#but one can assume that officers would follow the civilian fashion

[clove-pinks]

I have been told by @benjhawkins that you are a good person to ask about Western men’s fashion in the 18th century.

I’m hoping to phrase this as delicately as possible: why were men’s breeches so unappealingly baggy in the seat while the thigh was so carefully tailored to fit the leg?

Thank you for any insight you can give!

For reference: the fellow in red

Hello and thank you for the intriguing question! I'm more of an 1810s person (hence the perpetual Napoleonic/War of 1812 vibes around here), but always willing to attempt to answer fashion history questions, especially ones about the early-mid 19th century. I'm not a professional dress historian, just interested in the subject.

I turned to Farid Chenoune's A History of Men's Fashion, which doesn't comment much on the tailoring of fashionable men's breeches except to emphasise their tightness. The Mémoires of one Baron de Frénilly are quoted:

Breeches, to be fashionable, had to be so tight that one needed help to get into them, skill and prudence to walk and especially to dance in them, talent to sit down or bend over with them—any heedless movement exposed one to the risk of disaster.

Chenoune has a visual timeline for western men's fashion printed on the endpapers of his massive book, and these are the earliest ones (he begins in the era of 1760-1850):

Tight breeches, of course, and also long coat skirts. It's the latter that makes me think of @/ellie-valsin’s masterpost on 1830s men’s bottom layers. It’s significantly later than the time period that you’re asking about, but it specifically addresses men’s trousers and breeches cut with a baggy seat, and proposes fluffing out the coat skirts as the main reason, fashion-wise (and to give the poor man just the slightest bit of ease in his tight pants, maybe).

Norah Waugh’s book The Cut of Men's Clothes 1600-1900 has many quotations from contemporary sources, and one attributed to Town and Country Magazine of 1772 has this to say about foppish Macaronis:

They make a most ridiculous figure with hats of an inch in the brim, that do not cover but lie upon the head, with about two pounds of fictitious hair, formed into what is called a club, hanging down their shoulders as white as a baker’s sack. The end of the skirt of their coat reaches the first button of their breeches which are either brown-striped or white, as wide as a Dutchman’s

Possible evidence for padding out the coat skirts? Plenty of contemporary sources attest to men not wanting to appear too thin, e.g. using calf padding. In the next section of The Cut of Men's Clothes, focused on the 19th century, Waugh writes, “Whereas the eighteenth century was characterized by its attention to cut, the nineteenth was notable for its concentration on fit.”  Did tailors move away from baggy behinds due to improving techniques? (And after the 1830s, the silhouette for men starts moving away from an hourglass to boxy mid-century looks).

Unfortunately all of the period tailoring manuals that come to mind are 19th century vintage, but maybe one of my readers is more knowledgeable about the Georgian Gentleman’s baggy breeches. (Please chime in!)

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Mega Leech

Like every cartoon ever made, today's episode is the environmental episode. We all know how high-quality those tend to be, right?

Let's get into the twelfth (chronologically the tenth) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Mega Leech.

We start off with the shyest girl in Marinette's class, Mylene, mentally preparing herself for a protest with her boyfriend, tough guy with a soft side, Ivan.

Wow, real subtle foreshadowing there, writers.

The thing Mylene and Ivan are protesting is something called the “Oxygen Project” by Mayor Andre Bourgeois, which will supposedly create fresh air for Paris. To be fair, this isn't just a random character trait they slapped onto Mylene like what we've seen with other episodes this season to justify their new Akuma forms. Back in the Season 2 episode “Reverser”, a major plotpoint for the final act was that Andre was about to approve a project that would send trash into space, which Mylene and Ivan were protesting at, before the titular Akuma threatened to send the trash back to the Earth. This show can get weird at times.

Even though they're the only two protesters, Andre still has Officer Roger Raincomprix take them into custody. To his credit, Roger does try to resolve things diplomatically, and is very hesitant to take them to his car (even though they aren't handcuffed and there's no divider), he only does so when his job is threatened by Andre. And let's get the obvious joke out of the way now because there's going to be a lot of moments like this.

Marinette sees the event from her house, and after running late to school resulting in a brief moment of Unfunny Marinette Slapstick, tells the class what's going on. Surprisingly, instead of ignoring the whole situation like every other episode she's been in, Ms. Bustier decides to actually be a teacher for once and calls Roger. She says that she'll supervise their protest while the rest of the class comes with her.

Back at the park, Andre is about to chop a tree down with a chainsaw, but is soon called out by Ms Bustier. Mylene calls out Andre for the obviously not eco-friendly project, but he soon plays an ad for the Oxygen Project.

Huh. So this is how Druidia's canned air business took off.

To be fair, this is actually a funny scene, as it does feel like an over the top commercial you'd see, especially the kind that gets promoted by a politician. Of course, this funny joke is soon followed yet another reminder that Marinette likes Adrien, because the writers assume the audience will forget if they aren't bashed over the head with this knowledge every episode.

And as usual, Adrien ignores Marinette's odd behavior around him, but that's more because he's distracted by the ad, because he was told it was for perfume (did the oxygen line not give away the purpose of the commercial?). Quick question: Why is Gabriel taking part in this? Why is a fashion designer being commissioned to create a bottle for a government-sanctioned project? Does he just invest in random projects and hopes they'll go under so he can akumatize someone? As for Mylene, her classmates are naturally confused as to why she is opposed to this project if it's good for the environment. Her response is something that can ironically be used to criticize this very show when talking about the Oxygen Project.

We then get a moment where, of course, Chloe is the one to say she doesn't care about trees despite having no real prominence in this episode. Seriously, this is the only line she gets and it's to remind the audience how much of an irredeemable monster she is.

Oh my God, Astruc, why don't you just say she's a climate change denier while you're at it, seeing how you already view them as criminals? You clearly want to throw every negative character trait and label at her, don't you? If you're so crazy about hating her, why not make Chloe Captain Planet villain levels of evil?

Marintte points out the obvious flaw in Andre's plan to stop pollution by selling air in plastic bottles that can easily pollute the ocean, which gives the Mayor a lot of bad press, and even though she's the one to say this, Mylene still shames her for ignoring her attempts to get people to protest because she was busy. Yes, the show is seriously trying to blame Marinette for not doing enough to help the environment on top of her various other responsibilities like PROTECTING THE CITY OF PARIS ON A DAILY BASIS.

The families of the kids come to support the protest, and Andre tries to call Gabriel for help, but he basically tells him to figure it out himself, supporting my earlier theory in the process. He transforms into Shadowmoth and sends an Akuma and an Amok to Andre. This transforms him into Malediktator again and and gives him a Sentimonster ally, the titular Mega Leech.

Mega Leech is another example of a Sentimonster with a simple design but a really interesting set of powers. As soon as its summoned, Malediktator jumps into his mouth and summons an army of minature clones of himself (making me wonder why they didn't call the Sentimonster “Micromanager”) to jump into the ears of civilians and control them directly like Plankton in that one episode of SpongeBob. It's a pretty terrifying concept and a really clever extension of Malediktator's mind control powers.

Adrien transforms into Cat Noir and tries fighting off the Malediktator clones, but obviously gets overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. Marinette soon pretends to be possessed by a Malediktator clone to get Mylene to run away while she transforms, once again summoning her Lucky Charm as soon as she meets up with Cat Noir because the animators really want to show off the new suit. She uses the Lucky Charm, a single ice skate, to break the mayoral sash around one of the Malediktator clones and frees the Akuma and Amok, but Mega Leech is still around, along with the brainwashed civilians. She and Cat Noir realize that the Akumas and Amoks must have multiplied when Malediktator cloned himself. Ladybug tells Cat Noir to distract the Malediktator clones (the latter actually acknowledging how he always has to do that)

Ladybug meets up with Mylene in the sewer where she had escaped to earlier, only to find the girl crying. Ladybug offers Mylene the Mouse Miraculous, but she turns her down because of how scared she is. Unlike when they tried to do the same thing by having Zoe doubt herself in “Queen Banana”, this scene makes sense because Mylene has consistently been shown to be a very timid person. It feels much more believable to see this from her. Granted, it's undermined by Ladybug saying that Mylene is already like a superhero because of her protesting for a good cause. I get she's trying to reassure her, but the whole environmental lesson is kind of muddled by saying Marinette doesn't care about the environment because of how busy she was FIGHTING CRIME. Thankfully, the lesson is more about bravery being able to move onward in spite of fear.

Nevertheless, this still motivates Mylene to take the Mouse Miraculous and transforms into Polymouse.

And boy, is it bad. I'm not trying to body shame Mylene here, I'm glad they didn't try and slim her down either, but I'm really not a fan of the color scheme for the suit. With the use of pink and white, it looks way too similar to Pigella.

I get that they were trying to make Mylene look like a mouse, but I'm just really not a fan of the white gloves and boots. They stick out compared to Pigella, where they actually blended in with the color scheme. Then there's the actual suit itself. Why give the suit a hood if you're going to make it yet another skintight jumpsuit? At least with Carapace, they had more armor to help him resemble a turtle, but there's no excuse here. And finally, the hair. How can you take a girl with a very vibrant hairstyle, make it pink when transforming, cover it up, and then call it a day? There are just so many questionable design choices here. I don't think it's as laughably bad as Shadowmoth's suit, but it's really one of the weakest hero suits to be introduced recently.

I'd give my thoughts on how to improve it, but thankfully one of my anons gave their own ideas for a redesign.

Thank you to whoever sent this in. You certainly get character design better than some of the animators on this show, and that's saying a lot given they're supposedly better than the ones at Pixar.

Ladybug gives Polymouse the ice skate to use as a makeshift flail with her weapon, a jump rope, while she fights the Maledikator clones. Polymouse uses her power, Multitude, which turns her into a swarm of miniature clones to take on the horde of Malediktator clones and free the brainwashed civilians. Ladybug meets up with Cat Noir, but big surprise, Cat Noir gets brainwashed by a Malediktator clone. Sure, Polymouse frees him from the control, but I'm surprised Ladybug isn't more used to this happening by now.

Ladybug then gathers several temp heroes to help them out. She gives Kagami the Dragon Miraculous to become Ryuko, Nino the Turtle to become Carapace, Max the Horse to become Pegasus, and she gives back the Bee Miraculous to the super amazing Zoe so she can once again become the world's greatest superhero, Vesperia. There’s a brief joke where Cat Noir rushes to join the team pose, which could be seen as foreshadowing for future events, and if it is, good job, writers.

Pegasus uses his Voyage to teleport Vesperia above Mega Leech, where she uses her Venom on the Sentimonster, while Ryuko uses her Wind Dragon to gather all the scattered Akumas and Amoks freed by Polymouse for Carapace to trap in his Shelter. Ladybug purifies all the Akumas and Amoks, gives Andre a Magical Charm, tells him to rethink the Oxygen Project, and the heroes leave where Ladybug takes back all their Miraculous.

Back at the park, Andre decides to plant more trees in what's obviously not a desperate attempt to save his reputation. He may say he's doing the right thing, but I doubt investors will be happy that the project's being aborted just like that. We get one more hilarious moment where Marinette stutters around Adrien, who soon goes home and gets sent to his room by his father (because we just needed an Angstdrien Depreste scene this episode for some reason), who fidgets with his ring and stares ominously as the episode ends. And in case you live under a rock, this reignited a certain fan theory I'll be talking about in another post.

Overall, I thought this was a pretty decent episode. The environmentalism subplot was pretty standard for episodes like this, with how the antagonist is a rich asshole who doesn't see how he's harming the environment, and gets his mind changed by a hopeful youth. I'm glad Andre isn't Captain Planet villain levels of evil here, though I am glad the episode acknowledges that there's no single solution to stopping pollution, and that there needs to be more unity if we need to help the planet's situation.

While it had a bumpy first act, things really started to get interesting as soon as the action started. Questionable design aside, I thought Polymouse (who didn't even name herself in the episode) had a good first outing with the use of her powers coupled with the use of the Lucky Charm. The first act with Mylene really showcased her character and her courage in the face of adversity well. Part of me kind of wishes we could have seen her interact with Ivan while she was transformed, but then again, he was still brainwashed I think.

The other heroes honestly felt shoehorned in during the climax. I get that they helped gather all the Akumas and Amoks, but there was really no buildup to them appearing like in other episodes with multiple heroes.

The one major problem I have is how the episode tries to blame Marinette for not being as kind as Mylene because she didn't know about the protest, even though, as I have stated multiple times, SHE ROUTINELY SAVES PARIS EVERY EPISODE. I think that counts as saving the planet.

This episode had some flaws, but it was still pretty enjoyable, and it was one of the better episodes this season so far.

[themonkeycabal]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Episode 1 SPOILERS

If you need to blacklist, I will be tagging all things as #tfatws and/or #tfatws spoilers

My roommate keeps calling this The Falcon and the Snowman. I'm not entirely sure it's accidental.

I was going to watch at midnight and then fell asleep. Betrayal. I will not forgive this, brain.

Bucky Barnes character development. Sam Wilson character development. Six full episodes of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. When we watched Civil War, did we think we'd actually be lucky enough to get a buddy idiot cop movie? Let alone six hours of it? #blessed

What are we expecting here? I have no idea, honestly. I think all the clips we've been seeing are from the first couple episodes, so they've hidden any sort of plot from us. We know Baron Zemo's around with his stupid purple ski mask and burning hatred for superheroes and probably specifically for Bucky who he tried (and honestly kind of succeeded, before then ultimately failing dramatically) to set up. And Sharon Carter will turn up at some point. OMG guys, Sharon Carter character development!

I'm just here for the buddy bickering and badassery.

SPOILERS BELOW

New World Order: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes realize that their futures are anything but normal. *Realize*? lol

Also, it's tagged as "science fiction, action-adventure, buddy" Awww.

Aww, Sam looks sad as he gazes at The Shield.

"How's it feel?" "Like it's someone else's." "It isn't."

That's right, Sam! Listen to that voice. That's yours now, baby.

We're just going to roll right into a mission. Rescuing a Captain Vassant, whose plane fell out of contact shortly after take off, from the ridiculously named group LAF, somewhere over Tunisia. Sam's got to keep LAF from doing bad things and the US Military can't be seen doing anything blah blah blah, violation of treaties, yada yada. And Sam's all "blah blah got it". We're on the same page, Sam and me. Nobody wants to hear it, Briefing Exposition Guy.

We will have a Lt. Torres on the ground following along and offering helpful commentary as they go.

Sam is warned to be subtle as he falls backwards out of the cargo plane in very dramatic fashion and then swoops off on his brightly colored wings. lol

Sam gets to the captain's plane but the pilot is dead and a shady LAF guy is piloting. Oh no. Hey, it's Batroc. Last seen getting his ass kicked by Captain America in "CA: The Winter Soldier". He makes some jokes about their prisoner - presumably Captain Vassant. Awful cocky for a guy with a history of getting stomped on, you know.

Anyway, he's about to get his ass kicked by a Captain America again as Sam breaks into the plane. You might just be using wing shields now, Sam, but you're Captain America in my heart. Also, hey, dumb bad guys, don't open fire with an automatic weapon inside a plane or the ricochets might kill your pilot. And his body will slump forward and put the plane into a steep dive.

Batroc distracts Sam while the bad guys gather up Vassant and jump out of the plane with him. They have wingsuits, but Sam has, you know, wings. And like a jet pack. Don't hit the canyon walls, Sam!

Somehow the bad guys have waiting gunships. Did they expect to jump out of the plane over this canyon? I can only assume. Red Wing takes care of one of the helicopters. Man these guys are a pain in the ass. They wing suit into one of the many many helicopters that just happen to be right in the right spot. They're racing for the Libyan border. Then Sam shows up, they throw Vassant out the copter again — this guy is having the worst day — and glide into another chopper.

Man ANOTHER gunship? The hell? They're causing serious ecological damage to this canyon, what with all the zillionty missiles they're firing at Sam. How strapped is this thing?

LT Torres is trying to keep up, and you know, trying to get Sam to not fly into Libyan territory and cause an international incident or some such. Sam is struck by inspiration and not by a missile. But, the missiles are following Sam and Sam is following Batroc's chopper. Sam zooms through the open doors of the chopper, knocks poor Vassant out of the chopper AGAIN (but then catches him), and LAF blows up their own helicopter. Alas, Batroc escaped.

Sam saves the day and LT Torres is like super excited. Don't break your humvee, Torres.

Torres and Sam stop by a tea shop in Tunis, or somewhere. Sam's trying to fix his tech that got a little shot up and Torres buys the tea. A man comes up and thanks Sam for saving his wife. It's sweet. And then Torres gets up and wanders about a bit with his phone as he exposits about LAF. Is Torres about to become a pin cushion? Only instead of pins it'll be bullets? I'm not feeling good about his continued health. He's too cute and earnest.

Oh, he's looking for some sort of hidden, augmented reality tag on the walls. A red handprint, id'ing some group that calls themselves the Flag Smashers. Bad guys are really scraping the bottom of the evil name barrel. Anyway, they think the world was better during the blip. Nothing says better like mass failure of infrastructure and probably world wide famine. They want a unified world without borders. I have big doubts the world would be a borderless utopia during a blip-like event. Power vacuums invite trouble, seldom unity.

Anyhoo. Sam kind of agrees with me, "every time something gets better for one group, it gets worse for another".

Torres will track the 'online chatter'. But he's also heard some wacky things about Steve Rogers, conspiracy theory stuff, "they think that he's in a secret base on the moon, looking down over us". LOL. What? Is Steve a moon angel now? or Santa Claus? "You didn't like fly him to the moon?" Sam assures him that's all very much silly foolishness. Steve's in Boca working on his tan.

Sam's back in D.C. giving a talk about Steve at the Smithsonian's National Air & Space museum. "And he mastered posing stoically". Hey, I have that picture. Also, RHODEY! Hi Rhodey!

"A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after 5 years away. Sending the world into turmoil." Again. I know this was meant to come out before WandaVision, but timeline-wise this works better.

"We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning." Sam holds up The Shield. "I don't know if there's been a greater symbol." Aww, he's retiring the shield. He hands it off to museum people and they put it in a display case. I think Rhodey has some thoughts about this. I suspect Rhodey maybe doesn't agree.

Sam and Rhodey wander through the Cap exhibit and Sam's talking about how when he left (or got snapped, it's not like you had a choice about that, Sam), his nephews were babies and now they're little men. Awww. Rhodey says Sam should bring them to D.C., he'll teach them how to fly, "the right way". lol.

Rhodey says it's crazy to think nobody will be carrying the shield. Sam points out they went 70 years without, so like …

Rhodey wants to know why Sam didn't take up the mantle. BTW, this is a cool exhibit, marvel peeps. Sam says it feels like it belongs to someone else … Steve. Rhodey says everything's broken. Allies are enemies, things are torn apart. People are looking for somebody to make it better. Having made his pitch, Rhodey leaves Sam to stare mournfully at the shield. I think you're afraid to pick up the shield, Sam. Afraid you won't measure up. But, you can do it. I have faith. Also, Steve was kind of a disaster in his own way. He wasn't perfect, which was the point of Steve as a hero. Pick up the shield, Sam.

A fancy hotel, chatting people in the lobby, up to a mezzanine, a group of very Russian oligarch looking dudes and their security. And lo! A metal arm punches through a wall and the Winter Soldier, looking very Winter Soldiery appears and stabs some dudes in the neck. This has a sepia, dream/nightmareness to it. Oh yeah, it's his old shiny silver arm. Totally a nightmare/very bad memory. "Hail Hydra" and he kills the head Russian guy. The poor dude who was just chatting in the lobby is caught trying to get into his door. He swears he didn't see anything, begs for his life and the Winter Soldier shoots him. Bucky wakes up, breathing heavily. Poor Bucky.

Glad he's in therapy. I'm sure goat herding in Wakanda was good and peaceful and all, but, goats will only get you so far. Also glad we've skipped the "wanted terrorist" part and gone on to traumatized hero.

I get the feeling he's not the best patient. He lies to his therapist straight off. Twice. lol. "You're a civilian now. With your history the government needs to know, you're not gonna … [therapist makes stabby motion]." lol (I love this actress by the way. She's been in everything for ages. She's great). "It's a condition of your pardon. So tell me about your most recent nightmare." "I didn't have a nightmare." She starts writing, Bucky objects and tells her she's being passive-aggressive, but he gives in.  

He has a list of amends to make and three rules to follow. He crossed a name off. There's a Hydra pawn who's a senator, he helped her get into office. "After Hydra disbanded, she continued to use the power I gave her." Hmm. He tracks her car and listens in on her plotting to have a congressman killed.

* Rule number one: Can't do anything illegal.

He's hijacked the Senator's car and is remote controlling it, making it drive all out of control and freaking her out. He says he was collecting intel to give to an aide to convict her. Absolutely only did that. Not one illegal thing about that at all, no ma'am.

"Rule number two?" "Hmm. What was rule number two?" "Nobody gets hurt. It's a big one." "Then why isn't it rule number one?" Oh, Bucky, you're a jackass.

* Rule number two: Nobody gets hurt.

"I didn't hurt anybody. Promise." He totally broke a dude's hand and then punched him in the face, knocking him out. I mean, there's levels of 'hurt' I suppose.

"The whole point of making amends is to fulfill rule number three." "Of course I completed rule number three."

* Rule number three: "I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes. And you're part of my efforts to make amends." He says to the corrupt senator he's just been terrifying. And then he walks away as a tac team pulls up. lol.

What I'm getting from this therapy session is that Bucky is a big fat fibber.

Also he's got a little black book full of names. Including, I see, H. Zemo. That's not going to go as smoothly as taking down a shady government fatcat, I think.

"So you did it all right, but it didn't help with the nightmares?" "Well, like I said, I didn't have any." Fibber.

People wanna help you Bucky and you can trust them. "I trust people," he mutters grumpily. She asks for his phone and he hands it over. Look, lady! Trust! Probably government mandated trust, but still!

"You don't have ten phone numbers on this thing." … I don't have ten phone numbers on my phone. :( "Oh, and you've been ignoring texts from Sam." Well …

"I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad." lol. Tough love from the therapist. I'm feeling a little judged myself, though. "You're alone." ALRIGHT DON'T RUB IT IN!

"You're a hundred years old. You have no history. No family—" "Are you lashing out at me, doc? Because that's really unprofessional." I love you Bucky, but you are a disaster patient.

Bucky relents. "I'm trying. This is new for me. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything. I had a little calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years." Get this man a goat farm!

"So now that you've stopped fighting, what do you want?" "Peace." A goat farm. "That is utter bullshit." lol "You're a terrible shrink." "I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies and I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell." Get some friends, Bucky. "I know you've been through a lot. But, you've got your mind back. You're being pardoned. These are good things. You're free." "To do what?"

On the streets of Brooklyn. Bucky breaks up an argument between neighbors about trashcans. Hey, Bucky has a friend! Yori Nakajima who's probably like 80+. Did you babysit him back in the day, Buck? har har. They were going to meet for lunch, but some punk named Unique was putting his trash into Mr. Nakajima's trash can and just derailed the whole day. The horror. No joke, though, people get so nutted up about that. It's weird to me. Of course, I did also have a neighbor who never put out his trash for pickup and just snuck out at night before trash day and distributed his garbage into in other people's bins. Cheapass.

"Hey man, I'm Unique. Like Monique but it's got a 'u' in there for uniqueness." Yeah, you should have let Yori smack him, Buck.

Well now Yori is just not in the mood for lunch. Bucky tries to persuade him, but one grumpy old man out grumps the other. "But Izzy. We always go to Izzy on Wednesday. What if I buy?" "Fine. But no talking." lol. BFFs!

Yori is looking at the obituaries. "Look, nobody made it past 90 this week." Bucky tsks "So young, such a shame."

Bucky kind of smiles at the girl behind the counter at the sushi joint, Yori tells him he should ask her out. Bucky makes a "are you nuts, shut up" face. That doesn't stop Yori. "He would like to take you out on a date. Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle." You're a wild man, Yori!

She's down by it, though, and she and Yori hammer out the details while Bucky's like uh, okay, so wow, that's happening. "There's a dance to these things. You can't … you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943."

Yori sees something and suddenly gets sad. His son loves red bean mochi. His son was a consultant, working abroad and he was killed. Oh. Oh Bucky, why you gotta … Yori's son was the innocent witness he killed at the hotel in his nightmare/memory. "I will never know what really happened to him." Brutal.

Delacroix, Louisana

Sam's on his way home. Wilson Family Seafood. Aww. His nephews are helping mom with the catch. "Blue for the snapper, orange for the white fish," Sam calls out. The boys run over to him. They do look like fine gentlemen. It's weird, Sam, I get it. I recently realized my oldest nephew will be 13 in May and it's like "no, he's only in kindergarten, what are you talking about?"

His sister greets him then tells him he's looking all sneaky. Sam deflects. Their boat has seen better days. The Paul & Darlene. Aww. Is that his parents names? "Baby being held together by duct tape and prayers." Just needs to float long enough for his sister to sell it. But Sam's all, uh I thought we were going to *discuss* that. Uh oh, family drama. "We did, and then you were off fighting Dr Space Cape or whatever (lol), while I was holding it together for five long years." Ouch.

Sam is not down by this selling the boat thing. His sister doesn't seem to think they're in a position to hold on to it. Also, she'd really like to not hash this out on the pier with like twenty other people around, Sam.

They get into more of an argument on the boat. The family biz is not doing well financially. Sarah won't let Sam help for some reason, and he makes some comment about the house and loans and she punches him in the chest. lol "I forgot how hard you hit."

Sam insists they can turn it around, consolidate loans. And she's all, been there done that, I've come to terms with this. He's a persistent little jerk. This is such a perfectly sibling argument. Notably he has moved himself out of punching range.

Aww, she wants to believe he can save the boat, but she has DOUBTS.

Back in Brooklyn. Bucky attempts his date. He turns up at the end of the sushi girl's shift and gives her flowers. "Well, if that's not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone's ever done."

They chat while she tidies. He tried online dating oh lol. It didn't take. She tells him "You sound like my dad. Wait how old are you?" "Hundred and six." Oh yeah, what a funny joke. Next she wants to know why he's wearing gloves. "I have … um … poor circulation." He grimaces at himself and glances out the window. Smooth as silk, Bucky. Smoooooth.

"Let's play a game." Now, I'm thinking like some weird dating word/get-to-know-each-other game or something. I don't know. But, nope, she means Battleship. lol. I like her.

The drinking game version of battleship. Bucky sucks at it. "You sure can drink." "Yeah, well." Super assassin, unfair advantage.

We're just going to rub in this whole The Winter Soldier killed Yori's son thing, as she says it's nice that he's spending time with the old man. Since he was all messed up after his son was murdered and how it was extra hard because he didn't know what happened. I'm not sure this is healthy, Bucky.

"There's no word for someone whose kids die." Okay, ouch, lady, jeez. Bucky looks like he wants to puke. Or crawl into a deep dark hole. Or something. "Because it's the worst thing that can happen." Bucky nopes right out the front door. So, maybe they should have played pinochle instead.

Bucky goes to Yori. Are you really going to tell this man you murdered his son when you were a brain-washed Hydra assassin? Yori asks how the date was, and Bucky sees a shrine to the man's son in the apartment. Poor Bucky. He makes some excuse about owing Yori for lunch and leaves. Yori's name is in his book of amends. :(

Back in Louisiana. Sam and the kids are packing up meals. His sister maybe wants to sell meals in addition to fish. Sam says they've got to get going to their appointment at the bank. She's says it's in an hour. Sam must be just the worst brother to live with "There's no such thing as on time. You're either early or late. Pick one." Man, no wonder he gets punched.

Switzerland

Lt Torres is walking down a street with an unusually large number of people just sort of milling around in the middle of the street looking at their phones. He's got his kind of hidden, recording. He stops a guy and asks if he knows what they're supposed to be doing. Oh it's the flag munchers, or whatever. There's a weird phony bird whistle and then people gather around a person handing out masks with red handprints on them. His decoy bad guy phone chirps and gives the order to run. A guy jumps out of a nearby building with two huge duffle bags (of money it seems) and walks off while the previously milling people become a seemingly panicked mob, distracting police and whatnot.

Torres tries to arrest the jumper guy, who appears to have some super strength as he kicks a policeman halfway across the street. Torres, you're cute, but not super bright. Torres gets body slammed and then stomped. He survives again, however, defying the odds.

At the bank. The account manager keeps giving Sam the side-eye as he goes through their paperwork. "Do I know you from somewhere." Sam's all modest, "I don't know. Do you?" And then he makes a little wing flappy move with his hands. lol. What a nerd. "Falcon!" Then he takes a selfie with Sam. Sarah is very done with all this. She tries to get them back on track. Account guy wants to know how Avengers make a living. Probably not looking good for your loan, Sam.

"Is there some kind of fund for heroes? Or did Stark pay you when he was around? My condolences, by the way."

Yeah, financially this is looking bad, my dude. "You have no income over the last five years." Well, but, he was blipped. I mean …

Alas, shot down for the loan.

Sam and Sarah argue on the street. Ah, Sam ran off to the Air Force and didn't deal with what was going on at home. Oh my, this is getting ugly. Speaking as someone who got disowned on account of a family business, let me just say, they're not easy. Nuh-uh.

"Half the boat's mine and so is the house. We're not selling our family's legacy." "You gonna do me like what when you know I'm right?"

I get it might be awkward to ask, but I bet you could have asked Pepper for a loan, Sam, and she would have given it to you gladly. Come on, man.

Later. Sam's working on the boat's engine, and it's not cooperating. In the cabin he looks at the family pictures on all the walls. He's having a rough day. About as rough as Torres who texts him to find a secure line and call him along with a selfie of his bruised and battered face. #important (lol, really?)

Sam watches the footage Torres caught and they chat about how Torres was supposed to be doing that stuff online and not getting his face kicked in in Switzerland.

Sarah interrupts and turns on the TV. Some guy is giving a speech about how everybody needs a hero. "We need someone who can inspire us again. Someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero." hmm, no comment. Except, you should have taken up the shield, Sam. Now it's Sam's turn to look like he's going to puke. What did I say about power vacuums? Somebody will fill them, whether you want them to or not. 

This new guy looks like a goober. There, I said it.

credits

So … lots of setup. And very clear on the two guys trying to figure out where they fit in this world post blip and big wars. Both of them trying to fix broken families.

Plus a goober in a Cap suit.

So far so good. 

[uponrightful]

"You aren’t alone. He thought, feeling the girl’s deep breaths rising and falling under his chest. Her head turned away from the glaring sunlight, unknowingly resting her forehead against his chest where she could find shadows. Small hands slid out from under the blankets, pulling them high over her shoulders before finding a more comfortable spot flat against his stomach." I would love to know what they were both thinking here when they woke up together <3 Such a sweet moment!

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

*Send one in here*

Hi there anon! ☺️ This is the first request for Welcome Company, and I'm squealing at the opportunity to talk about Wolffe again!!! He's such a sweetheart, and I hate not giving him the love he deserves! 🤍🤍 🐺

***

Let's start out with our beloved Commander Wolffe, shall we?

Wolffe's first reaction is to jump out of the bed. Put as much distance between them as possible and find his bucket so he can shove it over his face. Desperation to hide his appearance.

The Commander knows that his face draws attention, and it's not always the good kind. It scares shinies into staying in line, and gives him respect amongst other clone leadership. But Wolffe isn't at drill, nor is he on a battle field. He's in the home of a woman who's made a career out of hiding behind corners and being a silent presence in her own home. Wolffe's afraid of scaring her, worried she'll think there's something wrong with him, terrified that something about him isn't worth catering to in such a caring way. He knows what it's like to be thought of as defective, and how little he means to the Republic as a whole... Had it not been for Master Plo's love for him, a decommissioning would've been the last note on his career register.

Note: I've never seen Wolffe in the "feral" way most do. He might be snarky, and a little grumpy, but that's because of his unique experience with 'failure'. He's seen death, and failure seems to follow him in many ways. I've always thought Wolffe would see his scar as a reminder of failure to others, and a reflection of his ineffective leadership. When I delved into his character, I wanted to make him less "dominant" and a little more "glass-half-empty". Not only does it fit his past experiences, but it makes him a lot more complex than simply tossing him into the "he's mean and likes to fuck hard" vibe.

The moment Wolffe actually realizes that he's not just laying with her, but touching her... It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience that he's too bewildered to get the full enjoyment of. In the back of his mind he knows she'd been the one to make this move, but he still feels responsible for not keeping his hands to himself. I mean, kriff... He's a Commander in the GAR. Saying the night was enough to have him executed by firing squad as it was, let alone finding her sharing this bed with him.

He's never seen anyone look this relaxed around him... trusting that his presence isn't harmful or scary. Wolffe had tried to pull himself away out of respect, but she's still searching him out, despite being asleep. Her fingers wrapped in his shirt and the soft heat radiating off her is already becoming an addictive feeling Wolffe didn't know he could develop, and he's trying his best to be respectful, but not cold towards her. After all, he'd went to sleep alone; So there had to be a reason she'd joined him. That's when it clicks; The reason he's slept so good... why he didn't feel like he'd been tossed from a gunship without a jetpack. It's because this girl had soothed the constant funnel of nightmares and fears that interrupted his sleep.

Note: I wanted Wolffe to experience his first moment of intimate uncertainty. He's had hook-ups, but nothing romantic. This is part of his nature. Sex is one thing; A release, either by his own doing or with the willing assistance of someone else. But intimacy; It's something Wolffe considers for civilians, and not something he can partake in. As a character, I think his moral compass runs the straight and narrow. He doesn't take relationships lightly, and in this moment, he's being challenged as to how to navigate something he's thought only happens to civilians. It's cute, and seeing Wolffe flustered like this wasn't just fun to create, it's just how his disposition would have saw fit to respond.

When she looks at him, Wolffe is internally panicking. This is when he's certain she'll wince in disgust or scream at him to leave. That panic freezes him though, and it's this reaction that forces the Commander to realize that she's nothing short of curious. No judgment, no unwanted sympathy, not a hint of disgust. Wolffe's never thought of himself as particularly good-looking, and considering there were millions like him, that didn't bode well for someone finding him in particular worth this kind of attention. She's soothing him, and whether he's willing to admit it or not, Wolffe is preening under her soft touches despite not understanding why he likes it so much.

Pup is very pretty and the Commander is trying to figure out how to keep her attention, but not scare her off. He's trying not to stumble over his words, but he can't get her voice out of his mind. Wolffe hadn't spent a day since his first visit wondering what this girl looked like, sounded like... Literally everything. He wants to know exactly what kind of woman would spend her time catering to the likes of clones. He thinks of her as this kind of deity most of the time, and interacting with her makes the dreams all the more real now that he's seen her, and she's even more beautiful that her ever could've pictured.

Note: Wolffe is really experiencing old-fashioned "love at first sight". I know it's simple, but that's just how a relationship with Wolffe would come about. He's a simple man when it comes to love, even though he doesn't realize it. Wolffe only falls in love once, and he's going to know right away. The time spent getting to know her though the little interactions behind walls, his admiration/thankfulness for what she does... It shows her character, and although Wolffe isn't one to get hung-up on someone's appearance (this excludes his own) he's instantly attracted to her. I wanted him to have the "high-school hard-on" experience as well. It's amusing, but really he's never been exposed to someone he finds attractive like this. And it's a startling experience because Wolffe isn't easily distracted with more... carnal desires.

Wolffe senses that there's something different about her right away, and with every minute after this, he's just realizing that she's special. He's always a little hesitant that she's not going to feel that little connection, but it never goes away and Pup just keeps coming back to him.

Now let's get to Pup;

The first thing she does is try to keep the Commander from bolting out of the house. She knows the stories from his brothers, and this isn't the way she wanted to meet him. Her shyness is a huge complication, but she assumes Wolffe isn't too upset with her considering he'd not ran out the second he woke up. Her affection isn't really purposeful, and for the most part she doesn't really even realize she's doing it. But Wolffe is warm, and there's something about him that isn't terrifying her.

That first good look at his face is one she'll never forget. Those little sneaking glimpses of him gave her a good idea of what Wolffe looked like, but that was nothing like seeing him up this close. She's never seen cybernetics before, and although it's rude to stare, Pup can't help but think Wolffe looks absolutely beautiful. High cheekbones, full lips, a mess of curls on his head... He looks relaxed; A seasoned soldier, but relaxed nonetheless. And for Pup, seeing him look happy is a massive accomplishment. (Her own embarrassment for falling asleep with him aside.)

Note: Pup is extremely shy when the least bit embarrassed. That being said, her level of patience and the feeling of security she gives others was a purposeful choice. I wanted Wolffe to have someone soft. She's not weak by any means, but she just a wonderfully soothing person to be around. And Wolffe would really take to a person like that. I thought someone who could support him emotionally by understanding his hesitance would be an extremely interesting dynamic. But also really heartwarming to see.

Wolffe is so very kind and Pup is wonderfully captured by it. Such an intimidating man suddenly nervous to speak to someone such as herself... It's endearing, and that's gives her a confidence she'd otherwise have not possessed when talking to him. Pup makes sure she tells him this wasn't all her own doing, out of attempt to provide some reassurance that his personal space wasn't totally infringed upon, but when she chose to show him those little bruises, she'd not expected to see how upset he looked over that.

It wasn't the first time her late-night nightmare soothes had ended in a few little purple marks, but Wolffe looked almost distraught at the sight. Like he'd intentionally hurt her, instead of it being the accident of his upset that had been the cause. Pup wore them like badges of honor, and it was a little cute to see such a warrior silently fussing at himself for simply demanding attention from someone when he needed it most. At this point, her touch was meant to help soothe the Commander out of his self-punishing attitude and ease those deep wrinkles off his forehead. To her great pleasure, it worked like a charm. A commanding officer couldn't have ordered Wolffe to soften up any quicker than she'd managed to do it with a couple little rubs. It was the first time Pup didn't have the slightest inclination to move away, far too happy to see anything she did being so happily accepted.

Note: Wolffe and Pup had to have this moment. I couldn't picture them meeting any other way in a believable sense, and I'm just so happy that it worked out as well as it did. I wanted the softness, and the slight awkwardness, all while providing some soft touches and slightly teasing communication to make it memorable. They're two very different people, sharing an unusual situation that begins to shed light on a deeper connection. Wolffe is all about his buisness, and to an extent so is Pup. They work for the benefit of others, and when they meet each other, it's the first time they're presented with the opportunity to take time and do something for themselves. Love is just as much a personal decision as it is to be shared. Therefore, giving them this quiet introduction is a wonderful state of weakness and mutual amusement for that to be initially explored.

***

Thank you for requesting anon! 🤍 I hope this was to your liking! I could go on..😅 But I didn't want to overwhelm you with it. *cue my nervous laughter*

[mental-dilemma]

A Quick Meeting Part 4?

Damian’s an exchange student in Paris taking it easy until an Akuma attacks and he gets to meet ladybug. -----------------------------------------

Ok before everyone starts pancking: I am Emu-Lumberjack I just decided to create a Sideblog for all my writing so that way those who follow me exclusively for that don’t have to deal with the chaos that is my main blog

also I’m sorry it’s taken so long to post this but just between school and work and school and just general exhaustion it’s been hard for me to write.

and as always all credit to the Au goes to @ozmav 

pt.1 

pt. 2

pt. 3

“I don’t suppose I could bribe you to drop the matter.” Damian said sitting down in Tim’s office. He and Ladybug were situated next to each other while Tim was on the other side of the desk.

“Nope.” He turned to Ladybug, “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself, making sure Damian didn’t disappear and all that. Anyway I’m Tim Drake, Co-Ceo of Wayne enterprises and Damians older brother.”  

Ladybug turned to Damian and quietly said, “So does everyone in your family constantly talk like they’re trying to impress a victorian lord?” Damian snorted. Tim, unable to hear what she just said, looked to the two agape.

“At least I have a reason.” Damian responded, this time loudly enough for his elder brother to hear. “Anyway Tim is in CEO mode right now, which is pretty rare. Usually he’s a bumbling zombie dependent on coffee to function. In fact I remember one time when Dick took the last cup he----”

“I’d suggest stopping right there or I’ll tell her about the batcow incident.” Tim interrupted.

 “Did you just say batcow? Because I understand each of those words separately.” Ladybug said, and even though her mask still concealed half her face Damian could tell she was really confused.

“Don’t ask. Just don’t.” Damian said quietly.

“Anyway. I never caught your name and considering the fact that your in a mask I assume you’re a hero. Which is surprising because none of us knew Paris had heroes.” Tim cut the two of them off before more could be said.

“Yes that’s becoming a common theme I’m finding,” Marinette began. “My name is Ladybug in the mask. I have a partner, Chat Noir, but he’s currently indisposed, something about paint in his hair.” Damian stifled a laugh as Marinette continued, “We have been operating out of Paris for the last few years, early on we tried contacting the Justice league but Green Lantern told us not to prank call him.”

“Oh did he now.” Tim said, leaning his head forward.

“Yes he did. Thankfully my power allows me to reverse all damage done during a fight. Including any lives lost or monuments destroyed.”

“That sounds like a very useful power. I'm sure that the heroes of Gotham would love to work with you.” There was a twinkle in his eye that Damian knew meant Tim was concocting some scheme. He was about to jump in, but Marinette got there first.

“Yes I’m sure you would but the issue is we currently have our hands full here although from what Damian told me you guys sound much more fun to work with. At least the villains have better costumes.”

Tim noting her wording turned to Damian, “Did you tell her the family secret? You know what Alfred will do if he finds out.”

Damian smirked “I’m not an idiot Drake this was all her. She could rival you for deductive reasoning.” Marinette just sat there looking innocent.

“Well that explains why the two of you were sneaking around together, Ladybug should I assume Damian knows your identity as well?”

“Yep.”

“Well this is going to be a nightmare. But this just means  I can formally invite you to Gotham at least. Ha just leave it to the Ice Prince to leak the identity on his first civilian trip abroad.” Tim leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

“Actually it was you guys who tipped me off.”

Tim suddenly opened his eyes and looked her straight in the eyes. “Come again.”

“Well it was the fact that no one had spied Robin around Batman while Damian was in France. Then the fact that you were patrolling rather than him tipped me off that Robin might be on a vacation..” Tim just face palmed.

“Of course that would happen, how did we not see it coming.” He muttered to himself. “Wait, that begs another question: how did you two meet.”

Damian blushed and before Ladybug could respond he said “not important, there was an akuma. Now do you need anything else.”

“Actually yeah. Ladybug you mentioned the video you sent to Green Lantern, well Batman found it and wanted us to investigate. He didn’t know Green Lantern had seen it or otherwise he’d be on his way back to Ooa healing from a scolding from Alfred. Dick and Jason wanted to come but Bruce needed someone he could send discreetly and who better than the Co-CEO of Wayne industries who could just be checking up on the Paris branch.” Ladybug was impressed by the scheming having Dick Greyson or Jason Todd come in would stir up villain or media activity but Tim the third son wouldn’t.

“Well if you want we can meet up with my partner later and you can formulate a list of questions. Plus it seems you and Damian have some catching up to do.”

“There was a reason I came to Paris Ladybug. Being forced to talk to Tim was not one of them.” Damian made to leave only for a yoyo to catch his leg. Ladybug smirked at him. “Maybe a five minute chat couldn’t hurt anyone. Family reunion and all that.”

“Great then as long as everyones in agreement I can set up a time with chat later this evening for all of us to talk things through and get a strategy in place.”

“Are you sure about this having the league involved is going to cause a lot of chaos and even more dangerous villains could target Paris.”

“Tim I have dealt with so much crap the last couple of years that at this point I will take Darkseid over Lila…… Oh crap. We forgot about Lila.” Marinette looked at Damian who was coming to the same realization she was. He called out Lila in the bakery, and outed himself as a Wayne.

“Do I want to know?” Tim said rubbing his temples. He did not miss highschool.

“Lets just say school tomorrow’s going to be interesting, and I think we’re going to have to put the meeting on hold till after it. Ladybug and I are going to need to deal with school tomorrow, and caffeine isn’t gonna cut it.” Damian said.

“Then again if we aren’t lucid tomorrow might not be so bad….” Marinette began

“Do not even finish that, you even more than me need sleep. Between fashion, school and heroing you function off an hour.”

“You.. have a point. I’ll brief Chat on the situation on my way home. In the meantime I’ll leave you too to the brotherly bonding I’m sure you need.” she pulled her yoyo from her pocket, “See you tomorrow Damian, and whatever plan you hatch up make sure nit doesn’t include killing anyone.”

“Goodnight Ma--- Ladybug. And no promises.” The boy caught himself before revealing Ladybug's identity. She gave him the look of ‘don’t fuck up my secret identity bird boy’ before jumping out the window to run from rooftop to rooftop.

“So. how long have you had a crush on her.” Tim pulled Damians attention, and Damian was sudden;y very glad he had said nothing about not killing his brother.

--------------------------------------

“Do you think they’ll actually help this time?” Chat’s voice rang over the phone, Marinette had stopped behind one of the chimneys to talk to him in private.

“I don’t know, at least now they are actually considering it rather than just brushing us off as children.” Marinette was tired but they needed to have this chat now, there wouldn’t be any chance to in class tomorrow.

“Yeah, just don’t get your hopes up. They left us to fend for ourselves for 3 years and are only doing this now because of Damian if you didn’t know him then none of this would’ve happened.  

“Ok but why does that matter that it’s Damian? They could’ve been doing it because of Jon too.”

“Oh please, you're more dense than our class sometimes. Jon would’ve noted it then forgotten to tell someone, but Damian told Batman right away. Why do you think he did that?”

“Chat I am too tired for this.” Marinette could feel Adrien facepalming through the phone.

“Oh I am not spelling this out for you, this time you get to figure it out yourself.”

“Fine. but next time you need help on your calc homework don’t come running to me.” Marinette hung up on him and made her way home. The parisian streets were nice and quiet for her, no akuma meant maybe another hour of sleep.

Once she was out of the suit she let Tikki rest and got right to work on the new piece she was making for Jagged, he wanted to somehow have the score of his newest piece sewn onto the pants for his next concert, and she had to brainstorm.

Twenty minutes went by.

Then an hour.

Then two.

Finally she put up her pencil and put on her pajamas, as she was falling asleep Adriens words kept replaying in her head, and the meaning slammed into her like a truck. Pulling out her phone she sent one message.

Oh fuck off

tag list: @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @yuulxd @smolplantmum @inarachi02 @notmycupoftea26 @laurcad123 @unknownvsworld @jeminiikrystal @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapters 239 & 240 - character background arrives for Kikuta

Hello all, this is a much belated meta for the past two chapters.  I was very busy with work last weekend and I’m feeling the usual work related exhaustion with the covid-19 situation on top of it.  I’m currently living in a part of the States which still has a much stricter social distancing policy and it is still unclear when I can return to work, even if we follow new social distancing policies.  Suffice to say, it has been a huge struggle for me.  I’m already more prone to suffer from depression and this situation has just been really hard with friends and family very far away from me.

I usually like to give my all into my meta analysis of a chapter but I really didn’t like chapter 239.  The sense of humor that underlies the “midnight shoot out” just well - well.  I wasn’t keen on it.  I have a pretty dirty sense of humor so it isn’t even the fact that it is a part of male body part humor; just how it was implemented.

So I’m just going to go with this.  Usami and our “Jack” convict are men cut from the same cloth who link sexual acts with violence.  The only difference between them is that Usami was found and groomed by Tsurumi, thus appearing to be a more contributing member of society (as a member of the military), while “Jack” has been left to his own devices and is a free roaming serial killer.  Usami is the correct member of the 27th to do the field work for this convict.  What is more interesting is teaming him up with Kikuta.  After Usami and Jack’s “shoot out” Usami pursues him on foot while he’s on horseback.  Usami’s general response is to try to beat someone via brute force.  It isn’t surprising that he just jumps for the man only to get knocked down, he acts on instinct.

Kikuta has a much more tempered response as he first had Usami and him split off to try to pinch him off between the alleys/streets.  It gives him a clear shot at Jack.  Here he’s using one of his revolvers in his right hand.

Jack is lucky as Kikuta hits his top hat. This pause in action allows Kikuta to spring into action.  He sprints towards Jack tossing his revolver so that he can grab onto the convict with his right hand.  What I really like about this is how is shows how Kikuta thinks very quickly on his feet as we saw at the hot springs.

He’s able to use his left hand to reach into his coat where he likely has at least another revolver in a holster.  It should be game over for the man as he tells him that he’s got him with the revolver to the back of his head.

Unfortunately, Kikuta is defeated by “Jack’s” manly abilities and it is just plain gross and unnecessary.  Kikuta is one of my fav current members of the 27th, I just didn’t like this entire scene.  As a result he escapes and Kikuta is likely feeling - well feeling used, gross and assaulted.

Usami and Kikuta continue to pursue him and hear a woman scream.  Sure enough he managed to kill her and Kikuta looks shocked as they find the body.  The fact that Usami looks at Kikuta from the corner of his eyes makes me think that Usami is not surprised by anything our killer does.

In contrast, despite his years of experience, Kikuta is uncomfortable with this type of criminal activity & violence.  He’s no stranger to violence but he clearly has a strong moral compass.

The next day, they return to the scene of the crime in daylight.  The sketchy and questionable police officer is there with our sad and pathetic reporter.  Kikuta muses what the killer is thinking.  Due to all the things that have transpired so far, it is clear that Kikuta is really trying to rationalize things.  In contrast,’knowing’ his mind, Usami just offers an explanation that makes sense to him since it takes one to know one.

This only further highlights the difference between these two men.  It is clear that Tsurumi wants them to keep working together, even if Kikuta is really uncomfortable with Usami.

Usami is eager to visit the other crime scene, Kikuta hangs back and lets Usami go ahead.  He uses this time to casually approach Ariko. Everything about Kikuta’s body language, behavior and vibe scream - spy/secret agent.  He’s able to address Ariko with a calm demeanor and then when Ariko almost panics he instructs him how to behave.

Kikuta cuts the tension by teasing Ariko, stating that he’d recognize his figure anywhere and to think he’d be difficult to recognize is a bit of an insult to Kikuta’s intelligence.

He’s able to approach Ariko about his role as an unwilling double agent.  Since he’s there under direct orders from Tsurumi he knows that for the time to being he should be in the loop as far as Hijikata’s movements.  If Ariko is in Sapporo, it is a logical extension that Hijikata is there as well.

The chapter then wraps up with Tsurumi leading most of his men to Sapporo leaving only two to remain near Otaru to look for Asirpa.  He reports that Kikuta is the one who sent him the telegram about our convict, Jack.  If Tsurumi is reporting the truth to his men, it means that Kikuta only reported on the convict and requested backup but Kikuta may be withholding information about Hijikata being there as well.  This chapter leaves it up in the air as it shows Tsurumi looking military dictator-ish while Hijikata stares off into the distance.

What is most important in this chapter is setting up how Kikuta is going to be some sort of player in the hunt for this convict in particular. 

Chapter 240 begins to bring the manga plot back to the aspects that I like of it, more intellectual, big picture moves of the different groups as well as a side of good old fashioned spy business.

The chapter title page helps us to establish Ariko’s and Kikuta’s personalities even more.  Ariko is playing cat’s cradle with Tanigaki in the trenches while Kikuta literally has Ariko’s back and he watches them.

This shows several things.  1.) Kikuta is similar to Ogata as he’s always watching.  Since he was one of the “Russian” kidnappers, we know he has a background in intelligence and he’s a clever guy.  We also know that he cares about Ariko as a person, hence comfortable enough to lean up against his back as well as cover that back. 2.) It let’s the reader know that Ariko is similar to Tanigaki.  He’s a large, soft, dopey man.  He is simple, he’s outwardly friendly and like Tanigaki he has natural outdoorsman/hunting skills but that he’s an okay solider and but isn’t the most intelligent.  Neither man is a good liar and they are predictable.

Ariko is 100% out of his element and trying to be a double agent is pretty much a situation ripe for failure.  He just can’t do it.  In direct contrast, Kikuta looks completely natural and at ease.  He’s used to doing things like this and he’s confident with the games of espionage and intelligence.

Ariko is barely able to hold himself together, voice unsteady, sweating, looking like he’s got no out.  So Kikuta tells him to team up with him in contrast to Hijikata and Tsurumi.

Of course Ariko is shocked by this statement.  Kikuta continues his argument. He frames himself as Ariko’s only option. They survived the war together, they saw that same moon together.  The flashback shows, Kikuta reaching out to touch Ariko while he goes to hold his hand.

They’ve survived together against the odds.  So Kikuta is willing to ask Ariko to ignore everything else.  Forget about his father’s involvement in the gold theft and his murder and the fact that Tsurumi will try to get his cooperation by threatening family.  He summarizes it doesn’t matter which man he tries to align himself with, the outcome is same - it is terrible. So then he let’s him know that “central” is going to let things play out in Hokkaido.

This is enough information for Ariko to figure out why Kikuta was so keen to regain Tsurumi’s trust.  He’s the spy for central that Tsukishima has been always on the look out for.

The angle of this panel is just great, Ariko is in shock while Kikuta adjusts his bowler hat.  And with that, a running joke that originated on a discord server when Kikuta first showed up became the truth.

With Kikuta’s appearance several of us tried to figure out what is role would be and we came up with a nickname for him, “Roger”, which was coined by Merdopseudo.  This was due to how he looked like Roger Moore, one of the actors that played James Bond.  I 100% agreed with the Roger nickname and as a result, I struggle to write any meta post about Kikuta without referring to him as Roger instead.  I personally was leaning toward a more Clark Gable inspired look but Roger was just better.

The chapter then has Jack hanging around a church with no informative text.

The action then shifts to Hijikata’s group which is all in disguise.

The wee babe, Kantarou is a newsboy, selling newspapers.  Hijikata is a goldfish vendor. Ushiyama and Toni are buddhist monks, and Kadokura is a Koya-san pilgrim.  Ogata is a filial piety puppet performer and Nagakura and Ariko are just random looking civilians. Kirawus remained as himself.  Perhaps they thought if he tried to blend in as Japanese it would be obvious? 

Our morally bankrupt reporter, is able to elaborate on the details of the Sapporo serial killer - calling him a copycat of Jack the Ripper.  The Cliff Notes version of things is that if this is a true Jack the Ripper copycat, the fifth and final murder will happen 40 days after the two murders from the night before.  It seems proper that Hijikata is the one to summarize the situation that his group is in.

Interestingly, Kadokura, Kantarou and Kirawus are shown sweating in the background while Ogata is deadpan.  Clearly, Ogata is not bothered by the 40 day time limit.

This makes a nice transition to Sugimoto, Shiraishi and Asirpa now in Barato.  Shiraishi, being the smart dude that he is, points out an interesting article.  Sugimoto assumes it is about “Jack” but instead he notices children have gone missing.  Boutarou is able to immediately connect these crimes to another tattooed convict.

Asirpa looks nervous as, well she’s a child and she was teased additional information than what Sugimoto got from meeting him.  Boutarou is upfront and immediately is able to identify him for the rest of the group.  Asirpa is totally freaked out as the identifies him as the candy peddler.

Sugimoto then has murder eyes and angry screentones as he concludes that he is of course one of the convicts. 

This chapter is setting up a clear confrontation between all the different groups.  I like how it finally begins to ratchet up the the tension and put pieces in place. Usami showing that he’s terrible at spying and discretion both makes them stand out but also tips Kikuta off that something else is likely afoot on Tsurumi’s side. 

The missing children are a trail indication the direction of Ueji Keiji.  I like how Shiraishi and Sugimoto are looking at the paper while Boutarou towers over them and looks at the paper.

The chapter ends with our two shaded convicts surrounded by swirling newspapers.  Both men are making their actions clear to the public.  I would guess are both reading the newspapers as Jack let’s his activities know while Ueji is potentially communicating with him as his own actions are showing his direction, moving towards Sapporo.

The chapter then ends with a dark Ogata joke.  He’s really into his filial piety act and has to be yelled at firmly by another member of the group. 

Overall impressions on 240 and some brief ponderings.

1.) I love Roger, er Kikuta so much.  His character has a level of class and sophistication that many characters lack.  He is also a ‘self’ made man who rose through the ranks to be a valuable member of military intelligence.  It is clear now why Tsurumi would have kept his distance from him and why he was so insistent on getting back into Tsurumi’s inner circle.  It is clear that Kikuta is not a “Tsurumisexual”.  He is also the type of man who Tsukishima was suspicious of going back to his showdown with Ogata.  Tsukishima is livid that Ogata sniped Maeyama and told him that he’s the pet cat of “central” he’s waiting to sell out the 27th to gain position in the military establishment.

Therefore, our three “Russian” kidnappers are all originally enlisted men who likely gained a lot of skills working for a fallen elite like Tsurumi.  Tsukishima stresses loyalty to comrades.  Ogata has never shown much loyalty to those around him, but it is obvious that Kikuta has loyalty to Ariko.  He had to put on an act to look like Ariko had betrayed him and Tsurumi.

I have begun to wonder if Ogata is the red herring deflecting the focus from Kikuta.  Ogata doesn’t believe in the words of Tsurumi that are used to stir loyalty and dedication to a cause.  Is this because Ogata believe it is complete bullshit or that he’s aware that Tsurumi uses these types of concepts to control most people?

What I want to know now is if Ogata is working with or in parallel to Kikuta.  I still don’t see Ogata as a spy for central.  It goes against by gut reading on Ogata.  I could see Ogata and Kikuta being aware of each other and their objectives where Ogata may have even tried to make it look like he’s the spy to deflect attention from Kikuta.  Again, Ogata’s goal from this entire situation is still completely unknown.  Was Kikuta linked to the rebel group - RIP bear death trio.  I still haven’t forgotten you.

But based on Tsukishima thinks of Ogata as a putative spy, it fits Kikuta’s personality better.  Kikuta still has loyalty and connection to others from the 27th, e.g. Ariko.  His discomfort working with Usami on Jack’s trail shows that Kikuta has a stronger moral compass and thinks about what actions are justifiable and which are more ‘evil’ or morally questionable.

2.) Ogata needs a therapist.  Of all of the “disguises” he could choose, Ogata picks the filial piety puppet show. >_<  He put on makeup to look like his own father, and a son puppet that has a striking resemblance to his half brother Yuusaku.  Therefore, the bastard child is performing an act where his devoted brother does everything he’s expected to do as a model son for their asshole father.  The fact that his line is “What a dutiful son. Please give him the reward that he deserves.” can be read on several levels.  Basic text reading - Yuusaku was a good son, and he truly deserved the reward for being a good son.  He kept his virginity and purity, was un-corruptable by Ogata and therefore, he had no choice but to snipe him.  Subtext reading - due to Ogata’s clear “daddy” issues, he is actually the dutiful son and he wants the reward that he deserves.  Ogata entered the military and performed well both in intelligence for Tsurumi, on the battlefield as a sniper and did everything that was asked of him before he liberated himself from Tsurumi.  In that regard, Ogata was an excellent solider if not better one that Yuusaku with hands on/real world experience long before Yuusaku was a flag bearer.  I think this situation should both be read on the text and subtext level.  ‘Cause it is Ogata dammit and he’s not some obvious character.

Ogata is a character who wants and desires nothing more than love and acceptance.  Of course being the cynical intellectual that he is, he would pick something like this. . . . it just makes you want to cringe and go “Ogata . . .”

The fact that they almost left Ogata behind indicates to me that he’s acting out his own plan for - something.  Our man of mystery - Ogata.

[chaniters]

UPSTAGED

I’ve been promising to write this series for so darn long... Finally got an idea on how to start it. Hope you enjoy it! (Sentai themed. This is just the first part, introducing the setting!) 

--------------------------------------------

"You'll never get what you want, you maniac!"

"Now now, Governor... let us keep calm. My terms have been most generous."

"We can't negotiate with terrorists! You know that!"

"I do. But we both know what will happen if I use my disintegration touch on the West Coast's entire gold reserves"

"Ha! The Rangers will stop you!"

"I doubt that, considering I locked them down myself in one of the vaults." You let out a loud cackle.

You got him. You can hurt the system right where it hurts. Money. If the reserves are out, west-coast dollars will lose all value, destabilizing its flourishing economy, the only reason it's status as a free economic zone was never revoked.   And a place like the farm cannot operate in the main country. They have real laws there. Still, it isn't a sure bet. A million things could go wrong if you actually destroy the economy. Too unpredictable. But you know they'll have to relent.

Unpredictable is something the politicians at play hate just as much as you do.

"W... Damnit! Damn you freak...! You wouldn't dare do it! Do you know how much chaos that would cause?"

"Of course I do Governor. And there are many other banks for me to visit after this one, you know... unless you want to tell the world you can't your valuables safe?"

"Go to hell!" he yells exasperated. "I know you won't do it! There's nothing for you to win in this! Why don't you just steal some of the gold?" He doesn't get it. He can't understand that you don't care about money at all.

"You test my patience governor. Perhaps a little demonstration is in orde..." You are interrupted by a loud siren noise from the Governor's office. "What is that?"

"It's the citywide alarm system... what's going on? Are we at war?" the Governor turns to one of his aides, who fumbles a remote control to turn on the TV.

You activate a console on your helm to watch as well. Is he trying to gain time? Maybe you should make a third of the gold reserve evaporate... that ought to make him reconsider.

The Governor's TV settles on the main news channel, as do you.

Mia Ochoa is in Los Diablos according to the labels, reporting from under a table, as pieces of ceiling fall all over. She appears to be at a bar. What the hell is going on and how did you not catch up on it sooner?

"... there is a very unstable situation on the ground, that is unfolding very quickly. The floating disc descended from high altitude at great speed and emitted a blue ray over the fields, which released a swarm of humanoid creatures armed with energy weapons. They are firing indiscriminately on civilians!"

"Quickly! Call all of Los Diablos police stations! Contact Los Diablo's Mayor! Send in the National Guard!" The Governor seems to be going into overdrive mode as his aids run back and forth.

Mia goes on with her reporting.

"I will try to get some images for our viewers! I remind you, we are risking our lives doing this so we might not be able to get the best takes. Also, we might see graphic violence!"

Fuck. Mia Ochoa does not back down, you have to give her that.

The film crew creeps to the bar's door, and soon enough, you can see the armed soldiers. They seem to be wearing similar outfits and move in a robotic fashion. Drones? Worse of all, there is a giant spinning metal disc floating above them. They start firing again and the Mia Ochoa and her camera crew go back inside.

You mute the governor's and the news channels open a third one to Mortum's lab.

"Doctor, are you seeing this?"

"Afraid so Retribution."

"Is this for real?"

"I think so. Never seen anything like this."

"Thank you. I'll get back to you later...I'll be at the lab soon" You close Mortum's and Mia Ochoa's channels and focus on the Governor again.

"Afraid I'm going to have to leave you Retribution," he says.

"WHAT?" you ask outraged.

"I've got a bit of a situation on my hands, can't you see?"

"But the gold reserves..."

"Are irrelevant if I lose an entire city to an alien invasion. All I can say is please don't do it? Thank you"

"..." awkward silence as you have no idea what to even say after that.

"Anyways, I really have to go so..."

"WAIT!" You plead, the roles reversed.

"What for?"

"There might be a win-win situation here... you know what I want. And you have a bit of a situation in your hands. What If I helped deal with it...?"

"You mean work for us? Fight off those things"

"Yes," you say finally.

"I could consider it...yes... You know what if all you want me to do is close that camp of horrors from the feds, I can do it. I'll fucking evict them from the entire West Coast if you want. But I want results!”

“Oh, I’ll get you results! I’ll exterminate those things so fast they won’t know what hit them!” you say energetically

“Also, I want you to release the rangers. We need all hands on deck"

"...fine" you grumble with a complete loss of your previous enthusiasm.

A wave of cold anger flows through your body as you walk towards the smaller vault. You've never done any of this out of revenge or seeking fame, but having someone steal your thunder like this when the governor was right at the palm of your hand..., even if it's an alien... it just makes your blood boil. Whoever's responsible is going down. Big time.

***************************************

"HARDER!" Steel commanded as Herald flung him at high speed against the vault's reinforced gate at great speed. Ortega and Argent joined with a combined strike, but the gate remained impervious.

"Fuck! It's no use!" Charge cursed outraged. Argent continued slashing at the metal, only creating superficial marks. Herald looked defeated, and Steel just studied the gate with his sensors, trying to find a weakness. There was none.

"You're right" he let on sitting on a pile of gold bars. "He got us good this time"

"FUUUUCK!" Charge went on kicking a few bars against the wall. Argent just kept slashing.  

"That's not helping" Herald muttered while trying to get signal with his cellphone.

"At least I'm doing something!" Argent replied breathing heavily. "You'll never get signal! We're in a sealed VAULT!"

"The kid's right" Steel spoke tiredly. "Even if we can’t get signal we have to get someone to open it from the outside. It's not going to magically open just because you..."

And then the gate did just that, unsealing itself.

The Rangers gathered together, shocked to see Retribution on the other side.

"What gives? Lost something here?" Steel asked sarcastically walking over the gate ready to fight. The other rangers assume fighting stances behind him.

"Only my time." His terrifying voice lacked the characteristical aggressiveness this time. "Come out already, we've got a lot of work to do," he said motioning them out.

Steel looked puzzled but then advanced striking a warrior's pose. "I don't know what game you're playing or what you're planning, but it will never succeed! And we'll never EVER work with you!"

"Well tough luck hunk because you're totally going to be seeing a lot more of me! Oh, and by the way, you better hurry to Memorial Park unless you want to be late for your first alien invasion!" He said, before pressing a palm to the bank's wall which instantly dissolved, creating a circular hole for him to escape with his jump jets.

"The fuck?" Steel was astonished

"Did she just call you hunk?" Charge asked with a wide grin.

"What do you mean she? Retribution's clearly a guy!" Steel replied.

"Oh wow... I didn't think you were into...him"

"Wha... No, I mean... I never meant it that way..."

"Come on... first I learn you're gay, now you're really wanting that one to be a guy... I can see where this all leads Chen!"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT YOU IDIOT!"

"Yeah right," Ortega was cracking in laughter by now.

"Hey I've got phone signal finally," Herald says. "The Mayor's calling us! And the Governor too! We've got to go to Memorial Park right now!"

"Let's go, Herald... They'll catch up when they grow up" Argent said hurrying to the Ranger's helicopter dragging floating Herald by his arm.

Steel and Ortega soon followed.

____________________________

My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[stormquill]

Misconduct, Ch. 11 [Soldier 76/Reader]

You have an extremely inappropriate crush on your commanding officer. Maybe if you work hard enough, you’ll stop having feelings.

[ AO3 Link ]

Author's Notes: Collaboration with @antiloquist. Follow the blog @ http://miss-conduct.tumblr.com/

Chapter Notes: look man it's been a solid year and a half i don't really have anything to say for myself lmao

The dead of night gave you plenty of cover as you kept perched atop your roof, overlooking the harbour.

Several days of recon had pointed to the indication that Amélie would be prepped for transport tonight, smuggled aboard one of the many ships bound for the Atlantic the following morning. However, some last-minute digging had uncovered Amélie herself—safe and sound in suspended animation—hidden away in a repair dock on the opposite side of the harbour.

You and 76 had the upper hand for three simple reasons: first, you were aware of the trap waiting for you at the harbour; second, you knew the real location of your target; and third, they weren’t expecting your Commander to be approaching the situation with backup.

76 was advancing towards the repair docks at that very moment. All you had to do was sit tight and pay attention to their presence at the harbour, in case there were any additional circumstances you hadn’t accounted for.

Surprisingly, getting out was the easy part.

The dropship was already in-range. Your handheld evacuation devices—the ones you’d developed with Winston to make your technology more portable—would transport its wearers to the main evac apparatus, installed safely on-board. One of the major flaws of the new tech was that, like its outdated, bulkier version, all nodes had to be activated at once, and once they were activated, it took several hours for them to recharge.

There were three devices in total—one with you, two with 76—and as soon as he confirmed that he’d affixed one to Amélie, you would activate the devices and transport all three of you onto the dropship.

Wait for 76’s confirmation. Hit a button.

“Easy,” you reassured yourself.

You were so tired.

Maybe it was a good thing, you thought. The unholy mess of stress and exhaustion numbed your fear and steadied the grasp on your rifle. At the same time, however, it dulled your senses, making you feel unreactive, and slow. As much as you didn’t want to dwell on the idea, you couldn’t wait to be rid of this mission.

You didn’t tell him that, of course.

Your Commander had glanced down at you before you parted ways, the glaring light of his visor back to the familiar cherry red that suited him most. When you held his gaze, a sinking feeling dropped heavy in your gut, with the inescapable anxiety of absolutely everything going wrong. You’d completed enough training and gone on enough missions throughout your lifetime to be able to control these last-minute fears, but within that moment, you couldn’t shake them off as easily as normal.

“Nothing reckless,” was all you said, “we promised.”

He nodded.

You felt stupid for thinking it at a moment like this, but you wanted to nestle against him again until your raging nerves ebbed to a crawl, until his scent was all you needed as reassurance that everything would be alright.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before you realized you were holding your breath.

“Good luck out there,” you settled on.

“You, too.”

And that was the last you saw of him.

Sudden noises drew you from the memory.

A box truck pulled into the streets below, near one of the boats docked along the harbour. Once they killed the engine, four men rushed out of the vehicle and rounded towards the back of it, hoisting the rear door and prepping to transport something out.

“Athena,” you whispered, voice still feeling too loud in the chill of the early morning. “How many heat signatures in the back of the truck?”

“Calculating...” The female tone was cool and even in your ear. “Detecting six additional heat signatures in the back of the vehicle.”

Four in sight, six in hiding.

Hissing urgent commands at one another, the four visible agents worked together to ease a massive crate from the truck onto a large metal dolly.

“And how many signatures that crate?” you asked.

“Zero.”

As expected, you thought. The crate was a decoy. They were expecting 76 to muscle his way in—and maybe, if you weren’t here, that’s exactly what he would’ve done, only to be met with an empty container and an ambush.

...you both should’ve been gone by now.

You touched the communication device clipped to your ear. “Commander, do you read me? Do we have an ETA on evac? Over.”

The silence sent your mind racing.

“Athena, can I get a status report on the Commander?”

“Vital signs: stable. Communications online. Evacuation node two is prepared for activation. Evacuation node three is prepared for activation.”

Then why the hell wasn’t he responding?

The answer was obvious—he must have encountered enemy interference, either en route or at site. However, the agents below were still maneuvering the decoy cargo towards their ship docked at the harbour, meaning neither them nor the ambush in hiding had been notified of the compromise.

That meant you could still buy him time.

“Commander,” you started, “assume contingency 32B. If I do not receive orders within five minutes, we abort without payload. Athena?”

“Understood. Initiating contingency 32B.”

A split-second later, several cracks shattered the air like fireworks, as every hidden camera your Commander had planted in the immediate area self-destructed.

Neighborhood dogs began barking. Windows of nearby apartment complexes lit with newly woken civilians. The agents below surrounded the dolly, drawing their own guns in response.

Amidst the sudden confusion, you balanced your rifle along the edge of the rooftop, charged your shot to maximum power, and fired at the ship—another crash echoed through the harbour as you blew a hole in the ship’s main hull. The damage wasn’t enough to sink it, but it was enough to keep it from disembarking—more importantly, it was enough to get their attention.

The hidden agents were already piling out of the back of the box truck, while those guarding the dolly shouted and pointed towards your rooftop. Though the shot had given away your position, you immediately lined up another, this time aiming for the vehicle’s engine. The explosion tore through the air louder than any disruption that had come before it. You ducked for cover just before automatic fire began spraying in your direction.

The self-destructing cameras had woken up half the neighborhood, so French authorities would be on their way. You made yourself out to be someone making a play for the fake cargo, which would buy 76 a few extra minutes. And you’d crippled the agents’ ground transportation, meaning they couldn’t fall back to your Commander’s current position, even if they were called to retreat.

Rifle slung around your shoulder, you fell back. You could already hear the heavy footfalls of enemy agents scrambling up your fire escape; you headed for the opposite side, instead, using your grappling equipment to hook onto the roof’s edge and scale down the side of the building.

Three agents were standing guard at the bottom of the fire escape.

You hit the ground running.

Enemy fire sent your heart rattling inside your chest like a bell in a cage, but you kept focused. You’d studied the layouts of these alleys a hundred times over, and outmaneuvering the enemy was child’s play—but the knowledge of what was behind every corner did nothing to ease the sound of their bullets ricocheting as they missed, blasting off bits of brick and concrete around you.

Behind this dumpster. Through this door. Right turn. Left turn. Right turn. Right.

You couldn’t let yourself get hurt again. Not after last time.

“Payload secured,” came the voice you were waiting for, like music to your ears. “Requesting evac.”

“Copy.”

And you hit the button.

Teleportation felt like being yanked by a set of wires tied to your ribcage—it always left you feeling disoriented and unsteady on your feet, even as you made solid contact with the floor of the dropship.

The sight of the unconscious woman jarred you to your senses. Though she was unarmed and barely out of stasis, you weren’t about to underestimate the lethality of a known Talon agent held in such high regard.

Falling over yourself with urgency, you rushed over to the side of her unmoving form. You lifted her body, bridal-style, to the small holding chamber in the back of the dropship, and sat her upright.

You sealed the door shut, and stumbled backwards with the shock of what you’d just done.

You did it.

You rescued her.

As your adrenaline-fueled haste died down, the electric excitement vibrating within your chest replaced itself with a cold, harrowing realization—that the dropship was far too quiet, far too empty around you.

You knew what was behind you before you bothered turning around.

A spent evacuation node sat on the floor where your Commander should have been standing.

“Athena,” you near-whispered, voice weak, “status report?”

“Vital signs: unstable. Communications offline. Evacuation node two, offline. Evacuation node three, offline.”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

You knew what you had to do.

-

To say you hadn’t planned for this was a lie.

Of course you’d planned for it—you’d planned every iteration of every possibility of any combination of the three of you becoming compromised. The contingency of this scenario was clear: neither one of you would leave without the other. Surely, he’d know that.

Surely, he knew you were coming.

All three of your evacuation nodes were spent, which meant you would have to get him out the good old-fashioned way. The question gnawing at you remained: what could have happened that necessitated him removing the transportation device from himself? The node was an instant get-out-of-jail-free card, one which hadn’t been damaged or malfunctioning at time of transport, so why would he ever take it off?

You didn’t have much time to wonder.

Athena dropped you off as close as she could to your Commander’s last known coordinates on the dry docks.

If your positions were switched, you had little doubt 76 would’ve come after you, guns blazing, regardless of enemy numbers or positioning, but you couldn’t afford the same bravado. If you were too heavily outnumbered, trying to get him out on your own would be nothing short of suicide. For 76 to have been taken down, you expected to be faced with an army.

But the dry docks were barren when you arrived. Almost serene.

There were no signs of recent activity in the area, let alone of a recent fight. Aside from 76’s signal pinging you from across the docks, Athena confirmed there were no other heat signatures in the immediate area.

Had he been abducted, maybe? Taken to a secondary location without his tech?

You shook your head, doing your best to parse contingency from paranoia. You were approaching the cargo ship where Amélie’s body was being held mere minutes earlier—unfamiliar enemy territory—and you needed to pay attention.

Readying your weapon, you ascended the set of metal stairs along the side of the ship; already, your footsteps sounded far too loud.

The large, open deck of the cargo vessel was crowded with storage units—massive, rectangular metal boxes of identical shapes and sizes stacked on top of each other like multi-coloured building blocks. As you approached 76’s signal, you kept your steps light and your wits about you, checking your corners while keeping your back pressed to solid surfaces. The deck was dark, claustrophobic, terrible grounds for a fight—if it weren’t for Athena’s confirmation there were no other living souls on-board, you wouldn’t have stepped foot in here without backup.

The pinging in your ear grew more rapid as 76’s signal became stronger on your radar.

To your right, an open storage unit containing the now-empty stasis machine, still running, casting an ice-blue light across the deck and illuminating the scene before you.

Several toppled cargo units crowded the area, all of which were heavily damaged with massive dents and bullet holes. The path of destruction led to the rear-most area of the deck.

A splash of blood was illuminated brilliantly against the dark surface of the ship, awash in the stasis machine’s ice-blue glow, as if it were under blacklight. Another spatter, smeared along the side of a storage container. Several drips along the metal flooring, rounding the corner of another open unit nearby...

You checked your corners before checking inside.

Inside the open storage container sat the form of a man in the glow of his own cherry red visor, hunched over with a hand pressed to his thigh, a pool of his own blood seeping beneath him.

“Don’t,” 76 croaked, sounding weaker than you’d ever heard him, “it’s a trap—”

Reflexes kicking in, you raised your weapon and did a swift 180, aim landing on the head of the other man standing behind you.

And you fired.

You thought you missed, at first—your laser burned a hole in the storage unit behind him—but you realized your shot had gone through him, as the man’s entire body morphed into a cloud of black vapour before your charge made contact.

This didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t anyone else alive on this ship.

You’d checked.

“Athena?” you whispered.

“Target possesses no heat signature. Target possesses no pulse.”

The insinuation of her words sent your mind reeling.

You had no contingencies for this.

The swirling cloud solidified into being once more. Hooded and broad-shouldered, the man towered before you, the sharp edges of his bone-white mask glinting in the blue light. His gloved hands—every finger clawed with a sharp silver talon—carried a mammoth pair of black shotguns you could’ve easily mistaken for cinder blocks. He was black leather and red adornments. He was dread and absolute foreboding.

The partner in more ways than one.

The one he cared about finding.

And Gabriel Reyes laughed at you, his voice as ethereal as the rest of him. “You’re late.”

You blurted out the only words that came to mind. “What the fuck?”

“...eloquent.”

As much as you were trembling, you didn’t lower your gun. “You’re here to kill us, then?”

“And if I am?”

“Anything happens to either us, Amélie is dead,” you snapped. Your voice was much steadier than you were. “The dropship is already en route to headquarters—if we don’t both check in within the hour, it’s set to self-destruct.”

“That so?” His claws readjusted their grip on his shotguns. “How were you planning on getting out of here?”

“Dunno.” You swallowed, hard. “Didn’t think that far ahead.”

He made an amused noise, low in his throat. “It’s been a while since you’ve had someone so willing to die for you, Jack.”

...Jack?

Attention faltering, your blood turned to ice beneath your skin. Pieces of the puzzle were jamming themselves into place, violently, all at once, and as the big picture revealed itself to you, you felt more and more like a complete fucking idiot for not having seen it earlier.

As if reading your mind, Gabriel tilted his head to the side.

“Oh my god,” he chuckled, darkly. “You didn’t know.”

You stood there, facing each other—his guns still at his side, yours still pointed at his head. If your Commander was Jack Morrison, that meant the Gabriel Reyes in front of you wasn’t just any Gabriel Reyes—this was the Gabriel Reyes, ex-commander of Blackwatch, public scapegoat for the first fall.

You suddenly found yourself in the company of men who were killed in an explosion nearly a decade ago and you no longer knew what was real.

“Congratulations, Jack,” said Gabriel. “You managed to find the one person on the planet who bought into the world’s worst-kept secret.”

“Leave them out of this,” snarled the voice behind you. “Your fight is with me.”

“Oh, but this is so much bigger than you and I. Why shouldn’t your new lackey come along for the ride?”

Your desire for an explanation outweighed your caution. “I thought you died, Commander Reyes.”

You could tell the use of his name gave him pause.

“He did,” he replied. “It’s ‘Reaper,’ now. Or did he leave that part out, too?”

Your breath caught in your chest. So not only was Gabriel Reyes still alive, but it was the true identity of the infamous terrorist you’d only ever heard rumours of. The ghost of the battlefield, the shadow of death, the one rumoured to steal the very souls of his victims until their bodies were nothing but dried husks—here he was, standing before you, dismantling your worldview one word at a time.

And yet, you didn’t want him to stop talking.

You lowered your rifle by an inch or two, just enough to better meet his gaze. “What did Commander Morrison do to you?”

He sneered beneath his mask. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

Though you continued aiming at him, Reaper still had not yet raised his weapons against you. He seemed to consider you for a moment—your quivering hands, your unblinking gaze, your steadfast positioning in the face of common instinct screaming at you to run. The sounds of your Commander’s laboured breathing seemed to do little to break your resolve.

Were you really so curious?

Reaper took a few steps forward, his footfalls heavy against the ship deck.

“War is a game,” he said. “A game you can’t win if you’re the only side playing by the rules. But Jack was never one to get his hands dirty. That’s where I came in.”

He continued his approach. The closer he came, the less you could move.

“You’ll do what they ask. You’ll do what is needed. Then they’ll orchestrate your downfall, and deny they had anything to do with you.”

He was inches away from you, now.

He smelled like a battlefield—like death and decay, like earth and gunfire.

“There will always be war,” he continued, “and there will always be people they need to do their dirty work. People just like you.”

“I haven’t—”

“You’ve taken Lacroix. You already are.”

Though you managed to keep your rifle raised, your subconscious had already surrendered, knowing full well you posed no semblance of a threat to this anomaly of an undead man who could dissipate at will.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed the aim of your rifle off to the side, as if he were drawing a curtain in his way.

He closed the distance between you by pressing the tip of his shotgun beneath your chin, tilting your head up until you were gazing into the black sockets of his mask.

You hear your Commander’s voice call out one of your names. You can’t tell which one.

“Remember, when you leave this place.” His gravelled voice was low and deliberate. “Every breath you take is air I’ve let you swallow. Your every heartbeat is a gift from me. From this moment on, you are living on time I’ve allowed you to borrow. And I will be back to collect my dues.”

You barely registered the next words that left you. “I’ll be waiting.”

To your surprise, Reaper laughed. “You don’t deserve them, Jack.”

To your surprise, 76 responded. “I know.”

And Reaper was gone, dark plumes of smoke vanishing into thin air.

Once again, you didn’t have time to wonder.

You immediately unslung your rifle and yanked your jacket off, rushing to 76’s side, the floor of the storage unit scraping hard against your knees.

“...Reader.”

You reached for the side of his belt and pulled out the Biotic Field canister yourself, slamming it onto the ground and activating it. Reaper had prevented him from using it, you figured, in order to have 76’s unstable vital readings lure you here faster.

“Reader.”

You bundled your jacket and helped him apply more pressure to his thigh to stop the shotgun wound’s bleeding. The blood loss had made him several shades too pale, you noticed, but the flow already seemed to be easing as the biotic yellow glow knit his insides back together. It wasn’t going to be a complete recovery, but it would be enough to keep him stable until you reached headquarters.

A gloved hand brushed your bangs out of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You looked up to meet the light of his visor.

“Hey,” he offered, sounding almost playful.

“Hi,” you said back, still feeling numb.

“I know asking if you’re okay is a stupid question, but I’m asking it anyway.”

“I’m...compartmentalizing.” You took a sharp breath. “We’re not safe, yet. We need to get out of here.”

“Mm. How are we getting out of here?”

“Dropship’s on standby. Should be here in a few minutes.”

“I thought you said the dropship left.”

“I lied.”

With your jacket soaked through with blood, the fabric as a whole became easier to twist around; you wrapped the wet jacket firmly around his thigh, tying the sleeves into a tight knot to keep the makeshift tourniquet in place. He reacted little to the pain—he must have been exhausted.

“You took off the evac node,” you said, dully. “You took off the evac node to go after Reaper.”

You didn’t need to see the look on his face when his silence already spoke volumes.

“We promised.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Nothing reckless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You promised.”

“I know.”

As hard as you willed against it, tears stung the corners of your eyes as you tried to look down to hide them, down at the rapidly blurring vision of your hands covered in his blood. The memory of you turning the corner and finding him sitting here, bleeding to death, rewound and replayed in your mind’s eye. What if he was hurt just a little worse?

What if you got here just a little too late?

“You promised.” Your cracking voice gave your tears away. “But you don’t give a shit about dying, do you?”

“Not until I met you.”

“Don’t give me that.” Your chest felt tight. “Not after what you just pulled. We could’ve gotten killed—Commander, I almost lost you—”

His hands reached for you, moving up to hold the sides of your face, and your words died in your throat. You could feel the blood in his gloves pressing against your cheeks—everything around you smelled like it now, smelled like him now, like regen and blood and leather—but he leaned his forehead to yours, and the warmth of his skin steadied you.

You’d never felt him tremble, before.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he breathed, and the way his voice broke on the words shook you to your core. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of his faltering only made you break worse. Your shoulders shaking, tears still streaming down your face, you held your hands against his, keeping them pressed against you—he was holding onto you as if he needed you to anchor him in place, as if you were the only thing on this earth keeping him tethered to it.

For the briefest of moments, he touches your lips to where his would be.

He passes out against your shoulder before you can register what happened.

And your dropship arrives.

[probably-not-star-lord]

Guardians of the Galaxy: Part 12 (Peter Quill x Reader)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

A/N: Sup gang, here is the final part to my Guardians of the Galaxy series! Stay tuned because the story continues in my next series for Guardians of the Galaxy Volume Two. I’m super excited to write that one. Hope you guys like how I concluded this and are looking forward to what’s next!

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angsty argument, slow burn :)

-

Several days had passed since The Guardians of the Galaxy retreated from the scene of the battle. The civilians of Xandar and the Nova Corp began to clean up the planet, removing debris, dirt, and destroyed ships. It will take a long time to rebuild the planet Ronan tried to wipe out, but they will be able to do it. In exchange for your help in defeating Ronan and assisting in the city's reconstruction, the Nova Corp allowed you to stay with them for as long as you need. The first night was great because you got cleaned up, washing the trauma of the fight off of you and several doctors tended to all of your injuries. Life became pretty normal after settling in because you were able to buy new clothes and items that were never replaced after your ship was destroyed. You don't know how long you'll be at the Nova Corp for or where you'll go afterward, but it's good to have a stable home for now. It's especially good to be with Peter and the rest of the Guardians, even though you all miss Groot terribly. Rocket has even been carrying around a potted plant with one of Groot's remaining branches. He hasn't been himself lately but you can tell he is grateful to have the rest of his new friends by his side for support.

A few more days go by and the five of you are summoned to the Nova Corp main office. There, you meet Peter and Gamora who stand beside Corpsman Dey and Nova Prime looking at a hologram of a male figure. You enter the room intrigued by what's going on.

"How would you even know this?" Peter asks the Nova officers. Oh, they are examining Peter. The hologram of him seems irregular or different and you hope everything is okay.

"When we arrested you, we noticed an anomaly in your nervous system, so we had it checked out," Dey says.

"I'm not Terran?"

He's not Terran?

"You are half Terran," Nova Prime answers to your relief. "Your mother was of Earth...your father, well, he's something very ancient we've never seen here before."

"If you aren't completely Terran and you're something else that's unknown," you wonder. "Is that why you were able to hold the Infinity Stone?"

"That could be why he was able to hole the Stone or as long as he did," Gamora responds.

"Exactly."

Suddenly, the elevator doors slide open, pulling you from your thoughts on what power Peter could possess. Drax and Rocket enter and Nova Prime immediately goes over to them and groups all of you together. "Your friends have arrived," she announces. "On behalf of the Nova Corp, we'd like to express our profound gratitude for your help in saving Xandar. If you will follow Denarian Dey, he has something to show you."

"Thank you, Nova Prime," Peter discloses, following Dey.

You nod and express your gratitude as well. "Thank you so much, for everything you've done for us." You jog to catch up, walking behind Gamora and Drax.

"Your wife and child shall rest well knowing that you have avenged them," Gamora tells him.

"Yes, of course, Ronan was only a puppet. It's really Thanos I need to kill."

As Drax walks beyond the two of you, you both exchange glances of exasperation. Well, that will certainly be a new adventure. But, you are not turning down the idea of taking down Thanos.

On the balcony, the five of you stand before a beautiful ship. It replicates the Milano but it's clearly updated and has a shiny, new look. It is also much bigger and is able to home a group of people as opposed to one, lone Ravager.

"We tried to keep it as close to the original as possible. We salvaged as much as we could," Dey says.

"Wow." Peter stares at the Milano in awe. He is at a loss for words. "I...thank you."

"This is amazing!" you exclaim. "You guys really outdid yourself. Thank you so much."

Dey looks at all of the Guardians. "I have a family. They're alive because of you. Your criminal records have also been expunged. However, I have to warn you against breaking any laws in the future." The five of you nod to him in gratitude.

"Question," Rocket states. "What if I see something that I want to take, and it belongs to someone else?"

"You will be arrested."

"But what if I want it more than the person who has it?"

"It's still illegal."

"That doesn't follow. No, I want it more, sir. Do you understand?" You snicker at the raccoon. Gamora takes him and pushes him along toward the ship, saving Dey from a bombardment of Rocket's jokes and questions. "What are you laughing at? What? I can't have a discussion with this gentleman?"

"What if someone does something irksome and I decide to remove his spine?" Drax asks seriously.

"That's...that's actually murder, it's one of the worst crimes of all. So...also illegal." Drax just shakes his head in response, knowing he will damn well kill someone if he has to. You follow him slowly, hoping Peter will catch up to you.

Behind you, he pats Dey on the back. "They'll be fine, Dey. I'm gonna keep an eye on em."

"You?"

"Yeah, me."

With that, he saunters up to you. You turn to him and smile. "I guess I'm stuck here with you assholes then, huh?"

He chuckles, taking your arm and leading you into the Milano. "I owed you a ship, remember? Now you have one." He winks and then disappears into his quarters.

You do the same and go check out your new room. It's identical to everyone else's, but the closet is filled with the clothes that you gathered while staying at the Nova Corp. Your new fashion sense consists of tight spacesuits that Peter can gawk at you in. You also received new pajamas and underwear and everything you need to live a happy life here on the Milano as a Guardian of the Galaxy. Perhaps there are a few of Peter's shirts and boxers in your room, some that you may have stolen over the course of your stay at the Nova Corp. Peter knows very well where his missing clothes have gone and he knows just how to retrieve them back from you, but there would be another occasion for that.

You drag your hand along the wall and think about the memories you'll make. You make a mental note to yourself to find that illegal shop where you can buy items from Terra so you can replace your '80s movie posters and band posters that once covered the walls on your ship. You also may check and see if you can purchase Footloose, that way you and Peter can sit down and educate Gamora.

You leave your room and head toward the common area, passing Peter's quarters on the way. You linger slightly and spot him sitting on the bed, fidgeting with the present box from a couple days ago.

"Y/N?" he calls out to you.

You enter his room and lean against the doorframe. "Hmm?"

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Of course," you reply, making your way to his bed and taking a seat next to him.

"Do you ever think about going back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, returnin' to Terra?"

"I've thought about it a few times after escaping from Thanos, but not really," you answer truthfully. "I was so young when I was taken, not really understanding Earth itself yet. Space is truly the only thing I've ever known. I also think it's because I know my family is there. I know they must miss me and assume the worst after I've been gone so long. I miss them too, so much. There are so many people I never got to see again. I'm sure my parents were worried sick after I was taken, thinking I was kidnapped or ran away...but after twenty-something years they probably think I'm dead and was just never found, you know? That's hard to go back to."

"But, if you miss them, and you know they miss you, why wouldn't you go back?"

You sigh, looking at the ground. "I'm afraid that they'd want me to stay."

"And you wouldn't wanna stay?"

"No, because I know that deep down I'd always miss exploring space. Plus, I have a new family now, one that I could never leave."

Peter takes your hand. "I don't want to go back either. But it's always been because I never wanted to live on Earth without my mother being there. I don't want to know what the world is like without her."

You graze his large, warm hand with your thumb, caressing it soothingly. "Peter..."

"Now it's because I never want to leave you," he confesses.

You rest your head on his shoulder and use your free hand to rub circles on his back. The two of you stare down at the box that Peter has been holding, turning it over and over in his hand. "What is that?" you ask.

"It's the last thing my mother gave to me after she died."

"You never opened it?"

"No, but I think I'm finally ready to open it."

You remove your hand from his and sit up. "Do you want me to go? I should probably leave you alone for this." He turns to you, his green eyes boring into yours.

"Stay."

You nod and resume your previous position to comfort him.

"Always."

Peter tears at the old, wrapping paper and removes a letter. You don't read it but he looks over the words so thoughtfully and carefully so you know it must mean so much to him. You notice his eyes swell up with tears and you lean closer into him for support. In his hand rests a new mixtape titled "Awesome Mix Vol. 2″ which is most likely composed of more songs that have so much meaning to Peter.

"Your mother seems like a wonderful person," you state, trying to find the right words to cheer him up.

"She was...and she would've loved you."

"Really?" you ask gleefully.

He chuckles. "Yeah, because you're exactly like me."

You laugh too. "Peter..." you get serious now and stare into his eyes once again. "...she would be so proud of you."

He pulls you into a tight hug, breaking any space there was between you two. "Thank you, Y/N, thank you so much."

"Hey," you say, patting his back so he pulls away. "Do you want to listen to it?"

He grins brightly. "Hell yeah."

You both get up and head for the common area where Gamora, Drax, and Rocket are hanging out. You take the tape from Peter and pop it into the speaker of the ship. It was really cool of Nova Corp to include that, knowing it will be quite useful to you and Peter. Once he presses play, a familiar beat you recognize from one of your own tapes echoes throughout the ship. The first song on the tape is "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, a true classic. His mom really did have good taste.

"Listen, baby,

Ain't no mountain high,

Ain't no valley low,

Ain't no river wide enough baby,"

"I love this song!" you yell.

"Of course you do," Peter beams. He smirks at you, extending a hand. "May I have this dance?"

You take his hand and smirk right back. "Obviously," you scoff. He spins you around and then pulls you into him, the two of you swaying to the rhythm.

"If you need me, call me,

No matter where you are,

No matter how far,

Don't worry baby,

Just call my name,

I'll be there in a hurry,

You don't have to worry,"

"Get a room!" Rocket hollers, shaking his head in disgust. "Humies, man, always being weird." As he heads over to the flight deck, you can't help but notice him tapping his foot as he waltzes to his seat.

You and Peter ignore his remark and it doesn't take long for you both to begin singing loudly and very off-key, him taking the man's lyrics and you taking the woman's. It's fun, and you know you'll never need words to cheer Peter up if there is music that can easily do the job.

"Cause baby there ain't no mountain high enough,

Ain't no valley low enough,

Ain't no river wide enough,

To keep me from getting to you babe,"

Gamora strides past the both of you, nodding her head and tapping her foot to the beat. You gasp. "Gamora likes it!"

"The melody is pleasant," she confesses, continuing to walk to the flight deck as well.

It brings you so much joy to finally see your sister happy and free from the strains of Thanos. As young kids, Gamora and Nebula felt like the only family you were ever going to have out in space. The three of you trained together for years, learning how to fight, dominate, and work hard to be powerful. It was exhausting. Thanos owned you and your sisters. Watching Gamora smile alongside you and your new family filled your heart with so much happiness. There will be so many pleasant memories to make in the days ahead.

"Remember the day I set you free,

I told you, you could always count on me, darling,

From that day on, I made a vow,

I'll be there when you want me,

Some way, somehow,"

You and Peter continue dancing to the music playfully. He presses himself really close to you. "I just remembered I saved your life the other day, along with the entire galaxy. So, I believe you owe me somethin'," he whispers in your ear seductively.

"You definitely did not just remember that."

"Well, you left me kissless after the battle against Ronan," he states. "But I recall you tellin' me to let you do whatever you wanna do to me. You called me Star-Lord. You begged."

You scoff, widening your eyes at the man. "I did no such thing!"

"Hey," Peter whispers. "A promise is a promise, sweetheart. I don't make the rules."

"I never promised anything."

Peter leans his head back with an annoyed groan. He usually lives for the flirty banter, but he's been craving your lips on his for so long that he is growing impatient. "Would you just shut up and kiss me already?"

"Cause baby there ain't no mountain high enough,

Ain't no valley low enough,

Ain't no river wide enough,

To keep me from getting to you babe,"

As the music plays, your singing slows and you lean into him, staring at his lips. He prepares himself for a totally hot makeout session with you, placing his hands on your hips. But, you give him a peck on the cheek and pull away.

"Hey! What the hell?" he shouts.

"I owed you a kiss, remember?" you giggle. "Now you got one!"

You start to skip away from Peter but you feel a strong grip on your wrist, pulling you back to him. There is no space left between the two of you, your body flush against his. You're breathless. His eyes trace over every detail on your face until he finally lands on your lips. Instantly, he kisses you. It's rough, hungry, and very much needed. The kiss deepens as Peter manages to pull you closer to him, one hand trailing down your back and the other wrapping around your neck and grazing your jawline. After a few moments, his lips slowly and reluctantly retreat from yours. You lean in, eyes fluttering, needing more. Peter smirks with delight.

"I kinda meant somethin' like that."

"Oh no, darling,

No wind,

No rain,

Or winters cold can stop me, baby,

Nah nah baby,

Cause you are my goal,

If you're ever in trouble,

I'll be there on the double,

Just send for me, oh baby, ha,"

You stare into Peter's bright, green eyes, searching for the right words to express how you feel. He continues to stare at you with a soft, loving smile with his hand resting warmly on the side of your face. Ever since you met the legendary outlaw, you've been desperately attracted to him, your feelings growing deeper and deeper with every mere interaction. Whenever Peter defended you or swooped in to save your life, you felt yourself on the brink of falling in love. Yet, is that what you wanted? To be in love with a playboy? A man who most women knew to avoid?

"Peter," you mumble, the eye contact faltering as your heartbeat quickens. "We can't do this."

"Why not?" Peter asks gently, caressing your face sweetly. "You'd be lyin' if you said you didn't like me, sweetheart."

"You have a reputation," you sigh, pulling away from Peter as you push a hand through your hair. The possibility of Peter using you for sex or being caught with another woman would destroy you, and you decide that you're better off letting him go. "There have been too many women in the past. You've never been in a real relationship, Peter. You sleep with women and kick them to the curb the very next morning. I witnessed it with Bereet! I really care about you, but I also care about myself. I just...I can't get hurt."

Peter takes in your words seriously, walking toward you and encompassing your hand in his own. "I could never hurt you, Y/N. I really want to give this a try."

"We can't!"

"Are you afraid that I'll leave you and choose someone else or somethin'? Are you nervous I'll flirt with someone else? Huh? Or are you just scared of commitment?" Peter raises his voice. "Cause that's ridiculous, Y/N. Ever since we first met I've only been able to picture myself with you. I only want you and I will only ever want you...no one else."

You take a deep breath, unsure if you can trust him. "Peter..."

"At least let me prove myself to you," Peter mutters, placing both of his hands at your sides and searching for your gaze. You look up at him. "Give me some time to show you how badly I want this. I promise I can change."

"Fine," you agree, kindly smiling at him. He returns your grin with a flirtatious smirk, quickly back to his seductive antics. Silently, you wish to yourself that he changes his womanizing ways and commits himself to you. You vow to restrain yourself from giving in to him until he does. "For now...you had your kiss of gratitude to hold you over."

My love is alive,

Way down in my heart,

Although we are miles apart,

If you ever need a helping hand,

I'll be there on the double,

Just as fast as I can,"

You disperse from Peter and make your way over to the flight deck, taking a seat next to your friends. It's not long before Peter follows, standing behind your seat and leaning in close to your ear. "I thought I would at least get to pick where the kiss was..." You smack him playfully and he chuckles, taking his place at the pilot's seat.

Next to him, Rocket's plant suddenly grows into a small being. It opens it's eyes and yawns, swaying slightly back forth. Rocket looks down at it in awe, starting to tear up from joy. It resembles a little Groot, and you know the Guardians just regained an old member.

You pat Rocket on the head gently, comforting him. He looks up at you with glossy eyes and a kind smile. The raccoon was certainly an unlikely friend, but one you were very glad to have made. He'll never admit it, but you're his favorite on the team.

"Don't you know that there,

Ain't no mountain high enough,

Ain't no valley low enough,

Ain't no river wide enough,

To keep me from getting to you babe."

"So, what should we do next?" Peter asks the crew. "Something good? Something bad? A bit of both?"

"We'll follow your lead...Star-Lord," you suggest, knowing that you are driving him crazy by calling him that.

A goofy grin creeps up to his lips. "Bit of both!"

With that, he takes off steering you in a random direction to god knows what destination. You don't know where things are going to go with Peter, but there isn't a doubt in your mind that you like him. He's a dorky goofball, but a super hot, dorky goofball that knows how to flirt and make you blush like a damn fool. Maybe he's a player....but maybe he can change for you. You don't know yet. All you know right now is that you have a family and a home.

You're a Guardian of the Galaxy, and that is pretty fucking cool.

Guardians of the Galaxy Volume Two: Part One: Here

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 6 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: This one took a while to write down since I had so many different ideas for it, but I hope you like what I came up with. Again, many thanks for your guys’ support, and please enjoy :)

From Avesta’s POV

CITY HALL - THE NEXT MORNING

Patiently waiting by as civilians gathered for the emergency address, Tiffany and I stood off to the side, making sure everything was in order while the guards got into position. Men, women, and children all flooded the plaza in front of City Hall, and the entrances had been blocked by both GCPD and Agency vehicles, as well as security gates.

So far, there was no sign of Joker or any of his men, and this “Lazarus” hadn’t shown up yet either. The janitor who was attacked by him was still in shock, and I doubted he’d be returning to work anytime soon, but otherwise, no one else seemed to be hurt. At least, not physically.

The optimistic side of me hoped that today would go by peacefully, and that we would get this speech done without any problems, but deep down...I knew a storm was coming. Whenever Gotham’s criminals saw an opportunity, they always seized it -- and this address was a huge opening. I just prayed that if something did happen, the Agency and GCPD would be enough to fight off these bastards. 

Battling with trained agents and police officers was one thing, but going after innocent civilians who were powerless to defend themselves...we couldn’t allow that to happen. These people deserved peace, and we were going to give it to them.

“...Hey,” I heard Tiffany say, breaking my trance-like state. She was peering at me with concern. “Are you okay, Iman? You look a bit...down.”

Gazing at the floor, I softly cleared my throat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” I lied. “I just...I just can’t help but feel sort of guilty for what happened to Bruce. Letting him die in such a horrible way.”

She raised a brow, confused. “What do you mean? Why would his death be your fault?”

My eyes travelled to my pistol, bringing me back to the day we found Bruce at Wayne Enterprises.

“When we rescued Bruce from Wayne Tower a few days ago,” I told her, “he was...he was broken. He had just watched all his colleagues die, and one of his closest friends betrayed him. It certainly didn’t help matters when I informed him about his Lotus infection. All of this happening at once...it must’ve made Bruce desperate. He wanted a way out. He...” I trailed off, hesitant to continue. Tiffany put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it in a comforting way.

“...Go on,” she urged. “It’s okay. You should talk about it now, rather than lashing out later.”

I took a deep breath, deciding not to hold back anymore.

“...He asked me to shoot him.”

Tiffany’s eyes sprung open. “What? Oh...I-I’m sorry. I assume you didn’t do it?”

“...No,” I confirmed. “I thought it was for the best. I thought that...I don’t know, I thought maybe there would be a chance we could save him. But I should’ve known better. There is no ‘rescuing’ when it comes to Lotus, is there? The virus kills its victims, no matter what. In the end, the Agency only made Bruce’s suffering worse, and he died as a lab rat. None of that would’ve happened to him if it weren’t for me. I may not be guilty for his death, but I am guilty for the fact that he lived long enough to ask for it.”

Tiffany was silent for a moment, a bit surprised at the confession.

“...You can’t blame yourself for Bruce’s suffering, Iman. You didn’t lock him in a lab and cut him up with a scalpel. The doctors did that. Whatever pain he experienced before his death is their fault. Not yours. You just did what you thought was right. No one can blame you for that. And besides, I have my own part to play in Bruce’s struggles.”

I was taken aback. “What are you talking about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Tiffany reached into her jacket and pulled out a golden pocket-watch, gripping it tight.

“...this used to belong to Alfred,” she explained, flipping the lid open. “Before he left, he asked me to pass it onto Bruce as a goodbye gift...but I never got the chance. I tried to give it to him when he was being held in the cell, but the doctors refused to let me in. Instead, Bruce probably died believing Alfred no longer cared for him, and it’s all because of me.”

I frowned, bringing my attention back to the crowd of civilians. “I suppose everyone failed Bruce in some way, didn’t we? Otherwise, he wouldn’t be where he is now. But all we can do is atone for it. We have to keep Gotham safe from Lotus and the Joker. We can’t let Bruce die in vain.”

Tiffany nodded in agreement, slipping the watch back into her pocket. “I hear that.”

“Agent Avesta!” Waller’s voice suddenly called out from a distance, bellowing over everyone else’s like a megaphone. I turned towards the source, only to see the woman herself beckoning me.

“I also hear the Director trying to get your attention.” Tiffany added.

“Noted,” I replied. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna see what she wants.”

“That would be wise.”

Taking my leave, I casually walked over to Waller and tried my best to look professional in hopes of hiding my true feelings. I was already on thin ice with the director ever since our discussion in the morgue, and I didn’t want to anger her further.

“Ma’am,” I greeted. “Is everything all right?”

The way she glowered at me said “no.” 

Waller crossed her arms in a strict fashion and circled around me for a bit, pushing her glasses up her nose. 

“...Where’s Bruce’s body, Avesta?” She asked. It was more of a demand than a question.

I paused, thrown off-guard by the assumption. What was she talking about?

“...I’m...I’m afraid I don’t follow.” I answered.

The director was unconvinced. “Oh, please, agent. Do you seriously expect me to believe that a corpse rose from the dead, nearly killed one of our employees, and broke free without any of our people catching him? Gotham’s a bizarre place, I’ll give you that, but it ain’t that bizarre. The only logical explanation here is that someone stole Bruce’s body -- and I don’t wanna point fingers -- but you did express your disapproval about keeping him here just a few days ago, did you not?”

I put a hand over my chest, slightly offended at the accusation. “You think I took his body?”

“If not you, then who else?”

“I-I don’t know...did the janitor mention seeing anyone?”

Waller shook her head. “No. Even now, Jacob swears up and down that Bruce just crawled out of his cold chamber and attacked him, but I don’t buy a word of it. It’s far more plausible that someone would sneak in and remove Bruce’s body from the lab. For what purpose, I don’t know, but all I care about right now is finding the damn thing, and something tells me you’re a good place to start.”

I stumbled over my words, thinking of what to say. “Director, I assure you I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Bruce’s body. I know it seems unlikely, but...what if the janitor’s telling the truth? Maybe Bruce was never dead in the first place.”

“Our top doctors and scientists were working on him. They know a dead man when they see one.”

I persisted. “But what if the Lotus virus--”

“Enough,” Waller interrupted. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, Avesta, but I want that body back and intact. Do I make myself clear?”

Slouching my shoulders in defeat, I gave up for now, seeing as how it was obvious the director wouldn’t change her mind. I gave her a firm nod.

“...yes, ma’am.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Waller straightened her suit, walking off, “I have a city to address.”

Shoving past me, Waller made her way to the podium at the front of the grand stage as the crowd settled down, adjusting the numerous microphones so that everyone could hear her properly. By now, an army of civilians, journalists, policemen, and agents had flooded the plaza, and the constant light of camera flashes reflected off of the director’s glasses. I decided to lay low for the moment and took my place in the background, waiting for the speech to begin.

I didn’t know what that whole business about Bruce’s body was, but it made me uneasy that it was actually gone. At first, I thought that maybe the attacker was just someone who looked like Bruce, and the janitor may have mistaken him for the billionaire -- but with the vanishing of the corpse and Jacob’s claims about him coming back to life...it made me wonder. Did he really return from the dead? Was he even dead to begin with? Countless questions overwhelmed my head, and I didn’t know what to make of the situation, but I pushed them aside for now. At the moment, my only job was to keep these people safe, and I intended on doing just that.

From John’s POV

“Are the bombs in place?” I asked Willy through a rainbow-decorated walkie-talkie as Harley and I waited in the car. “The speech is almost starting.”

“We’re still planting the last few,” he replied. “We just have to take out the guards around the area.”

I groaned. “Well, hurry it up! Waller ain’t waiting forever! And neither is Batman...” falling silent for a second, I quickly changed the subject. “Whatever -- just get the job done! Waller needs to die, and we need to find that serum. Fast.”

“On it, Mr. Johnny!”

Harley rolled her eyes, resting her feet on the dash. “Mr. Johnny?’ Really, Pud?”

I set the walkie-talkie down and drove us to a closer observation point, making sure to stay out of sight.

“Let the man have his fun,” I defended Willy. “Things have been dry lately anyways.”

“Eh, true enough,” Harley winked at me, hugging her sledgehammer, “but today we’ll have loads of fun. Ain’t that right, sweetie?”

I winked back, giggling sinisterly. “You can be sure of that, babe. Heads are gonna roll.”

She leaned over and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “I like the way you think.”

I deviously rubbed my hands together, turning on a small TV installed in the car. “All right, let’s see how Waller’s speech is doing. After all, every show needs a good introduction. We’ll let the civilians get niiice and comfortable before blowing anything up. Make them think they’re safe and sound when all of a sudden...BAM! Now that’s gonna be a climax!”

Pressing the power button, the devil lady herself instantly appeared on-screen, barking utter nonsense as usual while the audience keenly listened. Everything appeared to be moving smoothly thus far, and none of the security guards seemed panicked. Good, good. That meant they weren’t aware of my presence. Things were going according to plan.

“--Citizens of Gotham,” Waller began, resting her hands on the podium, “I know these past few weeks have been extremely difficult -- and our lives have been full of nothing but death, chaos, and tragedy. But I assure you, that will all soon come to an end. The Agency has been working tirelessly to find a solid cure for the Lotus virus, and we are this close to succeeding. We’ve done our research, we’ve conducted tests, and I promise you, we are making progress. But that’s not all I came here to talk about.”

Waller straightened her posture, linking her arms behind her back.

“The Joker.”

I clapped happily and pointed at the screen, laughing out of joy. “That’s me, that’s me!”

“By now, I’m sure this is a name all of you are familiar with. He has threatened our safety, killed our loved ones, and shaken the very foundation on which this city was built upon.”

I frowned. “...that’s a bit harsh.”

“However, despite all these struggles,” the director continued, “I must ask you not to panic. Not only will that give the Joker more opportunities to attack us, it will also make us stronger against him. The Joker’s been getting sloppy lately, and both the GCPD and the Agency are closing in on him -- along with any of his associates. We will do everything within our power to ensure Joker is put behind bars, and that he stays there.”

Groups of people in the crowd could be seen nodding with approval and gathering inspiration from Waller’s speech, while others didn’t look so sure about the claims. Those people were the smart ones.

“And speaking of maniacs loose on the streets,” a disgusted look plastered itself on Waller’s face, “I am well aware of these rumors that have been circling around about a certain ‘Lazarus.’ Well, I can assure you, they are just that. Rumors. Neither the Agency nor the GCPD have encountered anyone who fits such a description, and this ‘Lazarus’ is certainly not Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne has officially been declared dead, and that will forever be his status, I’m afraid.”

Out of nowhere, an unknown male voice suddenly joined the scene, followed by the clicking of a gun.

“...are you so sure about that, director?”

From Waller’s POV

Freezing mid-action, I glanced over my shoulder to see just who the hell had interrupted my speech, only to come across the most peculiar looking man...along with a gun aimed at my head.

The man was wearing a suit that actually blended in rather well with the Agents’, and there was a black bandana tied around bottom half of his face. Despite the coverage though, I could still see patches of scarred skin surrounding his right eye, and the organ itself had been mildly blinded, making it a hazy-blue color. 

Even with all the marring however, it was impossible for me to not recognize the fierce gaze that practically bore into my skull. It was the same gaze that haunted me ever since the incident at Wayne Enterprises, and the same one that pierced through the lab’s window. Who was this man? Was that...was that who I thought it was?

Before I could ask myself anymore questions though, a few of the other agents cautiously approached the man in hopes of subduing him, only to be shot directly in the forehead with a series of sharp bangs as their blood sprayed onto the floor. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, an electronic blast violently erupted throughout the plaza, shutting down all the security gates as well as deactivating the Agents’ pistols, causing the audience to scream in fear once they realized they were trapped. I tried to order my remaining agents to put down the culprit, but was forced to stop when he pulled out a detonator, making sure everyone could see it.

“Anyone moves a single muscle,” he roared, “and I will blow this place to hell...where it belongs.”

Tiffany let out a shaky breath in the background, paralyzed in place as she watched the scene. I supposed I wasn’t the only one who recognized him. 

“...B-Bruce?” She whimpered, sounding heartbroken. “Is that y-you...?”

His attention flicked over to her, and a wicked twinkle of delight glinted in his gaze.

“Didn’t think you’d be so surprised to see me, Tiffany. Especially after Jacob gave you quite the warning. But that’s the Agency for you, isn’t it? Refusing to listen to what it doesn’t believe. Looks like you should’ve heeded my advice.” 

Bruce took a few steps in my direction, holding me in place with his gun. “Psh, look at you. Tending to the sheep, convincing them you’re their shepherd. Do these people realize you’re also the wolf preying on them at night? Picking from their herd, choosing whose wool to strip? Funny, how you don’t mention that. I bet Bruce Wayne would have a word or two to say about it.”

I grimaced at him, almost growling my next words. “...so you’re Lazarus.”

“A name given to me by your people,” Bruce replied. “Even now, the Agency continues to create me. Everything I do, everything I am -- it’s because of you, Waller, and I hope you understand that. Though, it does make me wonder...where do we go from here? How does this road come to an end? I mean, we all know its destination...don’t we?”

I waved a strict hand. “Enough, Lazarus. Surrender now, or my people will shoot you where you stand.”

Bruce obviously wasn’t shaken by the threat, and continued his little game.

“Be careful, Waller,” he warned. “Your courage makes you vulnerable...but so does your fear. How is it that polar opposites could give you the exact same result?” 

Bruce prowled towards me in a calm manner, still holding me at gunpoint. 

“That’s how the universe toys with us, you see. It tricks us into believing we can divert our paths, and it laughs at us when we try. After all, there’s no crueler method to torture a man than giving him the illusion of choice. But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Director? Why don’t you tell these people what you really did to Bruce Wayne? Tell them how he truly died.”

I could see the audience watching us with a newfound interest, but I refused to give in and kept my mouth shut. Bruce stormed to me, planting the gun’s barrel directly against my temple as he leaned uncomfortably close to my face.

“TELL THEM!” He hissed, his tone dripping with venom.

“I will not,” I said sternly. “You think you can just march onto the stage and order me around because you’ve got a gun? The Agency has dealt with people like you before, and it will continue to deal with people like you. You’re nothing special. Just another common criminal trying to become king when you’re only a rat in the gutter.

Bruce chuckled, almost sounding genuinely pleased.

“A common criminal, eh? Tell me, Director, how many common criminals do you know of...that can say they’ve killed the Batman?”

A unanimous gasp emitted from the crowd, and people immediately starting turning to each other, murmuring out of disbelief.

“--Batman’s dead?”

“--That’s impossible, you can’t kill Batman...”

“--Holy shit, what are we gonna do?”

My eyes widened at the claim, and I looked at Bruce with bewilderment. He actually went there. 

“What are you--”

“--Where else do you think Batman’s been these past few days?” He taunted, enjoying himself far too much. “Why else do you think that, whenever the GCPD fires up the Bat Signal, he never answers anymore? It’s because he’s dead, Waller, and you better get used to it.” Bruce held up the detonator, announcing his final words.

“I’m only giving you once chance, Director. This road will lead to death’s doorstep no matter what, but I’m giving you a choice on how to venture it. Take your Agency and leave Gotham for good. Otherwise...this city will belong to me by the end of the week, and today’s events will pale in comparison to the future.”

I gritted my teeth. “You can’t be serious!”

He chuckled. “Oh, but I am.”

Activating the detonator, colossal clouds of the Lotus virus suddenly burst into the air with a ground-shaking boom and spread like wildfire, painting the sky yellow as it infected all of City Hall. Drones soared through the sky and ejected paralytic bolts, shooting down people who were trying to escape as they pushed and shoved each other aside, desperately running for their lives.

“Gas masks ON!” I yelled at my agents. “Get these civilians to safety, NOW!”

Civilians immediately began scrambling all over the place, bolting blindly through the thick fog and falling to their knees as they suffocated on the virus, coughing to death within seconds. Only this time, they didn’t actually die. Instead, their bodies twitched and mutated into disgusting creatures, growths developing around their heads as the insanity took affect instantly, causing them to viciously attack others nearby. It was hell on Earth.

Parents were carrying their children away from the terror and wailing for help, pointlessly covering their kids’ mouths as they were forced to face the inevitable. People banged their hands on the walls of police cars as they evacuated the square, screaming at the drivers to let them in and climbing on top. Meanwhile, those who didn’t manage to escape were tackled to the ground by the mutated victims and ripped to shreds, screaming in agony during their final moments. 

It was like something out of a nightmare, and I was powerless to wake up.

I turned to Bruce with a look of terror amidst all the havoc, trembling inside out at the scene. 

“...What...what have you done?”

Pulling down his bandana, Lazarus revealed an inhumane, twisted smile that had been hiding underneath the fabric as it continued to stretch wider, fueled by the shrieks of panic that could be heard throughout the plaza. 

He sauntered off, vanishing within the mist like a phantom escaping daylight.

“Why, Director...I’m just finishing what you started.”

From John’s POV

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed at the screen. “Was that...was that Bruce?! What’s he doing here? I thought he was dead! You mean...he’s not?” I cackled excitedly, jumping out of delight.

“You say that like it’s good news.” Harley retorted.

I strapped on my gas mask and snatched a pistol, slamming the car’s door open. 

“It is! Hehe! It means the enemy of my dreams is back! Only, he’s doing it all wrong...! I’m supposed to be the villain. Not him! Wait here, hon. I’m gonna have a word with this ‘Lazarus.” I took out my walkie-talkie, giving orders to my men.

“Forget the bombs!” I said. “Looks like Lazarus took care of that for us. Just go after Waller, and bring her to me alive! I want to personally put a bullet in her brain. Got it?”

“Right away!”

Shutting the door behind me, I fought through the virus’ thick fog and gunned down agents and cops alike, shooting my way to Bruce who had grappled onto a rooftop, slithering away like a snake. Well, even if Batman was gone, he certainly hadn’t given up his old toys.

Using my own grappling gun, I latched onto the roof’s edge and hurled myself up, chasing after the man as I called out his name.

“Brucie!” I waved a hand, sprinting towards him. “Buddy! Where do you think you’re going?”

He halted in his tracks at the sound of my voice and steadily turned around to see who it was, but didn’t stay long enough to greet me. Instead, just before I could reach him, Bruce set off one of his damned smoke pellets and clouded my vision, leading me to lose sight of him. I coughed at the stench for a few moments, waving the puffs away as I tried to relocate Bruce, but to no avail.

Why was he being so evasive? Usually, the man was so eager when it came to pursuing me, but now, it felt like he was shutting me out. Was this because of what I did at Wayne Enterprises? Was he holding a grudge against me for killing Regina? It would make sense...but even then, Batman always confronted his problems face-to-face. It was so unlike him to just...run. 

But then again, he wasn’t Batman anymore, was he? The Agency had morphed and twisted Bruce into something far more dangerous than he could’ve ever imagined, and his insanity was only going to drive him closer towards the edge.

As much as I loved Bruce’s fire...this wasn’t how I wanted things to happen. I was supposed to be the villain of his dreams, and he was supposed to be the caped vigilante who saved the day. I was his light...outside of Arkham. Why was he trying to snuff me out? What did Waller do to him? What did I do to him?

Roaming towards the rooftop’s border, I viewed the beautiful aftermath of Lazarus’ attack below, revelling in the turmoil that now stained the air. Police sirens echoed with emptiness in the distance, survivors of the assault were sobbing uncontrollably, my men were wreaking havoc, and countless, deformed corpses littered the streets surrounding City Hall. It was mayhem like none I’d ever seen, and I absolutely loved it. 

I didn’t know what Bruce was like now, or who this ‘Lazarus’ was, but I couldn’t deny that I was hooked onto his new, malicious nature. Watching him parade on stage like that, injecting fear into those around him...it made my heart soar with excitement, and I found myself howling with laughter at the madness ensuing in the plaza below.

“You can run all you want, Lazarus,” I shouted to the sky as if he could hear me, “but we will meet again! I promise you that! The stitch...ain’t broken yet! HAHAHA!”

[loyalisthounds-blog]

The Upper Echelons

It was something of an ominous room. 

A long table, dark wood, with the insignia of each echelon burnt into their place. Atop it, various devices, monitors, keypads. Despite its length, the table sat only five, the other chairs pushed to the edge of the room in neat fashion, an edge that gave an impressive view.

The Cabinet gathered at the centre of the City, in a room that watched it from every angle.

At the head of the table stood the Huntress. Eliza Jones, impeccable in form, who would always rather stand than sit. Hers was one she would not have chosen to fill, but with a noted absence as always someone had to step in.

“The broadcasts, then.” No sense with pre-amble. “I trust you’ve all read the current intel we have at hand.” A look to another at the table, an elderly gentlemen, strong-jawed with deep set eyes, nodding in turn as he lifted a hand. The monitors hummed to life, a projection of the building bombed in question, lines tracing through the floorplans. “The first incident. Suspect known as KILROY forced entry from the bottom floor” he began, slowly rising in turn. He flicked out a metallic pointer, using it to follow the lines, as though it made it more noteworthy. “Due to reallocating of military force, they were met with minimal force.” Photos slid into view from the scene, Loyalists knocked unconscious, Sniper units downed. “That, and they somehow managed to go undetected through most of the building.”

“Wasn’t that one of the broadcast centers highlighted at risk, Driscoll?” Asked one of the others. Unlike the head of Intel, her clothing was more civilian in nature, though still adorned with the regalia of their rank.

“....Yes...though it was on the lower end-” Driscoll began, before coughing. “In any case.” The floors cycled through until stopping a little above half way high, where the photos were dismissed for actual footage. It was distorted, obscured by smoke and shaky as anything, but a figure could be made out in the chaos, and a single glowing light. “It was on the ninth floor that they were finally detected. Guard forces attempted to apprehend the intruder, but found themselves overwhelmed by a singular individual.” His words dripped with disdain, gaze swung over to the Brigadier for a moment. She kept her trademark grin. “Met with unexpected force when already underpowered thanks to other’s intervention. They put up a valiant effort, considering the circumstances.” The words came easy, hands laid in her lap neatly.

“Nonetheless, they failed to stop the suspect. And so they reached the centre on the eleventh floor, and began their broadcast.”

“Not before the alarm was raised, and more men were sent to the area” the Brigadier countered. “One of which had noted a suspicious package on the suspect.”

“You were aware of the bomb threat?”

“Not until then. It was on the report I sent you, Driscoll.” She lifted her own copy, and then fanned it out to reveal other copies, which she handed about. “In case you lost track, however....” Driscoll grumbled under his breath, before turning back to the issue at hand. A flick of the wrist, and the details shrunk as another set of images arose. “Then, the second incident, one month later. Similar break and entry, though this time they seemed to gain access from part ways up the building.” A pause. “CCTV caught sight of a smaller detonation, and smoke obscured their entry, but inspection after the fact made it evident it was KILROY’s point of entry.”

“Surely CCTV should have noticed their entry into a building adjacent to a broadcast centre?” Eliza asked, tone biting. Driscoll cleared his throat.

“That falls under the remit of Infrastructure-” began, before the civilian-clad woman tsked.

“Keen to throw me under?” uttered with annoyance, before she slid a small card into the projection device.

A myriad of screens lit up about the current focus, cameras from the screens showing all angles on the day. “We’ve reviewed all the footage. The building in question is housing, home to approximately two hundred and fifty seven legal tenants, and a suspected seventy-three illegal. None of which were seen in that KILROY’s odd getup entering or leaving” she clarified, both hands pushed against the table.

Driscoll raised a brow, a hint of amusement dancing across his features before he brought himself back in line. “Yes, thank you. In any case, the scene was much the same on inspection, though we did start to have some interesting accounts from those injured.” His eyes hovered back to the Brigadier, briefly sharp to Joker besides.

The Brigadier simply smiled wider. “Yes, indeed. I went and talked to them each personally, to ensure that what was said was nothing but the truth.” Another set of papers was produced, handed to Joker to pass along. “A copy, for each of your records, but eyewitness testimony seems to show an odd quirk to our suspect’s means. Some were brought down via what they saw as modified Sniper unit fire, others were, ahem…” She picked up her own copy to read verbatim, “smashed about roughly with a shield until they lost consciousness.”

“So this KILROY’s a resourceful sort” another commented, a younger man with red hair and questioning eyes, sitting comfortably. “Does this mean they’re responsible for the missing shipments in the last months?” “Well, there’s certainly a high chance of that, yes” The Brigadier replied warmly, “considering the small scale of the thefts.” The papers were then tapped against the table. “But back to the point. Some were engaged differently, to quote, “A blur of green paint and red lights moved faster than we could fire.” “ She raised a brow. “Some even said the techniques mirrored some we train our own in.”

“Are you saying there’s a chance this KILROY is a traitor?” Eliza asked sharply. The Brigadier held back a snort.

“Surely that’s a given considering their actions?” she teased, earning an ireful look she paid no mind to. “But, in the context you mean, doubtful. Oh, there’s a chance it’s a late stage reject from the programme, but I highly doubt it’s actually one of our own. Why would they go out in our colours, and be so overt?” A small chuckle. “That would be foolish.”

Eliza gave the Brigadier a sidelong glance, clearly disapproving of her sense of humour, but found no other grounds for refute. “So, the second was much like the first. But what of the third?” Once more, Driscoll flicked his wrist, and all the pertinent information flew to the side as the latest incident flew into sight. The images taken from this one seemed much more high impact, the broadcast station heavily armoured. “Three weeks ago, one of the more central stations was broken into. Unlike the prior times, this entry was a lot quieter.” He paused, bringing up images that highlighted their entry point. “They entered through the ventilation, and only engaged those they had to.” He sighed. “Considering we were unable to discern their identity before, there’s a chance that several civilians spotted about the area could be the suspect in disguise. And due to the nature of our operations, it’s become common knowledge that such broadcast relays are being...bolstered, security-wise.”

“Mmmm, and yet they found a way to weasel in regardless” The Brigadier murmured, face part-obscured by a gloved hand, a smirk visible only to Joker. “Most unfortunate. Especially as they managed more than simple audio this time.”

Joker adjusted his own papers in front of his face and returned the grin. The only good part of these meetings was watching Driscoll sweat. Driscoll gave a grunting nod, and with another click the image was isolated. A blurry snapshot of an alleyway, a message written against the wall.

Albert the kid is ghosting.

Everyone glanced it again, before looking to Eliza. She was not amused. Her arms crossed, chin raised, eyes glaring bloody murder. Driscoll’s gaze dropped, and slowly all else’s did the same. Sans the Brigadier, of course. That obscured smile was now gone, her own eyes locked to that image.

“The kid is ghosting…” A frown grew. “Interesting choice of words.” “How is security for the broadcast centres at the moment?” Eliza asked, words biting. The Brigadier sighed. “Each now has a standing platoon at the ready, with Sniper units located about and within the facilities. They have orders to shoot on sight, as requested, but will attempt capture if viable.” “Make sure they prioritise neutralisation” was Eliza’s response to that. The Brigadier’s hand clenched, but she nodded. Then, to Joker. “As for the units. I’ll assume these are the most recently maintained ones we have, correct?”

Joker nodded, his gaze firmly on the Huntress. “Of course ma’am.” He ignored the rest of the room. He knew what they thought about him. And he didn’t care.

“I have the updated design specs here…” he said, passing another report along.

Eliza ignored it. She then looked to the lady in charge of Infrastructure, “And security camera coverage?” “All screens in the areas have already been updated to the swivelling mounts, as requested six months prior” she replied coolly, “with additional CCTV being put into place to supplement blind spots. This should be finalised within the week.” “You have two days.” “...With respect, that-” “Two days, Meridian.” The infrastructure Officer blinked, and then nodded. “Two days, then, though testing will need to occur afterwards.” “Good. I expect the report in four days.” “...Very well.” Eliza stood then, eyeing each in turn before her gaze fell heavy on Driscoll. “Have your men check every possible communication route this traitor could be using. See if we can figure out if anyone is feeding intel from the inside. If you do…” A glance to the Brigadier. “Have them delivered for questioning.” “But of course, Ma’am.”

“If anything else occurs, update me immediately. Until then.” She turned about, walking away. “Dismissed.” The others sat at that table until she had left, before Meridian stood. “Well. I’ll have to relay the rush order to the engineers, so unless anyone else has need of me I’ll be off right away.” A harsh glare to Driscoll, one the older man met in equal measure before slowly rising himself. “Yes yes, we’re all quite busy. I’ll run over the footage again, see if we can’t get a better lock on this KILROY’s features.” “Please, do your job Driscoll” The Brigadier mused, staring still at that image. “We’d all be thankful for it.” “Mind your tongue.” “Mmm? I’m sorry, what was that?” Driscoll huffed, his face turning read with annoyance as her eyes locked to him, that grin returned wide and threatening. He swallowed his pride, and stormed off, much to Meridian’s amusement. “Well, i’m glad one of us can make him act like that” she chuckled, raising a hand as she too left. “Let me know if I can assist, Brigadier. My regards to your men.” “Oh, and quite the same for you, Ma’am!” replied cheerily, as the red-haired man rose too, giving a respectful nod. Soon, it was only she and Joker left in that room, and she slumped back some in that seat.

“Quite the mess, isn’t it? She didn’t even stay to consider anything but the basic reports.”

Joker rolled his eyes and put his feet on the table. “I mean, did we expect anything else?” He grabbed his ‘report’ and tossed it to her. “This was just a bunch of junk. I didn’t even bring the real specs in here.” The Brigadier took the paper in hand, inspecting it. A single brow slowly raised, and once she glanced to the door she allowed her grin to unfurl in full display. “My my. How brazen….And  yet, I can’t find myself wishing to raise a concern” spoken in heavily amused tone.

“I mean, if anyone would take the suggestions to upgrade the old design….” he muttered. “What’s it been, twenty plus years since this design hit the streets? Tech improves! We could be doing so much more but…” he threw a hand at the door. “You see how this goes.”

“Quite” she agreed, folding the paper neatly in half and tucking it under her arm. The smile remained, though her gaze returned to that projection. “Interesting choice, isn’t it? Of all the things to broadcast. One can’t help but wonder the message.”

Joker followed her gaze. “They’re being inflammatory. That’s been their entire M.O. I wouldn’t read too much into it.” He shrugged.

“Hm. You’re likely right” she murmured, giving it one last look over before disabling the console. The screens each flickered off in turn as she rose, breathing in. “Well. Mayhap if this escalates further we can get them to stop being stubborn, hmm?” commented as she walked towards the door herself.

Joker shrugged, pulling out a small metal flask and taking a sip from it. “Maybe. I mean, I already have a prototype all ready to go but…” he laughed. “Maybe someday we’ll actually get to make this damn city better.”

“That is the end goal, no?” she commented with a sigh, the room going dark as they left.

[expatimes]

Abiy Ahmed and the future of Ethiopia

Coming to power on a wave of optimism in April 2018, Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed was at the time cautiously seen as a remedy to decades of effective one-party rule with his promised program of radical reform.

But now, as nearly two weeks of deadly fighting between the federal government and a defiant northern leadership that for decades dominated Ethiopia's politics intensifies, the future of the country balances on a knife edge.

The standoff in the northern Tigray region began almost as soon as Abiy took office after mass protests forced Hailemariam Desalegn - the country's beleaguered prime minister and chair of the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF), the Tigray-led four-party governing coalition - to resign in February 2018.

After weeks of secretive negotiations within the EPRDF, Abiy is believed to have overcome opposition from the formerly dominant Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) to win the EPRDF's chair and become, at 41, Africa's youngest leader and Ethiopia's first from the Oromia region.

The appointment of Abiy - founder of the country's Information Network and Security Agency, former minister for science and technology and an ex-lieutenant-colonel in the army - was seen as crucial at quelling unrest among the Oromo, the ethnic group behind the years of anti-government protests that led to thousands of deaths.

“There were a lot of problems before Abiy became prime minister, the major one being the government inability to deliver development promises,” said Daniel Mulugeta, an expert on Ethiopia at London's School of Oriental and African Studies. “Abiy capitalised on that political playing field. He promised to heal the divisions in the country and to fight corruption and he emerged as a beacon of hope for all Ethiopians at the time. "

William Davison, senior analyst for Ethiopia at the International Crisis Group (ICG), said “it's important to understand the EPRDF admitted the game was up and wouldn't be able to crush this protest movement in their usual fashion, and therefore a process of reform and political liberalization was initiated before Abiy Ahmed came to office ”.

Early signs were of apparent progress, with the new prime minister accelerating the reform measures announced in the dying days of his predecessor's government. Upon assuming office, Abiy went on to lift Ethiopia's state of emergency, ordered the release of prisoners and unblocked hundreds of websites and TV channels, while his move to secure peace with neighboring Eritrea in him being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2019.

Further reforms to liberalise the telecoms sector, boost digital investment and improve laws on media, human rights and anti-terrorism also earned him widespread praise.

Those economic plans, however, have yet to bear fruit for the ethnically diverse country of 110 million people, Africa's second most populous, and analysts say Abiy's support has begun to wane amid rising ethnic tensions, persisting poverty and the recent effects of devastating floods, a locust invasion and the coronavirus pandemic.

“When it comes to the critical mass, he's losing support,” said Mulugeta. “Abiy doesn't seem to have a very clear policy agenda. He prefers quick, instant development projects that please his followers. He's pragmatic. "What you see in him is what you see in populist leaders like Boris Johnson and Donald Trump."

'Moment of reckoning'

To compound matters, in the year since Abiy became a Nobel laureate, hundreds of Ethiopians have ethnic died either in violent clashes with security forces or between Ethiopia's various groups. Notably, the killing in June of prominent singer Hachalu Hundessa, a champion of the Oromo, led to deadly protests. Thousands of politicians, opposition activists and anti-government protesters, meanwhile, have been arrested.

“We thought he was going to be a unifying figure to a deeply fractured society,” said Tsedale Lemma, editor-in-chief of the Addis Standard, an Ethiopian English-language publication. But it's been one deadly decision after another. He's not a peacemaker and it's been so asymmetrical. ”

But some argue the crackdown is partly the result of Abiy's earlier to open up and that by freeing Ethiopian opposition and rebel groups, long-suppressed rivalries in regions such as Amhara, Oromia and Tigray have been unleashed.

“He tried to take a centrist position, going away from extremist political positions,” said Asnake Kefale, assistant professor of political science at Addis Ababa University. “Ethno-nationalists were one end of the spectrum and pan-Ethiopianists on the other. But the ethno-nationalists accused him of targeting them and problems have started.

Among those who accused Abiy of unfairly targeting them was the TPLF as Abiy began purging Tigrayans from senior leadership positions, including in the military and security services, after taking power. The TPLF then withdrew from the EPRDF after Abiy merged it into the newly-formed Prosperity Party.

Tensions reached a flashpoint when Abiy postponed national elections until next year due to the pandemic and Tigray went on to hold its own local vote in September despite the central government in Addis Ababa deeming it illegal.

Abiy responded by declaring a state of emergency and on November 4 he launched a military operation in Tigray after an alleged attack on a federal army base. Last week Amnesty International said scores of civilians were killed in a “massacre” in Tigray that witnesses blamed on forces backing TPLF and thousands have since fled to Sudan amid the growing humanitarian disaster.

Opinion is divided over to what extent Abiy is culpable for the escalation of violence in Tigray. “In my view, for six to seven months Abiy has been tolerant and trying to avoid military confrontation,” said Kefale, of Addis Ababa University.

But other analysts are less convinced. “This is not all down to the prime minister, by any means, but we can see aspects that have not been that well handled,” said the ICG's Davison. “Abiy seems to rely on his own judgement rather than lengthy decision-making processes. Perhaps that doesn't lend itself towards the more pluralistic approach to government that would mark a radical departure for Ethiopia. ”

Critics argue that in order to heal the gaping divisions across the country, Abiy must shift his style of rule to be more participative and to temper his efforts to centralize. “It's a moment of reckoning,” said Lemma, of the Addis Standard. “He needs to facilitate an all-inclusive dialogue. That's how a government should act with its mandate. "

What is certain is Abiy's failure to foster peace at home raises questions about the ability of Ethiopia to thrive economically and to peacefully transition into democracy in the way some had dreamed two and a half years ago.

“The Tigray conflict is going to complicate the future of the country,” said Mulugeta, of SOAS. “The war is likely to augment Abiy's power and create more polarisation in the country. My concern is that this could create a humanitarian catastrophe. ”

. #world Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=14094&feed_id=17286

[ladystylestores]

Understanding China’s 2025 Ambitions

China is on a multi-year mission to reduce its reliance on foreign technology and as a result, Beijing is investing heavily in its own technological developments. Premier Li Keqiang announced the Made in China 2025 (MIC 2025) initiative in 2015 as a bid to significantly advance the country’s economy and industrial base with a goal of achieving manufacturing dominance by 2025.

Background: 

MIC 2025 is China’s answer to provide the types of goods that will put them ahead of competition, prevent bottlenecks in industry and provide the goods that consumers are demanding.

The spirit of the directive comes from a background of a surging middle class demanding higher quality goods and China recognizing their heavy dependence on low-end manufacturing while foreign companies dominate in high-tech industries.

MIC 2025 targets ten strategic industries: Power equipment (Fossil fuel, electrical, nuclear, renewable); Information Technology (AI, ML. IoT, Smart appliances); Farming equipment; Aerospace equipment; New materials; Railway equipment; Green Energy and Green Energy vehicles; Ocean Engineering Equipment and High-tech vessels; Robotics; Pharmaceuticals and Medical devices.

Covid-19 has caused disruptions in Foreign Direct Investment (FDI) in China. Supply chain manufacturers have moved out of the country, there have been disruptions in trade and a sharp fall in industrial production.

Energy, automotive, chemical, electronics and aerospace industries have been hit hard with concerns of raw material availability and reduced consumer activity. These are also key sectors in the MIC 2025 plan that will need time to recover.

China still needs global technology inputs to continue its road to independence, but trade relationships remain fragile in light of Covid-19. The 2025 plan encourages investment in foreign companies to gain access to advanced technology like semiconductors, but this strategy is being challenged by regulation and tariffs abroad.

US-China trade disputes have compounded during the pandemic. The US and several governments have called for firms in critical sectors to relocate back to home countries or to less affected regions. Moves like this make access to established or innovative partnerships more difficult.

China also faces an aging population and the drying up of rural labor, so growth can be expected to decline in light of COVID-19 coupled with reduced access to imported technology intended to raise productivity/efficiency.

A growing and bullish economy is needed to underwrite the MIC 2025 plan. China has a goal to double 2010 GDP and per capita GDP by 2020. To do this they will need to achieve at least 6 percent growth this year. With a once-in-a-century pandemic originating in-country, coupled with slowing global growth, the coronavirus could be an unforeseen bump in the engine behind MIC 2025.

The Cipher Brief tapped our experts, Ambassador Joseph DeTrani, former CIA director of East Asia Operations and former Special Adviser to the Director of National Intelligence, Martin Petersen, former Deputy Executive Director and Acting Executive Director of CIA, and Daniel Markey, Senior Research Professor and Academic Director of the Global Policy Program at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies and author of China’s Western Horizon:  Beijing and the New Geopolitics of Eurasia.

Ambassador Joseph DeTrani, Former Special Advisor to the Director of National Intelligence

Made in China 2025 is at the core of what Xi Jinping declared at the 19th Party Congress in 2017:  “to realize the Chinese Dream of national rejuvenation”.   No longer will China “maintain a low profile and never claim leadership” as proclaimed by Deng Xiaoping in 1990.  Xi is making it clear to the people of China and the world that this is the new China, mindful of the “century of humiliation” and determined to regain its rightful position in the world as the “middle kingdom”. This industrial policy, designed to make China dominant globally in high-tech manufacturing, possibly in 2049, the centenary of the founding of the PRC, complements other economic and geopolitical initiatives initiated by Xi Jinping:  The Belt and Road Initiative, Asia Infrastructure Investment Bank, Export-Import Bank of China, the China Development Bank and other institutions will provide loans and grants to countries dealing with China on infrastructure and other projects. Thus, those Chinese companies that aspire to global leadership in various industrial target sectors, like Information Technology, will have to allay concern that they are indeed independent entities, not beholden to the government of China.  That is the current concern with China’s Huawei Technologies and ZTE.  Also of concern is the likelihood that China’s economic prowess could have geopolitical implications for those countries dealing with a China that may see value in establishing military bases outside of China, as we’ve seen with the PLA Support Base in Djibouti — or dual use bases with other countries.

  Martin Petersen, Former CIA Acting Executive Director

China certainly has the talent to realize its goals, but it is also dependent on access to Western research and technology.  It gets this access from the students studying in the West, especially in the US, and of course, on its aggressive theft of IP.  It has very serious environmental problems (water, air pollution, etc.) plus an aging population, labor problems, income inequality, restive non-Han populations (add Hong Kong to this), and issues of corruption and nepotism. It needs access to western markets and continued foreign investment.  It also needs a stable security environment, especially in Asia, which its own actions, especially in the South China Sea, complicate.  The US has been the provider of that environment since WWII, and China and the US increasingly see each other as rivals for power, especially in Asia.

  Ambassador Joseph DeTrani, Former Special Advisor to the Director of National Intelligence

It would be for China to remain coupled economically with the U.S., given its favorable balance of trade and access to U.S. universities and research institutes. And to remain coupled, China would have to ensure that Intellectual property theft and state sponsored cyberattacks cease immediately and trade agreements are implemented in a timely fashion.  Of course, China becoming the dominant industrial global country in these advanced technologies also assumes domestic issues dealing with demographics, unemployment, wealth distribution and leadership cohesion are managed successfully by the Chinese Communist Party.

  Daniel Markey, Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies

It will also be important to adequately appreciate the obstacles facing China’s plans for overseas trade and investment. The decoupling trend started before the pandemic and is rooted in strategic concerns about competition, unfair trade practices, protection of IP, standard-setting, espionage, etc. It is not merely an issue of Trump-era US-China trade disputes either; Europeans, Indians, and others have been increasingly concerned about China’s market dominance in areas like telecommunications infrastructure, and increasingly inclined to narrow the space for Chinese firms to participate their own markets.

  Martin Petersen, Former CIA Acting Executive Director

The challenge of 2025 for the world and especially the West comes down to a series of questions in board rooms and government offices: To what degree do foreign enterprises want to be dependent on China for key inputs?  Given the environmental and social problems in China—and the fact that COVID-19, SARS, and MERS all originated in the Middle East or Asia—how safe is it to invest in NEW facilities/capabilities in China? To what degree can we live with limited access to China’s domestic market? At what point does limiting China’s access to foreign IP become a national security issue?  Is this current PRC leadership willing to engage with the world community in positive and productive ways to deal with issues that affect us all?  Closely related is the question of to what degree can the current PRC leadership be trusted to honor commitments it makes?

  A Brief Expert Look at China’s Goals Beyond 2025

Here’s a look at what other experts see on the road ahead

“Implicitly and often quite explicitly, China’s objective to become a manufacturing superpower implies the ambition not merely to catch up with other advanced economies but to surpass and displace them to achieve a dominant position in these industries worldwide. This initiative then feeds into the military-industrial side of China’s economy. Thus, equipping them with the tools to project power worldwide supported by a military who can reinforce any pursuit they begin,” writes Elsa Kania in The Diplomat Magazine.

And from experts at CNAS:

“Chinese leadership is advancing an innovation-driven strategy for civilian and military development, aiming to become the world’s “premier innovation center” in AI by 2030. AI is a high-level priority within China’s national agenda for military-civil fusion, and this strategic approach could enable the PLA to take full advantage of private sector progress in AI to enhance its military capabilities.”

“We can see that the PLA is seeking to engage in “leapfrog development” to achieve a decisive edge in “strategic front-line” technologies, in which the United States has not realized and may not be able to achieve a decisive advantage. The PLA is unlikely to pursue a linear trajectory or follow the track of U.S. military modernization, but rather could take a different path. Since the 1990s, the PLA has focused on the development of “trump card” weapons- ones that are able to close the competitive edge gap the US has held for quite some time.”

What do you think?  Drop us an email at [email protected]

Research by The Cipher Brief’s Lee Templeton.

Read more expert-driven national security insights in The Cipher Brief.

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[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

The Door Keepers (Post 61) 10-19-14

                        On Wednesday Nick and I stopped by the parish and visited the Fatima Statue that had been blessed by Pope St John Paul II. The statue was very beautiful and the experience was a very peaceful one for us.  We prayed the rosary when it was time and afterward Nick snuck over by the sacristy and received the rite of the sick from Father Jerry who was quietly praying but didn’t mind being interrupted.  

Most of the time I spent watching the two people who were assisting others in approaching the statue. They helped each person approach the sacramental with the petitions that they wished Mary to carry to Jesus.  You could see that many of the supplicants were asking for things that resonated deeply within their souls and that the Holy Spirit was at work in them.  Every person who touched the mantle of the statue seemed to have a powerful emotional response.

The two attendants worked quietly within the peaceful aura of the tranquil music and the radiance of the statue.  For me the man and woman were like a metaphor of how we are supposed to bring other people to Jesus.  When we assist others on their journey to Christ, the work is usually peaceful and gentle – a methodology that is worth thinking about as we sail towards the holidays. Conversions are more often accomplished through prayer and loving example rather than through convincing, cajoling or begging.

The tableau of quiet servants assisting the Holy Spirit is a powerful image for me.  When I chose a confirmation name I chose Solanus Casey, an unassuming Capuchin porter who, in humility and charity, led many Detroit Catholics back into friendship with The Lord.  I also considered Andre Beshette, another door keeper, who quietly healed the people of Montreal one at a time and peacefully assembled the funds necessary to construct the Oratory of St Joseph, a wonderful place of healing. Both men spent their lives in seeming obscurity, welcoming visitors, answering the phone, coordinating appointments and carrying people’s bags.  Neither was qualified to deliver a homily or to absolve sins.  Instead they began to specialize in spiritual triage, then to provide counseling and finally to intercede across the veil into the spiritual world.  The grace that God dispensed through them eventually resulted in long lines of supplicants at the doors of each of their rectories.   Always humble, Solanus also served as assistant bee-keeper, while Andre performed daily janitorial functions nearly until his death.

For IHM parishioners Copperopolis can also be that type of doorway for those seeking a conversion or healing of their brokenness.  Last week several women of our parish spent three probably chilly nights up in the hills east of Stockton seeking to center their lives on Jesus. Some went as servants, leaders and cooks, others went as retreatants, but all were hoping for the renewal of the living water promised to all Christians.  Spiritual experiences are not uncommon on Emmaus retreats.  One friend of mine remembers being tapped on the shoulder by the Holy Spirit as he rested on his bunk, where he received instructions that healed his heart and changed the direction of his life.  He returns each year to the men’s retreat in hope that others might similarly receive peace, renewal and conversion.  His wife made her first Emmaus retreat last weekend so Jesus continues to work in his life in unexpected ways.

IHM is the type of parish where the flame of the Holy Spirit is active and is readily passed from one person to another.  Over the several years that my family has been active in the parish, it is interesting to watch the progress of parishioners on their journey to Christ. Reluctant people, often participating in something just to humor a persistent spouse, are quietly converted at the hands or quiet example of any one of a myriad of ministries doing the Jesus’ work.  After the reluctant finally ignite with the Holy Spirit (sometimes a hold-out can smolder for 20 years) these new converts become door keepers themselves facilitating the conversion of the next group of souls who will unwittingly stumble upon the peace of Christ.  The New Evangelization is a peaceful contagion, one in which people are exposed to the Holy Spirit and hearts are changed in domino fashion.

Evangelization does not happen only in our homes, at Mass and on Parish retreats.  The Light of Christ shines also where we work.  It can be hard to share the Christ’s Word where we make a living.  For the most part evangelization at work is discouraged, but there is at least the opportunity to convert others by our peaceful example.  Radiating reticence and calm in adrenaline charged places where, nurses, soldiers and police officers work can be especially challenging, but where hearts are open to the Holy Spirit, the Lord’s work can be done even under the most challenging circumstances.

I know a man who works for God as a policeman.  Sometimes he would rather not.  His work place is more chaotic than most.  Sometimes his coworkers act out.  He looks forward to his retirement several years down the road, but he does his duty in the meantime.  

He told me that he was at the scene where a carjacker was apprehended some time back.  It was the end of the line for the suspect as the vehicle had turned up on its side.  I imagine that it was the usual chaotic mess of yelling, gasoline smell and busted glass. The trapped assailant was still armed and belligerent.  I assume that roughly twenty officers surrounded the car with guns drawn as someone attempted to convince the suspect to do the right thing and surrender peacefully. My friend told me that he knew it wasn’t going to end well as the suspect had already drawn down on the first several civilian Good Samaritans who try to extricate him from the crash.

My friend understood the script of how these scenes almost inevitably play out.  He was not in a position to enter the vehicle, but all the officers knew that the armed suspect could not be left in a wrecked car overturned in a busy neighborhood crowded with innocent people.  My friend knew that all the officers at the crash scene would follow protocol, but that the outcome was a foregone conclusion.  As he stood in a covering position, my friend felt an internal nudge and for some reason began to recite an audible Hail Mary. He made the prayer several times as he hoped against hope for a peaceful outcome.  In this case there was no happy ending to the Earthly story of the car-jacker. He drew his weapon on the officers that tried to extricate him from the accident.

Myself, I am not sure of the ultimate outcome of my friend’s prayer.  He was inspired by the Holy Spirit to do something that was consistent with his identity but did not jibe with our expectation of what we have seen on Cops.  The prayers did not change the nature of the final newspaper article about the assailant – it was an obituary.  Certainly, it is possible that the man repented his choices as his lifeblood poured out as a libation on the ruins of somebody else’s upholstery.  It is also possible that the man made a final refusal of Jesus’ mercy.  We are not privy to the final disposition of the souls of people other than saints. What I do know is that my friend did what he was asked and that changed his own outcome in a small way. He may have also provided a measure of peace to his teammates at the scene.  Although we mostly remain unaware of the effective of our prayers, Mother Theresa counseled us not to be concerned with being effective. Our concern should be to faithfully cooperate with grace.  God assures us that He will take care of the rest.

[southeastasianists]

It has been a year since Rodrigo Duterte assumed the presidency of the Philippines. Davao’s favorite son began his reign on the offensive, going on a killing spree that would claim the lives of over 7,000 suspected drug users in the next 12 months. He ended his first year uncharacteristically on the defensive, removing himself from the public eye for almost a week as the Philippine Army repeatedly tried but failed to dislodge the so-called Maute Group that had taken over and terrorized Marawi, the cultural capital of Islam in the Philippines.  

A month earlier, everything seemed to be going Duterte’s way. Using the Maute takeover of Marawi as an excuse, he finally delivered on his threat to declare martial law, which he had made several times over the last few months. The Mautes’ move had been in response to a failed attempt by the Philippine military to apprehend a much-wanted leader of the notorious Abu Sayyaf terrorist organization, to whom the group is allied, who was believed to be in the area. Duterte’s response – the declaration of martial law for the whole of Mindanao, the Philippines’ second largest island, to address a local incident – struck many as a case of overkill.

To some other observers, however, Duterte’s move was not surprising, given that he had not hidden his intention to follow in the footsteps of his hero, Ferdinand Marcos, should the situation, in his judgment, require the imposition of martial law.  In their view, Duterte saw the incident as an opportunity to take a step forward in his drive to consolidate authoritarian rule, much like Marcos had used a staged attack on one of his key subordinates as the pretext for his infamous move almost 50 years ago.  

It provided an opportunity for a dress rehearsal for the nationwide imposition of military rule, and in the next few days, things seemed to unfold according to the script desired by the President. Controlled by his allies, Congress evinced no desire to meet in joint session to approve the declaration, as prescribed by the Constitution. Duterte also warned that should opponents of the declaration bring their case to the Supreme Court, he would simply disregard the Court’s decision, a brazen challenge that the Court responded to with silence.

What Duterte did not anticipate was that the Mautes would hold on to Marawi, ferociously. As the stalemate continued, with soldiers dying, hundreds of civilians caught in the crossfire, and the ISIS-linked Islamist band extracting maximum propaganda globally for its cause, Marawi threatened to become the Vietnam of his presidency. Not only did it come to light that he had, in his trademark macho fashion, challenged the Mautes to carry through with their threat to burn Marawi to the ground a few months back. (READ: Terror in Mindanao: The Mautes of Marawi)

The takeover exposed the fact that, with his single-minded focus on killing drug users, he had paid absolutely no attention to coming up with a political solution to one of the country’s most pressing problems: the smoldering Moro insurgency in his own region. Now, he had been forced into the dead-end of a military solution with US support, which was precisely what the radical Islamists wanted in pursuit of their dream of making Muslim Mindanao a second front of their struggle to establish a global Islamic caliphate.

The year of killing indiscriminately

Marawi was, however, a rare setback in a year where most things went swimmingly for the man from Davao.

Most Filipinos do not remember having lived through a more tension-filled, nerve-wracking year since the overthrow of the dictatorship over 3 decades back. Unlike most politicians, Duterte delivered on his main promise, which he had described as “fattening the fish in Manila Bay” with the cadavers of criminals. Thousands of drug users have been slain either by the police or by police-controlled vigilante groups, with the police admitting that 2,600 deaths were attributable to police operations while another 1,400 were the work of vigilantes. Other, more reliable sources put the figure at above 7000 as of early May.

What is beyond doubt is that Duterte has brazenly encouraged the extra-judicial killings and discouraged due process. The very night of his taking his oath of office on June 30, 2016, he told an audience in one of Manila’s working class communities: "If you know of any addicts, go ahead and kill them yourselves as getting their parents to do it would be too painful." In October 2016, Duterte told the country, with characteristically sinister humor, that 20,000 to 30,000 more lives might have to be taken to cleanse the country of drugs. Having learned to take Duterte seriously even when he seems to be joking, many observers expect this figure to be an underestimate. More recently, to any policemen who might be convicted of killing drug users without justification, he has offered an immediate pardon “so you can go after the people who brought you to court.”

Kraisak Choonhavan, a prominent Thai politician, observed that, in a region where authoritarianism is once more on the rise, the Philippines is in the most perilous position since its authoritarian leader has come to power through a democratic vote. What he meant is that, although democracy may be the least objectionable of systems of rule, when democracy does screw up big time, the damage can be incalculable, greater perhaps than that which comes with the usual military coup, for which the region is notorious.

This is, of course, not the first time that a man determined to dismantle democracy has come to power through democratic means, Duterte’s most prominent predecessor being Hitler, who stepped into the chancellorship of Germany with his plurality victory in the 1932 elections. Like Hitler, Duterte won by a plurality, getting some 40% of the vote in the elections of May 9, 2016, and he has aggressively wielded that electoral mandate as his main instrument in reshaping the Philippine political system, though this process has been carried out less by plan than through improvisation guided by his acute political instincts.  

Duterte’s middle class enrages

There is no doubt that he is popular, with over 75% to 83% of the people registering approval of his actions, according to recent polls. While he draws approval from all classes, his support is most aggressively displayed among the aspiring and downwardly mobile middle classes. The Philippines provides an interesting case study of the volatility of the middle class. At times, it can be a force for democracy, as the middle classes were in the late '80s, when they played a central role in the overthrow of Marcos and other authoritarian regimes throughout the global South. At other times, they provide the heated mass base for authoritarian rule, as they did for Hitler in Germany and as they do now for Duterte.  

Duterte’s middle class base is not passive. Beginning with the presidential campaign in 2016, they have mobilized to dominate the social media, engaging in the worst kind of cyber-bullying of people who dare to criticize the President’s policies on line. Shortly after his declaration of martial law, for instance, one of the most prominent pro-Duterte bloggers publicly called for the execution of two women journalists. Another Duterte fanatic registered his hope online that a woman senator who had criticized Duterte’s martial law declaration, Risa Hontiveros, would be “brutally raped” by the insurgents in Marawi City. Indeed, rational discourse is an increasingly scarce commodity among Duterte’s partisans, who ape their leader’s penchant for outrageous and incendiary utterances.  Perhaps the most appropriate name for them is the French Revolution term “enrages,” or the enraged ones.

Interpreting his mandate as a blank check to do whatever it takes to “defend the nation,” Duterte has reversed the usual model by which fascists and authoritarian populists come to power. In the Marcosian model of “creeping fascism,” the fascist personality begins with violations of civil and political rights, followed by the lunge for absolute power, after which follows indiscriminate repression.  Duterte reverses the process. He starts with massive, indiscriminate repression, that is, the killing with impunity of thousands of drug users, leaving the violation of civil liberties and the grab for total power as mopping up operations in a political atmosphere where fear has largely neutralized opposition.

With his declaration of martial law in Mindanao, Duterte is now embarked on the next phase of his ascent to absolute power, which will most likely involve the curtailment and suppression of basic political rights. Like the conquistador Cortez, Duterte has burned his ships behind him. There is no going back. Yielding power when his 6-year term ends is a vanishing option since he would face prosecution for extra-judicial execution of thousands of people, not only locally but internationally, since charges of systematic human rights violations have been filed against him in the International Criminal Court. But the main thing propelling him forward is his sense that his large numbers of supporters, in fact, support his drive toward authoritarian rule.

Duterte: Pharmacologist extraordinaire

Duterte’s signature program has been his war on drugs. This is no ordinary law-and-order campaign.  It is being carried out with a fanaticism that borders on the ideological and with a justification that reminds one of the pseudo-scientific basis of Nazi racial theory. A whole sector of society, most of them poor, have been unilaterally stripped of their rights to life, due process, and membership in society. Drug users are consigned outside the borders of “humanity” since their brains have allegedly shrunk to the point where they are no longer being in command of their faculties to will and think.

In his speeches justifying the killings “in self-defense” by police, Duterte said that a year of more of the use of “shabu” – the local term for crystal meth or metamphetamine hydrochloride – “would shrink the brain of a person, and therefore he is no longer viable for rehabilitation.” Not only do these people turn to violent crime to slake their drug habit, but they are “paranoid” and could resist arrest, putting the lives of policemen in danger. Duterte has written them out of the human race. With rhetorical flourish, he asked the security forces a few months ago: “Crime against humanity? In the first place, I’d like to be frank with you: are they humans? What is your definition of a human being?"

Duterte’s bloody campaign defies the consensus in the scientific community, much like Donald Trump brushes away the scientific consensus on climate change. Dr Yao Ying Ma of Binghamton University, one of the world’s leading neuroscientists working on the effects of drugs, said in an interview with the author that while drug addiction does involve modifications of the brain that lead to pathological alterations, this process is reversible, which is not only a theoretical hypothesis, but one that has received substantial confirmation in research laboratories and is broadly accepted in the field of neuroscience.

“Our brains, they are flexible. They have the chance to be reshaped, to be reorganized,” she says. “Through certain medical interventions, we can reorganize the brain back to its normal healthy state.”  The focus of therapy is to prevent relapse into substance abuse, and here the problem to be addressed is the mitigation of severe withdrawal pains, the avoidance of which is the reason people go back to the drug. Whether for opiates or for psycho-stimulants, such as meth, such mitigating measures are now available which stimulate the brain to produce and release endorphins that significantly alleviate withdrawal symptoms. Excitingly, vaccines have also been developed to block the responsive sites in the brain, leaving drugs with little chance to successfully attack it.

For psycho-stimulants like meth or shabu, there is also now available electronic acupuncture or “peripheral electrical stimulation,” which ameliorate withdrawal symptoms, allowing drug users to, among other things, overcome lack of sleep, which most complain of, increasing the chances of a patient not relapsing. While neuroscientists like Ma see addiction as something to be reversed mainly by treating specific neuro-substrates in the brain, receptivity to a cure is greatly enhanced by a supportive social atmosphere provided by both the community and government. Criminalizing drug users instead of treating drug use as a public health problem creates the worst possible context for rehabilitation.

These complexities of the drug issue are not, however, something that Duterte would entertain. He believes that he is the expert on all dimensions of the drug problem, which he estimated in May of this year as affecting some 4 million Filipinos, up from his earlier estimate of 3 million a few months earlier.  The President’s figure would put the percentage of the population that are drug users at over 4%, a figure which not even the chairman of the government’s Dangerous Drugs Board, a Duterte ally, found credible, leading to his being fired by the President when he dared to come up with the alternative figure of 1.8 million drug users.

The revolt against liberal democracy

What is not in dispute is that Duterte’s promise to deal with the drug problem in a draconian fashion was a major factor in his being elected in a society where fear of crime is widespread among all sectors of the population. It is testimony to his political acumen that he was able to successfully latch onto an issue that most politicians had ignored. Yet there are more profound causes for his victory and his current popularity. One cannot understand Duterte’s hold on society without taking into consideration the deep disenchantment with the liberal democratic regime that came into being with the landmark “EDSA Uprising” that overthrew the dictator Ferdinand Marcos in February 1986 – EDSA being the acronym for the north-south highway that bisects Metro Manila, where the major mass actions took place. In fact, the failure of the “EDSA Republic” was a condition for Duterte’s success.

What destroyed the EDSA project and paved the way for Duterte was the deadly combination of elite monopoly of the electoral system, the continuing concentration of wealth, neoliberal economic policies, and the priority placed on foreign debt repayment imposed by Washington. By the time of the elections of 2016, there was a yawning gap between the EDSA Republic’s promise of popular empowerment and wealth redistribution and the reality of massive poverty, scandalous inequality, and pervasive corruption.

Add to this the widespread perception of inept governance and the double standards of the anti-corruption campaign of the administration of  President Benigno Aquino III, and it is not surprising that a resounding 16 million plus voters or some 40% of the electorate saw Duterte’s tough guy, authoritarian approach, which he had cultivated as mayor of the southern frontier city of Davao for over thirty years, as precisely what was needed. To borrow the novelist Anthony Doerr’s description of the state of mind of pre-war Germans, a large number of Filipinos were “desperate for someone who can put things right.” The Philippines may be headed toward a dictatorship, but it is, paradoxically, likely to a popular one, anchored in the country’s seething, frustrated middle class.

Ersatz populism

Though much of his rhetoric is populist, Duterte’s approach is not a populist strategy of using the masses as a battering ram for redistributive reform. Rather, his is the classic fascist way of balancing different class forces while projecting an image of being above class conflict. His campaign promises of ending contractual labor, curbing the mining industry, and turning over to small coconut farmers the taxes collected from them by the Marcos regime have remained largely unfulfilled as the country’s key elites have positioned themselves as his allies to protect their interests. All significant labor groups have rejected his labor secretary’s order “banning” contractualization as a cosmetic move with little intended effect. No new legislation to push forward the stalled agrarian reform is entertained, which is not surprising given the fact that the Visayan bloc of landowners in the House of Representatives is one of his most solid backers.  

A defining moment in the debate on whether Duterte was serious about a social agenda was the congressional confirmation hearings on his secretary of the environment, Gina Lopez, who shut down 22 mines, suspended 4, and issued show-cause orders to 77 others for encroaching on watersheds and destabilizing rural and forest communities. Her campaign had captured the public imagination, but Duterte’s allies in the mining industry ganged up on her, successfully pressuring the congressional Commission on Appointments not to confirm her, with the President sitting on the sidelines, refusing to personally lobby for her retention when a simple phone call would have made the difference.   Duterte is not a tool of vested interests; indeed, many of the rich are scared of him and his unpredictability. But money does have its uses, and it is essential to furthering his authoritarian agenda.

But while delivering social and economic reforms is going to be central in maintaining support for his authoritarian project in the long term, it is unlikely that the lack of progress so far will dent Duterte’s popularity with the masses in the short and medium term. As with Donald Trump’s base, hope springs eternal among a people steeped in frustration and desperation. Moreover, the middle class enrages who dominate the internet are not lacking in the ability to present the illusion of reform as actual reform or in their imputing lack of progress to obstruction by the dilawan, or yellows, which has become the term of choice for all those critical of Duterte.

Civilization’s thin veneer

While Duterte has an effective propaganda machine, it would be a big mistake to attribute his popularity to the work of “trolls” or paid internet keyboard warriors, as many of his critics are wont to do. The support for extra-judicial killings of drug users by large numbers of their compatriots is genuine, and this has perplexed many observers. It has underlined to some “what we see as the unalterable features of civilized life vanish in the blink of an eye,” as the philosopher John Gray puts it.  Especially after the EDSA Uprising of 1986, the Philippines was regarded as the “showcase of liberal democracy” in Asia.  An influential view was that in overthrowing Marcos, Filipinos were simply reasserting the longstanding value they put on individual rights, due process, and democracy that they had internalized during the American colonial period.

The liberal democratic Constitution of the EDSA Republic – the so-called “human rights Constitution” – was seen as the quintessential crystallization of these national political values.  Then suddenly, in the space of less than a year, the majority of Filipinos have expressed strong support for a man whose central agenda is the extra-judicial execution of a certain category of human beings, drug users, with a large number of them not only justifying Duterte’s bloody campaign but cheering him on.  

Perhaps it is time we shed assumptions we have of our people as civilized beings and creatures with malasakit or compassion, and adopt toward contemporary Philippine society what the historian Daniel Goldhagen proposed to students of German society during the Nazi period: abandon all assumptions about your people, and instead approach them “with the critical eye of an anthropologist disembarking on unknown shores, open to meeting a radically different culture and conscious of the possibility that he might need to devise explanations not in keeping with, perhaps even contravening his own common-sense notions, in order to explain the culture’s constitution, its idiosyncratic patterns of practice, and its collective projects and products.”

This would admit the possibility that under certain circumstances, large numbers of people, especially from the middle class and elite, are willing to be advocates or accomplices of mass murder in the name of law and order.

The demoralized opposition

For the moment, opposition to Duterte among the elite and state institutions is weak, and the Catholic Church hierarchy, which in the past was a strong advocate of human rights, is afraid to frontally take on the popular leader, saddled as it is with a lack of credibility owing to moral erosion in its ranks and its bull-headed, unpopular resistance to family planning. The Liberal Party, which controlled the government under the previous Aquino administration, has disintegrated, with most of its congressional representatives swearing fealty to Duterte.

Formerly in the opposition in previous administrations, the traditional left, as is well known, is now part of the Duterte government, provided with 3 Cabinet-level positions by a wily politician who gambled, correctly, that the left, whose fortunes had been declining in recent years, would bite at the offer.  While the Communist Party and the New People’s Army continue to engage in off-and-on negotiations for a peace agreement with the government, the presence of personalities identified with them in Duterte’s Cabinet have provided “progressive” cover for its fascist policies.

What opposition there is comes from isolated figures, like Senator Leila de Lima, the former secretary of justice whom Duterte has jailed on trumped-up charges of being on the payroll of drug lords, from a section of the media, from human rights groups like the coalition I-Defend, and from new, refreshing youth formations such as the “Block Marcos Movement” that was formed to oppose the burial of the former dictator in the National Heroes’ Cemetery.

Duterte and the military

Interestingly, the one institution that could effectively undermine Duterte is the military. The President knows this, and to keep the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) on his good side, Duterte has appointed several former generals to key positions in his Cabinet and takes every opportunity to visit military camps. The military is central to his agenda of imposing martial law nationwide. Yet, it may also prove to be the biggest obstacle.  

Contrary to the perception of many, the military does not relish martial law. This is not because it loves civilian rule, but because it is overextended, severely overextended. This is the reason the AFP command was one of the strongest backers of the Bangsa Moro Basic Law, which promised a political conclusion to the nearly 50-year-old Muslim insurgency whose containment has been the military’s main preoccupation. The project collapsed when a US-supported raid into insurgent territory by Philippine police forces authorized by former President Aquino in January 2015 went awry and derailed the negotiations, much to the chagrin of many in the AFP high command.

With only 220,000 frontline troops, the AFP is one of the smallest standing armies in Southeast Asia and one of the most underequipped, having relied for so many years on hand-me-down weaponry from the United States. It has had its hands full battling several major insurgencies. Given its current strength, plus the fact that insurgencies demand principally political, not military solutions, the best it has been able to do is battle these insurgent movements to a stalemate, not eliminate them. Its failure over the last month to retake Marawi City from what some say are scarcely more than a hundred Muslim irregular fighters has drawn attention to its woeful fighting capabilities, with incidents like friendly fire from Philippine Air Force planes killing Philippine Army troops drawing universal dismay. (READ: Marawi battle zone: Urban warfare challenges PH military)  

Even as the army is being outfought by Maute irregulars in Marawi, its commander in chief has added a massive new task, which is to perform police functions in a whole region, in preparation for exercising police functions nationwide in his design to establish a nation-wide dictatorial regime. Duterte, say some analysts, has provided a gift to the Communist New People's Army and the different insurgent Muslim groups by releasing AFP units now containing them to assume police functions regionally. This will simply encourage these groups to assume more offensive operations, leading to more AFP casualties.

The surest way to demoralize the military is to overextend it by pushing it to assume political and police functions for which it is ill-equipped. A politicized military that exercises police powers is a plague on the people, but it also stirs discontent and rebellion in its ranks, as happened during the Marcos dictatorship. Duterte fancies himself a general, but he may actually be unintentionally sowing the ground for future coup d'etat's. Like Marcos, he thinks he is riding the tiger, and like him, he may well end up inside it.  

The challenge to democracy

To the worried partisans of an endangered democracy, however, the choice between a presidential dictatorship and a military dictatorship is no choice at all. As Duterte’s reign enters its second year, they are faced with a tall order: how to make democracy, human rights, and due process attractive again to a skeptical population. It would be suicidal to allow themselves to be led by personalities associated with the old, discredited EDSA order. The Vice President, Leni Robredo, is a person of undoubted integrity but one devoid of the capacity for effective leadership, being mainly a creation of the Liberal Party capitalizing on the reformist image of her deceased husband. Once seen as a reformist force, the Liberals are damaged goods owing to their opportunism and cowardice, while the vocal Senator Antonio Trillanes IV, who wears his burning ambition on his sleeve, has even less credibility than the Liberals.

But beyond personalities, democrats must present a vision and a program that speak to the aspirations of the vast majority of impoverished and marginalized Filipinos and convince them that democratic competition is a more effective means of realizing their hopes than authoritarian rule. Only a party and program of the left can provide this leadership, but with the dominant sections of the left itself having been enmeshed in compromising, corrupt alliances with different factions of the elite, reinvigoration of the democratic alternative will demand a thoroughgoing reform of the left. Crisis, however, can spell opportunity, and Filipino progressives would do well to ponder the words of the great Italian opponent of fascism, Antonio Gramsci, at a not dissimilar moment in his nation’s history: “Pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will.”

[seenashwrite]

The Midwife: Part Three

Status: Complete (Part 3 of 4) Word Count: 3.7K Category: Multi-part; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; Teamwork; Historical; On-the-hunt   Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Various O.C.s; References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: None Overall Summary: In the mid-1950s, a member of the New York City chapter of the Men of Letters is sent to the United Kingdom to assist with what appears to be another stack of cold case dead-ends, when he suddenly finds himself questioning one of his closest-held convictions.

         *~* The Midwife : Master Post *~*

I’d been wrong before.

No, this was how I’d die, walled in by heavy clouds that had lazily seeped down into the fog. They mixed with it seamlessly, swirling into tiny tornadoes. It was almost as if our surroundings wanted to make damn well sure we couldn’t find our way out.

He’d probably held promise at some point, they’d write. Perhaps a tragedy, hard to say, being taken away at so young an age, lost out on the moors, before the promise might’ve revealed itself. He leaves behind a fiancée who will most assuredly move on quickly, about a month from now, give-or-take, so as not to forfeit all the money her father has invested in the planned nuptials, please place your bets now. In lieu of flowers, move on with your lives as there is nowhere to send them, seeing as how the Men of Letters will deny he even existed.

I’m sure Burt was wishing I didn’t exist. I had brought us out here, with my idiotic decision. I didn’t want him to be lost with me, though if there could be a silver lining to the thick clouds, it would be that his family would envelop the Moles, the former members and civilians alike, bringing such pressure to bear that I wouldn’t envy them. They’d not let Burt be lost for long, that was fact, no question in my mind.  

Burt had never asked many questions of me.

I knew far more about him, his family, his many likes, his few dislikes, his past, his present. I’d always wondered if he thought I’d left him hanging with my shrugs and short replies about anything more personal than what Colleen was upset about in a given week, and I suppose now I had my answer. He was done waiting on me to decide what he should know.

“What did you say to them?” he repeated.

I blinked in surprise at the stern expression and no-nonsense voice. “What?” I blurted.

“What!? About the case! Was it about her daughter?” he demanded. “Did you tell them what we’d been thinking? I know you didn’t put it in writing, or else we’d have been sent to some back room in the furthest chapter they could find.”

I stayed quiet.

“I know they knew about the colluding with witches theory because I helped you type up the damn reports - you kept misspelling everything, wasted a whole ribbon, you were so excited, even though we weren’t really convinced! All because you thought it was something that was finally going to get them to notice you. And like a dummy, I went along.”

I crossed my arms. All I could manage to do was look into the fog. Done with its twisting, it was folding in on itself, edging closer at what seemed like a borderline alarming rate, getting denser with every inch. And I found I didn’t care. I wished it would leave Burt alone and swallow me up.  

“The Men of Letters have had vast resources in place long before anyone ever knew they existed,“ Burt continued. "They’ve always known about angels.”

“Your family tell you that, too?” I asked bitterly.

“Yeah, they did!” he shot back. “And it doesn’t take a genius to put it together - when the lore goes from nothing to left to find, to a random professor in Maine publishing revolutionary theological breakthroughs, translating Enochian left-and-right. Of course she had a heavenly source. No wonder the witch thing didn’t wash with them!”

“You can’t be sure that—”

“Then you started talking like we knew for a fact an angel had fathered her daughter, and… and… Jack, I just don’t know you anymore! Have I ever?”

I shifted from foot to foot. We’d agreed there was no way she’d have murdered her own child, even if her daughter was Nephilim. Sunder wasn’t some blind, naïve pew-warmer. We’d agreed she wouldn’t have bought into all the abomination talk. So we didn’t put it in the report, the part about how her daughter may still be alive.

Because we’d figured what the Moles would assume. Because we could imagine what they might do. But mostly because he and I, together, we’d agreed.

Then he’d gotten distracted with his wife, with the baby, so I’d talked myself into believing that Sunder had given birth to a Nephilim. Then killed her… killed it. And then I’d talked myself into believing she hadn’t - that she was using the chi… using it. For power.  

But I had to be convincing when I brought it to some of the elder brothers, didn’t I? It was a mental marvel, really. Never been much good at believing before.

“Say it,” I told him, finally looking him right in the eye.

And Burt called me on it - everything I’d just turned over in my mind.

“Why would I have done that?” I asked him, my voice not sounding right in my ears. They were ringing. I waved mist away from my face, wiped the moisture it brought from my already-sweaty brow, as if it’d do any good.

“So the Moles would be scared into paranoia. So they’d promote you, put you to work finding her, get you out of our dingy office. But it didn’t work, so here we are,” he answered softly, now speaking to me more kindly than I deserved. “And that’s why you’re so angry - I can see it in you, underneath, all the time. Am I wrong?”

I was trying to fight back nausea.

“Jack?”

“No,” I whispered, a strong burst of wind nearly drowning it out.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!”

I frowned at the out-of-character exclamation from Burt, not just the words, but because it seemed a bit over-reactive given he likely knew what I’d reply before he’d asked. But his sudden pallor told me I was no longer his focus. He was looking just over my shoulder, wide-eyed.

There, probably twenty feet away, right at the edge of the slope, was a circular break in the thick grey mass. In it stood a small group of various-sized people. And in the center was a dark-haired woman in a plum-colored dress, the tallest of the collective. She had a touch of a closed-lipped smile on her face, and her relaxed posture was completely at odds with what I would’ve asserted was quite the tense situation.

“We are interrupting.”

The woman’s voice had a scant bit of an accent that I couldn’t place, and her tone indicated a statement of fact, not one of apology.

The seven figures around her - and based on the size of their hands and their feet, I was beginning to think they were all children - wore long, hooded capes. They were ground-grazing, stick-straight, and black as coal. The hoods were of such a cut and depth that any chance for a glimpse of faces was rendered null. Despite our dank setting, where they were gathered some sunlight was slicing through the haze, but I suspected it wouldn’t have mattered if we stood next to the Chrysler Building - the purpose was to hide, and hidden they were.

We remained still and silent for what seemed like an eternity, not even the wind turning up to give us reprieve.    

Burt spoke first, but just to me, out of the corner of his mouth. “There’s opportunity here for a Snow White joke that I’m not calling up.”

“Disappointing,” I muttered, neither of us moving, not looking at each other, not reaching inside our jackets for our pistols.

Strange thing was, it wasn’t because we couldn’t have done so. The appearing-out-of-nowhere had me convinced we were dealing with beings of an otherworldly nature, to say the least, and I found it odd that we hadn’t been handicapped in some fashion, but I was thankful.  So when Burt moved his hand inside his jacket, I felt myself stiffen.

Not a flinch from the woman or the children, however, so my anxiety eased. A little. Mildly.

Burt was trembling, but I could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t out of fear. It was pure excitement. We all watched as he fumbled with the strings on his notebook, nearly dropped his pencil, then tried to get the now damp, misted pages to separate.

“Really?” I hissed.

“Burt?”

He slowly looked up at the woman, and I followed suit.

“You know… you know my name, ma'am?” he replied.

“I do. We all do. Yours and your friend’s… Jack, yes?”

I nodded.

“H-how do—”

“You and Jack here are incredibly loud.”

I blushed like a boy who’d been scolded by his teacher.

Burt began to stammer, but I cut in, my initial shock now worn off. Moderately worn off. Fine, I told my nagging brain. Barely worn off.

“We’re leaving, ma'am. Apologies for the disturbance.”

She turned her head ever-so-slightly to me, arching an eyebrow, though the grin remained. “But you haven’t hardly looked around, brought out your fancy tools and taken measurements, Jack. Nor have you found your beanstalk. What ever will your employers say?”

The tiniest amount of tittering could be heard amongst her group, followed by a few hand-hidden whispers between several of them. Burt had let the backpack slip from his shoulders to the ground, and was scribbling furiously, not a sign of nervousness about his person.  And for whatever reason, I opened my big mouth.

“Nice bog you have here.”

“We think so,” she replied, not missing a beat, though her voice lacked the jovial lilt one would’ve thought with such a come-back, and she was still staring me down.  

“Ma'am?”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she answered. “Yes, Burt?”

“I, ah… I was wondering… well, you know my name, so I… what should I call you?”

Again she willingly answered, and I tore my eyes from hers, looked over to what Burt was writing. Underneath hastily scrawled descriptions of the group, he jotted down what he’d heard her say.

“Miss Finn, now is that F-I-N-N?”

More tittering, and if my ears didn’t deceive me, a giggle or two, which made me suspect Burt had gotten it all wrong, and that made me smile - briefly - despite our circumstance.

“No,” she replied, and left it at that. When I looked back up, her grin had widened slightly and the intensity was gone from her eyes, but her gaze hadn’t left my face.

“Oh,” Burt said, then let out what I knew to be a forced chuckle, the one he used when he was trying to cover embarrassment.

But any that he might’ve felt flew away when the woman gently touched the shoulders of the two children standing directly in front of her, prompting them to move aside, and walked towards us. She wore heeled boots under her heavy skirt, but they didn’t sink into the marshy soil one iota. She stopped in front of me, though she now looked at Burt.

“Fen, as in your current locale,” she told him. “No ‘Miss’. Only Fen.”

Burt crossed out what he’d written, then corrected it. He looked up to her with a smile, put his pencil behind his ear, and stuck out his hand. You dolt, I thought - we had no idea what we were dealing with. Little wonder he’d hardly been put in the field.  

“Burton Rendell Rawlings, pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

The woman - Fen - merely reciprocated, giving him a firm handshake with a gloved hand. Upon the release, she extended it to me. Burt hadn’t dissolved or imploded, so I figured I may as well jump off the bridge with him. 

“Just Jack,” I told her as we shook.

“Well, then, Burton Rendell Rawlings and Just Jack - would you care for some tea?”

Burt put away his notebook and pencil, nodding vehemently, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. He retrieved the discarded backpack and slipped it on. While he did, Fen removed a glove, then motioned behind her and one of the smaller children came over. As the hood was pulled back, I saw its wearer was a young girl, couldn’t have been more than ten, yet she walked with such purpose, with such confident posture, and if I were a poetic man I’d have said she had an old soul behind her wide-set, ridiculously large eyes.

“Ever, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Rawlings while I escort Jack?” asked Fen.

The girl nodded, and slipped a hand in one of Burt’s immediately.

He smiled at her, saying, “Hi - Ever, is it? That’s a… a unique name.”

There was no reply, and Burt didn’t follow-up, mainly because he’d immediately started to sway, his knees almost giving out.

“Oh my, sorry about that, I guess I got a… got a little too excited to… to meet you, dear.”

I frowned, but Fen had clutched one of my hands - tightly - and the girl quickly reached over and snatched the other.

And now, here I was, sitting in a large kitchen drinking tea I didn’t want, in a large castle-like house on what appeared to be an equally-large, plush estate. That is, if my stolen glances through windows as we’d walked into a massive foyer and dining area were anywhere near accurate. I was certain I’d seen at least a baker’s dozen of children playing outside. There were handfuls more in a parlor we’d passed, and I was trying to construct a roster in my head of estimated ages.

Burt had gotten considerably faint around the time we’d walked past a staircase, and two teen-aged boys seemed to come from nowhere, meeting us in a hallway, each taking one of his arms. They guided him - accompanied by myself, Fen, and the girl called Ever - to a bedroom, made sure he was settled, then left after a nod to me and Fen. No one made a move to keep me away or hinder my line of sight - no evident worry on their parts for anything I might witness.

Ever had removed her cloak and sat herself in a chair across from the bed, pulling a small book from her dress pocket, then went to reading without a word. Burt was snuggled down and snoring in no time, dead to the world. Whatever… wherever… this world was. It didn’t feel as abnormal as I thought it should have, something it had in common with my tea time companion.

“Jack, I don’t believe what I’ve said surprises you. I don’t believe you truly thought witchcraft was the reason your quarry’s been able to repeatedly go to ground. And I also don’t believe you ever thought the girl was alive. Or that she was Nephilim.”

I sighed, shifting in my chair, and I pushed the still-full teacup and saucer away. I was getting irritated. And it irritated me further that Fen noticed but didn’t seem to care. “You already heard Burt and I, right?  So what’s your point? Why bother with my confirming it?”

“Because sometimes the things we keep inside should be said aloud - often, it is the only way to truly hear them.”

I added pseudo-platitudes to my mental list of irritations as she went on.

“And because you still seem to want to convince yourself you have all the answers, and all you need is the proof. That’s not how the truth works, hunting only for the results that will fit your theories.”

“So what? I was wrong about the Sunder case, okay? I messed up, and I can’t fix it. What else do you want from me?”

“I want you to accept you’re wrong about more than just that - and formulate a new theory. Now that you have some truths under your belt.”

I glared. “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know where we are, who you and those kids are… what you and those kids are… if Burt and I are going to be allowed to leave here…”

Fen leaned back in her chair, the very picture of calm. “You and Burt may leave any time you wish. Although….” She trailed off, waited a beat. To pique my interest. Even bait me, I suppose.

It worked. 

“Yes?”

She shrugged. “Thought you’d be more… curious.”

I let out a huff, leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. She was infuriating. Yet I was still void of any instinctual fear. And my thoughts suddenly drifted to Colleen.

Colleen was just beautiful, no two ways about it. One of those Hollywood-grade, glossy magazine beauties. Even if she wasn’t a man’s “type” - whatever that means - I’d heard more than enough times how stunning, how appealing she was to others.

Her family was borderline Upper East Side, she’d had a modest debut ball, and she had decently frequent interaction with the who’s-who socialite crowd of New York’s so-and-so’s. She was classy and witty and sparkled up any room. But she was no Deb. Debutante, that is.  

We’d been together off-and-on since senior year in high school, and though she was titillated at my going to work for a covert section of the government - standard cover, per the Moles - we’d reached a stalemate around a year ago. She felt like an old maid and said we’d need to break up or get married.

So we got engaged. Her parents set a date, the never-ending bridal showers had garnered hefty turn-outs, and then a surprising amount of Debs had R.S.V.P.’d. A supposed Whitney cousin I’d never met had agreed to be maid of honor just before I’d left for Europe, ousting my bride-to-be’s only sister.

All said, Colleen hadn’t spoken of anything but the wedding for nigh on three months straight. Her ring’d been re-sized and ready for pick up at the jewelers since May. Which I should probably attend to, once we got back. I’d have to get in Burt’s habit, start making notes.  

I would have never classified Fen’s appearance as stunning or Hollywood, nothing of the sort. What Fen did was stop me in my tracks and cause my breath to hitch, because she was striking. I found her features quite lovely, to be sure - but it was hard to pin down what exactly was causing that punch in my gut. Just her proximity, her presence, the way she studied me, how it made my body run over with chills. The good kind.

Her eyes weren’t large to begin with and when she’d narrow them in my direction, just a promise of a full-on glare, only a sliver left below the lids to reflect any light, on God I’d swear the whites of her eyes would be all that remained and a flash would run across them, quick as lightning. And then it would vanish. Her eyes would go back to normal, she would visibly relax… yet I somehow couldn’t, even when I’d force myself to look away, telling myself I was doing something wrong.

I didn’t know what, exactly, was wrong, what it was I should be doing… no. No, that wasn’t true at all, I did know - I should collect Burt. I should make her prove she wasn’t bluffing, force her hand, so we could leave this place, then forget we’d seen a thing.  

“You’re distracted.”

“That I am.”

“Tell me what can I do for you.”

My mouth opened and closed a few times involuntarily, a series of ums and ahs making their way out. No one, and I mean no one, had ever said those words to me, not even Burt. Never just an open-ended opportunity to name what I needed.

But if anyone ever had, well… there was that pesky lack-of-belief of mine popping up again. I likely wouldn’t have trusted the sincerity of the offer. I had my reasons. Why I found myself believing Fen, I could not say.

She rescued me from my gaping. “Perhaps I should start with where you are. This is our home, mine and my charges.”

“Your charges,” I repeated slowly.

“It has been for quite some time. Many centuries now.”

“Centuries,” I mumbled, having apparently turned into a man-sized parrot.

“Which I’m pleased to explain, though the answers may be somewhat… time-consuming for me to relate, I’m afraid. This is new for me.”

Interesting.

“As to what we are, as you put it - I am human, just as mortal, just as powerless as yourself and your friend. And my charges are the offspring of humans and angels - your sought-after Nephilim.”

A breeze could have knocked me from the chair.

“So if you’d consider extending your visit—”

“Yes!” I practically shouted, and she genuinely appeared to be startled. I’d startled myself. It was the fastest I’d ever agreed to anything in my entire life.

“On one condition,” she said, then polished off the rest of her tea.

“Anything,” I replied, and meant it.

One of her unnerving, cut-right-through-you gazes lit on my face as she answered. “You’re going to tell me a story. How you came to feel such contempt for the heavenly host. And I’ll know if you lie to me, Jack. Then our deal will be off. You and Burt will be taken safely to town, right to your rooms at the inn, with no memory of this place. Or any of us.”

I confess I barely heard her, too excited for my irritation at her ability to read me to return, responding immediately. “Whatever you want, sure.”

My mind was back to its normal routine, filling with ideas and plans faster than I could catalogue them. This was it. I’d be able to write my own ticket, straight to the upper rungs, top-tier agent status. I was more determined than ever to make it happen. Hell, I was going to make it happen.

Assuming Fen and her Nephilim didn’t have other plans.

Feedback makes my ❤️ go boom

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