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In your own space, create a fanwork. Make a drabble, a ficlet, a podfic, or an icon, art or meta or a rec list. Arts and crafts. Draft a critical essay about a particular media. Put together a picspam or a fanmix. Write a review of a Broadway show, a movie, a concert, a poetry reading, a museum trip, a you-should-be-listening-to-this-band essay. Compose some limericks, haikus, free-form poetry, 5-word stories. Document a particular bit of real person canon. Take some pictures. Draw a stick-figure comic. Create something. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so. 


 
Finch's bodyguards lumbered forward, pinning him in on the sidewalk, telegraphing their strategy. Despite the booze, John still had the speed and instinct to counter the clumsy attack and draw blood.

And, relieve both men of their wallets. Just by the weight of them in sunk to the bottom of his overcoat's pockets he could tell Finch was generous with the 'walking around' money. Good, he thought, melting into the crowd and away from the scene of Finch and his henchmen, he had plans for his new found fortune.

He'd had plans when he initially came back to the States. Plans to save Jessica, plans for their lives after Arndt and the C.I.A. Confident plans now shattered against the hard plain of reality. Jessica was dead. With any luck, after one more bottle and a last night in the comfort of a warm room and soft bed, he would be too.

John disappeared in the frenzy of the city, losing Finch and his men along the way. While he appreciated the cash, he could have done without the unscheduled meeting with the guy. Whatever is motivations, it was obvious that Finch had no idea how stupid his plan was. Saving innocent people? John had been there, tried that, and in his experience, there was no purpose to it. Bad things happened to good people everyday. Who the hell was Finch to think he could stop that?

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