#his museum uniform makes me think of him in severance…

[bathylychnops]

longhaired museum security guard…

lately i have been inlove with idea ofhim in his museum uniform and his longer hair… i think he doesnt grow it longer than this before he chops it but ough..

ihavnt drawn anything colored a lined in awhile tryingto warm up againnn urgh… ifthis looksweird i knoww okay

[nerdygirlramblings]

can't get this lyric from Lola Young's "Messy" out of my head: "A thousand people I could be for you and you hate the fucking lot"

thinking about reader with a crappy SO being saved by the 141

fluff with an abrupt ending

cw: bad attempt at accents

The first time Gaz sees you is in the museum. He has paperwork to drop off, and you greet him as he enters. He pulls up short; he's never seen you before. He knows he'd remember your beautiful face.

"G'morning!" you chirp, smiling brightly at him. "How can I help you..." You peer at his uniform, and it takes Gaz a moment to realize you're looking for rank insignia.

"I'm a Sergeant. Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Of the 141. But you can call me Gaz," he says. You look down briefly before meeting his eyes, your smile softer - both more vulnerable and more guarded - and give him your name.

"How can I help you, Sergeant?"

He rolls his eyes, but smiles back and tells you what he needs. You call the Captain who oversees the museum. The older man comes forward from a door along the back wall, claps you on the shoulder as thanks, and guides Gaz away. He chances a look over his shoulder as he leaves, catches your eye, and smiles one more time.

He finds out from the Captain you're a civilian volunteer. "Think she must work remote," he says, "'cause she's here all the time."

A few days later Gaz takes the long route from the mess to the training field with the express intent on trying to find you at the museum. Soap watches him veer left instead of right, a small plate of biscuits in hand, and tags along. "Where're we headed? And more importantly, can I have a biscuit?" Soap asks, hand reaching for the plate.

Gaz doesn't spare Soap a glance, nor does he slow his stride, but he smacks Soap's hand and pulls the biscuits further from the Scot's reach. He keeps walking toward the light infantry museum. As other buildings fell away, Soap figures where they're headed. "Wha's going on a' the museum?" When Gaz stays quiet, Soap amends, "Och, I guess I should ask, who's a' the museum, right?"

Gaz scoffs but can feel the heat in his face. He doesn't know what to say, but he recognizes he's smitten. He doesn't even know why; his interaction with you had been so short-lived. But he can't deny there is something that draws him to you. As they come up to the front doors, Gaz can't see you at the desk, can't see anyone at all in the front of the building, so he opens the door and calls out a greeting.

"Back here!" your voice calls out from the bowels of the museum. Gaz and Soap, who perks up at the mere sound of your voice, make their way past several displays about the history of infantry from Hereford to find you in the back corner. You look up from the open case where you are adjusting something small against black velvet. When you see Gaz, your eyes widen slightly in recognition, and you say, "Oh, Sergeant! Do you need the Captain again?"

He shakes his head and says, "I told you, doll, call me Gaz." He notices how you glance away again, seemingly waffling between discomfort and bashfulness.

Soap takes the break to push past Gaz and stick out his hand. "Name's Soap, bonnie."

You step back from the case, closing the glass and locking it shut. You take two steps towards them and extended your hand to shake Soap's. You give him your name and ask, "Is your name really Soap?"

He laughs. "Well, if ye cannae call Gaz Gaz, I'm nae dafty enough to give ye my full name."

You smile big at that and hold up your hands. "Point taken, Soap. And Gaz," you add, still smiling. "How can I help you today?"

Gaz presents the biscuits and says, "Saw these in the mess, and I thought you might like a little treat."

Your mouth pops open, but before you can respond another voice shouts, "Babe! Hey! Where the hell are ya?" You meet both Gaz's and Soap's eyes, and Gaz see a mixture of regret and shame in your gaze.

"I... I'm sorry," you stammer. Then you quickly turn and head for the front of the museum, leaving Gaz still holding out the plate of biscuits. They hear you call, "I'm coming!"

Gaz looks at Soap, the angry line of his jaw unmistakable. "Who the hell talks to their girl like tha'?" Because clearly, whoever called you is someone you know. Someone close. Gaz flicks his gaze to follow where you went and Soap nods. Both men walk silently towards the front doors and stop just out of sight of you and the man you are speaking with.

Your voice is low, and it is clear your partner is trying to keep his low too, but he is failing miserably. Gaz and Soap can hear grumbled words and phrases, "fuckin' hell" and "goddamn stupid" and "unbelievable." Each word seems to strike true, and you deflate before their eyes, shoulders hunched, arms crossed as if warding off the attack. Your partner seems to be gathering steam when you put a placating hand on his arm. Though you're quite, Soap and Gaz hear you tell him, "I'm sorry. I just thought you'd like me close." The man, shakes your hand off his arm and says, clearly, "What I'd like is if you're home with dinner ready when I get home, not comin' in after me with some take away because you still have your own damn work to do."

Gaz and Soap make their way out, unseen, but when you get back to the information desk, the plate of biscuits is sitting there, waiting.

A week after that ugly confrontation, Gaz and Soap have done some digging around base to find out more about you and the soldier who'd made you feel so small. They're in the briefing room, sharing intel like you're their next op.

Soap opens the flap of a thin folder and slides it across to Gaz. "Wanker's a Warrant Officer. Does some technical shite."

Gaz slams the cover closed. "I don't care what he does, but him being a WO's gonna be a problem." Soap cocks his head to the side, eyebrow raised. "We can't go around talkin' shite about him, Soap. We got Price and Ghost in our corner - or we would if we told 'em - but the fucker outranks us," he says, motioning between himself and the Scot.

"Then we tell Price and Ghost, get them to come down on 'im," Soap replies. "Simple."

Gaz rolls his eyes. "'Cept it isn't simple." He passes his folder to Soap. Your picture is clipped to the front cover. "She applied to volunteer at the museum after he got stationed here. Got a design background, so they snatched up her help. Traced back her last job, and she went from a full-time London agency to mostly freelance." Gaz watches Soap try to piece things together and rushes on, "Seems like she's only here because he is. We make things hard for him, she's likely gone too."

Soap frowns. They need to come up with something. It's in this quiet, frustrated concentration that Price and Ghost find the sergeants.

"Wha's all this, then?" Price asks, noting old To Let ads, examples of your design work, and your significant other's list of commendations.

Gaz looks from the papers on the table to his superior. "Well, Cap, there's this girl..."

It's a fortnight until Soap sees you, this time with Ghost in tow. They'd been making their way back from the motor pool when Soap notices you lingering outside the museum. He walks over, and Ghost follows in his wake.

"Hey, lass," he calls as he approaches. You look up with a slight frown until you see who it is.

"Hi Soap," you reply. He noted your smile is not as sincere as when you'd met. It doesn't reach your eyes.

"Ye okay?" he asks, coming to a stop in front of you.

His question startles you. "What? Oh, yes, I'm fine." He can tell you're distracted but doesn't push. "Can I help you with something, or..." You trail off, and he can see that you're not sure how to handle this interaction.

"Ach, nothing like tha'," he tells you. "Just saw ye oot here and came to say hello." He points to Ghost. "Ye meet Ghost yet?" He knows you haven't. Despite Gaz and Soap singing your praises, and especially extolling all the reasons they needed to step in and save you from the complete horse's ass you call a boyfriend, neither Price nor Ghost has made any attempt to meet you.

"No. I haven't had the pleasure yet, though your work is legendary," you tell Ghost. You put your hand out and offer your name. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

Ghost glances at your hand for a moment too long and your strained smile falters more, your hand wavering where it's hanging. You're pulling it back when Ghost grips it tightly. "You the museum volunteer?" he asks.

You laugh, a tinkling little giggle, and both Soap and Ghost are amazed. Everyone is so intimidated by Ghost, especially when he wears his skull mask, all but the 141 and Laswell, that it's hard to know how to react when that underlying fear isn't present.

"I'm a volunteer, sir. There are several of us. I just seem to put in more hours than most." Soap knows that's because you do your design work when you're off base.

"Well, my break is almost over, so I should get back inside," you tell them reluctantly. You make a motion to say more when a car pulls into the car park. Soap recognizes your boyfriend and surreptitiously elbows Ghost.

"There you are," the man says with exasperation, leaning out the window. "I called your cell and the front desk, but there was no answer." He turns to glare at Soap and Ghost before realizing who Ghost is. He immediately sits up straight in his seat. There's a shit in his tone, too. He's more conciliatory as he says, "I wanted to tell you I can't drive you back tonight. You'll need to call a cab."

Soap sees the way your jaw ticks before you respond. "Thank you for telling me before my shift ends. Should I expect you home at all tonight?" you ask.

Your boyfriend gives a put-upon sigh before noting your audience. "I should be home, but it'll be late," he admits.

You nod and try to flash a smile. "Okay. Be safe, yeah?"

Soap watches your boyfriend gives a genuine smile in return. "Sure, babe," he says. "Text me when you get home." He's putting up the window and backing the car out as you call out an aborted farewell.

You're a little more crestfallen when you remind Soap and Ghost you have to get back to your museum work. They watch you walk away, and as the door closes behind you, Ghost grunts, "I'm in."

The following month sees one member of the 141 or another drop by the museum every few days. At first they make excuses for why they're there, but eventually Soap admits they like your company. Gaz and Ghost are ready to tear into the man when they hear about it, but the change in you is noticable. You're open, friendlier if possible.

You tell them about your work, the designs you created in London and how you've convinced the Captain in charge of the museum to let you modernize the installations. If they chat with you in the museum, you show them what you've changed and talk about what you want to do next. You open up about your love of baking and find yourself the recipient of a pastry cutter, cookie scoop, and silicone muffin cups. You tell them how you never left the UK but desperately want to travel. A few days later a passport application shows up on your desk clipped to travel brochures for Mallorca, the Canary Islands, Algarve, Benidorm, and Crete.

You talk, reluctantly, about your boyfriend, and only when asked directly. How you've known one another since secondary school. How he worked to woo you when you started university, despite being in basic at the time. How magical those first few years were. How his career took off and quickly trumped yours. How you followed him here at his insistence.

Through all these little conversations, you learn about them too. They tell you about their job, their families, their hobbies, their past. How they came together on the task force. What they want from life. What they want from you. They want you to know them.

As they learn about you, they also start collecting more Intel on said boyfriend. The flat you share is in your name; his housing allowance squirreled away in the bank in an account only he has access to. The car is in his name, forcing you to rely on him or cabs for transport to and from base. Though he works in the admin building, and you volunteer at the museum, he spends a lot of time in medical. The 141 suspects he's running around on you with one of the nurses, and if they could prove it, they would.

Until then, they bide their time.

Nearly two months after meeting Gaz, you have the opportunity to meet Price at a base gala. Your boyfriend invites you as his arm candy, bringing you around to his CO to make a good impression. He's expecting you to be at his side all night and is shocked when, halfway through the night, you wave across the room. You'd spotted the 141 skulking against the back wall.

You try to bring your boyfriend over to them to say hi, but he takes a quick look in their direction and steers you away. It's several minutes until they make their way across the room to you.

Soap reaches you first, arms open for a hug. Before you can step fully into his embrace, he holds you at arm's length. "Bon, ye're a sight! Don't think I've ever seen something so lovely." You giggle and let him pull you close.

Gaz steps up next. "Soap's right. You're a vision, doll. Ya clean up real nice." He smiles big and kisses your cheek. Even Ghost goes for a quick, one-armed hug, eyes crinkling above his mask.

You greet each man and turn to introduce your boyfriend. He opens and closes his mouth several times before stuttering out his name and holding out his hand. The 141 all shake his hand, gripping it a little tighter than necessary. He pinches your elbow and steps back, ignorant of the grimace that flickers across your face. Though he drops his voice, they hear him clearly as he hisses, "You never told me you were so close with the 141! What the hell! Did you even think about me? What will my CO think about you being so close with them, huh?" He tries to move you away from them and over to some members of the medical staff, including a pretty nurse who keeps glaring at you, not that you notice. (The 141 does as she's the one they think your twat of a boyfriend is running around on you with.)

Before he can take more than a few steps away, Price steps forward and holds a hand out to you. "Captain Price, darling. Such a pleasure to put a face to the girl my men have been gushing about these last few weeks."

You stand your ground despite how your boyfriend tries to pull you away. "Captain!" you practically squeal. You open your arms for a hug, ignoring his outstretched hand. "I feel like I know you already."

You chat for another few minutes before your boyfriend succeeds in getting your full attention by telling you he's tired and plans to leave. As you walk away on your boyfriend's arm, Price turns to the others and murmurs, "She's ours, boys. Now to let her know it."

From that moment on, you become the 141's unofficial mission. They go hard on gathering intel, tapping into base cameras to finally catch your boyfriend cheating. Often. And with several different nurses. They talk to the Captain who runs the museum, finding out how you've improved different installations. They take that to base command and convince them to create a non-volunteer civilian curator / exhibition designer position. They find a vehicle in base surplus and grab its on offer ad.

All of this information finds its way to your desk. In a full-circle moment, Gaz is the one stationed near the museum when you find the folder filled with photos of your boyfriend kissing different people; a contract to work at the museum, continuing the work you're already doing and for more money than you're making with your freelance work; and an on offer ad to give you your own transportation. Gaz watches the shock on your face as you try to process everything.

He gives you a few minutes before coming up to you. "Hey," he says softly. "It's a lot, I know."

You look up at him, confusion clear as day across your face. You whisper, "Did you know? About him?" You look heartbroken despite how poorly Gaz knows he's treated you.

"We suspected, but didn't know for sure until the last week or so," he admits.

"We?" you strangle out, meeting his eyes.

He sees the defeat in your eyes. "Me and the others, Soap, Ghost, the Captain. We all like you, doll. And we wanted you to know there are men out there, men like us, who love you and would treat you so much better."

You can't deny the earnest look in his eyes. "What are you saying, Gaz?"

He smiles softly at you. "When you're ready, if you want, we want you. All of us. To be our girl, not his."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Was looking at a dorm morality sheet and realized Floyd kinda feels more like a Savannaclaw student than a Octavinelle. He doesn't seem as interested in monetary gain or picking on those weaker than himself like the others, nor have I seen him haggle students for things. But what do you think?

I’m afraid I’m not sure what morality sheet you’re referring to. Like… what scale or continuum is it operating on? What’s the point of comparison for these measures? Is this DnD rules…?

The idea of Floyd “fitting” Savanaclaw more than Octavinelle is actually mentioned in his Union Jacket vignettes. When asked which dorm he would like to be in, if not his current one, Floyd responds with Savanaclaw. His reasoning? Because “The strong guys are on top there. Seems like that'd keep things nice and simple. That means if I needed to, I could just throw down to defend myself.” It would ensure that no one bothers Floyd—although he also ends by saying, “At the end of the day, Octavinelle's the chillest option for me,” telling us that he is comfortable where he currently is.

Now, this does not mean that he doesn’t fit with Octavinelle’s morality or values though. I think you may be conflating the dorm leader’s desire for material wealth with it being a trait of everyone in Octavinelle, which simply isn’t true. Floyd’s twin, Jade, is also not motivated by monetary gain, but rather by personal amusement and interests. The whole haggling thing is mainly an Azul behavior, and something Ruggie—in Savanaclaw—also does. Floyd is shown to haggle too, if you look in the right places. Azul sends him to negotiate with Sam about buying the rights to a popular drink Sam sells in Floyd’s Dorm Uniform vignettes. He also knows how to leverage his skills to get what he wants—as recently as Lost in the Book with Stitch in EN, we see Floyd bribing Ace with food to get Ace to do what he wants. Anyway, the ability to haggle is just an individual character trait, not a dorm-wide shared trait. Savanaclaw is a dorm of athletes and persistence, Octavinelle is a dorm of intelligence and generosity—not money grubbing. To say that Octavinelle students have that penchant for money is oversimplifying the dormitory.

It should also be noted that “picking on the weak” isn’t an Octavinelle-exclusive trait. Other Night Raven College students (including Savanaclaw) do it too. Book 2 contains several examples of this, with the most prominent ones that comes to my mind being Leona kicking around the freshmen in a practice game of Magift/Spelldrive, and the Savanaclaw students in general going after players from other dorms.

Even if “picking on the weak” were somehow something only Octavinelle students engaged in, it isn’t even true that Floyd has no interest in it. We see him terrorize other students MANY times, even as far back as book 2. He and Jade pursue Yuu and co. for spying on them. He bullies anemones and squeezes mob students until they faint in book 3. He also relishes in keeping Yuu an co. from the Atlantica Museum in the same book. (I could list many more examples, but I’ll stop there.) Floyd also has a history of challenging or developing an interest in those he sees as strong. He thinks it’s funny when Riddle gets mad and all red in the face, even if it results in Floyd getting beat up afterwards. He asks Vil to teach him moves once he sees how strong Vil is in Happy Beans Day 2. He keeps pestering Leona to just fight him already, only to continuously get ignored. (Again, I could go on for a while here.)

My point is, Floyd can find joy in both seeking danger and in tormenting those that are not as strong as him, and Octavinelle on the whole is not a dorm associated with money. This doesn’t necessarily make him more suited to Savanaclaw than Octavinelle; he’s content with where he is, and I think he fits very well.

[hypogryffin]

ok but like so you know how portable had that one yukiko cameo. so like OBVI the remake is going to have p5 characters appear also <-straight copium. anyway here are my pitches

Image ID:

Three pages of rough sketches with colour blocks. Image 1 has Maruki (coloured blue) standing awkwardly with a seemingly nervous smile on his face, looking younger and wearing Gekkoukan High School's uniform. A smaller drawing next to him shows himself and Rumi (red) smiling and laughing together. The text next to them reads "If Maruki was school-age at the time of P3's story he'd be about 22-25 years old [during P5 canon]". The number 22 has an arrow pointing to it that reads "1st year HS", and 25 has another that says "3rd year HS". The text continues, "Since he's supposed to be older (I think), it wouldn't make sense for him to show up". A wailing emoji with its hands up in the air is added next to the block of text. From there, an arrow with the caption "But!" points to another sketch of Ichinose (green) in Gekkoukan's summer uniform. The message continues next to another drawing of Ichinose, this time in the regular/winter uniform, "I do think Ichinose is probably the right age for it! Definitely not because I've been wanting to draw her recently nope no siree". Further notes continue down, reading "One or two [ear] piercings, none on the face" with a drawing of an earlobe, "Shorter hair" with a dotted line and a sketch of scissors depicting that her hair is about shoulder-length, and finally, "She'd still be in her stoic era so no smiles here, LOL." Additionally, back near the drawings of Maruki, there is another sketch of Rumi in Gekkoukan's uniform, with a note that says, "Were Maruki and Rumi canonically high school sweethearts? Or did I just hallucinate that information"

Image 2: A drawing of Zenkichi (dark blue) in an unbuttoned suit. He has his hair in a ponytail, and his arms folded behind his back. The text next to him reads, "Zenkichi, approximately mid-to-late 30s. / He can't be aware of the Dark Hour for [the sake of] continuity in Strikers, obviously, but he could still be reasonably(?) involved? I.E. assisting Kurosawa with something? Maybe related to a request from Elizabeth, a social link story(???), or main story things like [A block that reads "Spoilers" in all capital letters]'s death or Fuuka's "disappearance". I don't know, man." There are a few asides written next to it, reading "Maybe [he and Kurosawa are] friends" and "Investigating Apathy Syndrome?" respectively. Then the text continues, "Could be [Public Security], or maybe a career police officer (as in pre-promotion or something, I don't know I'm not a pig, myself". An additional doodle has the information "Akane would be about 7 years old" alongside a drawing of Zenkichi blabbering senselessly about his daughter, showing off a set of pictures, to the Persona 3 Protagonist (light blue), who looks awkward and has "Go away" written behind him as his internal thoughts several times.

Also, there is a sketch of Mitsuru (red) in plainclothes, smiling as she holds up two tickets, saying "I have received tickets to a gallery by Madarame Ichiryuusai, I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me there." The next drawing is of Yukari (pink) smiling and looking up from the book she's reading, though visibly apprehensive. She says, "Uh, yeah, sure, that sounds fun!" While her inner monologue yells "That sounds so fucking boring holy shit". It then cuts to her gripping the protagonist's shoulders, saying, "I need you to come with me to this stupid ass art museum I can't say no to Mitsuru-senpai." The protagonist says, "I, like, could not want to do anything less-" but is interrupted by Yukari adding, "I'll buy you dinner after and you can bring Aegis." The protagonist says, "Deal."

Image 3: A drawing of the lobby of the dorms. The protagonist (blue) sits on one of the couches with Koromaru (grey) sleeping with his head in his lap. The TV is on, showing a picture of someone standing at a podium with microphones pointed at them, and blares "Diet member Shido Masayoshi makes bold new proposal on foreign policy..." The protagonist watches, seeming disinterested. The next drawing is of the Big Bang Burger logo, with someone saying, "'Big Bang Burger'?", getting the reply, "Yeah, they just opened a shop last week. Wild Duck's got competition now, I guess." The next panel is of Ryoji Mochizuki (teal) and the protagonist standing together, revealing Ryoji to have been the first one to speak, now continuing, "Eeh, wow, that name is so lame!" as he smiles genially. He then turns to the protagonist, pointing to himself as he says, "Hey, you wanna try it? I'll pay!" The protagonist shrugs and says, "Sure."

End ID.

[gumnut-logic]

Along the Way (Part 7 and The End)

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

It's finished! ::runs around the room like a loon:: Though I have to say that I doubt this will be the last we see of Mr Sweetapple as there are several threads that need a good neat tie up :D

All the wonderful thanks to @onereyofstarlight for staying up extra late and answering my poke across the Tasman Sea for a last minute read. I hope Alex gives you some nice sleep ::hugs tight::

Also, special thanks to all of you for supporting my geeky fanboy Alex :D There will be more as someone sent me some OC asks about Alex and I've realised that the only way I can answer them is by writing fic. (some other OCs of mine might pop up in fic at some point,too, for that exact same reason) ::so many hugs to all of you for being so kind to me::

But anyway, I will stop my excited rambling and present you with the last chapter of this fic....which has taken so long to write - so many apologies. Though I am excited that I'm writing again :D

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

Alexander Sweetapple’s head was spinning.

Not so much from the concussion he had no doubt he had, thank you, Mr Holographic Scott Tracy, but more from the fact that Virgil had just kissed him.

Not Mr Virgil Tracy, Head of Research and Development at Tracy Industries, no….more ‘ohmigod, I finally found you and you’re alive, I want to hug and kiss your brains out’ Virgil Tracy.

The man was covered in concrete dust and grime, there was more grey than blue on his uniform bar the scratched patches where his now discarded exosuit had sat.

Alex had proof Virgil had hugged him via all the dusty patches on his damp clothes, on his arms, and in his hair.

Virgil Tracy had hugged and kissed him.

For real.

Alex stood beside his mum while Virgil assessed the condition of her ankle and she went about embarrassing her son every way possible.

To be honest, it had been such a day that she was welcome to show Virgil Alex’s naked baby pictures for all he cared. She was safe and that was all important.

A glance over at the remains of the museum building prompted his heart to add a few extra beats per minute to its routine.

Alex let his jaw drop as he watched the roof float away.

Oh god.

“Alex?”

Virgil’s voice was so rich and deep.

“Alex?” And then Virgil grabbed him. Was he trying to hug him again. That would be nice. “Whoa! I think you need to sit down.”

Okay.

He folded himself smoothly down onto the pavement beside his mum.

“Hey, honey, look at me.” Her fingers were suddenly in his hair. “Allie, how the hell did you do all that with a head injury?” She peered closely at him. “Virgil, what do your scanners say?”

And yes, Virgil was waving a yellow light over Alex. “Concussion, bruising…” He frowned. “You’re both wet. You’ve been in the river?”

“Nearly drowned. My foot got stuck and Allie pulled me out. Some water, possibly sewage, may have been inhaled. My recommendation is to watch for symptoms of infection. In both of us.” Dr Sweetapple was in the house.

He turned to Virgil only to find his friend’s eyebrows fully deployed.

They were very nice eyebrows.

Virgil caught his stare. “Thunderbird One, I need to leave the danger zone. Ten minutes there and back for patient transport.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two. Make it quick, we need your help in the industrial sector.” A pause. “How’s Alex?”

“Concussion, but well enough…and safe.” Virgil still had his eyes.

“Good to hear. Thunderbird One out.”

“What are you doing, Virgil?” The words slipped out without thought.

Virgil looked down at his wrist control poking it. “You both need medical supervision. I’m providing it for you.”

A good hundred metres away, Thunderbird Two rose up on her struts and her module door slid smoothly open. Two hoverstretchers darted out across the road, gliding around obstacles until they reached Virgil’s side. He pulled out a control surface and reconfigured them into hoverchairs. “Sorry to rush this, but time is short. Alex, stay put while I help your mother.” He held up a gloved hand and Alex was forced to settle back and obey.

Besides, the world was spinning again, and after all, Virgil was technically his boss.

He let his head fall into his hand and closed his eyes, suddenly ever so tired.

So this was what an adrenalin drop felt like.

Ugh.

“Alex?” Virgil’s voice was soft and his gloved hand gentle on his arm. That was really nice. “Alex? You with me?”

He blinked. Oh. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you up.” Virgil nudged him, both hands holding his arms to steady him.

The world wobbled, but a few steps and Virgil had him snug and safe, strapped into the hover stretcher…chair…whatever the hell it was.

Virgil was running, Alex and his mother beside him, until they were all swallowed by the green of Thunderbird Two.

At some point, Virgil must has triggered the chair back into a bed because Alex was lying down and Virgil hovering over him, once again with a scanner flickering yellow light. “You can go to sleep, Alex. You’re okay and you’re safe.” A gloved hand gently brushed away the hair from Alex’s forehead. He knew this should mean something, but he was so tired.

Thunderbird green danced as his eyelids drifted closed.

Somewhere something was roaring just like a Thunderbird launching, but he had no energy to care.

-o-o-o-

Jeff stepped into the elevator only to almost collide with his mother. “Mom?”

“I’m meeting Thunderbird Two.”

“Why?” Was Virgil hurt? Why hadn’t John told him?

A hand on his arm quelled the sudden panic. “Virgil is fine. We have visitors.”

“Who?” Did he have to draw the information out bit by bit?

“Do you remember Alexander Sweetapple?”

“Of course, I do. Gordon thinks Virgil might be…interested.”

“He is.” She held up a finger so close to Jeff’s face, his eyes crossed. “And you are not going to say a thing. Yes, he’s breaking protocol, but he has good reason.” She looked away and let her finger drop. “The poor boy has been terrified all day. Thank god, they finally found Alex. And I don’t blame him for not wanting to let him out of his sight.” His mother stared up at Jeff with all the fire he knew she possessed. “Your son is bringing home his first romantic interest ever and you are not going to spout security blather all over him. This is our house and we can have guests. Especially important guests.”

Jeff took a step back. “I wasn’t going to say anything!” Virgil was bringing home Alex? As a love interest? “What the hell happened?” He really needed to speak to John about keeping him updated. He knew his orbiting son was selective, but this was ridiculous.

The elevator doors opened and his mother glared at him. “Something good. Don’t ruin it.” She stomped off into Two’s hangar, detouring into the medical supply cupboard on the way, just as the hangar doors started their opening sequence.

Jeff stepped cautiously out of the elevator. He had no idea what warranted his mother’s ire. Okay, maybe he had had some words with his eldest at one point, but that was nearly a decade ago.

His priorities were a little different these days.

Two roared in, a little faster than the norm. Virgil was obviously in a hurry. She spun on her turntable and the moment she settled, her forward hatch was lowered, Virgil standing between two hoverchairs.

Jeff hurried after his mother, cursing his cane, as Virgil strode with the two chairs towards them.

“Grandma, this is Doctor Lolly Sweetapple. Doctor Sweetapple, this is my grandmother, Doctor Sally Tracy, she and my father will be taking over your care.”

The two doctors exchanged greetings and slipped into medical babble two seconds later.

“Dad?” Virgil gestured him over. “You remember Alex?” Why was there so much hesitation in his son’s voice?

“Certainly, the creator of Siliwrap.” The man was obviously asleep. “How is he?”

“Concussion, bruising, he and his mother need monitoring for possible lung infection. They were caught in contaminated water.” His son swallowed; his expression hesitant. “I wanted them here, Dad. Grandma has the skills and the tools.” He looked away. “I just couldn’t leave them to the system.” His eyes fell on Alex and Jeff’s heart clenched.

“We will look after them.” He dropped a consoling hand to his son’s shoulder.

Vulnerable eyes looked up at him. “Thanks, Dad.” His hand was squeezed and Virgil was again moving. This time running back to his ‘bird.

His mother immediately took over and bustled them all into the elevator before they could acquire new coiffures a’la rocket engine.

As the doors closed, Thunderbird Two accelerated out on to her runway and the elevator shaft roared as she took to the sky.

-o-o-o-

Alex rolled over in bed and sighed into his pillow. He was extremely comfortable. Temperature was perfect. Pillow was soft. “Mmmmm….”

“About time you woke up, Allie. You were starting to worry me.” His mother’s voice was always reassuring.

“He’s fine, Lolly. Concussion is healing and there is no sign of any lung infection. See, look at the scans.”

Alex frowned. That was a female voice he didn’t recognise. Also, why was his mum in his bedroom?

“You’re giving me equipment envy, Sally. My god, the science behind this is amazing.”

“Virgil has them in development, don’t you worry. A good percentage of our breakthroughs do get filtered down into the market. Unfortunately, there is a difference between the ability to make a device for International Rescue and making devices in efficient, ecological and economic mass production. Our teams do their best.” A snort. “And your boy is part of that team. His devotion to Siliwrap is all to his credit. Alex is saving lives as much, if not more, as any at Tracy industries. You should be proud.”

“Oh, that’s a given. He’s always been a little obsessive, especially regarding the Thunderbirds.”

Wha-?

Alex flung his eyes open to find his mother lying on a bed beside him, smiling. She had her ankle wrapped and raised and was obviously talking to the owner of the other voice, an older lady dressed in a purple jumpsuit.

Both were smiling at him.

“Where am I?”

Yes, that’s the first question out of any alien abductee’s mouth, no doubt about it.

“You’re on Tracy Island, Alex. You and your mother are safe and our guests.” When Alex didn’t respond as his brain automatically overloaded. “I’m Mrs Tracy, Virgil’s grandmother.”

“Watch it, Sally, he may combust on the spot.”

Thanks, mum.

His mother was grinning at him. “I swear he’s been looking for the location of this island since he discovered his first Thunderbird.”

“Mum!”

“Shhh! You’ll wake him up.” His mum was pointing behind him.

“Lolly, don’t worry, Virgil sleeps like the dead. Especially after a rescue like that.”

Virgil? What?

He twisted around and found a third bed behind him. Virgil lay sprawled face down on it, snoring softly into his pillow.

“Don’t worry, honey. He’s just tired. Our boys exhaust themselves and then wonder why their bodies shut down.”

It was only then all the events leading up to his current situation fully loaded into his brain.

Virgil.

Virgil had kissed him. His chocolate eyes held such relief and joy…

The scene played back in his head over and over, declaring that it had happened. That something Alex may have dreamed about but never really considered actually possible, had happened.

He stared at Virgil.

Gone was the uniform and in its place a simple black t-shirt outlining a lax bicep hanging off the edge of the bed. Alex’s eyes tracked down the length of Virgil’s arm to his hand.

Such strong hands.

The emergency responder had a blanket draped over him, obviously placed there after the advent of slumber, likely by his purple grandmother.

“Why is he here?”

Mrs Tracy walked around Alex’s bed so she could face him. “Now, don’t you start worrying your head off, young man. He is fine. He’s in the bed because otherwise he’d be asleep in a chair and that is not acceptable self-care. He wanted to stay here with you and it was the bed or out. Exhaustion did the rest.”

He stared at her a moment, his thoughts spinning.

“How are you feeling, Allie?”

Huh? He turned back to his mother. “Mum, your ankle…”

She waved him off. “Hon, I’ve done worse tripping over kids in the waiting room. Nothing to worry about.” She frowned at him. “How’s your head?”

How was his head? How was he in general?

There were aches, yes, now that attention had been drawn to them, but generally, considering that he’d just been through a major disaster, he felt okay. “I’m okay.”

His eyes drifted back to Virgil.

“Don’t you think of getting out of bed just so you can sit at his bedside, Alex. I know how you boys think, so don’t think you can pull one over on me.” Virgil’s grandmother was proving to be as bad as Alex’s mother.

“Don’t worry, Sally, he’s been very well trained from birth.”

“How did you manage that? I’ve been trying for nearly thirty years with the grandkids. Their father is just as bad.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Their father? Jeff Tracy. The Jeff Tracy who gave his name to Tracy Island. That Tracy Island that was ever so secret and Alex was currently resting his butt on. Well, the bed his was resting his butt on was on the Island. It was simple transference of molecular ownership.

Perhaps this was not the best moment to realise that he was wearing a black t-shirt very similar to Virgil’s and that it was not one he owned, nor was it one he was wearing the last time he was aware and conscious.

He pulled up the blanket and found black shorts. “Where are my clothes?” Perhaps the step up in octave was a little ridiculous on his part, but it had been a very stressful day.

“Your clothes were ruined, Allie. Jeff and Mrs Tracy were kind enough to supply and dress you in some replacements.” His mother was ever so matter-of-fact, as usual.

“Jeff Tracy saw me naked?!”

Okay, he had to admit, that was supposed to be inner voice and not shouted at the top of his lungs. In any case, it proved that it was possible to wake up Virgil Tracy, no matter what his grandmother said.

“Alex? What?”

He turned to find Virgil pushing himself up off the bed, hair sticking in all directions, obviously still half asleep.

“Honey, the man brought up five boys. One more is nothing new.” Mrs Tracy was as matter-of-fact as his mother.

Great. A team up.

“Virgil, go back to sleep.” Mrs Tracy bustled over to her grandson and attempted to get him to lie down.

But Virgil had caught sight of Alex. “Alex! You’re awake!”

Mrs Tracy actually rolled her eyes as Virgil threw off his covers and climbed out of bed. He closed the distance between them on bare feet. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Alex couldn’t help it. “You look adorable.” Because he did. Big tough rescue operative with puffy eyes and hair sticking up all over the place, not to mention the black t-shirt and shorts that hid absolutely zero anatomical detail. And above all, he was smiling, as if ever so happy to see Alex…which was some kind of miracle and honestly how hard had he hit is head?

“You’re not bad yourself.” That smile turned to one of appreciation.

What?

His mother did mention a concussion…

“Okay, it’s obvious Virgil is not going to listen to his doctor’s advice, so Lolly and I will leave you two boys alone.” Mrs Tracy poked at his mum’s bed and it detached from the wall, hovering quite happily and easily nudged out of the room.

“Allie, take it easy, love. You are recovering from a concussion, after all.”

Yeah, yeah, mum, whatever. Virgil’s eyes were such a beautiful shade of brown.

Both women muttered to each other as they left the room, closing the door behind them.

Virgil was poking Alex’s bed controls with his fingers. “Good. You’ve rested.” His eyes were tracking over medical readouts. Alex’s medical readouts.

“I’m okay, Virgil.”

The man looked up at him again. “Good.”

Alex frowned as Virgil lifted a hand up and gently brushed Alex’s hair clear of his left temple and the abrasion there. “Grandma’s treated you well.”

Alex wanted to fall into that gentle touch. His eyes may have at least partially closed.

“Are we okay?”

Alex’s eyes snapped open.

“I mean…” Those eyes looked down and away. No, come back! “…we haven’t talked about-“

Alex was suddenly kissing Virgil. There had been space between them, but now it was gone, Alex had his arms around those truly magnificent biceps, and startled lips were pressed up against his, ever so warm, and god, Virgil was kissing him back…

There was a brain whiteout for a moment as Virgil’s arms returned Alex’s eager embrace…and then Virgil’s tongue was in his mouth and…

“Whoa! My bad.”

Alex pulled back.

“No! No, you two just keep doin’ what you were doin’ and I’ll just put this coffee down and-“

“Gordon, what do you want?” Virgil hadn’t let go of Alex, but his head did turn towards his brother.

Alex was busy dying on the spot. Why did he do that? Kiss Virgil? Him?

“I brought you coffee! You know, life blood and all that.” Coffee? “Uh, you might want to get back to that tonsil hockey you were playing. Alex looks like he’s might dump you for the coffee.”

“Go away, Gordon.”

“Going away, leaving, like a tree. Happy for both of you. ‘Bout time, Virg.”

“Gordon!”

“I’m gone!” And he was, the door sliding shut behind him.

Virgil turned back to Alex. “Sorry about that.” A slight shrug. “I have brothers.”

Alex blinked. “I have sisters.”

Virgil’s smile was a sight to behold. “So, we’re okay?”

Alex had had a very hard day, his head was a bit of a mess and there were several truths he was ignoring to keep his sanity. But right now?

He tugged Virgil closer. “More than okay.”

“You want some coffee?”

But Virgil’s lips were brushing his and… “No, I’m good.”

The coffee went cold.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[oigimi]

arthur’s sequel - chapter 1

Translation notes provided at the bottom. Any text in italics is from a flashback. This process takes awhile but I’m re-falling in love with Arthur cuz of this. Pls enjoy!

There was a crescent moon in the sky the night I traveled from the Louvre Museum to 19th century Paris. It’s as if it was laughing at destiny itself…

I reminisced about it, and about my visit. I had experienced the worst encounter with “him,” and also the best love.

Arthur: Ah, you’re a good girl, so don’t act violently. Don’t be so rude and indulge in me. I’ll take care of you if you do.

With his vampire fangs peeking through, he uttered a nastily sweet whisper.

The flirtatious playboy mystery author, Arthur Conan Doyle. Even though he was the one I should’ve been the most cautious of, I became naturally drawn to him. He was like a gentle breeze caressing my cheeks.

Arthur: Well, MC. Why don’t we wager?

MC: Wager…?

Arthur: Whoever is first to kiss the other loses. When I win, I plan to capture every part of you. Your body, your heart, and even your destiny.

When we were together, it was so much fun I felt my heart soar. But the game of love was so painful it tightened my chest. Before long, I got to know the Arthur behind his smile, and the dark past he hid.

Arthur: I won’t kiss you. I can’t. Because if I want you, you’ll be gone. Isn’t that right…?

I’ll always be here for him. I want to protect Arthur, who smiles fleetingly, and his heart that is truly so kind and beautiful, no matter what.

A strong, irresistible feeling overcame a cruel fate. And…

Arthur: I can’t think of anyone else who makes me as obsessed as you. You’re the only opponent I’d ever want to lose to.

MC: Then will you let me win our game of who can make the other happier?

Arthur: That’s…

Arthur: Sorry. I won’t lose there.

Beyond the time where we weren’t supposed to meet – we’re still playing these happy games, even now.

--------

Since choosing to live in this world, several seasons have passed. I saw my colleague in his butler uniform at our meeting place, and trotted over.

MC: Thanks for waiting, Sebastian. I bought everything!

Sebastian: Thanks for your help, MC. I’ll carry the heavy bags.

I thanked him for so casually offering, and walked alongside him. The Parisian streets were bathing in sunshine, and lively with working people and energetic children all coming and going. As I felt my mood and movements lighten in the atmosphere of it all, Sebastian looked at me and tilted his head.

Sebastian: You’re in a good mood. You’ve been smiling for a while now. Did something good happen?

MC: Actually, the owner of the produce shop gave me some really nice apples as a bonus because the other day we helped his child find a lost toy!

But it wasn’t just the apples that made me happy. The owner also said, “Please also say thank you to that detective gentleman.” I’m gonna tell him as soon as I get home. I’m sure he’ll be so happy. Just imagining his expression makes me joyful myself.

Sebastian: I see. Well that solves the mystery of the apples I didn’t intend for you to get. So it’s a gift for playing detective?

Sebastian: …No, it’s not even playing anymore. Our great detectives are just as good as Sherlock Holmes!

The chiming of the bell tower mixed with our laughter.

Sebastian: Oh, is that the time? We need to get back to the mansion. Shakespeare is coming over to visit Vincent today, so I want to show some hospitality.

MC: Oh, uh… Sorry, I realized I forgot to buy coffee beans. Please go ahead home, Sebastian.

Sebastian: Will you be okay by yourself?

MC: It’s still daylight. And things are different from when I first came here. Leave it to me!

With pride, I split from Sebastian…

(At the shop)

I’d fallen into quite the pinch.

Man: Well, well, well. I’ve defeated this young woman. Now how are you going to pay me?

Playing cards were scattered across the table, and the man sitting across me had a nasty grin on his face.

I was fooled!! He was just pretending to be a shopkeeper!! When I went to buy the coffee beans, he said, “If you can win now, you’ll get a bonus! Come on now!” He greeted me with a smile, and before I knew it, I was entrenched in a betting match. I was careless, but I’ve been getting better at deception…

MC: I don’t have money. But you were cheating, weren’t you?!

Man: Oh? You’re going to whine now? Ha!

MC: Ah!

I threw my hands up, scared of his furious expression. At that moment…

???: Hey, stop!

A voice light as wind hit my ears, and I looked up.

Are you coming to rescue me at a time like this?

Arthur: Yoohoo, MC~

-------

MC: Arthur!

Arthur slammed his hand down on the table to block the man, and an arc drew on his lips. When I saw his always-relaxed smile, my whole body, which had been stiffened, was relieved.

Arthur, I hadn’t expected you to come…

Arthur: It’s quite easy for you to get caught up in these situations, isn’t it?

MC: Sorry, I was trying to be careful, but…

Arthur: Don’t worry about that now. We need to get out of this pinch first.

As he said that, Arthur sat next to me. The man glared daggers at the sudden intrusion.

Man: Hey, man. What do you think you’re doing butting in like this?

Arthur: Alright, here’s my conditions. You and I are gonna play another round. If we win, we get the full amount offered. If not, we’ll pay ten times the amount.

Arthur: Well? Sound good?

Man: What?! Ten times is a lot! Alright, fine. Let’s do it.

With that grin on Arthur’s face, I could tell he had a trick up his sleeve.

MC: Arthur, please be careful. This guy’s a cheater.

Arthur: Mm~? Oh, there’s no problem here. I have a goddess of victory at my side, and she’s got your name.

MC: Joking at a time like this…

Arthur: Don’t worry, MC. Don’t you trust me?

His eyes were an unwavering blue, like a glass ball. They pierced right through me, and I...

[CHOICE OF 3: I picked “Arthur’s got this.”]

MC: Of course I do. You’ve got this.

Arthur: That’s what I thought. I can’t show you my lame side anyway!

Even through his joking words, I began to relax. Things were going to be okay. Arthur and I laughed a little bit as we locked gazes.

Encouraged by Arthur’s reassuring presence, I also looked at the man head-on.

Arthur: Well isn’t this quite the development! I’m getting a sense of deja vu.

Man: Huh-?

Arthur: Nothing to do with you. Alright, let’s start the game.

The battle finished in the blink of an eye.

MC: Pontoon!

Man: What?! You’ve gotta be kidding-!

Arthur: And just like that, we’ve won.

Just like in the past, we triumphed brilliantly.

---------

Free from that man, Arthur and I walked in the evening streets, side by side.

Arthur: The shopkeeper reported him, so I don’t think we’ll ever see him again.

MC: That’s good, it saves others from getting caught in their trap. Thank you so much for your help, Arthur…

MC: But I can’t believe you had such good timing. Did you happen to be stopping by the store?

Arthur: I suppose it just happened. I was on my way to the publisher to talk about my new book.

Even in this time, Arthur continues to write under a pen name. He gets more popular every time he releases a new book, and even has been getting requests for serialization.

Arthur: And then I remembered you were shopping in town, and decided to visit the store you frequent. Aaaand bingo. Everything was fine up until you got in trouble.

He remembered the store I always go to. There’s his keen observation for you. Seeing my impressed face, Arthur grinned and looked at me.

Arthur: It really was like old times. Remember? When you were trapped in a game of pontoon?

MC: Of course! Yeah, I remember too.

That was way back when I first fell into this world. Arthur helped me when I was in trouble then, and he did it again today.

Arthur: MC, do you need my help? If you ask for it, I’ll give it to you. What do you say?

MC: Arthur… please help me…

Arthur: Mm, okay! And if I win, you need to do what I say.

MC: I was so relieved when you came.

I still thought of Arthur as dangerous and flippant back then. But now, it’s a treasured memory.

MC: Well thank you again, Arthur. You really are my hero.

Arthur: Your hero? Well, that’s just the biggest compliment I could receive.

Uttering it so quietly, Arthur gave a soft smile.

Arthur: Well it’s a golden rule as a hero to rescue my love in need.

MC: Ah! Well from now on, I’m going to be a lot more careful. I need to be more vigilant, and a little more suspicious of other people.

As I reflected on my carelessness, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Arthur: I wish you had a way to protect yourself. Your virtue lies in your ability to face people straight, because you don’t doubt others.

MC: You think so?

Arthur: I know so. I fell in love with your pure and beautiful heart.

My heart trembled a bit, presented with Arthur’s true and honest feelings like a surprise attack.

Arthur: You’re my one and only. The girl I want to protect more than anything. And that’s why I always will. So you can always smile, MC.

--------

Arthur… My cheeks, growing warm, must’ve been dyed even redder by the setting sun. As I failed to control my swelling emotions, a cold rain began to fall on my cheeks.

Arthur: Ah, I thought I could smell rain. It actually did start. Let’s go, MC.

He took out and umbrella and opened it. Holding out one hand, he invited me into a gentle embrace.

Arthur: My apologies, I only have one umbrella.

MC: Thank you Arthur! Ah, I’m remembering again. When you saved me the first time, it rained that night too, didn’t it?

Arthur: That’s right. Even the weather is the same! Today’s the day to stroll down memory lane!

That time, Arthur gave me his umbrella and we parted ways for the night. But today, we are lovers, walking shoulder-to-shoulder under the same umbrella.

MC: Ah, Arthur! Did you know in Japan we call this “ai ai gasa?”

Arthur: “Ai ai gasa?” What’s that? Is it like a lovey-dovey umbrella?

MC: Lovey-dovey? Pfft… Ahaha!!

Arthur: Hey, why is it you’re the only one who understands? Haha, you’re so cute.

MC: Sorry. It’s cuz it’s a silly conversation between lovers. The meaning of the words is a little different, but it means the same in the end.**

I looked up, and a soft kiss touched my lips instead of the cold rain.

Arthur: Then what’s a lovey-dovey umbrella?

I pretended to poke Arthur in the chest and couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. I wished days like this would last forever. With the man I love more than anything else in the world next to me, life is just so dazzling and dear to my heart.

But the destiny awaiting us was about to make a huge move...

-------

Translation notes:

**ai ai gasa (相合傘) is a trope in romance media where two people in love share an umbrella. I think the joke here comes from Arthur calling it “raburabu kasa” (ラブラブ傘), which isn’t really a term, and literally means “lovey dovey umbrella.” I think this will be better explained in the official eng translation lol

Most of this is stuff we’ve seen before (like damn MC, two times at the shop?). I tried my best to not do a literal translation of everything and give the characters their voices I pick up on in the jpn and eng versions, so I took some creative liberties so it’s nicer to read.

[talbottoresnick]

Richard Avedon: MURALS Jiapeng Tang Richard Avedon’s “The Chicago Seven, Chicago, November 5, 1969,” on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art

The photographer Richard Avedon’s exhibition MURALS was shown at The Met Fifth Avenue, Gallery 851, from January 19–October 1, 2023. Approximately 10 (with 4 murals) works that he shot from 1969 to 1971 were shown in the exhibition. The dimensions of the murals are approximately 3 meters* 9 meters (2 murals), 3 meters * 6 meters (1 mural), and 3 meters *12 meters (1 mural). The murals were installed in a long and relatively narrow gallery. When I entered the gallery, what first came into my eyes were the two giant murals pasted on opposite walls. There was no complete protection installation, such as full glasses, instead, there were only low barriers to keep viewers at a safe distance. So I could come close to the murals to see the details (but I was shocked to get closer to the mural with naked people). It was the first time that I saw such an extensive photographic work, especially when they were group portraits. I felt such a power brought by the dimension of the works, and I was surprised to find that the group portraits were more able to let me feel their atmosphere. In addition, the experience of observing portraits at such a large size was also exciting for me. To see their faces clearly, I need to stand at a distance or close distance and look up at them.

I’m particularly interested in the two murals that were facing each other. The first is “The Mission Council, Saigon, South Vietnam,” made on April 28, 1971. The objects were the U.S. generals, ambassadors, and policy experts who ran the war in Vietnam. Except for one in military uniform, the others were dressed in suits. Some looked confident with their hands clasped in front or behind; Some looked serious; Others looked a little inhibited in the glare of the camera. The frame of the photo is also interesting. The objects have different heights. I wondered why the photographer cut some parts of the objects’ heads instead of reducing the part of their leg being photographed. Also, the whole mural was composed of 5 pieces of photos, and the figures at the junction were incomplete. Interestingly, the figures in the same piece of photo appear to have a similar aura. The photographer used a stark white background for this mural. The people who can control life or death are so laid out in front of the camera for the audience to watch, giving me a sense that our power is exchanged in a way. The second one is “Andy Warhol and Members of The Factory, New York,” made on October 30, 1969. The exhibition's layout created a dramatic effect that the very serious mural of political leaders was facing the mural with a group of naked people. The people in the photo are naked, but they look at the camera calmly and show their bodies without any discomfort, which made me feel very surprised. It seems that the photographer had created a comfortable environment for his objects and had built some relationships that the objects trusted him. Compared to the previous mural, the facial expressions of the figures in this mural are more vivid. Some interaction between them can be read in their eyes. Moreover, I noticed that one figure stands naked in a wig and full makeup with male genital organs, which I believe was very bold and rebellious.

What attracted me most and triggered my thoughts were the photo's dimensions and the way the photographer organized the group portrait. I was thinking about the pros and cons of using such a large scale of photos. On one hand, it has a very impressive effect at first sight. Using such a size shows an attitude in itself. Also, making a mural with several photos that don't exactly fit together like a puzzle creates more dynamism in the work. On the other hand, the oversized photo size might be a gimmick that overrides the photo's subject matter. In terms of group portraits, I admire the photographer for preserving the individuality and difference of each figure, while being very harmonious as a whole.

[gloomyglaxies]

A small sample of the DC x DP fic I'm working on. It's a Damian/Danny (Dead Serious) fic

Danny wonders why these things always happen to him. This was just supposed to be an end-of-year trip to Gotham. One week he didn't have to fight ghouls or deal with Vlad's fruitloopiness. The universe hated him. At least that's the only conclusion that makes sense.

It started at one of Gotham's museums. Everything was great. They were looking at old stuff and he was joking around with Tucker and Sam. Then his ghost sense went off because of course.

It wasn't a surprise to see a few ghosts come in and start wreaking havoc. How did they know where to find him? He quickly got his answer when he saw Vlad. Vlad grabbed a random kid and fled. Sam and Tucker reassured him they got the other ghost to go after Vlad.

Damian was ready to body slam this vampire-looking man. Who the hell was he and where did he come from? The man turned them both intangible, going through several walls before ending up in a mostly empty room. The man tied up his wrist and ankles but left him otherwise unrestrained. Damian was able to press the call button on his watch.

"Hey vampire, you're a long ways away from Transylvania." Damian snarked.

"I'm not a vampire you insolent brat."

Damian rolled his eyes, "Then maybe you shouldn't dress like one."

Vlad went to retort but was tackled by Danny flying through the wall. Damian would have been surprised if weird shit didn't happen to him on the daily but still he had to put on a performance.

Damian looked at the fighting pair deadpan, "oh wow gee looks like I'm in quite a jam."

By the time Vlad was sucked into the phantom thermos Damian had already freed himself. Danny looked at the kid bewildered.

"You know staring is rude."

Danny scoffed, "I wasn't staring. Who the hell are you? What did Vlad want with you?"

"I have no clue. You came in before his villainous monologue," Damian paused before snickering, "is his name really Vlad? Like Vlad the Impaler, the original Dracula."

Danny can't believe he hadn't made that connection himself. He couldn't help but laugh. Damian raised a brow.

When Danny calmed he looked at the kid, "So kid are you hurt?"

"I would think that's the first thing you would have checked for. I could have bled to death while you went hysterical."

"Since when did twelve-year-olds get so snarky."

"I'm not twelve! I'm sixteen!"

"But you're so small."

"You are only a few inches taller than me. I'm also still tall enough to kick your ass. Who are you anyway? Batman doesn't like metas in his city."

"A what now?"

"A meta," a big man stepped out from the darkness, "You okay Damian?"

"Yeah, hood. Is it just you?"

"For now, yes," Red Hood looked at Danny, "who are you kid and why are you in Gotham."

"I'm Phantom and I'm supposed to be on a school trip but one of my arch nemesis found me but I stopped him so I should get going."

"I should go back to Hood. I'm fine and I'm sure the ghost boy would be willing to bring me back."

"Uh yeah sure let's go." Danny flew off.

Red Hood lowered himself and whispered, "keep an eye on him. If you have a tracker, use it."

"I'm not an idiot. I was already planning on it."

Danny flew back into the room, "you coming?"

"Are you gonna walk 'cause I certainly can't fly or phase through walls."

"Oh yeah. Let me just, " Danny scooped Damian up in a bridal style, "there we go. You ready now?"

Red Hood snickered as Damian turned red, squawking at the poor kid holding him.

"Put me down! Don't manhandle me!"

"Sorry but this is the quickest way."

Danny rushed off. Damian scowled like an angry cat. Danny chuckled, causing the other to start another rant full of foul language. Finally, Danny landed. Sam and Tucker were there waiting.

Sam gave him a confused expression, "Why are you carrying the youngest Wayne."

"Who?"

"Me dumbass! Put me down!" Damian squirmed.

Danny set him down. Damian adjusted his expensive uniform muttering. Sam grabbed Danny by the ear and pulled him aside.

She whispered," What are you doing carrying the Wayne kid."

"Vlad had him. Plus I still don't know who Wayne is."

"Wayne as in Bruce Wayne, " Sam pinched the bridge of her nose as Danny stared at her blankly, "Wayne as in Wayne Tech Industries."

"Oh… ohhhh. So maybe Vlad had him for some rich guy reason."

"We should keep an eye on him. He is just some pampered rich kid."

Danny nodded and went back over. He was surprised to see the kid was still there. He shuffled uncomfortably, unsure what to do from here. What he didn't see coming was the quick peck to his cheek followed by a growled thank you. Moments later the kid was gone.

Tucker grinned, "look at you, Danny. You just get all the rich babes don't you?"

"It was just a hero kiss," Sam waved her hand in front of Danny's face, "you still there."

"Yeah yeah just wasn't expecting that."

"Go change and catch up with the class."

"Good idea."

That night Danny patrolled the city. Gotham was a whole different beast at night. It was still busy, the lights were bright and the people were completely unfazed. He decided to take a break in the park. Not even five minutes he was being dragged by a vine. Now he was upside down face to face with a pretty green skin lady.

"Whatcha got there?" The blonde lady next to her asked.

"I think this is the mystery meta that Red Hood was talking about."

"He's a cutie ain't he? What do you think we should do with him?"

"Interrogate. Why are you flying around our city?"

Danny gulped, "just making sure none of the ghosts from the attack earlier weren't causing more chaos."

"Responsible young man aren't ya."

"Look I don't want no trouble I have enough of that —"

"Ivy put him down," A boy came down from the tree tops dressed in a costume, "he hasn't done anything wrong yet."

Ivy hesitated but she dropped him. Danny landed with an oof.

"You spooky kid come here."

Danny hesitated but went over. The kid narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue.

"Of course it's you. I heard about you," Damian walked over to Ivy, "I will deal with this," he gestures to Danny before putting his hands on his hips, "Isn't tonight date night?"

Harley smiles, "it sure is. Let's go Ives I think we can still make our dinner reservations."

Ivy grabbed Harley's hand, " be careful kiddo." She and Harley left the two vigilantes.

Damian went back over to Danny who just looked confused. So much happened in the past few minutes and he wasn't able to process it.

"You kid, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Uh patrolling."

"Gotham already has its team of heroes. We don't need you stirring the pot."

"I'm trying to help. I don't think Gotham's heroes know how to deal with ghosts."

"You don't know anything about Gotham."

"You know you're right. How do I know you're not a villain?"

"Because you would be in big trouble already. You're lucky those two are reformed."

"I guess you're part of Batman's crew although you're pretty short. I'm surprised the big bad Batman lets you out past curfew." Danny smirked.

Damian growled, "you better watch it, ghost boy."

"Oo did I strike a nerve."

Damian scowled and swung. Danny faked a yawn and went intangible. Damian ended up stumbling. He was quickly getting irritated. Damian tries to land a few more hits.

Danny laughed and pinched Damian's cheek, "so cute."

"I'm not cute. I'm gonna figure out what exactly you are and then I'm gonna kick your ass."

Before he could get another word in his ghost sense went off. It was the box ghost being annoying as fuck. Danny rolled his eyes before swiftly kicking his ass. Damian watched amused. Once the box ghost was away Danny was again at Damian's side.

"I didn't recognize that villain but you did adequately I guess."

"That's 'cause he is one of mine. He's a ghost."

"So you're both ghosts. Did you," Damian paused, "did you die?"

"Yeah, kinda I guess. I never thought about it that way."

"That is never easy."

"You say that like you have experienced dying."

Damian stayed quiet. Danny looked at him and was shocked. This boy had experienced death; his silence was answer enough. A million questions ran through his head but he shook his thoughts away and just hugged Damian.

"I don't know how that is possible but I'm not gonna question it."

Damian tense. It was weird the ghost boy felt so cold but it was comforting. Danny pulled away leaving a confused and blushing Damian. Damian was still standing there when Nightwing arrived.

[tauriatalksmonkeys]

Alternate Evil Ages: A Bulletfic

so @sweetcircuits & i were talking about Evil Ages for unrelated reasons & my brain fed me this idea, so!

it started with me once again dwelling on my thoughts on Evil Ages (fun & cute but also, frustrating bc it's all earth/american-centric history when shuggazoom is a separate planet, & it would have been rly cool to see unique lore/eras. tho it being a 00's kids show i understand why that's not what we got)

and THEN i started thinking about like, the eras of the show we DID get to see--a glimpse of Scrapperton-era Shuggazoom, and then, of course, Cap's flashbacks to the Golden Age.

which THEN led me to, uh. this.

(also BIG thank you to @sweetcircuits who both encouraged me to write this & also was a big help with making sure it worked with the episode <3 ilu)

Instead of landing in the Prehistoric-era, Chiro & Nova land in Shuggazoom. Kind of. It's... different. Recognizably home, but altered enough they feel like strangers. There are buildings missing on the skyline. Some are shorter than they remember. Others are wearing different logos, painted alternate colors. Hovercars whiz down the street, but not the cars of their memory. These ones are shiny chrome with sharp angles and boxy fronts.

They wander the streets, looking for any clue as to what the heck is going on. And then they see people running. They share a glance before they take off running as well, towards the source of the disturbance, not away.

I like the idea of them reaching the place where the Robot is now parked, but it could just as easily be the site of the museum, a town plaza, a park---it doesn't really matter. What matters is what they see:

A man who looks awfully like the museum curator stands in the center, surrounded by giant, creepy puppets with abnormally wide grins. Across from him, a stranger hovers several feet off the ground. He's clad in black and white and orange, a cape billowing from his shoulders. His uniform is familiar; Chiro is wearing it's match right now. But it's not the uniform that really draws the eye.

It's the helmet.

"He's wearing our logo," Chiro says dumbly. He meets Nova's eyes, and sees his confusion echoed there.

Chiro doesn't get a chance to ask what it could mean.

The stranger says--- "You won't get away with this, Puppeteer!"

And the curator-lookalike laughs. "I already have!" He raises a set of pipes to his lips, and begins to blow. The puppets fly forward, hands raised to hurt, and the stranger throws bolts of electricity. It's enough to startle both Nova and Chiro into the fray, joining the stranger.

They are, of course, overwhelmed, defeated, and they wake up in the dungeon with the others, no sign of the helmeted stranger. They don't think about it, for a bit; instead focused on stopping and defeating the Curator.

And then the episode ends. The Curator is gone, disappeared to who-knows-where, or when. The team returns to Shuggazoom, where the dolls sit on display; small and life-less once more. Among them is the stranger. Chiro picks him up, looks at him. He's never heard of any other heroes on Shuggazoom---but then, history was never his best subject. (That's what he has Antauri for, now.)

Speaking of. Antauri approaches. "What have you found?" he asks, and this prompts Chiro to explain the bubble that he and Nova were caught in.

Antauri, too, seems mystified.

On a whim, Chiro pulls at the helmet. It slips off. (Ignore that this doesn't make sense, please and thanks.) It doesn't make sense, but he's half expecting to see the Alchemist. He doesn't. The monkeys have gathered around, now, and upon the sight of the stranger's face, their heads tilt. The doll is simple, of course, but there's enough detail before them. Short, slightly spiky brown hair. Dark eyes. Chiro thinks he's meant to be handsome.

"He looks... familiar," Nova says, visibly unsettled. The other monkeys nod, slowly, just as unnerved. Just as perplexed.

"Who IS he?" Chiro asks.

Episode fade-out.

Four episodes later, they track down a mysterious signal... and find a helmeted stranger.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I love your long posts which make for great reading and I wish you could do more because you’ve got such a range of astonishing interests. I’m hoping because you’ve served in the military you would have studied military thinkers. Do you think the Art of War by Sun Tzu is way overrated by everyone? I studied him a bit for my masters but I still couldn’t get my head around him. Interested to know your thoughts. Thanks!

“To lift an autumn hair is no sign of great strength; to see the sun and moon is no sign of sharp sight; to hear the noise of thunder is no sign of a quick ear." - Sun Tzu's Art of War, Chapter IV - Tactical Disposition, Clause 10.

Sounds cool, doesn’t it?

But what the hell does this quote really mean? Do you know what it means? Can anyone else tell me?

Look, I enjoy a good Sun Tzu quote as the next person. Only recently I was exchanging thoughts with a fellow blogger whose studying Thucydides, Clausewitz, and Kissinger for an advanced course at the US Naval War College. Even he prefers Sun Tzu over Clausewitz. I can see why too. If you can make sense of chapter one of Clausewitz’s tome On War you deserve a Nobel Prize.

Unlike my very learned fellow blogger, there are lot of folk who don’t know Sun Tzu at all. They can quote him, but almost certainly out of context. As someone who partly grew up in the Far East and even learned Chinese and Japanese (a pitiful but functional degree of fluency) I’m embarrassed (not hard since I’m English) when I hear other Western compatriots romanticise and elevate Eastern icons to mythic status that the Chinese themselves have never done.

I am even more bemused than embarrassed after having hung up my military uniform for ‘civvy’ corporate clothing at how badly abused Sun Tzu’s book is in the corporate world. In my workplace I grit my teeth at corporate high flyers who mistake a balance sheet for a real battlefield by quoting Sun Tzu out of their arse, and then as self-styled ‘corporate warriors’ work themselves up in a lather of testosterone induced self-importance to crush their corporate enemies into the dust.

This is why the The Art of War by Sun Tzu has invited a jaundiced eye roll. And rightly so. I can see why many view Sun Tzu as over-rated because many easily impressed people go all woo woo over anything ancient and Eastern.

It’s become a familiar trope to say the art of ‘strategy’ as a science began 2,500 years ago with the writing of The Art of War. I would dispute this. Not that the writing of Art of War was the earliest written but whether I would call it a manual of strategy per se - more on this below in my answer.  However you rate or overrate the Art of War it’s important to have perspective and remember this book is written in 512 BC. Other than the bible and some religious books, there are not many books that can survived thousands of years and still remains a steady bestseller and enjoys a wide influence in military academies and army staff colleges today and even as far into board rooms.

The question behind your question is just as interesting to me: why did Sun Tzu and his Art of War gain such traction in the West?

Sun Tzu (544-496 BC) wrote the original text of The Art of War shortly before 510 BC. During most of the past two thousand years, the common people in China were forbidden to read Sun Tzu's text. However, the text was preserved by China's nobility for over 2,500 years. The Chinese nobility preserved the text of The Art of War, known in Chinese as Bing-fa, even despite the famous book-burning by the first Emperor of Chi around 200 BC. The text was treasured and passed down by the Empire’s various rulers. Unfortunately, it was preserved in a variety of forms. A "complete" Chinese language version of the text wasn't available until the 1970s. Before that, there were a number of conflicting, fragmentary versions in different parts of China, passed down through 125 generations of duplication.

Indeed at the beginning of the twentieth century, there were two main textual traditions in circulation, known as the (Complete Specialist Focus) and (Military Bible) versions. There were also perhaps a dozen minor versions and both derived and unrelated works also entitled Bing-fa. Of course, every group considered (and still considers) its version the only accurate one.

When I last visited China before the Covid pandemic for work reason, I had time off to go to a couple of museums that housed the fruits of a number of archeological digs uncovering the tombs of the ancient rulers of China in which sections of Sun Tzu’s works were found. These finds have verified the historical existence of the text and the historical accuracy of various sections. I understand new finds are still being made.

The first complete, consistent Chinese version was created in Taipei in the 1970s. It was titled The Complete Version of Sun Tzu’s Art of War." It was created by the National Defence Research Investigation Office, which was a branch of Taiwan's defence department. This version compared the main textual traditions to each other and to archeological finds and compiled the most complete version possible.

This work was completed in Taiwan rather than mainland China for a number of reasons. Mainland China was still in the throws of the Maoist Cultural Revolution, which actively suppressed the study of traditional works such as Sun Tzu. The mainland had also moved to a reformed character set, while Taiwan still used the traditional character set in which the text was written. Only today is the study of Sun Tzu in mainland China growing, interestingly enough, through the translation of Sun Tzu into contemporary Mandarin. Based on the archeological sources we have today, we are reasonably certain of the historical accuracy of this compiled version that is the basis of what most people use today.

Surprisingly, the Art of War only came to light in the West around the 18th Century.  

Historians believe it was first formally introduced in Europe in 1772 by the French Jesuit Joseph-Marie Amiot. It was translated at the time by the title “The thirteen articles of Sun-Tse”. Joseph-Marie Amiot (1718-1793) was not just a Jesuit priest but also an astronomer and French historian, as well as fervent missionary in China. He was one of the last survivors of the Jesuit Mission in China (he died in Beijing).

Many of the historical problems with understanding Sun Tzu's work can be trace back to its first Western translation in French. A Jesuit missionary, Father Amiot, first brought The Art of War to the West, translating it into French in 1782. Unfortunately, this translation started the tradition of mistranslating Sun Tzu's work, starting with the title, The Art of War (Art de la guerre).

This title, copied the title of a popular work by Machiavelli (a criminally underrated writer on military strategy), but it didn't reflect Sun Tzu's Bing-fa, which would be better translated as "competitive methods."

We cannot say what effect being translated by a Jesuit priest had upon the text. It was unavoidable that the work's translation reflected the military prejudices of the time era when war was both popular and Christian. It was also unavoidable that most future translations would reflect some of the first translation's prejudices. However, war was on the verge of becoming much less Christian in the West since this time was the era of the French Revolution (1789).

The work might well of slipped into obscurity after its initial publication, but it was discovered by a minor French military officer. After studying it, this officer rose to the head of the revolutionary French army in a surprising series of victories. The legend is that Napoleon used the work as the key to his victories in conquering all of Europe. It is said that he carried the little work with him everywhere but kept its contents secret (which would be very much in keeping with Sun Tzu's theories).

However, Napoleon must have started believing his own reviews instead of sticking with his study of Sun Tzu. His defeat at Waterloo was clearly a case of fighting on a battleground that the enemy, Wellington, knew best. Wellington’s trick at Waterloo was hiding his forces by having them lie down in the slight hollows of this hilly land. This is exactly the type of tactic Sun Tzu warns against in his discussion of terrain tactics.

After Napolean, Sun Tzu's theories made their way into western military philosophy. Many of his ideas are reflected in the ideas of work of Carl von Clausewitz. who defined military strategy as "the employment of battles to gain the end of war."

The first English translation of The Art of War is less than a hundred years old. Captain E. F. Calthrop published the first English translation in 1905. Lionel Giles, an assistant curator at the British Museum and a well-known sinologist and translator, attacked this early translation, and he published his own version in 1910. It soon began to be read alongside Clausewitz’s 8 volumes of turgid German military prose.

It wasn’t long before military thinkers were ditching Clausewitz for Sun Tzu because no one could get past Chapter One of Clausewitz’s On War. The “Clausewitz is dead, long live Sun Tzu” school was first championed by the influential British military theorist B.H. Liddell Hart in the 1920s.  Basil Henry Liddell Hart (1895-1970) was a captain in the British Army. He was a very influential military theorist and historian, and author of several books such as The Future of War (1925) and Strategy (1954). Having witnessed first-hand the mechanised onslaught of the Great War, Liddell Hart sought a philosophy of warfare based in the prudent use of technology, psychology and deception - and the avoidance of the 'total war' catastrophes of preceding decades.

The main idea of Liddell Hart is to bring the set of principles of warfare in a so-called ‘indirect approach’ to the enemy. His advocacy in his scholarly work of an ‘indirect strategy’ over direct, frontal operations, was a reaction to the high casualties of the Western Front in the First World War. But his ideas were not simply about physically outmanoeuvring an opponent. Instead he pushed for a psychological scheme: to strike from unexpected directions, to generate strategic dissonance, and to induce paralysis. Hart’s well-known thoughts are “Only short-sighted soldiers underestimate the importance of psychological factors in time of war”, “Originality is the most important from all military virtues”, and “The principles of war could shortly be condensed in a single word: concentration”. 

Liddell Hart believed that distilling historical insights of strategy and operations would offer the chance to avoid the costly disasters of modern war and ensure a more cost-effective route to success. He imagined technological solutions in the form of air power and mechanised land forces outflanking and shocking an enemy at the tactical level. This would be complemented by taking indirect strategic ‘ways’. Like his contemporary J.F.C. Fuller, Liddell Hart considered concentrations of air and armoured forces driving deep into enemy territory to destroy their ‘nervous system’. The psychological aspects of this were central, since acquiring an advantage demanded moves that were unexpected, with precise attacks at the most vulnerable points. As the most influential military writer of the modern age, revered and reviled by three generations of strategists, armchair and armipotent, his controversial theories of armed attack laid the foundation of the famed German Blitzkrieg.

Hart’s championing of Sun Tzu’s work as articulated through his own works got a new lease of life as the world gingerly settled into the ice bath of the Cold War. The rise of Communist China, against all the odds having defeated the well disciplined nationalist armies of Chian kai-Shek, was a wake up call for the West. There was a general befuddlement among western military analysts to explain the secret of Maoist success. There was an intellectual inquest in the 1950s and 1960s for some way to explain (and, it was hoped, learn to counter) Maoist military doctrine. Sun Tzu was seen as one of the historical and cultural sources of some particularly Chinese or Asian way of war, and his work made its way into Western discussions of counterinsurgency and asymmetric warfare.

Into the breach - and with fortuitous timing - appeared a new translation of The Art of War that was to become the defining translation right down to our day. Liddel Hart provided the foreword to Samuel Griffth’s 1963 translated copy of the Art of War. It was to quickly become a key text in US war colleges and this version is still to this day favoured by most of these institutions. We also studied Griffith’s translation at Sandhurst alongside Liddell Hart’s ideas.

There is no question that Griffith’s translation has become the standard go to translation to this day in military circles - that is until James Clavell’s more populist and looser translation came along in the 1980s. One can see why. Griffith’s translation provided a number of historical Chinese commentaries on the text. It should also be noted that Griffith’s strengths was his immense experience in the military and knowledge of military history as a brigadier general in the U.S. Marine Corps.

However, this was also his version's greatest flaw. Like many other critics I have the impression that Griffith did not really believe or understand all of Sun Tzu. Indeed he would often explain away Sun Tzu's direct statements without making it clear that this was his commentary and not what Sun Tzu wrote. The other main criticism and this one is stylistic and therefore just my opinion, Griffith was also not much of a writer. By our standards today, much of Griffith’s language can seem awkward and dated.

Looking back it feels ironic of the US military were wrapping their heads around Sun Tzu as way to get inside the Chinese communist mind (of Mao the military strategist especially). Unknown to them Mao had desperately tried everything to get hold of a copy of the Art of War from the Chinese Nationalists. Cambridge historian and doyenne of intelligence history, Christopher Andrew in his book The Secret World: A History of Intelligence, wrote that the theory that Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was critical to mastering contemporary warfare is propagated through the use of a tantalising anecdote: “During the civil war between Communists and the Kuomintang regime [Mao Zedong] sent aides into enemy territory to find a copy of it.” The ancient text, ostensibly, was of such vital importance that Mao was willing to risk men’s lives to obtain it, while Chiang Kai-shek vowed to protect it all costs. It’s a questionable anecdote at best as there are no historical evidence of it.

We can say that the notion that Sun Tzu’s slim treatise is considered both potent and slightly dangerous - providing the master key to unlocking victory in war through the ages - is a compelling myth that refuses to die. Mao most likely never ordered a clandestine operation to pilfer the text, nor did Chiang Kai-shek give any thought to shielding its contents from prying eyes. Both men certainly read it long before the start of their civil war, both most likely had ready access to it during the conflict, and neither man won or lost based on adherence or divergence from its teachings. But undoubtedly it set the hearts of Western military theorists aflutter in trying to unlock the secrets of Eastern military thought.

Sun Tzu and his ideas in a reincarnated form took hold of the wider public imagination in the 1980s. The 1980s was synonymous with Japan. With the perceived rise of Japan as a global economic power and the changes in post-Mao China, there was a Western (meaning American) search for more explanations. What was the secret of Asia’s rise? How were Japan and China ‘doing’ this?

In Western business circles it was for a time trendy to read it because of the perception that it was part of what made Japanese businesses so successful during the 70s and 80s. Management gurus and other corporate consultants certainly latched on to it and touted it as a way for Western businesses to re-orient their entire management and business philosophy. I don’t know if that ever actually was the case in Japan - my father who worked in both China and Japan in the corporate world at a very senior level said it wasn’t - but what is true is that in the West as the Japanese economy languished into the lost decade of the 90s so too did interest in Japanese business practices, and thus Sun Tzu.

The idea that The Art of War was a kind of how-to guide to ‘strategy’  was made especially popular by Hollywood in the 1980s. Oliver Stone’s iconic film ‘Wall Street’ seemed to typify the ‘greed is good’ New York capitalist scene of the 80s and 90s. Hollywood mirror imaged the rise of the corporate raiders and junk bond kings like Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken. Hollywood sent thousands of American businessmen off to read Sun Tzu to look for ‘leadership secrets’. This is part of a general Western fascination with ‘timeless Asian wisdom’, the American idea that ‘the mysterious East’ is possessed of secret knowledge. American and European businessmen were enamoured of the idea that “a battle is won or lost before it ever begins”, a saying that reinforced traditional American business attitudes about a winning mentality and a ‘can-do’ spirit being two keys to success.

Because Japan and China were trendy in the 1980s and 1990s it also influenced Western popular culture, not just fashion (think Kenzo) but also comic books (manga) and anime. In this Eastern friendly climate it led a number of popular fiction authors to release their ‘own’ versions of the work to capitalise on its newfound popularity. These versions were more about the pop culture of the era than Sun Tzu. Unfortunately, though popular, none of these versions took advantage of the work completed in Taiwan creating a definitive version of Sun Tzu's text by this time. These versions were based either on old English translations (the Calthorp and Giles versions) or incomplete Chinese sources. However, all of these versions remain popular today, despite their questionable sources and poor quality of translation.

In 1983, James Clavell updated The Art of War translation of Lionel Giles and published it in a very popular version. This started a very common practice in English translation: creating a ‘new’ version from other English translations instead of going back to the original source. Authors today continue to follow this practice, which only perpetuates and exaggerates the problems with early translations.

Thomas Cleary, another well-known author, did his own The Art of War translation with historical commentary in 1988. Again, his name recognition did much to increase awareness of Sun Tzu, even if his work did nothing to improve the general quality of the translation.

Looking back the whole Sun Tzu as a business model fetish in the 1980-90s was really pretty silly, rather like 80s shoulder pads. Of course, there are some similarities in leadership regardless of profession, but the basic goals and working environments of war and of business are so wildly different that applying Sun Tzu to business is superficial at best.

So to me the problem is not that Sun Tzu is ‘overrated’ per se, the problem is that every half baked author out there try to apply its principles to every problems that mankind have. The Art of War, as the title suggest, is not The Art of Managing your Business, the Art of Winning in Competition against your classmates, The Art of picking up Women, The Art of Living Life to the fullest. It is, and only is, The Art of War. It is ‘overrated’ only if you expect it to answer every problems in your life.

The Art of War is not the word of God. It is a war manual advocating common sense with pithy aphorisms - and a very good one.

It’s not that I think the Art of War is over-rated it’s that the more common problem is that many people vastly under-rate Sun Tzu. By misreading Sun Tzu thoughts and ideas, I believe many are in effect under-rating the problems which Sun Tzu is addressing, namely war, or the continuum of conflict resolution where divergence in interests of multiple parties extends to the possible use of lethal force on a massive scale. A lot of people trivialise this problem with idiocies like “what if someone threw a war and nobody came” (clue, they would win, then hunt down and enslave or kill everyone too foolish to contest the issue, as has happened countless times in human history) or “ban war” (said ban apparently enforced by throwing flowers at soldiers).

Understanding that war is a very real and intractable problem is necessary to fully appreciate the genius of Sun Tzu’s work, especially where it avoids fixed and easily definable tactics specific to the Warring States period and instead illustrates timeless concepts of out-thinking the enemy at every level of conflict. That the text is still mostly readily applicable or at least reasonably insightful after thousands of years is a testament to the inability of humans to push warfare beyond the fundamental aspects of conflicting interests and continuum of forcible resolution Sun Tzu addresses.

Still, the particular translation matters far less than having an appreciation that, in war, you have an active opponent who is trying to out-think and counter any moves you make, and having an appreciation of non-dualistic philosophical reasoning more characteristic of Chinese classics generally. The classic symbol of Yin-Yang (and a number of derivative versions) illustrates apparent dualism as being a part of a deeper structural unity which does not permit a fixed division into separate parts.

Hence the difficulty of applying the principles of the Art of War to artificial ideas of “winning/losing” (or war/peace, right/wrong, us/them) as categorical absolutes rather than negotiated possibilities in a continuum of desirability/costs. And it is very difficult, no one should sugar coat that. Humans sort and construct their perceptions of reality by appeal to such gross simplifications. Binary logic is an immensely powerful tool in many areas because it leverages the ability to simplify complexity and then build valid inferences based on fixed premises. But at some point you have to go beyond that to have a more fluid response to reality as it is. Which Sun Tzu does for the reality of war.

I would recommend anyone to read it. At the end of the day it’s a book of highly general aphorisms that effectively synopsise the essential insights that apply to all kinds of human conflicts. Turning an enemy's flank has the exact same effect in 2500 B.C. and in 2000 C.E. and it has the same effect in the boardroom, or public market as it does on the battlefield. Deception and intelligence are still used in exactly the same way, whether conquering foreign lands, or stealing market share from a competitor. It's a book about common sense; but common sense must seem profound to those who have none.

Overall, I think Sun Tzu’s Art of War is a worthy read and not overrated because in our society of over educated achievers, common sense is in as short of supply as it has ever been; if this book can provide the meaningful framework for educating very bright people in down to earth common sense, that can only be a good thing.

The value of the book then is to drive home the fact that, in human conflict, there really is Nothing New Under the Sun (Tzu).

Pardon the pun and thanks for your question.

[gojology]

Intense Healing Session.

the request :

pairing : caring! healer! fem! reader x gojo satoru hehhehe warnings : cursing, implications of seggs after sum intense kissing, pet names wordcount : 2.0k a/n : yoyo i’m back!! semi-long one for u all. cute request, anon. sorry for late delivery. pls dont rate me a 1/5 on yelp </3 hehe the title is kinda funny LOL

     You’re beginning to hate Satoru.        Surprisingly, it’s not for the reasons people dislike him- he’s a bit of a blabbermouth, never quite learned how to seal his lips just because of how important he was to the jujutsu world. Unsurprisingly, he gets away with everything because he’s attractive and crucial to defeating curses, and there’s no shame in admitting it.       People hate Satoru for his destructive personality, he’s carefree and doesn’t let anything get to him. This may be a good trait for the untrained eye, but look carefully and you’ll see just how hectic he gets. It’s manageable since you don’t have to deal with him at the level of the Jujutsu elders.       You don’t particularly hate him for this, though.       It’s the fact he puts you through so much work, for almost no reason. You’re a healer- something very important to the quaint school that you worked at. Healing abilities are often overlooked, it’s often said that if a jujutsu sorcerer can’t provide offense, then they’re not much of a jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you have little to no talent in the battlefield, so essentially you’re a meat shield to everyone.      It was a growing occurrence to see him after every business trip, slightly roughed up but not enough to kill him. He comes into the room you share alongside Shoko, almost always when she’s not there, takes his shirt off, and displays a wide variety of cuts and bruises on his back like he’s a museum. You’d scold him, asking him how he’d get such abrasions with his infinity up constantly- but Satoru would hum, unanswering while you’re working your hands on his back.      Maybe you’re overreacting- but something tells you he does this on purpose, perhaps to fuck with you, and you’re bitter about it.     So it wasn’t surprising to see him whistle a sweet tune, hands shoved deep into his uniform pockets, casually strolling into the medical attention room for the fifth time this month.    “Gojo Satoru.” you say his full name aloud, just so he knows how much you hate his presence. Turning to look at you, his face displays innocent shock, but you just know that he’s probably rolling around in the inside seeing how riled up you got just by him stepping into the room.     Drained, lifeless eyes stare back at his childish bright ones.     Gojo places a hand on his chest defensively, “Well, I’ll be, Y/N. When did you want to disrespect your senior?” he snickers before shutting the door behind him. “You mad?”      “Unbearably. Lucky I care for you.” you utter back, venom dripping in your words, you feel like you’re making a fool of yourself as you shove your lunch aside that you had been enjoying on the tiny table next to you, sighing and rubbing your temples, tugging and effectively straightening your coat. “Get on the bed, let me work my magic.”     Looking at you with a shit-eating grin, he whistles, placing his elbows against the mattress, his roughened hands caressing his cheeks. “Working your magic? I’m interested. Tell me more, Y/N. Does this involve... Getting naked, perhaps?”     Staggering, you give him a dirty glare, “Satoru! I’ve been working my ass off like every week to get you all healed up, and you dare be perverted in my-”     “No cursing, lil girl! You wouldn’t want this rubbing off on Yuuji-kun and everyone else, would you? You’d be charged with a felony!” leaving you stunned for a second time- the first time being when his lanky figure strode into the room like it was his room- you don’t even know how to respond. How could one possibly be so... Ungrateful for your work?  Well, then again the elders existed... That was besides the point, though. You’re not even sure if Yuuji knows what the word fuck or shit is.     He drags his finger lazily along the cot, drawing various shapes into existence, giving you a skeptical look. “Not gonna answer? Stumped?”     He broke through your train of thought, and you shake your head. “Satoru, I don’t know any sort of fighting jujutsu, but I will fucking pulverize you and make sure you’ll be dust by the time I’m done with y-”     Butting in, he raises his hand as a way to shut you up. “Honeybun, you’re an amazing jujutsu sorcerer, but I hope you realize why they call me the strongest of all time. If you haven’t noticed, it’s because I have a constant shield. The closest you can get to doing that is maybe poking me.”     Giving him a snooty face, you’re frankly about to push him out of the room with sheer willpower and hatred alone. It seems he realizes this, a moment of adoration flickering across his eyes before finally neutralizing. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop playing with you. You’re so cute when I do though, like a little... Rabid raccoon! How can I not resist?”     It’s difficult to tell if that’s a compliment or an insult, with Satoru, it could be several things. But, you’re still slightly flattered, knowing him he’d go out of his way to lengthen his insult if it was one- just another reason why you hated him. Being called a rabid raccoon was definitely not on Satoru’s top 10 utterly offensive insults.       “Shut up, Satoru. Here, take off your shirt, what did you get yourself into this time?”       He obliges with a nasty grin on his handsome features, hastily yanking off his uniform. Underneath was a very meticulously trained body, toned muscles and all. You can’t help but to also catch a glimpse of his collarbones, which were so defined it looked like it could cut your butter for your morning pancakes. You gulp, blinking, you had forgotten just how well-shaped he was in the one week you hadn’t seen him.       “No need to stare, sweetums.” he chirps, realizing your darkening cheeks. “Feed my ego any more and I’ll probably burst and my organs will decorate your walls. You can donate my body to the local college, they’ll be surprised by how top-notch they are.”       Giving him another stern, but much more sheepish gaze, he snaps his mouth shut, but a triumphant smile replaced his grin in place.      “Please, no gruesome detailing. I’d much rather my cute kitten posters.” you motion to a white cat slumbering peacefully in a basket.      “Looks just like you.” he says.      You close your eyes and pretend he’s not there, choosing to ignore yet another one of his compliments, but your heart thumps faster in your heaving chest. Heaven knows how curious your hands could get if you could see where you were touching-      “Those are my abs, Y/N. I think we’re focusing on my back.” he muses aloud in an almost teasing tone. You can already imagine how obnoxious his face is, opening your eyes hesitantly, blinking to adjust to the bright room lights. Your hands are still hovering above his abs, his gaze is upon yours, looking at you with a mix of speculation and speechlessness. Instead of his unusual smug smirk, there’s an almost coy expression on his features, which shocked you.        “How’d your hands get there? Last time I checked, abs are at the front, not the back, hmmm?”        You grit your teeth, your face flush with warmth at your sudden realization. There was no cheeky retort you could’ve possibly come up with, after all, he was right, how did your hands wander to his abs? You weren’t thinking of doing it. You weren’t interested in him either, but he was attractive. Of course you’d be too curious for your own good.. Yes, that was it..       “Your hands are still on an inappropriate place, Y/N. Except, a lil lower than last time.” he chuckles wholesomely as you jerk up, straightening yourself and clearly sweating, your arm wiping your brow and exhaling a drawn-out and awfully dramatic sigh.       “Give me a break, Satoru. I just, um, you know... Zone out.” your pitch was unconvincing, high-pitched and wavering, bringing your chances of believability to a low.      “So, this is like, the 375th time since you’ve zoned out, lil girl.” he tsks, “You’ve gotta sound convincing if you wanna fuckin lie, you know.”      “I--” you falter, now clearly a shade darker than you were just 5 minutes ago. Your heart beating so rapidly it was almost like you were running a marathon. Why was your pulse so quick? Why was everything in the room a blur besides him? Why couldn’t you focus on healing him? What was he doing to you?      “You haven’t even begun the healing process.” he murmurs, his large hands caressing your arm that was by your side. “Anything you want to tell me, pumpkin? I’m on a tight ass schedule, but I’ll let Ijichi solve that. Spit it out.”       His voice rang out high and clear amongst the hectic fight that was going inside your head, steadying your thoughts. A few moments pass by, studying him, lips moving but no words coming out. Why was it so difficult to say through the insults, you cared for him, and wanted him to be more careful? Was it because of the monster inside of you, who wanted him to get hurt, to spend his time with you, listen to his horrible compliments and giggle at the jokes he made as you worked at a snail’s pace on his back, that weren’t even funny, but was funny because of his presence in the dead room, his boyish laugh very much needed in such days of flatness?      “Satoru..” you finally muster out, his eyes flickering on you once more as he was studying the kitten poster with much boredom. “I just.. Care for you.”      “Huh.” is all he says, face falling and examining the spotless floor. “Is that all?”      Acknowledging his body language, you huff, suddenly filled with the need to defend yourself. “What else did you want me to say? I just feel like you’ve gotten yourself hurt a lot more recently and... I just, want you to be more careful. That’s all.”     “No.” he was barely audible, so you had to lean down to hear him. “No, that’s not it at all. You’re hiding something. Do you prefer me to say it?”     Puzzled, you peer at him with childlike curiosity gleaming in your eyes. What did he know about you that you didn’t? Surely, you knew all about yourself?    “You’re not that fucking dumb, are you?”     “Huh?-” you begin to speak, clearly offended, but you’re stopped.     By none other than his lips.      They’re soft, pillow-like even. A familiar warmth floods inside of you at the sudden physical contact from Satoru, except it’s amplified by 10 times. A moan slips out of your mouth, his hand against your back so suddenly you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there just a millisecond ago. His lips were mashing against yours, as if he wanted to have done this a long time ago. You hungrily push back, teasing your mouth with his tongue that slipped just barely into your mouth before indulging in you, which you thought wouldn’t had ever happened prior to this.      You grip the back of his head firmly, as if he were to escape, other hand tangled in his snow white tufts of hair. Eyelashes fluttering, heavy breathes fanning out both of your noses, your lips were sure to be swollen after this. Your tongues dueling each other, working your mouth against his. His unoccupied hands start to play with the hem of your shirt, and another moan slips out of your mouth, anxious to have progressed so far to the removal of clothing, but at this point, you’re ready for anything.    ‧₊˚✩彡.       “I don’t think Gojo-Senpai and Y/N-Senpai are just in an intense healing session.” breathed Yuuji with a terrified look in his eyes, clutching his arm that was bloodied up, his head leaned close to the firmly shut door.        Nobara looked like she was about to faint, looking at the door as if it was a several feet tall monstrosity of a curse.        “What? What are they doing in there?” Megumi knelt down to where Yuuji was, pushing his ear against the door, and immediately his eyes shot open, a traumatized look in his fearful eyes.        “What the fuck.” 

[eddieheart]

DIRKS AND DAGGARS

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Pairings: slight Malcolm x oc

Words: 1368

Description: Malcolm meets his so called ‘grocery bandit’

It had been a long week, Mary was a hard worker, or at least she liked to think. She'd been working as a maid/ house cleaner for a few years now. The money helped pay for college and rent, rich families would pay out the nose to not have to clean their houses.

Her latest client had recommended her to a friend, a very rich friend, who had a son. Apparently he'd been trying to get away from his family, at least a little. He was very private and didn't tell others about his problems, especially not his mother.

The woman had asked that along with cleaning her apartment building, including his apartment, that Mary give her regular updates on her son.

It wasn't the first weird request Mary had received and it surely was not the last, he was probably just another frat boy not telling his mummy about all his conquests. Maybe she'd find his secret panty drawer and out him.

A uniform wasn't required unless specifically asked for, and Mary much preferred to just wear jeans and a t-shirt. It was her second week cleaning the apartments and she still hadn't seen the mysterious son in question.

Antique and vintage blades decorating the walls were reminiscent of a museum, the paintings scattering the walls were gorgeous. His apartment was, odd to stay the least, but Mary quite enjoyed it. It was a surprise though, for her to find a pair of leather cuffs anchored to his bed, kinky.

She started the day as usual, putting her head phones on and beginning with the lower level rooms, making her way up. Using her key, Mary slipped into the apartment, music screaming in her ears.

With several bags hanging from her arms she sauntered over to the fridge. Jessica had been paying her extra to drop off groceries. She pulled open the fridge door and held it open with her leg, pulling out groceries from the bag and humming to herself.

Once the bag was empty she shut the fridge door and stuffed the plastic bag into her larger sack. The heavy bag swung, wrapping the wires of her headphones into the bag straps and pulling them from her ears.

"So you're the grocery bandit, I've been expecting you." A loud male voice spoke through the apartment.

Her head shot up and she jumped back in shock. A loud gasp escaped her and she placed a hand to her chest. Mary let out a few panicked breaths, trying to calm her breathing as the man stepped closer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Did my mother send you?" He asked kindly. The man was closer now, about a meter in between them.

"Umm.. yes. I uh, I'm the maid. I.. uh.. it's nice to meet you Mr. Whitly." She nodded her head in greeting.

He seemed startled but recovered quickly with a smile, he reached a hand out.

"Bright, Malcolm Bright. You can call me Malcolm, it's nice to meet you as well." She shook his hand, watching his face as she did.

"I can come back later if you want, it's not a big deal." Mary asked timidly, pointing to the door.

"No, no. It's fine." His smile was infectious.

Mary pulled a few cleaning products from her bag, glancing at him subtly. Biting her lip she placed the bottles onto the counter and decided to speak.

"Your weapons are lovely. It's quite the collection." Cleaning as she spoke timidly.

His head shot up with a bright smile, he walked over to the kitchen island, close but not too close.

"Thank you, you like weapons? I mean collecting?" Mary could tell he was trying to keep his enthusiasm at bay. She sprayed a small bit of cleaner onto the table and wiped it off with a clean washcloth.

"I do, I have to say your medieval dirk with the gilded handle is... lovely." His smile widened and he continued on with a sense of childish glee.

"Your a fan of medieval rondell daggers? You don't seem like the type, no offense." He held his hands up in a surrender position.

"None taken, I don't exactly look like a historical weapons connoisseur. I'm in school for anthropology at the moment, historical culture, weapons, clothing, religion... I know a bit of everything." She gestures to herself as she spoke, smiling at them man.

"You're an anthropologist?" He asked, perking up. Mary smiled bitterly it soon turned into a slight frown.

"No, not yet at least."

"But you do know about ancient cultures?" Eye brows raised in question.

Her brows furrowed quizzically as she moved from cleaning the kitchen island to wiping down the countertops.

"I do yes, I know about insects and bones as well, forensic anthropology and entomology." He stood quickly at her mention and walked forward.

"Would you be able to help me with something? I'm working a case and you seem to have... the perfect skill set." Leaning closer to her, he spoke with his hands excitedly.

"I um... sure.. what exactly do you need me to do?" For all she knew this man, Malcolm, was making fun of her.

In a blur he rushed off towards a desk, he quickly pulled a series of Manila folders and rushed back to the island. Opening them roughly he dispersed the photos onto the table ans ushered her over.

She stared at one of the photos in interest, biting her lip she grabbed another. Malcolm watched in excitement, she was seeing something he hadn't.

A burst of energy flew through her and she quickly rearranged the photos in a pattern of sorts. Smiling to herself she turned to him.

"What exactly is this?"

"They are photos from several crime scenes across the city, I was hoping you could help me figure out what was missing. You have haven't you? What do you see?" He asked with a pleasant smirk.

"It's... this is... different um... hard to explain. Endocannibalism, anthropologists have studied it for years, I've never seen something like this here. This is a death ritual preformed by a new guinae tribe. It's a bastardized version of course but you can see the similarities," smiling she pointed at the photos. "See here, the gallbladder was burned in the fireplace, that's the one piece you don't eat. His body is laid across a set table, like they were expecting company, expecting a meal."

Malcolm watched her intently as she spoke, feeding of off her energy.

"The skull was cut open and the brain removed, it's said that if you eat the brain you absorb the wisdom of the dead person. But here, see this," she pointed down. "Right here, the cut is clean, like it was done with a bone saw, same here at the ribs. Did you find the internal organs?"

Her head whipped around to face him, neither of them had noticed how close they were. Their noses practically touching. Malcolm laughed awkwardly and stepped back.

"Um.. no we didn't." He looked to her in confusion, excitement seeping off of him in waves.

"The killer took them, probably to eat. The cuts are precise and clean, they look professional. You can see here, the killer started to clean but only got halfway through, they were interrupted. Didn't get to finish their ritual, so they took them." Mary looked to Malcolm with a determined expression.

"Your either looking for someone who works with people or the dead, like a surgeon or mortician or you're looking for an expert, someone who's done this before. Given the fact they're using papa New Guinea type methods I'd say you're looking for a woman as well. They believe that only a woman could hold the demons of man." Shaking her head she turned back to him.

"I'm sorry I should probably get back to work." She waved her hand dismissively and folded in on herself. He reached out a hand touching her arm softly.

"No no.. you've really helped me. How would you feel about coming into the station with me, to work on a profile?" Malcolm asked almost timidly. Mary nodded and smiled.

"I'd be delighted."

Part 2:

Thank you @buggylad for editing, I couldn’t do it without you. Also, my requests are always open so if you have any, please send them in. :)

[twistedmusings]

Congrats on 600+ followers! May I request fluff no. 18 with Azul with a g/n reader who works on campus catching him off guard because they're naturally suave? Love your works btw >w>

A/N: Ah thank you for the compliment! And the writer is going to be perfectly honest...I kinda went rouge with this prompt request. I didn’t expect to be so into it but I’m an Azul simp so maybe its just in my blood q wq. 

Warnings: None! Unless you count Azul embarassing himself as one. 

Azul Ashengrotto 

Azul hated everything about this.

It was just a simple question. Were you free tonight? Azul had planned out a perfect excuse to get you to drop by the Monstro Lounge as well as a brand new appetizer set that he had put on the menu that would hopefully keep you in the Monstro Lounge and in the company of Azul.

And then maybe, just maybe, Azul could believe that he had a date with you. 

The plan was flawless in his eyes

He knew you weren't doing anything tonight, had planned each appetizer based on what you usually ordered when you went over and  handpicked an array of conversational topics which were all ordered based on how interesting you would find them. 

All he had to do now was just...set it into motion. Which is good! No plan this good should be kept in the dark. 

So why did he hate every single aspect of this? 

Ever since your little 'hardworking' comment back in the Atlantica museum, Azul started drafting what ended up being a five page outline on how to get you to be his friend. After spending more time with you he extended the outline to ten pages in order to include how he would get you to visit Atlantica and his parent's restaurant. Followed that came several more hangouts as well as you offering to work for Monstro Lounge for some extra madol and Azul didn't necessarily know how a five page outline turned into a fifteen page outline complete with color coordination on events he deemed important in your relationship as well as future events he had already planned out that would get your feelings for him to change into something with a more...romantic overture. 

"Oh. Hey Azul!" 

This was it. No turning back. Every single muscle in his body was tensed despite how relaxed and poised he looked on the outside

"[Y/N]-san. Lovely seeing you here." 

"Feeling is mutual." you smile, "Need help finding a book?" 

First hurdle. Reply with a flirtatious comment or state his intentions clearly. 

"No,I am just here...to check out books..." 

Oh Great Witch, he wouldn't be able to pull this off would he? 

Azul needed to call the whole thing off, needed to go back and draft any other scenario that didn't start with him stating the blatantly obvious--! 

"Oh well good! Do you need my help?" 

Or maybe not? An excuse to stick by your side had presented itself and Azul would be damned  if he didn't take it. 

"I need a book on human's thoughts on Atlantica before the start of the 21st century. I thought it would be an interesting read for both me and Jade." 

Azul can't help the softness he feels in his heart as he watches you think to yourself before placing a finger on your lips. 

“Twisted Wonderland history...that should be over in the next couple of shelves. Wanna follow me?” 

Yes. YES! 

“If that would be alright with you.” 

Sky blue eyes take in your form, letting his mind wander as you talked about...well he wasn’t necessarily listening. With you being this distracted Azul could take all the time he wanted staring at way your lips moved and how your eyes looked when staring at him--

“Azul? Did you hear what I said?” 

He blinks when your words reach his ears, blushing when realizing that he had been staring so much he truly had no idea what you were talking about. No need to panic or get carried away, however, this was perfectly normal in conversations. 

“I apologize. I have been a little out of it.” 

You stop walking beside him, halting Azul’s step as you looked at him. 

“Are you alright?” 

Damn you. That was the sort of thing that Azul loved and hated about you. You were in a world that wasn’t your own and were almost pushed to take up odd jobs here and there to make ends meet and you were asking about his well-being? Friendship or possible romantic relationship be damned, Azul just wanted you by his side constantly. 

If he could rope you into a contract that would assure that it would be so much easier than having to plan out an entire situation to get what he wants, but you at least were worth the trouble. 

“More than alright. Even I tend to get distracted.” 

Your cheery smile comes back as you both keep walking, you speaking up after a few seconds. 

“I asked what had brought you here.” 

You. 

“Just the book I suppose...and the company that came along with it.” 

First flirtatious comment made and the small look of surprise was his prize. Catching you off guard was one of the goals he had set for himself in this conversation so he could promptly check that off. 

“And you?” he adjusted his glasses before smiling his practiced charming smile, “Do you come here often?” 

“Well considering I work here...yes.” 

Azul can almost hear a pin drop when you say that, his eyes somehow abandoning his tunnel vision and realizing what you looked like. 

A small name badge on your uniform, a lanyard with several keys that he guessed would help you open several library doors and a trolley (how did he miss a trolley!?) full of books that you were currently pushing. 

“Right...of course...I knew that…” 

A small chip cracks off from his pride, the whole thing coming tumbling down as you laugh. How did he miss such a BIG detail? 

“Did you really not notice? I was even putting books away!” 

All he can do is open and close his mouth like a fish out of water, face turning an embarrassing shade of red as he tries to excuse himself from your presence. He just wanted to hide in a pot and never come out! The moment he got to the dorm he would tear that outline in half because what was the point if he missed something so little! Why would you even want to be friends with someone like him when he didn’t even know the more basic things about you! 

Stars, he just wanted to die. 

You wipe a tear from your eye before putting a hand on a shelf, “Oh my goodness...that was really funny. You should find the book you want here, ‘zul.” 

“...thank you…” 

Azul sighs and goes to look for whatever title he had told you he wanted but stops when a hand tugs on his wrist. 

“Well don’t leave me alone just yet. I have a question for you.” 

You pull out your phone, “I get off at six today. Do you mind if I drop by the Monstro Lounge to hang out?” 

His heart does a little flip as his entire posture straightens out. 

“I--” 

“Yeah I know you guys close at five and don’t open until eight for weekends but I thought we could just hang out in your office. We clearly need to catch up if you didn’t know I work here now.” 

You move closer, the little flips in Azul’s heart turning into major acrobatic leaps as you smile at him. 

“Sounds like a date?” 

Azul doesn’t necessarily remember what happened after that, all he remembers is nodding far too quickly that his glasses almost flew off and then tripping on air when you finished helping him check his book out. 

[x0401x]

Violet Evergarden Movie Summary

The initial plan was to make this a short bullet-point thing, but I felt like there was too much to clarify and I had no choice but use novel references to explain certain parts, so I decided to just write a normal summary. Many thanks before-hand to my friend Yuuki, who gave me all this info.

Apologies for taking relatively long with this thing. Not even I expected that I would end up writing this much. Buckle up for the ride, ‘cause it won’t be fun.

Nope, not kidding. It really won’t.

First thing I need to make clear is: this movie is one and a half hour long and divided into three parts and two different timelines: the times when Violet existed and the times after she dies. Already in the beginning of the movie, Violet is dead.

Yes, you read this right. She’s dead.

Now, I don’t mean that she’s dead in the literal sense. This is 60 years in the future. She might be alive or not, but it’s never said. However, the timeline of 60 years later is considered an era without Violet, apparently because she has retired and her “legend” is over, so to say. It’s also a time where Auto-Memories Dolls don’t exist. That’s one good punch in the face. Let’s keep counting.

The movie is sort of like a tale being read by someone else, which at some point goes into Violet’s first-person POV. The whole thing is kind of a look back on Violet’s life tragectory and how it took a new turn when she decided to continue looking for Gil despite all the mess of the TV series.

The era where Violet exists is an era where telephones are being introduced to the people, so Auto-Memories Dolls are starting to become unnecessary. I would argue that the creation of the telephone isn’t enough for an entire occupation to start disappearing so quickly, since new inventions are normally extremely expensive and not everyone has access to them (or even knows about their existence) so immediately after their conception. Realistically speaking, ghostwriters would still be important as long as there were still so many people unable to buy phones. Not to mention that this is a steampunk world where compulsory education doesn’t seem to be a thing yet, so even in the off chance that everybody can buy a phone, there would still be a lot of people who can’t read or write on their own. But all of this clearly went over the animators’ heads, so not only ghostwriters but also the mail business in general are nearing their doom in the movie.

The one looking back on Violet’s life was Ann, who was telling it all to her granddaughter, Daisy (who, by the way, is voiced by Morohoshi Sumire, the same girl who voiced the seven-year-old Ann). Ann had kept all the letters that Violet ghostwrote for her mother, as well as the newspapers about the CH Postal Company. Looks like the article was printed after Violet left CH, since she isn’t in the picture with everyone else.

In this era, CH’s main office has been turned into a museum. Nerine is shown working in it. Of course, she’s a grandma by then. Speaking of the CH personnel, Erica also quit being an Auto-Memories Doll and became a playwright like Oscar. She appears in the newspaper, though, so she probably a while left after Violet did. Taylor also appears there.

Back to Daisy, she was writing a letter to her parents, in order to learn how to properly convey feelings with written word. The message of this scene seems to be that, no matter the tools, what’s important is that we convey our feelings to the people we love.

As we see in the trailer, Gil’s mom has passed and Violet runs into Dietfried when visiting her grave on the anniversary of her death. To anyone who is wondering: yeah, Gil never went to see his mother and she died thinking that he was dead.

Nobody knew that Gil was alive. Not his mother, not Dietfried, not the Evergardens and not even Hodgins. No one.

Here’s what happened to Gil in the anime: he survived the incident at Intense, of course, but got separated from Violet in that explosion. His tag miraculously stayed on the same spot, though, as we saw in the TV series. Now, since this isn’t explained in the anime at all, I have to make it clear: the tag is that necklace the soldiers wear. It contains their names and ranks, so that their bodies can be identified even when they’re irrecognizable. Without the tag, the people who rescued Gil had no idea who he was, so he was sent to a different place to get treated. He ended up at a monastery hospital instead of the one in Enchaîné. I would debate that his uniform alone is enough to identify him as someone from the Leidenschaftlich Army, or maybe they could’ve just asked him which troop he belonged to after he woke up and relocated him to where his fellow men were, but who even cares about all these plot holes anymore? Definitely not me.

Anyway. After Gil was discharged, he ran the fuck away. Like, literally.

If anyone out there was hoping that Gil would finally have his moment to shine as the self-sacrificing, thoughtful and ridiculously kindhearted character that he is in the novel, I have bad news for you. What we had here was even worse than it being Gil’s excuse movie. It’s like the whole thing was made to drag his character so deep through the mud that he’ll never be able to get up again. There’s pretty much nothing in this one and a half hour that actually justifies what he did to Violet. I’ll elaborate on this as we go on.

Anime!Gil became a nomad and went traveling. He offed his ass to the island where that lighthouse displayed in the most recent official art is located (that’s why Gil and Violet were at the beach on the movie poster). He doesn’t have a prosthetic in the anime because, apparently, he was more worried about disappearing as fast as possible to somewhere he would never be found, and never attempted to contact anybody. So nobody knew that he was alive, hence the grave, which, as we feared, was not a fake one. His family really did think he had died.

This is a point that I have already addressed before, but that also means Gil really did abandon Violet to luck. If anything dangerous ever happened to her (as it did, and it was always very obviously likely to happen, since she was the southern army’s most outstanding soldier and quite literally fled from the military), he wouldn’t even know. If word ever got to him, it would probably be too late. And even if it weren’t, he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help her. More than allowing her to live freely, it felt like he was running away from his responsibilities regarding Violet.

Punch on the face count is currently at six.

By sheer coincidence, Violet learns that Gil is living in that island. She goes to see him and Hodgins goes with her after trying to stop her at first. When Gil finds out that they came to see him, he outright refuses to meet them. It pretty much takes the near entirety of the goddamn movie for them to see each other face-to-face. I say face-to-face because all of the following shit happens:

Hodgins goes to talk to Gil. It lasts about 20 minutes.

Gil talks to Violet from behind a door. This one is about 10 minutes.

Dietfried also comes to the island to talk to him. Also about 10 minutes.

At long fucking last, Gil goes to see Violet. But that, too, is only for about 10 minutes.

Hodgins gives him a speech very similar to what happens in chapter 8. Now get ready to fall back from your seats: Dietfried basically goes there to tell Gil that he won’t run away from taking over the family anymore, so Gil can live freely. Yes, Dietfried is officially a better Gilbert than Gilbert himself. I crave death.

So, after much ado, they come to a conclusion: Gil will stay in the island. In order to completely free himself of the shackles of his bloodline, he stays behind, living the way he wants to. ‘Cause all anime!Gil wants is to rot away alone by the sea, apparently. Now prepare yourselves, for it gets worse. Ready?

Violet stays with him in the motherfucking island.

That’s right, ladies and gents. Another fear became true. She quits her job at the CH Postal Company and goes to live with him. Well, at least, not as a housewife. She starts working with mail services in the island, and Gil helps her with it. Her life goes on like this and she dies in the island as well.

This is where the timeline after Violet passes away comes into light, parallel to the era when Violet was alive. Daisy talks about what happened after Violet left CH, as if it were a tale from the distant past.

That’s it.

The movie paints this as a happy ending. I can hardly see it as one. I know it almost looks like everything was solved, but it just got swept under the rug.

The main point that makes me sad in this ending is that Violet’s character development did a 360 degree flip. In the end, she threw everything to the air and went to live in someone who she always put before everyone else, even herself, but who didn’t do the same for her (in the anime). She’s gone to a crammed little island, where she led an uneventful life away from everyone and everything that’s ever had a positive impact on her. All she has is Gil.

Of course, he’s all she needs, but he isn’t all she should have, and that was the entire point of pushing her to go live on her own. Which is exactly what she earns in the novel: two loving parents, a father figure, a brother figure, a best friend and several other friends and acquaintances whom she formed a bond with. She has all she needs, so she doesn’t have to cling to Gil for any reason. There’s no emotional dependance on him anymore. She doesn’t need him to be whole. She just wants him because he happens to be the best person she’s ever met.

Anime!Violet is most definitely not whole. She almost got there, but then she backtracked completely. And anime!Gil... in my friend’s words, is a weakling. There’s nothing in him actually worth all this undying blind love. Sure, he’s full of regret and shit, but it’s too easy to only act upon it now, by vanishing into thin air like a coward.

The deal with novel!Gil is that he looks around at everything he has, everything that had been burdening him and killing him on the inside all his life, and decides to make use of it for Violet’s sake. He continues being family head and working in the army, amassing money and connections in order to have every means possible to protect Violet should anything happen to her. And as it turns out, he does end up having to use those means, more than once, but he will keep this up for as long as he needs to, because he lives for her now. That’s what makes him worth all the blood, sweat, tears, mental sanity and even body parts that she gave away for his sake: he pays it back. Every cent.

Punch in the face count ends at twelve. Thirteen if I include the fact that the movie ends with a last shot of Violet after she and Gilbert do a pinky swear. Looks like they were really trying to buy everyone with tears.

Oh, well.

I hope this has been a good enough summary. Sorry if I rained on anyone’s parade. I’m pretty sure we won’t get a remake ever, so I really wish we all can get over this soon.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 21

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, abuse, PTSD

A/N: enjoy xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky was an observer. It was something that was written in his bones, something he used to think was good when he functioned as a sniper in the 107th, something HYDRA loved in the assassin they had forced him to be, something he had grown to hate after he had gained some sort of control over his life. But now? Now, Bucky was observing something he could look at for the rest of his life, Y/N. 

She had changed into a black cherry patterned dress covered by an oversized white cardigan which every once in a while would slip, exposing her shoulder. He was standing next to her, listen to her echoing voice as she pointed out several little things for his flat yet not listening at all. He was just so enamoured by her. The way her smile pulled at her cheek, how her nose would scrunch up as she picked vases and frames, showing it to him. 

He could almost see gravity acting upon her, the way her hair bounced up and down. Her teeth bitting onto her lip as she studied the details of the bedding fabric. God, Bucky could just look at her and remain like that for ages. He could just follow her into the unknown as long as she held his hand, the touch of her thumb against his flesh hand, the softness her touch held. There was nothing sweeter, purer than her. He kissed her shoulder, nuzzling against the wool fabric of her cardigan.

Y/N smiling, moving her head slightly to kiss his forehead before returning to look at the choice of plates and other cutlery for his kitchen since it turned out he had none and had been living out of paper plates and plastic cutlery. 

      - Do you like the white ones or the blue ones? - she asked, pointing at the two plates on the shelf. 

      - Which ones do you like?

     - C’mon Bucky, I picked the frames so you have to pick the plates. It’s your house. - she crossed her arms playfully. - Pick one. 

     - Listen, back in my day, we handed our plates from generation to generation. In my defense, I was not expecting to ever have to pick out a plate.

    - You cannot use the “I’m old” excuse for everything. Come on, blue or white?

    - Fine. Blue. - he grabbed the cardboard plate holder, putting a dozen plates in before adding the holder to the rest of the stuff on their trolley. - What’s next, princess?

     - Couch, bed, bedding, dresser and you’re lucky you have a built in wardrobe because I love the wardrobe portion of IKEA. 

     - Don’t tell me I’m stealing one of the greatest pleasures of your life, my sweet princess. - he placed his hands on her waist pulling her in towards him, placing a small kiss to her nose. - Have I told you how lovely you look today?

    - At least five times. - she giggled like a little girl, leaning onto his shoulder for a little while before driving him towards the section were most beds were displayed. Bucky watched with a bit of bored wonder, yet he couldn’t help but not to want to be somewhere else, not when she was around looking excited about picking out something as mundane as a bed. He wondered, he wondered how she would look picking out furniture for her actually home, a home ... a home where she would live with him. Their own home, surrounded by a picket white fence with pink rose bushes and as much IKEA furniture as she could possibly want. 

Their own home where she would paddle around barefoot in the mornings to meet him as he took his coffee, or maybe the house with the wooden floors she would walk in maybe someday pregnant. The perfect life, or at least that of what he had envisioned. At least the perfect life he had envisioned when he was younger, not tainted by his own actions. He wanted that life but the thing is, he no longer deserved it and as his sight got lost in the several beds on display. His mind couldn’t help but rush through wondering what picking furniture for his own house would look like, maybe she would be wearing the same dress, a bit tighter around her swollen stomach, his mum’s ring on her finger. Yet those were only delirious dreams of a man who hadn’t dreamt in more than half a century.

     - Are you alright? - she held his hand in hers, thumb caressing the rough skin it found. - You seem a bit dazed. 

    - Yeah ... just distracted by the large mount of beds. 

    - Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? We can stop if you’re not feeling well. 

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at her worry, leaning down to softly kiss her again, unwrapping her hands from the trolley to hold his. He smirked through the kiss, leaning her down on the closest display bed to them, kissing down from her lips to her collarbones making her giggle. 

   - No, I don’t think this is the bed. You should be moaning, not giggling.

   - That’s not how you pick a bed. - she tried to give him the best authoritarian look which failed as he hauled her to another bed. - You’re gonna get us kicked out. 

   - I’m a senior citizen, they can’t kick me out. - he held her by her waist, moving her to another bed before leaning his head in the space between her neck and shoulder, biting her skin softly. - Hm, I think I like this one better. What do you think, princess?

   - I think we should try another one.

   - If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve said so. - he rolled so she was standing on top of him before moving his head up to kiss her. - I think this is the one. 

   - Okay, we will grab one from the end. 

She moved away from him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, hot cheeks as the people who had stopped their shopping to look at them went back to their business leaving the two of them to their own. Bucky laughed at her embarrassment, getting up from the bed before kissing her forehead. The two of them continued to pick furniture until they reached the end aisle with all the packed and ready to go furniture. Bucky was the one to pick it, tossing it onto the trolley as if it weighed nothing. He felt comfortable living in this mundane system, looking at the people waiting in the queue while Y/N commented on furniture she would maybe want in a future house. 

If he were crazy enough he would’ve suggested for her to get that house now, to just drop whatever stopped her from doing what she wanted and go for it yet she was probably still sensitive from this morning’s events. They paid for the furniture and loaded it onto the car driving back to his flat. She was excited, pushing some of his boxes to the middle of the floor to start unpacking them before assembling the bed and the other things they’d bought.

Bucky didn’t have much, it was mostly memorabilia, stuff that his mother had left behind and a hand full of clothing. He was a minimalist yet all his things seemed to hold immense value, specially the stack of photographs that had fallen onto her lap. She looked at him, he was too invested into assembling the couch to notice her, so Y/N started going through his photos.

They were mostly from his youth, a few polaroid shots from the 21st century mixed in but those which she was interested in were the ones where he was in uniform. He was a handsome man and that she already knew but there was this sort of mischievous, joueur de vie spark in his eyes as he posed with several women, Steve always somehow in the back. 

    - What are you looking at? - Bucky sat down on the ground next to her, pulling her to his side before taking one of the photos from the ground. - I haven’t seen this in years. 

    - You haven’t seen your own photographs?

    - The museum sent some over, I didn’t really felt like looking at them. No use crying over the past. 

    - What about the new ones? - she held up one of Steve with a beer in hand laughing at whatever Sam was telling him. - Do you fancy yourself a photographer?

    - I like taking photos of mundane things. - he shrugged, looking through the polaroids scattered around the floor. - Normality amuses me. 

    - I think your photographs are beautiful. - she gave him a soft smile, before sliding another photo into one of the frames. The actress grabbed another one from the pile; it was Steve laying in what looked like a hospital bed alongside Sam and Natasha with silly faces.  - What happened in this one?

Bucky’s throat dried up as she held up a photo up to him, curiosity sketched in her beautiful features but not even her softness could take away from how sunken his heart was at sight of the insignificant photo. It wasn’t his, probably had gotten mixed up but he knew why it was there. Steve had only been in the hospital after serum once and he had been the cause of it. There were scratches and bruises, a lip cut. This was Capitan America rendered hurt by him, the same invincible Capitan America. If Steve Rogers couldn’t be safe from him ... then why would she? 

   - Bucky? - her voice was once again echoey as it was whenever he got lost in his mind. She put her hand on the hardwood floor, pushing herself up, letting the photographs on her lap flow to the ground. Her hand cradled his face, thumb caressing his scrub. - Can you breathe in for me? Please?

   - I’m not a baby, Y/N. 

   - I know but you need to breathe in for me, okay? - her eyes were shimmery, thumb lining his limps. He gave in for her, melting under her touch and allowing air to slowly enter and exit his lungs. - You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. I love you. 

Other women had told Bucky they loved him. God, he had heard it perhaps too many times but coming from her, coming from her it seemed like love was her own creation and she had slightly opened her heart just for him. In all honesty, he didn’t care if she would ever say it back but now that she had, he just wanted to hear it again. It was everything and nothing at all at the same time yet the mention of those words only made him more scared. He could only picture her in the same situation and it made him out of breathe again, almost as if someone was pushing him into deep dark waters and all he could do was scream helplessly as the water filled his lungs while no one heard a thing. 

She was however very still in her position, caring as she was and those thoughts that she would be eaten alive by her own passions came back to haunt him. Now both her passions seemed to lie in waiting to take a bite of her neck and leave her to bleed. He couldn’t shake that image out of his head no matter how hard he tried.

    - Hey, why don’t we go through the rest of the furniture and take care of the photos later. - she difused the subject before it could explode. - C’mon.

The rest of day of uneventful, mostly just the two of them making his flat look like a home and not a safety investment. By the time the clock hit 9PM, they had assembled all the furniture and added all the rest of their shopping to their due places. After eating Chinese take-out on his new rug while The Crown played on her laptop, they eventually went back to bed. The air was different, she could feel it, she could sense something off and for the first time since the two had fallen asleep together in the same bed she was the one awake. The white linen was draped over her shirtless chest as she looked at the old chandelier over her, her reflection light by the moonlight as she found sleep couldn’t spell her no matter how much she tried. 

Her eyes were fixed on the cracked glass, watching her reflection shatered in different planes. The sleep didn’t seem to come and she remained wide awake until the sun rays broke through the cloudy morning sky, illuminating both her and him. Her hand hadn’t left him, feeling him toss and turn during the night so once the sun rose, he too awoke. 

Almost like a mechanical move, he turned to check on her, finding her eyes looking back at his. Lazily, he kissed her forehead, pulling her to her chest, tucked under his chin before mumbling a good morning to her. Yet, no matter how much warmth he seemed to provide her, she still felt something off. Her suspicions were confirmed once her phone alerted her of a message. 

She grabbed it from the bedside table, eyes rushing through the text before groaning, pushing the covers away from her legs.

   - Where are you going? - Bucky whined, raising his torso from the comfortable bed. He would never admit it, but it was much nicer to sleep in a framed bed than on the ground.

   - It’s my boss, he’s asking for me.

   - What does he want?

   - I would say probably something related to my flat’s incidence. - she bit onto her lip, grabbing her clothing from the door hook. - I’ll take a taxi, you can stay here. 

   - I’m not gonna let you out my sight when someone broke into your flat, Y/N.

   - Yes but you need to finish unboxing your clothing and it’ll be really boring to wait in the car.

   - Y/N.

   - I’ll be fine. - she grabbed her shoes before going up to kiss him goodbye. Bucky didn’t even have the time to argue with her before she was out the door.

Truth was Y/N did not want him going. She knew whatever she was walking into would not sit well with Bucky and she didn’t want him triggered or disrespected by Mr. Hawthrone. She didn’t want him in his winter soldier thinking space and as such she walked straight into the crossfire the moment she entered the taxi.

She pulled at the skin of her nails as she sat on the office of her agency, watching as new talent came in and out. She bite her own lip at the same time, trying to appear tougher than she was when in reality she felt like shattering into a million pieces and as her name was called by his assistance, things seemed to beat faster.

Following the woman inside his office she found him sitting down in his chair, always the calm, stern man. It was almost as if nothing bothered him, he always had such a poker face no one could tell what he was thinking and Y/N in this moment wanted nothing but to be inside his head. He motioned towards the chair before opening his mouth to start speaking.

  - I’m glad to see you’re okay. - he started. - Although I must say I’m quite disappointed you didn’t call our team when it happened.

  - I thought notifying my bodyguard was the most appropriate thing at the moment, sir. - she replied, eyes downcast to her lap. 

  - I was horrified to know what was written in your mirror. - he opened his draw to pull a white envelope, sliding it up to her. - Yet, I do believe there is some blame on you for this. It seems like the public, not to my shock, isn’t very happy with your current relationship.

  - I don’t think the public has anything to do with my relationship. - she opened the envelope to find paparazzi pictures of her and Bucky in less than professional settings. - Have you been following me?

  - I just bought them from the Sun. Clearly, we need to clean up your image to ensure you’re safe. Luckily for us, it’s mostly rumours, no photographs to confirm your affiliations with Mr. Barnes.

  - I don’t think my image is the problem, sir. 

  - I think we need to clear up this whole Barnes mess. I have spoken with several of my male clients and they are thrilled about the prospect of maybe a PR relationship.

  - But I don’t need a PR relationship, I have a relationship.

  - You have a relationship with a man who half the world deems an assassin and traitor to his own country. That is not the image that we want for you and it’s clearly backfiring.

  - I made it clear when I signed this contract that I wasn’t gonna have a PR relationship. It’s just not who I am and ... and Bucky can defend me from whoever comes my way.

  - It is not up to you who decides what PR stuff is done or not. You are an investment, sweetheart and I will not lose money on you just because you refuse to act like a professional actress. I will have Ms. Olson send you a list of potential candidates and you will have your pick on my desk by tomorrow and that is an order.

  - I don’t ...

  - I think our meeting is done. - he twirled his chair, turning his back to her. She wanted to scream at him, shout that he didn’t own her and that he didn’t get to tell her what she should do in her bed or life. Yet, before she could even fight for an option she was escorted out the office by the same assistant before having a door shut on her face.

She remained in the middle of the waiting room, fists clenching onto the white envelope as she wondered what to do. What could she do? With that thought on her mind, she grabbed her phone from her purse.

  - Chuck? I need a favour. 

taglist: @disasterbii​​​​ @lookiamtrying​​​​ @buckysteveloki-me​​​​ @americasass81​​​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​​​​ @lostinthebeans​​​​ @mariahthelioness29​​​​ @buckyandsebastian​​​​ @peaches-roses-sins​​​​ @theadorasabditory​​​​ @sipsteacasually​​​​ @saiyanprincessswanie​​​​ @booktease21​​​​ @noiralei​​​​ @learisa​​​​ @everythingisoverratedbutgreat​​​​​ @uglipotata72829​​​​​ @naturalthrone22​​​​​ @husherstan​​​​​ @mandiiblanche​​​​​ @vicmc624​​​​​ @newyorkgoddess​​​​​ @itsallyscorner​​​​​ @chipilerendi​​​​​ @emzd34​​​​​ @writerwrites​​​​​ @bluevxnus​​​​​ @that-girl-named-alex​​​​​ @captnrogers​​​​​ @nsfwsebbie​​​​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​​​​ 

[refuge-au]

>Open the Captain's File

Xisuma: Break the News

The model in the center of the entrance hall spun slowly, the mechanical, to scale, planets orbiting the massive sun at a rate thousands of times faster than their real counterparts did. The fake sun glowed softly, it’s light dimming briefly as Jupiter crossed between it and the man viewing it. Jupiter’s moons and the metallic arms that held them above the ground created a spiderweb pattern of shadows on the ground that slowly swept across the body of the visitor as it moved.

Xisuma stood several feet away from the center of the solar system model, his eyes tracing the path of Earth as it came out from behind the sun in an almost melancholy way. His brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail, his beard freshly trimmed- although you couldn’t see it at all thanks to the respirator he was wearing. He had even gone to the trouble of putting on one of his more casual dress uniforms.

The effort hadn’t gone unnoticed by the museum staff, drawing a couple of confused looks and some whispers, but he did his best to ignore him. What he had to say wouldn’t go over well, so he might as well look nice. Get some compliments.

The door opened, and the employee greeted the group of people that walked in cheerfully. X turned around, taking a deep breath, and smiled. Show time.

An older woman, just a bit shorter than him, her hair almost completely white, was pushing the wheelchair of a man that someone might have mistaken for him, if his hair weren't as white as hers and his face covered in scars. The woman checked in at the front desk quickly, showing a pass, and then turned and saw him, her eyes crinkling in a smile.

She walked over to Xisuma, the man in the wheelchair saying something and rolling over to the other side of the model.

“Hey, mom.” He said, trying to ignore the way his bottom lip trembled when she pulled him into a hug, her respirator digging into his shoulder.

“You’re all dressed up.” She said, stepping back and putting a hand to his cheek in the way that she always had when they were little. “You look nice, honey.”

“Thank you.” He said, bringing his hand up to cover hers. “You look nice too.”

She chuckled, patting the side of his face and then putting her hand down. “Oh, stop. I didn’t realize that this was going to be a formal dress event, or I would’ve thrown on something besides my work clothes.”

“It’s not a formal dress event, I just felt like cleaning up a bit.” Xisuma shrugged, hoping that the tension in his shoulders didn’t betray the news that he was bringing. “Haven’t had the opportunity to wear this in a bit, got a discount on museum admission, you know.”

She smiled at him again, but her eyes seemed… sad. “…Xisuma, we’re very proud of you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” He replied. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looking at him, as if she was searching for an answer to an unspoken question in his eyes. Whatever she found there didn’t seem to change her emotions, her soft smile and that strange sadness remaining as she pulled her purse to the front of her, opening it.

“You should go talk to your brother, dear. I need to go change my filter before I forget.”

“You didn’t change it before you came here? Mom…”

She waved one hand in the air as she continued to move things around in her purse with the other. “The alert came just as we got inside. A few minutes on a bad filter isn’t going to kill me.”

“…Alright. We’ll wait for you.” Xisuma said, and his mother waved him off as he headed over to the other side of the model where his twin brother was sitting, staring up at the planets in silence.

He reached his side, and stopped. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like forever.

Finally his brother spoke. “Xisuma.”

“Xenelis.” He replied, looking down to find his twin’s steely grey eyes staring up at him.

“Where are they sending you this time?” Xenelis’ voice was quiet, raspy- although he didn’t know if it was from the medical grade respirator attached to his mouth and nose or from his vocal cords being underused.

Xisuma started. “What? What do you mean?”

“You didn’t visit us at home or at the hospital, you called us out. You’re dressed up, but you didn’t tell us that this was a formal event. You’re stiffer than usual, which is saying something, and you look like you’re homesick even though you’re a fifteen minute commute away from your apartment.” Xenelis said, his voice carefully void of all emotion. “Where are they sending you?”

Xisuma looked away, breaking eyes contact and staring up at the solar system spinning above him. “Off planet.”

“Out of galaxy?”

“Yes.”

“How far?”

Xisuma didn’t respond for a moment too long, and that was all the answer that his brother needed. His sigh, heavy and full of disappointment and bitterness, hit Xisuma like a bullet to the heart.

“Of course.” Xenelis said. “Well, congratulations. You did it. You left us behind, just like you always wanted too. Good job, bro.”

“Damnit, Xen, you know that’s not-“ Xisuma rounded on his brother, hands automatically going to his hips.

“It’s not? It’s not? It sure as hell looks like it is. You’ve been leaving our whole lives, Iz- it’s just nonstop leaving and leaving and leaving- and now you finally don’t have to come back!” Xenelis snapped. “Good for you! Living your dream!”

“This mission is for the sake of the entire planet! I can’t just refuse to go on a mission that might make or break the human race-“

“Of course you can! You’re not the only high ranking officer out there! They could’ve found someone else, anyone else!”

“They came to me, specifically, asked me to pick out a crew, told me that we would save the world- how am I supposed to turn that offer down? You would’ve taken it in an instant-“

“Not if you were in my position I fucking wouldn’t’ve-!”

“Boys?” Their mom called from the other side of the model.

“Coming, mom.” They chorused automatically, shooting each other a glare. Xisuma walked around one side of the model and Xenelis rolled around the other, meeting in the middle.

Their mother smiled at both of them, apparently unaware of the argument that had been rapidly escalating until she entered the conversation. “There you are. Shall we go look at the new exhibits? I heard they had one about the Titanic.”

“Sure, mom.” Xisuma said, falling into step behind her as she led the way into the museum.

The visit was… cordial. Their mother chatted with both of them about equally, talking about this and that, whatever came to her mind. She was probably trying to fill the heavy silence that fell between the twins, Xenelis refusing to speak to Xisuma, and vice versa.

When they reached the end of their museum tour, pausing in the aquarium section before they left, Xisuma bit the bullet.

“Mom,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Go ahead, dear.” She said absently, watching as a massive manta ray swam overhead.

Bathed in the blue light from the massive aquarium tank, she and Xenelis looked almost peaceful. Gods only knew how made Xen really was, however, and Xisuma knew that it was only a trick of the light. Or maybe it was a trick of the mind, him trying to convince himself that him leaving wouldn’t hurt them as much as he knew it would.

“…I’m leaving.” He said, turning to watch as the manta continued on its way. “They’re sending me on a mission to deep space.”

Her eyes closed momentary, steeling herself as she turned to him. “Deep space?”

“Past Centauri.” He said quietly. “They’re building a team of scientists and researchers to start colonizing a new planet.”

“Why so far away?” She asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Mars can’t sustain a population like Earth’s, and after the Venus colonies failed… the galaxy isn’t suitable for life anymore. You know it’s true, mom. You’ve watched it happen. Think of how different things are now from when you were a kid.” His tone was soft, but he knew that there was a hint of pleading in there somewhere. She must understand. She wouldn’t be mad at him too, right?

“I know, I know, but… but of all people, why you?” Her voice broke, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.

Xisuma’s heart sank as he stepped forward, hugging her. “They couldn’t find anyone better to do it. Mom-“

“When will you come home?” She asked, her voice thick with tears.

“I don’t know.” Maybe never. “I… don’t know.”

She cried for a while, and her sons remained in silence, one other knowing what to say, and the other not wanting to say anything.

When she finally stopped, she only had positive things to say. She was proud of him, she was sure he was going to do great, they would be able to communicate, even if it wasn’t face to face… but that sorrow in her eyes that he had noticed before was much more prevalent.

Had she expected this?

Was he really as predictable as Xen said he was?

They said their goodbyes just outside the museum. His mother hugged him tightly, told him she would see him soon.

Xenelis’ eyes crinkled in what he knew was some form of a mocking smile or sneer. “I hope you have fun, Iz.”

“I’m not leaving right away. I’ll see you again.”

“That’s what you always say.” Xen retorted sharply, turning and rolling away towards the ramp down to the street, where their mother was already waiting.

Xisuma stood at the door to the museum and watched them get into a car and fade out of sight, his heart heavy in his chest.

Computer: New Command unlocked!

Computer: Input the command Profile: [Name] to open the file associated with that person. Please note: some files or portions of files may not be available due to clearance levels.

Computer: Input Command: Show Available Files:

> Open the Pilot’s File.

> Open the Doctor’s File.

> Continue.