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Greetings and salutations,

I adore tumblr for many reasons, but I do miss actually having a conversation with other fannish people outside of the IM box and I refuse to reblog something just to reply, so here I am once again. I now must assume the burden of actually having something to say. 

Past (and present) lives: laporcupina on tumblr | miss_porcupine on LJ (not currently logged in) | domarzione on ao3 and here. 

I'm utter crap at remembering other people's usernames across platforms, so if we've been conversation partners elsewhere, please reintroduce yourself because I'm only going to embarrass myself otherwise. 

In lieu of ask box or message service or whatever, please feel free to comment here with questions or whatnot; I'll break it out into a new post if necessary or at least answer you directly if it's not. 
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(Originally posted to tumblr, which is the worst possible medium for bloviating.) 

The worst job in Hollywood right now isn’t damage control at The Weinstein Company. It’s publicity at DC/Warners.

The Justice League promotion junket is starting its rollout. Trailers, television appearances, etc. The movie’s got a lot riding on it – will it be able to build on the momentum of Wonder Woman or be more of the same darkly-lit confused murkiness from the earlier films? How will it fare against Thor: Ragnarok, its competition by proximity, and then against the canon of the MCU? Will it make the Superhero Movie Fatigue meme return in force? It’s a big deal.

But instead of simply trying to turn Gal Gadot’s SNL clips viral, the PR department is instead handling this:

‘Game of Thrones’ Star Jason Momoa Grilled on Twitter for 2011 Rape Joke

With his own ‘Access Hollywood’-like videos, Ben Affleck is proving our worst assumptions about him

Hollywood is very good at making stuff go away. It’s why we have a Harvey Weinstein problem in the first place. But there are some problems that can’t be made to magically disappear and, right now, at this very moment, Males Misbehaving Toward Women In Hollywood is magic-proof.

Momoa’s rape joke isn’t new news, but it’s relevant now in a way it wouldn’t have been up until last week. Remember Jeremy Renner and Chris Evans being dickish dudebros during the AoU junket? It was a tempest in a teapot, over in a flash. While Renner and Evans apologized (or ‘apologized’ in Renner’s case), there wasn’t even a consensus that they’d really needed to – women just can’t recognize a joke and obviously they’d been joking. Up until last week, Momoa had benefited by the same standards because he, too, had obviously been joking. Now… Now there is work to do to make sure Momoa’s Q-rating doesn’t dip too far that it can’t recover before next month. Gadot can’t be the only one movie-goers actually like.

(Affleck, as usual, is in a shitstorm of his own making. And Jennifer Garner doesn’t have to waste any more of her capital cleaning it up unless it touches their kids.)

If the last couple of days have done anything, they’ve highlighted how much more actresses have to put up with than unequal pay. And they have started to turn the spotlight from H Weinstein to all of the men, big shot and small fry, who have benefited from a system where their privilege was so thoroughly baked in that they didn’t even see it. Or, why so many never noticed any bad behavior that was probably happening in their proximity.

All of a sudden, deeds count as much as, if not more than, words. The internet never forgets, not con appearances that were filmed on a phone camera or outtakes of long-dead cable shows. And the women who’ve suffered don’t forget, either. “I have to be a feminist, I have daughters/sisters/female friends” doesn’t get your Ally Card punched anymore.

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Is it a sign of age or self-knowledge or profound boringness that the best I can do for "frivolous birthday gift to self" is a fish spatula, cookie jar, and metal mixing bowls? 

I am hoping that this reaction of the Black Panther cast to seeing footage from the movie for the first time is a harbinger of great things to come. Because they are seriously chuffed. 

The trailer for Call Me By Your Name dropped today. It debuted at Sundance back before the summer and got an excellent reception. It looks beautiful and I hope it's as lovely in all respects. I'm not big on coming of age movies, but this one might be an exception. 

I have finally seen Rogue One. Well, I've finally seen all of it intact because despite my best Tumblr filters, I saw seemingly half the movie in gifset form. Still, it's far better in its original format. A grown-up Star Wars movie without interpreting "grown up" as "vulgar." Also, The Dirty Dozen in Space. Now I have to go back and look for fic and/or canon backstories and whatnot because I understand why they skipped all of that, but... but. Recs welcome. 

I confess that I am a devotee of the Daily Mail. I know what it is and I don't take it seriously, but in between the shots of "peachy posteriors" and blatant celebs-calling-the-photogs shots, they regularly do remarkable photo essays (historical and natural) and a steady stream of genuinely nice Good Human stories. 

For actual gossip, I prefer Lainey's site because I honestly don't care about any of these people, but I'm admittedly a little fascinated by how the sausage gets made -- the angles, the campaigns, the strategic deployments of pictures and scoops. 

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Nerd Prom (aka ComicCon) is thus far a bit more professionally terrifying than fannishly interesting. D23 was last week, so Star Wars and Marvel both got their big news out then, generally saving the smaller stuff for SDCC so they can get a participation trophy without needing to share the spotlight. Both arms essentially chose to keep the movie stuff at D23 and do the television and toys at SDCC, which is utterly sensible as well as more traditional. SDCC is the better marketplace for merchandise and Marvel's complicated development rights situation makes San Diego neutral ground for the other studios (Fox, Sony). But I still think it's a little bemusing because of the historical antagonism between Marvel's movie and television sides, especially in a year when Marvel used D23 to launch the Avengers: Infinity Wars promotion machine, aka The Movie Where Everyone Shows Up.

The Defenders trailer doesn't look terrible, mostly because they seem to understand that Jessica Jones is the most interesting person there. Also do note that the kingpins here are queenpins -- Madame Gao and Sigourney Weaver's character -- and that Elektra is back in a key role. Plus Trish and Colleen and Misty and Claire and Jeri Hogarth is around as well. Could the TV side have a better understanding that there is more to success than the Males 18-25 demographic? 

The Inhumans still looks like a train wreck, btw. Game of Thrones by way of Asgard Atalan and we apparently do not yet have the technology to make Medusa not look ridiculous. You can see the bones of something interesting -- the same sort of debate over elitism and isolationism that bleeds into a leadership struggle that's probably going to be handled better in Black Panther -- in the bit where Maximus argues for preemptive war as the only way to survive. But it's buried under CGI and bad wigs. 

Speaking of other studios... Fox is making yet another attempt to retain the Fantastic Four rights by floating a Doctor Doom movie. I have no idea how they pull this off; my original hope was to flip the script and make the FF the bad guys -- canonically, Ben and Reed are not exactly blameless -- but I was belatedly reminded that that is probably a terrible idea in the HydraCap era. What I fear is that they'll aim for Wicked or Maleficent territory and wind up with that version of Dracula with Luke Evans because they can't figure out how to handle that their anti-hero protagonist is actually a bad guy who does unforgivable things and that he occasionally does good things or that his bad things come from a not-entirely-evil place doesn't change that. Every villain is the hero of their own story, but that doesn't make him the hero outside of it. 

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 More stuff I should have posted here but posted to tumblr instead: 

The first girl who arrived was Nirva. She appeared on the horizon in a small rowboat, her too-thin arms fighting the oars as well as the ocean. By the time the sentry ship came for her, she was rowing on will alone, tears streaming down her face and her hands bloody. Her answer, when challenged by Paraskeve, was to hold up a stoppered glass bottle that held a folded a note inside.

“To Queen Hippolyta, from her loyal subject and daughter, Diana,” the outside read.

Nirva and her bottle and her meager pack, tied in a knot any Amazon would recognize from her earliest training, were brought to the Queen. Nirva did not speak - could not speak - and they only learned her name from the letter inside. She was an Armenian from Mardin who had lost her home and her family along with her words and so much else and Diana had sent her to Themyscira to heal. “Please, my Queen, I beg you to let our home be a home to her, let my sisters be sisters to her, let our strength protect her until she regains her own, let our peace fill her heart.”

Nirva’s timorousness and frailty both angered the Amazons and moved them to pity. She was sent to live with Euadne, since there were no such thing as guest quarters in a land with no visitors.

It took months for her to stop flinching at footsteps, longer still for her to find her voice - emerging finally as a scream, primal and raw. Her story, once told, gave rise to much discussion in the Queen’s council over the future of the Amazons and the protection of Themyscira. What was not discussed, at least not in front of Hippolyta, was what had become of Diana.

Nirva grew stronger and less haunted, the dimness in her eyes replaced with the spark of life. She learned archery and horsemanship, since every Amazon must know how to defend herself and her city. But while she eventually earned her own set of armor, she found her true place by the glassmaker’s brazier as an apprentice to Klytie. 

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I have apparently been gone for six months and haven't had anything to say here since... I stopped trying to find. I appreciate everyone who is still here, really and truly, and I apologize. I spend too much time on tumblr, baffling people half my age with pictures of NYC from decades ago. 

So. How has everyone been? What's everyone watching and reading? Does anyone dare explain wtf is going on with livejournal?  

I'm watching GLOW, which I love, and my pathetic Mets, whom I also love but don't bring me the same joy. Last movie seen was Moana, last one in the theater was Wonder Woman. I am waiting for Rogue One to show up on Netflix later this month because I am apparently the last person in fandom not to see it. I've become one of those misanthropes who don't like going to the movies anymore. Also, it's crazy expensive in NYC. 

I have just taken this out of the library to read.

Best comic book I read recently was The Flinstones (really, it's seriously amazing social commentary and incredibly heartfelt and funny). I also recommend Te-Nehesi Coates's Black Panther run because it might possibly have quite a bit to do with the movie and it's also really good and I didn't think I'd like it but I did. 
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More stuff I should have posted here and didn't: 

(The MTA deities are Elder Gods: elemental, ruthless, demanding, and vain. MTA is a syncretic religion; it is an occasionally ill-fitting combination of three smaller pantheons: the IRT, BMT, and IND. As a result, the MTA gods are jealous gods and fights between them are frequent and frequently legendary. New Yorkers are never sure if a subway problem is the result of the gods being unhappy with their supplicants or simply squabbling among themselves, although it’s generally assumed that the century-long delay in consecrating the first of the subterranean shrines along Second Avenue after removing the sky-based temples is the reason that the locals and expresses never have their doors open at the station at the same time so you can switch.)

The scene: a crowded evening rush-hour train, two women sitting next to each other on the bench, nowhere to stand. The lady next to me, twice my size, asks me to move the straps on my backpack because they are touching her. I comply, then go back to my doze. A stop later, she’s at it again, complaining that they are still touching her. The only strap in her general vicinity is the one still on my arm and I don’t feel the contact, but I pull my elbow in a little for show – there’s nowhere for my arms to go, either. It’s not enough. She complains a third time, elevating her voice along with her indignation. I suggest that she should lower her personal space expectations during rush hour, which is not what she wants to hear, but she’s not interested in escalating it to physical confrontation and goes back to watching something on her phone. I go back to my doze again, but first silently wishing her a lifetime of sitting next to small, loud, hyperactive children on every ride.

The MTA gods are capricious and capable of great kindness and great cruelty, sometimes both at once. They love blood sacrifice and whimsy in equal measure. And so on a day when they rattled their immortal chains with some fury, I had my plea answered favorably.

At the next stop, even more people get on and I first hear and then see a little boy, maybe six years old, board with his harried mother. He’s bouncing all around in his three inches of allotted space and I smile and thank the MTA gods for their boon. I then offer the mother my seat – she accepts very gratefully. A moment later, I see why: the boy is one of two. There is a little brother, maybe three.

“Good luck,” I tell the lady next to me as I get up, all virtue and NYC solicitousness, as the two overstimulated kiddies climb up into the space that had once been occupied by a snack-sized adult dozer. The look on her face as she realizes what I’ve done warms the dark cockles of my soul. 

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RADIOACTIVE wild boars roaming European mountains after eating mushrooms contaminated by Chernobyl 

… this is going to be some X-person’s mutant origin story. 

Once there was an up-and-coming chef who’d staged at one of Redzepi’s places and had started their own restaurant with a focus on nose-to-tail single-source boar and a five-course foraged food tasting menu mostly featuring ferns, flowers, mushrooms, and a lichen that only grows on the wood of ash trees that face north and have been peed on by baby deer no older than three months.  

But their single source for humanely-slaughtered-by-bow-and-arrows-shot-by-vegan-virgins boar was the Bohemian Forest and, in the process of perfecting the recipes, they ate enough to have ingested a thousand times more than the survivable dose of Cesium-137 and died young, earning mournful eulogies in both Saveur and Bon Appetit, countless food blogs, and a mention at the Beard Awards. They trended on Instagram for a week. 

At least that’s what the public thinks happened. 

In actuality, our chef fakes their death because they’d noticed that in addition to their tattoos starting to glow in the dark, they were starting to change in other ways. Instead of just being a master of the six tastes (one of their tattoos is, in fact, “oleogustus” transliterated into Adyghe), they were noticing five more – six, if they’d only had kombucha that day. All of this was to the good, but some of the other changes were clearly less so and could not be hidden by plaid shirts and a knit cap. The tail, for instance, which could not be hidden in skinny jeans no matter what. It was time to disappear. 

Getting to Xavier’s school was entirely by accident. They’d rented a converted barn on a farm turned ashram-and-pottery-school in the Hudson Valley and had hoped to hide out there, earning their keep making kale salads and grain bowls for the canteen, but accidentally wound up on I-684 instead of the Sprain Brook after a construction detour on the Hutch. When they took the next exit off and asked for directions, they were instead directed to Salem Center because everyone in Westchester knows what that’s a euphemism for when asked by someone wearing dark sunglasses and covering their face with a Harry Potter scarf in July. 

They weren’t terribly interested in fighting to save a world that feared and hated them, to be honest. They weren’t over the first scathing reviews in The Guardian and if that philistine who couldn’t see why only using water made by melting ice smoked by Laplanders who’d had lutefisk for breakfast made all the difference in the poached plaice, then he deserved whatever fate befell him. But, after some grudgingly accomplished soul-searching, they agreed that helping on a more locally sustainable level would not be a waste of their time. 

So if you find yourself in trouble and then suddenly out of it, especially in a place that sells PBR and microbrews made from beard yeast, if you hear a faint sound of music from a band that you’ve probably never heard of, then know that you have been saved by the mutant known as Hipster. 


Rene Redzepi and foraging $600/plate dinners
the “six tastes”
Hudson Valley as Williamsburg North

(originally posted to tumblr)

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Civil (Star) War(s)
1k words | PG | Sam Wilson, Scott Lang, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, various Avengers

also at : ao3 | tumblr

In which the incarcerated part of Team Cap fancasts. )
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[also at tumblr ao3]
550 words | PG-ish | Tony Stark et al.

The Avengers have a Superbowl party because everyone who hosts parties hosts a Superbowl party. Tony’s had one for decades despite honestly not giving a @$^@ about football. But it’s an excuse for socially acceptable day drinking (what he says) and be a normal person for a few hours (what he means) and Rhodey makes sure it’s on the calendar every year because what’s the point of having a billionaire BFF if you don’t occasionally take advantage of that fact (what he says, although he knows damned well that Tony gets more out of the day than a chance to butter up business connections and swill scotch).

The first year after the Battle of New York, the Avengers go to the Superbowl itself. Stark Industries has a corporate box at the event every year, but Pepper’s officially hosting that and Tony’s off with the others (except Natasha and Bruce) in the VIP box with the president and governor and other political types so that he can wave when they’re put on the jumbotron. Steve goes out on to the field for the opening coin toss and you can feel the stadium shake with applause. It’s maybe the first time Steve’s been personally confronted with the public’s reaction to him and he returns to the box a little shocky with it. Tony gets extra loud to draw attention away from him and give him some time and space to recover; Steve thanks him later for it and Tony pretends he doesn’t know why.

After that, the Superbowl parties happen at Tony’s place, just them and a few others and the best 2- and 3D projection screens that exist. Tony says it’s because the commercials are the best part and a catered party is the only way Romanoff is showing up, but it’s also the only way Bruce will consider safe enough to go and he’d rather not see that look on Steve’s face again. Tony uses the suit to fly out to wherever the game is to do the Stark box gladhanding and get back before opening kickoff. 

This becomes their tradition, their Christmas. It’s a secular religious experience where atheism is a-okay and all sins are forgiven and nobody’s allowed to fight. It’s the same old jokes – Thor really does understand the game by now, Steve is not actually offended that the players wear protective equipment that doubles their size from what they looked like in the 1930s, Natasha actually really likes the commercials – and a chance for them to be people around each other. Or androids and people, once Vision joins.

Vision downloaded the entire NFL rulebook and media guide before the first game and watched days’ worth of footage of both teams. But he’s still hilariously bad – really, really bad – at predicting what will actually happen. It becomes a running joke because there is such a dissonance between the statistically best play and how things work out on the field. Vision, who is always talking about how aware he is of human inconsistencies, nevertheless consistently underestimates how much of a factor that is. At Wanda’s suggestion, Tony builds a random play generator – it looks like a Twister spinner – and that has a better predictive game than Vision does. Tony laments out loud that they can’t even make a drinking game out of it because of the likelihood of alcohol poisoning.

“Which will still be higher than Vision calling the right play,” Clint chirps from the rear.
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[Originally posted to tumblr and not reformatted. Bolded means they exist (also) at AO3]


(the story we’re not talking about because there actually is a Second Avenue subway before I finished it, but I swear the file is actually open on my laptop)

Gong Xi Fa Cai - Chinese New Year in the Freezer Burn universe.

Barnes family picfic

(Just Another Manic) Monday: aborted fic start featuring Sam, Steve, HYDRA, and lots of toilet paper.

Status Quo Ante – Sam Wilson from the end of CA:CW to the mid-credits scene. My big story of the year, for better or for worse.

A Symposium on Personnel Management with a Focus on Intra-Team Dynamics (the We Don’t Need No Civil War remix): aka, the reason blackestglass nearly killed me because I went into this knowing it was for a podfic and still wrote 10K. (The podfic version is super-awesome.)

Not With a Whimper, But With a Bang: Pepper Potts in Phase III

Jigsaw: MCU-compliant Bucky & Nat.

Snuff: SHIELD Director Carter and the video of the murder of Howard and Maria Stark.

Soul Food: Steve misses turtle soup and other gustatory weirdness

Hawkeye & Punisher vignette: because Clint is the little black dress of the MCU

Message in a Bottle: Steve is speaking to the Avengers in a language only Peter understands. (This will sail over your heads if you’re not from NYC.)

Reykjavik: Detente, Civil-War style (or, a thinly veiled advertisement for food in Queens.)

Three-sentence challenges (drabbles, more or less): “Bruce after it all goes down.” | “Pepper and Rhodey cleaning up.” | “T'Challa navigates Wakandan society after giving the Avengers Asylum “ | “ Wanda meeting with the families of those she killed while in Wakanda “ | Miranda’s rescue in Freezer Burn

Peggy Carter and the Commandos picfic

Avengers: The Funny Books: Tony commissions comics for the gang

Christmas for the on-the-lam Team Cap

Maqqaba: Chanukah at the SSR



Rey actual drabble

Rey mini meta

More tFA actual drabbles about Rey
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1400 words | PGish | Natasha Romanova, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, T'Challa

Natasha has gotten used to the missing pieces.


"Why did I double-cross you or why do I need to visit?" she responded, understanding that she was negotiating from a position of weakness, even if she wouldn't appreciate the time constraints until it was too late.

"The latter," T'Challa replied, his voice giving nothing away. "I understand the former now."

She took a deep breath before saying anything because the first time would hurt. The first time always hurt. "You don't understand the former completely and that's why I need to visit."

It was vague, hilariously so if she'd been inclined to find any humor in the situation, but she knew who she was dealing with and that he'd parse it properly.

"He is under my protection," T'Challa warned, proving he'd at least understood part of it.

"I mean him no harm," she assured. "Please, sir."


2700 words | PGish | Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, Bucky Barnes, Nick Fury

SHIELD Director Peggy Carter has no idea what to make of a video capturing the murder of Howard and Maria Stark.

She recognizes the car the moment it appears and, with sick horror, recognizes the place. She'd never seen it from on high, just marched around it at ground level looking for something, anything, that could have explained how Howard had lost control of the car. His blood alcohol level had been elevated, of course it had, but it was Howard and it would have taken far more than that to impair his faculties.

The far more turned out to be a motorcycle and an assassin and her heart soars with relief and the kind of righteous anger that came with knowing how to avenge the murder of her friends. But then comes Howard's final words and the assassin's turn toward the camera before shooting it out and she is frozen, breathless and numb. The CDV finished playing and the machine beeps at her, asking what she wants to do next and she honestly has no idea.

It takes her a long few moments before she can move, reaching out to tap the button to rewind the disc to the moment a man who looks for all the world like James Buchanan Barnes stares straight at her.

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Not with a Whimper, But with a Bang

4k words | PG-13ish | Pepper Potts, Tony Stark

Whither Pepper in Phase III?

She came close to being murdered (again) that day, she later found out. She had been on the same list of targets Tony had been on not because HYDRA didn't know if Extremis was really gone or just temporarily turned off, but instead because they feared her mind. "Potts's capacity to command the loyalty and quantity of resources sufficient to destabilize the early phases of HYDRA's new order must be eliminated," read the succinct justification for her murder by helicarrier.

They had feared her business sense and her common sense and her connections and her very human strength, which would have been flattering under other circumstances, but she didn't have the time to revel. She needed all of that to keep Stark Industries afloat after the global collapse of the entire military industrial complex. Everyone was suspect. Everyone was afraid. And everyone was most afraid of the ones who'd contributed, however inadvertently, to what had nearly been the murder of twenty million people on the first day of a global coup. Which for the current purposes included Stark Industries, no matter how long ago they'd divested from the defense sector.



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A Symposium on Personnel Management with a Focus on Intra-team Dynamics (the We Don’t Need No Civil War remix)Domenika Marzione/ laporcupina (author) ; Blackglass/@blackestglass (reader)9400 words/ 58 minutes | Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Natasha...

A Symposium on Personnel Management with a Focus on Intra-team Dynamics (the We Don’t Need No Civil War remix)

Domenika Marzione/laporcupina (author) ; Blackglass/blackestglass (reader)

9400 words/ 58 minutes | Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, Tony Stark, Jim Rhodes, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, et al.

In which a Civil War is staged (but not like that) and Sam and Rhodey and Natasha aren't paid nearly enough to deal with this crap. So they set about fixing that out of Petty Cash.

Sam was on a day trip to Great Adventure with the BBBSA when his phone started to blow up. Getting a text from all of his teammates almost at once could mean many things, depending on the order and quantity. But one thing it didn't mean was that there was an actual Avengers Assemble kind of emergency, so he kept his phone in his pocket and focused on getting his group from the Sky Zooma to Taz's Tornado without losing anyone.

Once all were aboard who were going aboard, he checked his phone and realized that while it might not be a 'get your wings and go' emergency, it was probably not good. Team text chains that began with Tony were usually bad jokes or event suggestions or pictures of new Iron Man tech or, occasionally, actual relevant Avengers news because Steve was the field commander, but Tony was the CEO. Text chains that started with Vision were usually questions being answered with varying degrees of seriousness. Wanda, surprisingly, was the team paparazza and she had deeply unflattering candids of them all. Text chains that started with Steve, however, were never good news because Steve didn't send group messages. Which meant that the first message had been Steve warning him that shit was coming and then everyone else reacting to that shit in Sam's general direction. Because while he might be the Second Most Cuddly Avenger according to PR, within the team he was the Steve Whisperer/Cap Corraller/Sam-Talk-To-Him-PLEASE.

"What the hell did you get up to this morning that everyone is freaking out?" Sam asked when Steve picked up. He'd looked at Steve's text, which had been a simple "hey, feel like a road trip?" and then skimmed the blurbs of the others, which had all been variations of "WTF?!" and then called the culprit directly because sometimes Steve's shitstorms were not textually renderable.

The AO3 link has both the story and the podfic links.

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Status Quo Ante
16k words | PG-ish| Sam Wilson, Team Cap, T'Challa, etc.

A tale in which Sam suspects he should be used to this by now, for values of ‘this’ that involve certain folks he hangs out with and situations he finds himself in, Team Cap becomes Team Ex-Cap becomes TBD, and nobody but Clint really wants to know what happened to Scott Lang’s GI Joes.

(Sam Wilson from the final scene to the mid-credits scene.)

He just sat down next to Steve and waited, past experience telling him that if Steve was this easily findable, he’d start talking on his own. So Sam leaned back and enjoyed the quiet tinkle of the water hitting the rocks and the distant caw of birds and the fact that he wasn’t in an underwater prison anymore and this was pretty much the first daylight he’d seen since Berlin.

“I keep going over the past few months to figure out when I fucked things up so badly to put us on a course to get us here,” Steve finally said. “And I can’t pick a point and go 'there, that’s when you started the dominoes falling.’ It’s not one thing, it’s a whole pile of things and–”

“And you might not be Cap anymore, but you never were the center of the universe,” Sam cut him off. “You don’t get to take credit for everything. Everyone else did their part and everyone else chose their side. Clint came in on his own and Lang understood what we were asking him to do and Wanda fought to be by your side. I stuck with your stubborn ass even after I realized how far you were willing to go and all of the others will say the same. You don’t get to take that from me or anyone else. You haven’t been the Sexiest Man Alive for three years now, so you are plenty resistible.”
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Okay, so this turned into War and Peace. Which should perhaps surprise nobody who reads my fic.

As mentioned last night, I greatly enjoyed Captain America: Civil War in the moment -- it's tremendous fun, with wit and action and competency -- but I have notes:

* I think we're going to have to change the jargon from "getting jossed" to "getting russoed" because the Brothers Russo destroyed more fanon in one movie than Whedon ever did.

Just as a warning, I am putting my complaints before my praise because that's how I wrote things down. )
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(1) A zissen pesach to all observing.

(2) An 800-year-old ban was lifted this past December and this is the first year that Conservative Ashkenazi Jews in the diaspora, of which I am one, can partake in kitniyot and I am... of mixed feelings on the matter. On the one hand, it's great to have so many more foods available -- hummus! peanut butter! lentils! corn! tofu! rice! cardamom! -- but on the other... it's weird. I live on kitniyot during the rest of the year and this change means that my diet is essentially the same during pesach except for breakfast and my choice of alcoholic beverages in the evening and that feels like cheating even though it's not. I'm not the most observant Jew under the best of circumstances, but this is more a cultural and traditional thing than a halachic one.

(3a) I am procrastinating moving all of my SGA fic over to AO3. Some of it is already there, but this will be the whole enchilada -- all of the stuff on my webpage as well as the gazillion little fragments and drabbles that exist nowhere else but LJ -- and I am dreading it because it's going to be so much work. The mass importer does not preclude having to tweak code and formatting on every single story.

(3b) Because I am procrastinating, the LJ version of my SGA pesach story, which is -- holy carp and other religious fish -- ten years old: Urchatz, which has lovely gift fic in the comments, so don't skip it.

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(link only because LJ won't post the whole thing)

Sleepers of Ephesus (chapter three)
Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes ) | PG-13ish

Peggy Carter is far from home

She’d never been just his best friend’s sweetheart, not then and not now. During the war, he’d treated her as capable of anything – sometimes far more than she actually was able to do. Now, he had to take the lead in most situations by dint of his greater knowledge and capacity, but he did so in a fashion that was… not deferential, but respectful at least. He phrased what he thought they should do as a suggestion instead of an order, the way he had with Steve back when Captain America had been a greenhorn commander and Sergeant Barnes the experienced NCO. He didn’t seek her permission, but he would wait for something like agreement from her, giving her at least a nominal ownership stake in the decisions, the way he had with Steve because Captain Rogers had to be the one issuing the commands even if he hadn’t thought them up. And he let her make what decisions she could, not just for herself, but for them both: not only when they would travel or where they would stop, but also in the mission planning and execution. He’d put his foot down if he felt very strongly one way or another, but she could expect a reason. In return, she tried to reward his trust by using her authority to protect him where she could, both in their quest (where he was far too reckless with his own safety) and in his quiet struggle to regain his humanity.
direct link to chapter 3

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Just a couple of things about Rey….


* Rey isn’t averse to physical contact, but it probably weirds her the hell out. Think about it: this is someone who hasn’t been touched except in anger or by accident since she was six years old. Which effectively means “not at all.” She has no idea how to interpret physical contact because she has no framework. She can’t appreciate hand-grabbing as “I’m worried about you, let’s go!” because when would she have ever seen this, let alone experienced it?

What does she probably interpret it as? “You are not capable.” Because Rey’s got exactly one scale of value and that’s whether someone is capable of fending for themself or not, whether they can earn their keep via salvaging or something else useful or whether they are a charity case. And Finn offering assistance, in that context, is an insult because she is damned capable, thank you very much.

But back to the physical contact: Rey might understand a hug as a good thing, as a form of transmitting positive feelings, but she doesn’t know how long or how tightly to hold on in return and that’s going to be foremost on her mind instead of “someone is expressing a positive reaction toward me.” She’s not getting comfort from Leia; she’s aware that that’s what supposed to be happening, but what Rey’s actually doing is calculating whether it’s time to let go yet or whether she’s squeezing too hard and “OMG, someone cares about me!”

* Every single gesture of concern for Rey matters. Every. Single. One. Every single “Hey, how are you?” that expects an answer gets a real, surprised, pleased answer. Every single question by even random folks at the Resistance base asking her if she’s okay, if she knows where she’s going, if she found what she’s looking for, these are all amazing things for her because nobody has ever offered this to her in her memory, not without a motive or without expecting something in return. And while she really is weirded out by physical contact, the incidental, thoughtless touches that Finn or Poe or Leia or Chewy or anyone else offers – a backhand to the arm meaning “hey, great flying” or a clasp of her shoulder in passing or someone guiding her through a crowd with a hand on her back – she’ll remember it and she’ll relive it because it’s new and novel and craved.

People showing care without expecting reciprocity is not something she’s familiar with. And it’s really so amazing and awesome and she is probably someone who picks it up and runs with it before fully understanding the subtleties because that’s how she’s learned how to do everything else. That this isn’t a matter of survival the way the tricks of salvaging were doesn’t matter. She’s gone one speed and it’s full throttle. She’s known among the Resistance folk as someone who is always asking how you are and how you’re doing and listening to your answers and just being so nice. Which everyone else sees as this remarkable thing because Rey, to them, isn’t this freak of an orphan from Jakku, she’s the Force-sensitive fighter who helped Han Solo and Chewy before she was captured by the First Order, from whom she escaped on her own, and faced off against Kylo Ren, whom everyone knows as Ben Solo and the murderer of their children.

And, if all of the flaming red (herring) arrows mean anything, they know who she really might be: the little girl with the important lineage who was spirited away more than a dozen years ago. And has returned, along with the key to maybe defeating Snoke and the First Order for good.

(posted first to tumblr here)
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Actual drabbles, not my value of drabbles.

When it happens, Leia knows. It’s a pain like she’s dying because she is dying. Her son, flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood, the whole of her heart, has embraced the Dark.

Han has no Force sense, but he has eyes and those eyes meet hers. And so while she cannot speak the words, he still understands. In the creche she finds her niece, who’s weeping uncontrollably. Leia scoops her up and goes to the hangar. The orders to the pilot are simple: “Take her somewhere nobody will find her. Don’t tell me where. Don’t tell anyone.”


She finds out soon enough that her name is not Rey. Or, rather, Rey is what she calls herself the way Finn has chosen his name. It’s the name Jakku gave her, its only gift besides survival. Her parents named her after her grandmother and her aunt, the woman who birthed her father and the woman who raised him. She doesn’t use those names for the same reason she doesn’t use the names she has for General Organa or Han Solo or Luke Skywalker or Kylo Ren; they belong to another girl and would fit her like a stranger’s clothes.


She doesn’t ask about her mother because the only people who could best answer are those who feel responsible for her death. The one who actually is responsible for her death, he has no answers worth hearing. But when they meet again, and they will meet again, she will have new questions. Luke won’t let her seek him out until “Are you ready to follow our grandfather’s path?” means “back into the Light” and not “I will kill you now.” Luke is unfazed by her anger, preferring to teach her to channel it wisely instead of pretending it doesn’t exist.


“I am a Jedi, as my father was before me.”

When she was a child on Jakku, she dreamed of her family and it always included a boy with black tousled hair. That boy existed, however briefly, but by the time they meet again, the grandchild of Anakin Skywalker and the grandchild of Darth Vader, he has been a long time gone. Or perhaps not; there will always be hope wherever there is the Light and she believes, she must believe, that Ben is still there somewhere. She has chosen to stake her life – and his – on it.

(originally posted here and here)
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So there is a plot point in the comics Civil War storyline that I am pretty darned sure they are using in the movie, but... a thought problem investigation of how to do it best: easiest, traditional, or maximum impact:

spoilers ahoy )
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(link only because LJ won't post the whole thing)

Sleepers of Ephesus (chapter two)
Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes ) | PG-13ish

Peggy Carter is far from home


“I don’t know where I’m going!” she warned over her shoulder as she ran.

“Left,” he called back, but right as she turned and saw a stairwell, she stepped on something sharp and stumbled. He scooped her up with one arm and threw her into a fireman’s carry that was efficient if indecorous, and he ran up the stairs a few at a time. It was all dizzying and disconcerting, the fog of war and Barnes not only being alive, but also his carrying on as Steve once had, reckless and unstoppable, when he’d been nothing of the sort before.

He slowed at the top of the stairs and shifted her off of his shoulder and on to the landing, gesturing for her to shimmy back so that she was leaning against the door. He reached around and unstrapped the pack he’d been wearing on his shoulders – she’d had her face mashed into it as they’d run – and pulled out a roll of bandaging, tossing it to her along with a plastic bottle of water. “Take care of your feet,” he told her, waiting for her to look up before handing over one of the rifles. “I’ll be back in a minute. Shoot anything that moves.”

She could do no more than squeak in protest before he turned around and went back downstairs. And so she multitasked, griping under her breath about the Commandos doing what they did best – frustrate her and make spectacular messes – while rinsing her feet free of debris before wrapping the left one, which was worse off.

(23k @ ao3)
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Actual drabble, not my value of drabble:

When it happens, Leia knows. It’s a pain like she’s dying because she is dying. Her son, flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood, the whole of her heart, has embraced the Dark.

Han has no Force sense, but he has eyes and those eyes meet hers. And so while she cannot speak the words, he still understands. In the creche she finds her niece, who’s weeping uncontrollably. Leia scoops her up and goes to the hangar. The orders to the pilot are simple: “Take her somewhere nobody will find her. Don’t tell me where. Don’t tell anyone.”

(originally posted here)
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(Some links go to my AO3 page, some to my Tumblr; re-doing all of the links for DW/LJ seems a waste of energy)

Originally posted to tumblr as: Part One (Jan-June) | Part Two (July-Dec)

fic, in not so brief )
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A little bit of meta/resource provision for MCU Sam Wilson:

also available at: ao3 & tumblr

Sam Wilson in the MCU is a pararescueman (pararescue jumper, aka PJ) in the US Air National Guard. I don’t think there’s any official statement on his age or military career vis-à-vis how long he was active-duty before transitioning into the reserves – odds are that he would have needed to be active-duty to be considered for the Falcon program – or his rank or even his DOD status, whether he’s officially out, still a reservist, on IRR, or what. So there’s flexibility there to do what you will, I think, within certain ranges. Sam is, however, an enlisted man and not a commissioned officer. I usually put him at E-6, Technical Sergeant.

Sam in fanon is usually the team therapist, based on his role as a counselor-type person for veterans groups. What I’d like to suggest, however, is that Sam could (should?) more often be portrayed as the team medic and someone who is far less risk-averse than he is often shown. He is really going to be the last person to facepalm and tell Steve not to jump out of perfectly good aircraft without a parachute because he wasn’t kidding when he said he does everything Steve does, except slower. PJs are extremely well-trained, both in emergency medical treatment and advanced military skills – they are the most badass EMTs you will ever meet and have an extraordinarily high regard within the military community.


technical details of PJ training and requirements )


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Domenika Marzione

October 2017

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