Beware of the Fangirls
Title: Beware of the Fangirls
Rating: PG 13
Characters: Damon Lindelof, Carlton Cuse, fangirls.
Disclaimer: This fic is written with all due respect to fans & Lost’s executive producers.
A/N: Written for fanon as canon at
charlielives. A sequel to
falafel_fiction’s Beware of the Fangirl. Won Best Humour Fic at
lost_fic_awards in April 2008.
Summary: Disgruntled that Damon did not follow through on his promises, the original fangirl decides its time to take it up a notch.
Banner by
isis2015.
x x x
Just remember, Damon. If you ever kill off my Charlie or neglect his character again I will hunt you down, Mr Man.” She paused for a moment and then added. “Don’t kill Sayid either.”
From Beware of the Fangirl by
falafel_fiction.
x x x
It was Friday afternoon and Carlton Cuse was in a funk. He should have been delighted because the forums were going wild dissecting last night’s first post-strike episode and the preliminary Nielsen ratings were good. Despite this, a dark cloud couldn’t help follow him. This was all going to be over soon and he worried that he had yet to achieve Whedonesque status among the fans, the critics or the industry. That hack Chris Carter was better known and what had he done lately? At best Carlton knew he was one half of something that only the most dedicated viewers called Darlton, which when it came to brands was not exactly up there with Dharma. When Lost went down in history as the best show ever on television, it would be J.J. who collected the accolades.
Did Abrams create the character of Benjamin Linus? Did Abrams come up with the snake in the mailbox that revitalized the show? Did Abrams put Henry Ian Cusick in a blue shirt?
Carlton was so preoccupied with these musings that he failed to notice a canister roll across his office floor and clink against the base of his swivel chair. He didn’t hear the commotion across the hall from Damon’s office or the hiss of gas emerging from under his chair. Even as he passed out, his upper body splayed across his keyboard, Carlton’s last thought was of planting a fake news story about a cast member punching him to get some attention. He was sure Foxy would sign off on a wild tale like that.
When Carlton regained consciousness he was confused and thought perhaps he had really been knocked out by an overzealous cast member angry over their lack of screen time. Upon closer examination that was not the case. He was lying on his back in a field, handcuffed to a sleeping Damon. Carlton sat up, squinting in the darkness and holding his still groggy head. That was when he realized they were not alone. Three figures lurked in the distance and when his head popped up from the grass, they approached him.
As they came into view, Carlton was relieved to see they were harmless looking young women dressed for a day in the wilderness. Surely one of them would have a cell phone in their backpack and he could call his assistant or the police and sort out this prank.
“Hello! Over here! Can you help us?” Carlton called. “I’ve, we’ve…my friend…I don’t know what happened.”
The women stopped in front of him and the one in the middle knelt down beside him, shining a flashlight in his face. “Carlton Cuse?”
“Yes.” Maybe if he was being recognized by random hikers, then things were not all that bad.
“It took you long enough to wake-up. We don’t have all night.”
“What?” Carlton asked. It was then that he noticed the furious expressions etched deeply on each of the women’s faces. “Who are you?”
The youngest of the trio stepped forward and declared in a soft Australian accent that did nothing to mask the rage in her voice, “Your worst nightmare.”
“What?”
The one who had yet to speak ignored him and instead concentrated on kicking Damon lightly. This seemed to do the trick and the man came awake with a jerk, yanking Carlton’s arm painfully in the process. The first words out of his mouth were, “Oh God, not you again!”
At this point all three women’s attention shifted to Damon, whose eyes filled with a fear that Carlton had not seen since the suits at ABC came down on them for the Nikki and Paulo debacle. As a cold sweat broke over his body, it was only then that Carlton began to panic.
“Is this so unexpected?” asked the woman, a Brit, who Damon seemed to know. Carlton gathered she was the leader of this international band of kidnappers because strapped across her vest were an assortment of knives that would make Locke jealous. In the palm of her left hand was a grenade that she was handling as casually as she would a hard boiled egg.
He nudged his cowering friend, “Who are they?”
Damon bypassed Carlton’s question and instead addressed the woman with the grenade. “I did what you wanted.”
“You did nothing of the sort!”
“I…We…,” Damon said, acknowledging for the first time he was not alone in this situation. “We put Charlie in the premiere. He had a pivotal role!”
“Pivotal! Pivotal?” This was spoken by the American woman who had knelt beside him. She now turned her flashlight on Damon. “You call ‘dead but here’ pivotal”?”
“Don’t forget all the other scenes where everyone looked all sad and pensive. I thought you would like that.”
The leader leaned in so close that her nose touched Damon’s. “That’s not what we wanted at all!”
As she rambled on and on about Charlie, Carlton began to put two and two together. They were being held hostage by some crazed fans. Dominic always had the weirdest ones; all those perverted hobbit lovers. He sighed; this was going to be easy. All he had to do was promise them some cast autographs, and if that didn’t work, he was pretty sure the two of them, handcuffed together or not, could out run these three wackos.
“…and I also warned you about Sayid and look what you did to him? Shot? Broken hearted? And working for that dirty bird, BENJAMIN LINUS!”
Carlton stood, pulling Damon up with him. “Okay, okay, just relax,” he said, interrupting the rant. “If you just unlock us, we can all go back to my office where I can get you each a one year free subscription to the Lost magazine.”
“Don’t patronize her,” Damon hissed. “She’s dangerous. She held me hostage for hours last year and threatened me with a spear gun and a spider.”
This admission should have worried Carlton further but it only pricked his jealously. Why had she taken Damon and not him? Just because he was the co-creator? Ahh, he thought, straightening his shoulders and pushing out his chest, it was probably because she thought his writing partner was the weaker one, the one who would cave to such intimidation. He now recalls a time in late September when Damon came rushing to him in a panic about resurrecting Charlie, a notion he had shot down completely because if they were going to bring anyone back from the dead it would Shannon because she was hot or Mr. Friendly because he was less expensive.
“Ladies, ladies, clearly you spoke to the wrong person last time. What is it that I can do for you?”
The three women consulted him sceptically; each one’s right eyebrow rose in a sharp peak of disbelief. The appraisal seen endless but finally the leader spoke again, fondling her grenade. “All you need to do is bring our Charlie back. That’s all you ever needed to do.”
“Then you’ve just read my mind. It’s what’s been planned for the finale,” he lied, winking at Damon. “You just need to wait a few weeks.”
“Really? What’s going to happen?” The American woman grabbed his arm, digging in her nails. “Is there a portal? A cover-up? Time travel? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
“Oh, even better,” he said, unpeeling her fingers from his flesh. “It turns out all this time Charlie’s spirit has been sharing Miles’s body.” Thank goodness he had watched Ghost last night. “And then this big explosion in the finale….”
This time it was Damon who grabbed hold of his arm, digging his nails deep. “No explosions!” He pointed to the leader. “That one doesn’t like explosions.”
“Okay, this shooting star knocks Miles out and Charlie’s physical presence emerges and he and Claire live happily ever after.” That actually sounded pretty damn good. Maybe they could do something like that.
Not taking their eyes off the men, the women drew closer and conferred with some excitement. As they did, Carlton surveyed their surroundings. The landscape looked eerily familiar. He was pretty sure this clearing, bordered by trees, was a shooting location.
Carlton whispered to Damon, “If this doesn’t work, we run, okay.”
“Okay.”
The women broke their huddle and the Australian asked a question. “How come we haven’t read any spoilers indicating such an ending?”
“Well, we’ve obviously keeping that on the D.L. I’ll need you girls to promise to keep this quiet.”
The American and the Australian nodded eagerly but the Englishwoman regarded him with great suspicion. “What about Aaron?”
“How about you take off these cuffs and I’ll let you in on all the great big Lost secrets like the four toed statue and the Smoke Monster and who Kate will choose.”
That last remark only served to set the leader off again. Her eyes glittered with rage and she ran at him, the knives on her vest glinting in the moonlight. “Nobody gives a cockadoodie about who Kate chooses, Mr. Man. You’re a big fat liar. Everyone knows Dom is busy filming Wolverine and is unavailable to return to Lost this season. What type of fool do you take me for?”
“Ah well, this top secret I tell you. Top secret,” he stated, backing away and under his breath his murmured “run” but Damon remained frozen, unable to take his eyes off the grenade in her hand.
“Do you know what we do with liars? You should, I learned it from you.” She held the grenade up to his mouth.
This time Carlton didn’t wait for Damon; he just started to run, dragging his partner along with him. They were about ten metres away from the tree line when he risked a glance behind and saw that the women were not following. Relief flooded his body but then he heard something that halted it and turned it into terror.
“Light ‘em up, girls.”
Suddenly the blackness in front of them dissolved and lit torches appeared all around the clearing. On the edges, they could make out the shadowy bodies of dozens of other fangirls, apparently some with pyrotechnic experience. He and Damon swung around, looking for a gap but they were trapped, trapped by their own genius. They remained were they were, heads hung in fear, as the three women approached them, triumph written across their faces.
The leader held her arms out, as if inviting her fellow nut jobs closer for a hug. “As you can see, there is no escape.”
“Killing us won’t get you anywhere,” Carlton said, thrusting his chin out.
“Oh, we’re not going to need to kill you. You’re just going to stay with us for a while.”
Thinking he had caught her in so-called-net, he challenged, “Then you won’t have any show at all.”
“No, you don’t understand. Only you are staying with us, Carlton. Damon is free to go. As long as he promises to follow through with our demands, you’ll be safe.”
The Australian produced a list from her pocket and began to read. “First, before this season ends you must have several scenes acknowledging how Charlie’s death impacted each of his friends, especially Claire. She must find the ring and his greatest hits list.”
When she was finished, she passed the list to the American, who continued, “Also, you must explain the nature of Desmond’s flashes and why the island targeted Charlie for death. Most importantly, you have to ensure the prophecy of rescue for Aaron and Claire is fulfilled sooner rather than later.”
“And in season five,” the leader spoke, not needing to read from the list because clearly she had authored these demands. “Charlie must be brought back, not as a vision or a ghost or a zombie, but fully alive. As we discussed before, there are many creative options available for this.”
“You girls are crazy. Disney does not negotiate with terrorists,” Carlton insisted.
“Sorry, Carlton.” Damon pulled out a small key from his pocket and unlocked his side of the cuffs. “I already agreed to this back at the office. I just had to show them you were the real problem.”
Carlton's jaw dropped so fast it made a clicking sound. Again, foiled by his own genius! He was less shocked at the Juliet-ish betrayal than he was at Damon’s hiding acting talents. This must have come from all his hobnobbing with Emerson and O’Quinn at craft services. “Traitor!”
Damon just shrugged. “If you had just listened to me in the fall, we could have avoided all this. Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you after the May sweeps.”
“Don’t leave me here, Damon! You can’t do it alone!” When he got no response, he appealed to the women. “He can’t write Charlie like I can.”
“Oh, I’ll have some help. Bad Robot just hired some new technical advisors,” Damon said, nodding to the three women whose manic edge had vanished and were now bouncing up and down with glee and slapping palms.
“They’re going with you?” Carlton sputtered, insulted that he was going to be passed over to some C-list fangirl barely trusted with holding a torch. “Well, who’s going to look after me?”
The leader whistled sharply and a woman appeared from the trees. The first thing Carlton noticed was that her wild eyes matched her appearance. Her long black hair was a mess; twigs and leaves tangled in the curls. Her clothes were ragged and she looked and smelled like she had not bathed in weeks. She stood a few feet away, head cocked, with a long rope dangling from her hands.
“This is B. She’s going to watch over you.” The leader explained, snapping the other cuff on Carlton’s free wrist. He didn’t resist because suddenly he was aware of how this whole affair could turn into a PR advantage, finally separating him from Damon. Producer ravaged by fangirls! In his future he saw Oprah, a memoir, and movie-of-the week, possibly starring Holloway with a perm. Take that Abrams! With this in mind, Carlton allowed her to tie B’s rope around the chain so he could be dragged away in the brush like a dog.
Before she left with Damon, the leader whispered in his ear. “If you think we’re crazy, then you're in for a big surprise. B has a few bones to pick with you about her bonne amie, Mme. Rousseau.”
He tried to smile at his captor but she just bared her teeth and if he’s not mistaken, growled.
“Ummmm.”
x x x
Rating: PG 13
Characters: Damon Lindelof, Carlton Cuse, fangirls.
Disclaimer: This fic is written with all due respect to fans & Lost’s executive producers.
A/N: Written for fanon as canon at
charlielives. A sequel to
falafel_fiction’s Beware of the Fangirl. Won Best Humour Fic at
lost_fic_awards in April 2008.
Summary: Disgruntled that Damon did not follow through on his promises, the original fangirl decides its time to take it up a notch.
Banner by
isis2015.
x x x
Just remember, Damon. If you ever kill off my Charlie or neglect his character again I will hunt you down, Mr Man.” She paused for a moment and then added. “Don’t kill Sayid either.”
From Beware of the Fangirl by
falafel_fiction.
x x x
It was Friday afternoon and Carlton Cuse was in a funk. He should have been delighted because the forums were going wild dissecting last night’s first post-strike episode and the preliminary Nielsen ratings were good. Despite this, a dark cloud couldn’t help follow him. This was all going to be over soon and he worried that he had yet to achieve Whedonesque status among the fans, the critics or the industry. That hack Chris Carter was better known and what had he done lately? At best Carlton knew he was one half of something that only the most dedicated viewers called Darlton, which when it came to brands was not exactly up there with Dharma. When Lost went down in history as the best show ever on television, it would be J.J. who collected the accolades.
Did Abrams create the character of Benjamin Linus? Did Abrams come up with the snake in the mailbox that revitalized the show? Did Abrams put Henry Ian Cusick in a blue shirt?
Carlton was so preoccupied with these musings that he failed to notice a canister roll across his office floor and clink against the base of his swivel chair. He didn’t hear the commotion across the hall from Damon’s office or the hiss of gas emerging from under his chair. Even as he passed out, his upper body splayed across his keyboard, Carlton’s last thought was of planting a fake news story about a cast member punching him to get some attention. He was sure Foxy would sign off on a wild tale like that.
When Carlton regained consciousness he was confused and thought perhaps he had really been knocked out by an overzealous cast member angry over their lack of screen time. Upon closer examination that was not the case. He was lying on his back in a field, handcuffed to a sleeping Damon. Carlton sat up, squinting in the darkness and holding his still groggy head. That was when he realized they were not alone. Three figures lurked in the distance and when his head popped up from the grass, they approached him.
As they came into view, Carlton was relieved to see they were harmless looking young women dressed for a day in the wilderness. Surely one of them would have a cell phone in their backpack and he could call his assistant or the police and sort out this prank.
“Hello! Over here! Can you help us?” Carlton called. “I’ve, we’ve…my friend…I don’t know what happened.”
The women stopped in front of him and the one in the middle knelt down beside him, shining a flashlight in his face. “Carlton Cuse?”
“Yes.” Maybe if he was being recognized by random hikers, then things were not all that bad.
“It took you long enough to wake-up. We don’t have all night.”
“What?” Carlton asked. It was then that he noticed the furious expressions etched deeply on each of the women’s faces. “Who are you?”
The youngest of the trio stepped forward and declared in a soft Australian accent that did nothing to mask the rage in her voice, “Your worst nightmare.”
“What?”
The one who had yet to speak ignored him and instead concentrated on kicking Damon lightly. This seemed to do the trick and the man came awake with a jerk, yanking Carlton’s arm painfully in the process. The first words out of his mouth were, “Oh God, not you again!”
At this point all three women’s attention shifted to Damon, whose eyes filled with a fear that Carlton had not seen since the suits at ABC came down on them for the Nikki and Paulo debacle. As a cold sweat broke over his body, it was only then that Carlton began to panic.
“Is this so unexpected?” asked the woman, a Brit, who Damon seemed to know. Carlton gathered she was the leader of this international band of kidnappers because strapped across her vest were an assortment of knives that would make Locke jealous. In the palm of her left hand was a grenade that she was handling as casually as she would a hard boiled egg.
He nudged his cowering friend, “Who are they?”
Damon bypassed Carlton’s question and instead addressed the woman with the grenade. “I did what you wanted.”
“You did nothing of the sort!”
“I…We…,” Damon said, acknowledging for the first time he was not alone in this situation. “We put Charlie in the premiere. He had a pivotal role!”
“Pivotal! Pivotal?” This was spoken by the American woman who had knelt beside him. She now turned her flashlight on Damon. “You call ‘dead but here’ pivotal”?”
“Don’t forget all the other scenes where everyone looked all sad and pensive. I thought you would like that.”
The leader leaned in so close that her nose touched Damon’s. “That’s not what we wanted at all!”
As she rambled on and on about Charlie, Carlton began to put two and two together. They were being held hostage by some crazed fans. Dominic always had the weirdest ones; all those perverted hobbit lovers. He sighed; this was going to be easy. All he had to do was promise them some cast autographs, and if that didn’t work, he was pretty sure the two of them, handcuffed together or not, could out run these three wackos.
“…and I also warned you about Sayid and look what you did to him? Shot? Broken hearted? And working for that dirty bird, BENJAMIN LINUS!”
Carlton stood, pulling Damon up with him. “Okay, okay, just relax,” he said, interrupting the rant. “If you just unlock us, we can all go back to my office where I can get you each a one year free subscription to the Lost magazine.”
“Don’t patronize her,” Damon hissed. “She’s dangerous. She held me hostage for hours last year and threatened me with a spear gun and a spider.”
This admission should have worried Carlton further but it only pricked his jealously. Why had she taken Damon and not him? Just because he was the co-creator? Ahh, he thought, straightening his shoulders and pushing out his chest, it was probably because she thought his writing partner was the weaker one, the one who would cave to such intimidation. He now recalls a time in late September when Damon came rushing to him in a panic about resurrecting Charlie, a notion he had shot down completely because if they were going to bring anyone back from the dead it would Shannon because she was hot or Mr. Friendly because he was less expensive.
“Ladies, ladies, clearly you spoke to the wrong person last time. What is it that I can do for you?”
The three women consulted him sceptically; each one’s right eyebrow rose in a sharp peak of disbelief. The appraisal seen endless but finally the leader spoke again, fondling her grenade. “All you need to do is bring our Charlie back. That’s all you ever needed to do.”
“Then you’ve just read my mind. It’s what’s been planned for the finale,” he lied, winking at Damon. “You just need to wait a few weeks.”
“Really? What’s going to happen?” The American woman grabbed his arm, digging in her nails. “Is there a portal? A cover-up? Time travel? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
“Oh, even better,” he said, unpeeling her fingers from his flesh. “It turns out all this time Charlie’s spirit has been sharing Miles’s body.” Thank goodness he had watched Ghost last night. “And then this big explosion in the finale….”
This time it was Damon who grabbed hold of his arm, digging his nails deep. “No explosions!” He pointed to the leader. “That one doesn’t like explosions.”
“Okay, this shooting star knocks Miles out and Charlie’s physical presence emerges and he and Claire live happily ever after.” That actually sounded pretty damn good. Maybe they could do something like that.
Not taking their eyes off the men, the women drew closer and conferred with some excitement. As they did, Carlton surveyed their surroundings. The landscape looked eerily familiar. He was pretty sure this clearing, bordered by trees, was a shooting location.
Carlton whispered to Damon, “If this doesn’t work, we run, okay.”
“Okay.”
The women broke their huddle and the Australian asked a question. “How come we haven’t read any spoilers indicating such an ending?”
“Well, we’ve obviously keeping that on the D.L. I’ll need you girls to promise to keep this quiet.”
The American and the Australian nodded eagerly but the Englishwoman regarded him with great suspicion. “What about Aaron?”
“How about you take off these cuffs and I’ll let you in on all the great big Lost secrets like the four toed statue and the Smoke Monster and who Kate will choose.”
That last remark only served to set the leader off again. Her eyes glittered with rage and she ran at him, the knives on her vest glinting in the moonlight. “Nobody gives a cockadoodie about who Kate chooses, Mr. Man. You’re a big fat liar. Everyone knows Dom is busy filming Wolverine and is unavailable to return to Lost this season. What type of fool do you take me for?”
“Ah well, this top secret I tell you. Top secret,” he stated, backing away and under his breath his murmured “run” but Damon remained frozen, unable to take his eyes off the grenade in her hand.
“Do you know what we do with liars? You should, I learned it from you.” She held the grenade up to his mouth.
This time Carlton didn’t wait for Damon; he just started to run, dragging his partner along with him. They were about ten metres away from the tree line when he risked a glance behind and saw that the women were not following. Relief flooded his body but then he heard something that halted it and turned it into terror.
“Light ‘em up, girls.”
Suddenly the blackness in front of them dissolved and lit torches appeared all around the clearing. On the edges, they could make out the shadowy bodies of dozens of other fangirls, apparently some with pyrotechnic experience. He and Damon swung around, looking for a gap but they were trapped, trapped by their own genius. They remained were they were, heads hung in fear, as the three women approached them, triumph written across their faces.
The leader held her arms out, as if inviting her fellow nut jobs closer for a hug. “As you can see, there is no escape.”
“Killing us won’t get you anywhere,” Carlton said, thrusting his chin out.
“Oh, we’re not going to need to kill you. You’re just going to stay with us for a while.”
Thinking he had caught her in so-called-net, he challenged, “Then you won’t have any show at all.”
“No, you don’t understand. Only you are staying with us, Carlton. Damon is free to go. As long as he promises to follow through with our demands, you’ll be safe.”
The Australian produced a list from her pocket and began to read. “First, before this season ends you must have several scenes acknowledging how Charlie’s death impacted each of his friends, especially Claire. She must find the ring and his greatest hits list.”
When she was finished, she passed the list to the American, who continued, “Also, you must explain the nature of Desmond’s flashes and why the island targeted Charlie for death. Most importantly, you have to ensure the prophecy of rescue for Aaron and Claire is fulfilled sooner rather than later.”
“And in season five,” the leader spoke, not needing to read from the list because clearly she had authored these demands. “Charlie must be brought back, not as a vision or a ghost or a zombie, but fully alive. As we discussed before, there are many creative options available for this.”
“You girls are crazy. Disney does not negotiate with terrorists,” Carlton insisted.
“Sorry, Carlton.” Damon pulled out a small key from his pocket and unlocked his side of the cuffs. “I already agreed to this back at the office. I just had to show them you were the real problem.”
Carlton's jaw dropped so fast it made a clicking sound. Again, foiled by his own genius! He was less shocked at the Juliet-ish betrayal than he was at Damon’s hiding acting talents. This must have come from all his hobnobbing with Emerson and O’Quinn at craft services. “Traitor!”
Damon just shrugged. “If you had just listened to me in the fall, we could have avoided all this. Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you after the May sweeps.”
“Don’t leave me here, Damon! You can’t do it alone!” When he got no response, he appealed to the women. “He can’t write Charlie like I can.”
“Oh, I’ll have some help. Bad Robot just hired some new technical advisors,” Damon said, nodding to the three women whose manic edge had vanished and were now bouncing up and down with glee and slapping palms.
“They’re going with you?” Carlton sputtered, insulted that he was going to be passed over to some C-list fangirl barely trusted with holding a torch. “Well, who’s going to look after me?”
The leader whistled sharply and a woman appeared from the trees. The first thing Carlton noticed was that her wild eyes matched her appearance. Her long black hair was a mess; twigs and leaves tangled in the curls. Her clothes were ragged and she looked and smelled like she had not bathed in weeks. She stood a few feet away, head cocked, with a long rope dangling from her hands.
“This is B. She’s going to watch over you.” The leader explained, snapping the other cuff on Carlton’s free wrist. He didn’t resist because suddenly he was aware of how this whole affair could turn into a PR advantage, finally separating him from Damon. Producer ravaged by fangirls! In his future he saw Oprah, a memoir, and movie-of-the week, possibly starring Holloway with a perm. Take that Abrams! With this in mind, Carlton allowed her to tie B’s rope around the chain so he could be dragged away in the brush like a dog.
Before she left with Damon, the leader whispered in his ear. “If you think we’re crazy, then you're in for a big surprise. B has a few bones to pick with you about her bonne amie, Mme. Rousseau.”
He tried to smile at his captor but she just bared her teeth and if he’s not mistaken, growled.
“Ummmm.”
x x x