Months and months ago (like almost a year now) I started this little oneshot after a conversation about the then-upcoming final Harry Potter movie. I finally got around to finishing it, but kept the up-coming-ness of HPDHp2 intact for story telling reasons. Oh goodness do I love this couple. I seriously wish we could have seen more of them. Please, please let them get together in the New 52! . (spoilers) OHWAITHELENAISACTUALLYDEAD. WELLI'LLBESCREWED.
BTW, I meant no offense to any group of people. I'm just writing what I think ol' Q would say in these situations, and some of the groups I poke fun at (HP fans and Bronies) I am actually a part of. Extra apologies to Twilight fans, but you know…if at this point you haven't been desensitized to the extent of mockery that series is subjected to I don't know what to say to you.
"If I hear the words 'Harry Potter' again, I'm going to hurl."
"Excuse me?"
With a sigh, Helena slumped down beside her boyfriend. He, as usual, was hunched on her couch with his fingers dancing over the worn keys of his laptop, artificially black hair frazzled in all directions and blue coat hanging off her armrest. His still-masked face never turned toward her, despite the fact that she'd been in the room for five minutes now, walking in and out on her daily post-work rituals and wondering how long he could go before he acknowledged her presence. It was not that he meant to be inattentive—or at least, that was what he told her—it was just that he was a "committed" (she more often called it "insanely obsessive") worker in a very important field. Supposedly. And sometimes that cut into personal life. That, as a fellow superhero, she understood, but though she'd never tell him, the rejection of aglets, Girl Scout cookies and blockbuster movies beginning with "A" she did not.
"My students. The last movie is coming out soon so they've been talking non-stop for two weeks." Helena shed her heels (which, ironically, were shorter than the heels she wore while crimefighting) and lazily lounged her arm on his shoulder. He didn't seem to take notice—and if he did, he ignored her, keeping his eyes plastered on the screen (as usual). She didn't know how his eyesight was possibly maintained with him constantly staring at the screen like that, especially when he insisted that contact lenses were just a way for the government to identify and track everyone. Specifically, to quote, "seeing through their eyes at all that they see, so every step of your life is accounted for if you have the unfortunate liability of poor eyesight."
"Hm," Vic said gruffly.
"If you don't want me to talk about my kids, you shouldn't break into my apartment and wait for me to come home from school." She glanced at the window that she had most definitely not opened when she left for school this morning. "Especially when you have a key."
"I can't go through the front door. I'll be seen."
"Right."
"It'll compromise your secret identity too."
"You could take off your costume before coming over."
"…Not enough time."
"If you say so."
"And it's not that you were rambling about your school life…" Helena barely suppressed a smirk. Half because he called her talking "rambling," and half because she knew, just from his tone of voice, what she just got herself into—really, she should have realized that just mentioning something as insanely popular as Harry Potter to him would get him going full steam ahead. It was inevitable and unavoidable.
"It's that Harry Potter is not the innocent children's series it appears to be."
"Of course it isn't," she sighed, raising her fingers to play with a strand of his hair. She felt him relax slightly from his tense stature, but otherwise had no reaction, "You're not one of those people who think it's trying to convert kids to Satanism, are you?"
He snorted. "No, of course not. Those people are crazy. I'm merely saying that Harry Potter is actually a secret fundraiser for an organization in Britain that has dated back to the British Empire, intent on keeping their subtle control of the world."
"Uh huh," she rolled her eyes.
He shook his head with frustration. "The reason it's so popular is because of chemicals infused in the pages that give an artificial feeling of joy. Furthermore, this new Harry Potter theme park in Florida is proving their success. They've infiltrated the United States and built their new headquarters there, all without people figuring it out. Unbelievable."
"And J.K. Rowling?"
"A puppet. A smiling face on the back of the book just meant to make you think 'oh, look at this nice-looking woman who writes this. These novels must be devoid of any form of harmfulness.' Which, I must stress, is not true at all. All of those riches? Not truly hers. Just more cover."
"Must be pretty nice for the actress, getting all that stuff just for pretending to be an author."
"Perhaps, if every waking moment of her life wasn't precisely controlled, constantly-threatened, and completely artificial. Look deep in her eyes when she is giving an interview, or addressing the fans. You can see the terror."
"I'm sure the movies are somehow in on this plot as well."
"Do you realize that Daniel Radcliff was the richest young person in Britain during his teenage years and is currently richer than the royal princes? Do you think that's an accident? Even that original smiling, cute little eleven year old had a dark greed for power that you wouldn't believe. He is most definitely in cahoots with them. I'm almost positive that his current Broadway career is just so he could have closer and more direct control of Wall Street."
"Alright then." Helena rolled her eyes and began to finger at his tie, tracing her finger around the knot and down his chest. He tensed slightly, but otherwise didn't show any reaction. "Baby doll, not that I don't mind it in the time and place, but would you mind not wearing your mask when we're alone in my apartment?"
"Oh." Vic had obviously forgotten about it; sometimes she wondered if he always remembered which one was his real face. Reaching over for his aerosol, he sprayed himself (Helena almost wanted to ask if he could, in the future, not spray the sharp smelling substance right next her own nose) and peeled off his mask. His hair shown red and his eyes blue, just the way she liked it, and she continued to run her fingers through the carrot-colored strands; he relaxed more in turn, leaning slightly into her touch. It was then that she noticed the deep dark circles under his eyes. Poor thing must not have slept for days.
"Thank you," she said. She tried to look over his shoulder to see what he was occupying himself with, but all she saw was a jumble of numbers and names she didn't recognize. His typed so rapidly and furiously she was surprised the computer could even keep up. He could bust a keyboard if he was on an intense case, she'd seen him do it.
"You know Vic, I read the first book. It was actually pretty good. Have you ever thought that people just like them, and that's why it's so widespread?"
"Please," he scoffed, "No mere book series can get that popular without some kind of outside influence."
"So are you saying that all crazily popular pop culture icons are some kind of plot to conquer the world?"
"Many are," he said, sitting back and rubbing his chin as he squinted at the computer screen, "People can be controlled by their love of something, and when they dismiss it as simple fiction or celebrity garbage they fail to see the bigger picture. Did you know that Paris Hilton actually has an IQ of 199?"
As soon as the number left his lips, Helena laughed out loud, punching him gently in the side of the arm. "No, God, Q. Now you've gone too far. That girl is as dumb as a brick."
"That's just what she wants you to think. Anyway, have you seen how militant fans can get when defending their favorite piece of media harvest? They will borderline kill someone to protect its honor…which doesn't even begin to dip into the terrors of what I believe the young folk call 'ship wars.' Eventually they will drive this country to another Civil War, which is just what they want."
"Alright, how about Star Wars?"
"Wookie language is actually sound signals sending secret messages to our brain that put us unknowingly under the control of the fascists in Hollywood. Ewok language…I won't even tell you the disturbing purpose of that horrible sound. I also have evidence that suggests the Joker of all people is involved with it as well."
"The Joker?" Helena asked in disbelief.
"Yes. I haven't been quite able to crack his case in it though."
"Twilight?" Helena rolled her eyes at the memory of the endless "Team Edward/Jacob" nonsense from her girls in the class. For the most part it had died down, but those hundreds of "Edward is so much hotter!" "Nuh UH!" 'debates' will haunt her forever.
"What do you think?"
"Has something to do with upping the Mormon church?"
He shook his head. "Actually, no. You see, the Mormon church is actually also a rebellious warrior sect fighting against the Illuminati. Their children are trained from birth in combat and wilderness survival, if it should be needed, but they are oh-so-clever at hiding it. Mormons have been their greatest adversary since the beginnings of the group's existence. They would not be involved in the series' plot. Tell me, Helena, do you actually respect Twilight?"
Helena chuckled a bit, this time smirking all the way, "God, no."
"Does anyone other than its most faithful worshippers do anything other than mock it?"
"No, I guess. But some of its detractors can get pretty militant themselves…"
"Then there you go. Extreme Twilight love and Twilight hate—now come to be two sides of the same coin—are both the products of the same group with the same goals. Both are controlled by their passion for something, both are feeding into a societal instability and dependence on a higher power to keep order. It doesn't take much to make these rifts. Sometimes just a terribly written yet hugely popular vampire romance."
"OK, I think I get it."
"Good." Vic returned to pounding his keyboard like it owed him money, and Helena slumped in her seat. The clock ticked by…one second, two, three, four, and she was starting to get bored, especially given her perfectly able, useful and entertaining boyfriend was sitting right next to her. Slowly, she reached forward to finger his tie…"But truly," he continued, and she barely suppressed a groan, "It's frightening, truly frightening, what our media outlets can make the populace do. Those behind seemingly innocent My Little Pony seem to have realized that building their armies from young girls is not as effective as they need to feed their thirst for supremacy…they have now spread their mind-controlling influence to strong, hearty young men and women. They call their infected followers—"
"Bronies. Yeah, there are some in my class." She chuckled to herself, despite Vic's look of horror and pity. "Oh come on, Vic, what harm is there in a few teenagers arguing over whether Something Sparkle or Pinkie Pop or whoever is better?"
He tutted, turning away from her in contempt—sometimes she forgot how deadly serious he took all this, as ridiculous as it seemed to her—and though she'd be hard-pressed to admit it, he did, on many occasions, turn out to know what he was talking about. "Oh, Helena, I would hope I wouldn't have to explain this to you by now."
She shot up an eyebrow. How quickly and easily did he slip into condescension, so for his sake she hoped this was good. "Enlighten me."
"Their control is subtle. Buy this. Buy that. Vote for this person, all hidden in the deceptive candy-colored frames of a TV cartoon, deep in the big bright eyes of those adorable equines. They're sucked into it like, again, a drug, and then addicted…the hypnosis is strong, and it taps into the brain's frontal lobes, where our decision making and emotional processes take place. Eventually the populace will be waned to more drastic actions. Hate competition. Suspect all but those in control. Prosecute whom they want in court. Start wars. But it's so, so very subtle that Bronies and non-Bronies alike will never suspect cute little animated ponies are telling them to commit such deeds. Back when the targets were just impressionable little girls, resistance was possible but now…I guess I didn't expect them to reach this far and even less so for them to succeed so easily."
"Why is it that talking to you is so often an instant depressant?"
"Because the truth hurts, more often than not."
"Or maybe you're just insane." He tensed, and she immediately regretted the comment. There were parts of him, she'd come to find (no matter how very, very hard he tried to hide it) that were sensitive to the way people thought of him…well, not so much people, as much as her. He wanted her respect…her love. He needed it. He depended on it; it was his anchor to any sense of security and safety in his complicated, dangerous world.
"Baby doll…" she drawled, fingering his tie just gently enough to get him shifting in his seat. "Can we just relax and enjoy the rest of the day? No conspiracies, no costumes, no crimefighting. Just you, and me. Please?"
He hesitated. She knew he would. Breaking him away from his constant buzzing and whirring mind? Letting him think about something other than the downfall of mankind? Making him be just a man, just for one night? Never an easy task. But a task that could only be accomplished by her.
"I suppose."
"Fantastic." Helena grinned, and he accepted her kiss.