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desesprada · 5 months
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bring back 90s alien couture 👽
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