#does this imply that none of his rogues have seen his face in the two years before he got damian? yes. but wraith knowing why ember is

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY THURSDAY: Megamind’s Connections Beyond the Film

Before we get started, it’s time for the obligatory SPOILER WARNING!  

In case this hasn’t been made sufficiently obvious by the fact that this is a post about Megamind written in a fan theory series about Megamind and published on a blog dedicated solely to Megamind, please let me just assure that this article is, in fact, about Megamind.  

If you haven’t seen the film yet yet, I have to question why you’re reading this in the first place.  As well as your taste in animated movies.  I’m definitely questioning that.

Over the years I’ve heard several fan theories concerning connections between the film Megamind and various other forms of media.  Today, let’s delve into just a few.

The first one is so obvious it’s almost painful, but it has to be mentioned.  Megamind is a Superman spoof.  Metro Man is clearly based on the Man of Steel himself, with a hefty dose of Elvis Presley and a larger range of character flaws thrown in for good measure.  (He also seems to contain quite a lot of the Popular Jock archetype.)  The character of Megamind is more complex still, combining elements of Alice Cooper and a nineties Goth theater kid with several comic book supervillains. The best known of the last include alien genius Brainiac and mad inventor Lexx Luthor, but they aren’t the only ones.  Some of Megamind’s engineering and technological inventions call to mind Spiderman villain Doctor Octopus even more than Lexx Luthor, and he also shares some parallels with the mad inventor Dr. Sivana in the SHAZAM comics.

Megamind’s most notable of the latter is the similarity of attitudes toward society.  Both Megamind and Dr. Sivana started off trying to use their inventions for good—the first in the classroom and the second for the betterment of mankind—but both became bitter when people mocked and shunned them.  For Dr. Sivana, this led to a desire to conquer all of Earth while for Megamind, in a sort of microcosm, it led to a similar drive to take over Metro City.  Both Lexx Luthor and Dr. Sivana have, perhaps, the strongest connections to Megamind as share, deep down, a desire to help or protect mankind, and as Lexx Luthor, like Megamind, harbors a secret love for the reporter damsel in their respective stories.  (This desire to do good, especially in the face of corrupt officials, ties into another Megamind fan theory that I will likely discuss in more detail in a later post.)

The connection between Megamind and Alice Cooper, by the way, was extremely intentional.  The creators stated in an interview that, like Alice Cooper, Megamind’s dark, evil self is, in fact, a stage persona.  (Even their clothing, consisting largely of black leather and spikes, is similar.)  That fact is illustrated in the film as we can see that Megamind’s behaviors on- and off-camera tend to be vastly different.  Even as a villain, he is merely playing a role, although in the case of Megamind that role has begun to merge with his self-identity.

There are, however, hints within the world of DreamWorks that Megamind has other connections as well.  The first is fairly recent and intensely interesting. In the Rise of the Guardians, Jamie Bennett, a young boy who still steadfastly believes in the seemingly impossible, mentions “aliens in Michigan,” only to be scoffed at by his friends.  Because Metro City is located in Michigan, (as can be seen briefly when the Death Ray is fired from space,) many fans theorize that the “aliens in Michigan” are none other than Megamind, Minion, and, perhaps, Metro Man. 

This would indicate that the two stories take place in the same world, and that Megamind’s adventures, while well-known in Metro City itself, have been covered up and kept secret from the rest of the world.  (Imagine moving to a moderately-sized city only to discover that—surprise!—there’s an extraterrestrial supervillain in residence and, oh, by the way, if you live downtown homeowners’ insurance is ridiculous!)

The second inter-film connection is less clear, but has spawned some interesting fan theories as well.  The idea is that, like Rise of the Guardians, Monsters VS. Aliens also takes place in the same reality as Megamind.  It’s not too far fetched—after all, both films involve extraterrestrials and amazing inventions—but there is one specific theory that really ties the two together.  Consider this for a moment: Megamind is a blue alien with incredible intelligence who hails from a destroyed planet.  Does that sound like any other DreamWorks character you know?  If you’ve seen Monster VS. Aliens, the antagonist, Gallaxhar, probably springs to mind.

According to Fandom.com, Gallaxhar’s official backstory is that he “destroyed his home planet” for the implied reason that “he experienced bad childhood and unhappy marriage.”  The fan theory is that that Gallaxhar’s planet was, in fact, Megamind’s home world, and that the former created or harnessed the black hole which destroyed it.  This would explain why Megamind’s people—as well as Metro Man’s—didn’t have time to escape despite being space-faring.  You see, black holes take millions of years to develop, and even a rogue black hole would take about a million to shift and swallow an entire solar system, so if the event had occurred naturally, there should have been plenty of time to build an entire fleet of spacecraft and leave for Earth or another safe planet.  (The fact that Megamind’s parents set his escape pod’s navigation system for Earth indicates that they knew of its existence.)

Of course, despite their large heads and blue skin tones, there are quite a few physical differences between Megamind and Gallaxhar.  The first is humanoid while the second has four eyes and tentacles instead of legs.  Fan theories have explanations for that, too, however.  

There appear to be two schools of thought on the subject.  The first is that Gallaxhar was another breed of alien living on the planet, possibly a servile race different from Minions, and the second is that part of Gallaxhar’s “bad childhood” involved being experimented upon, thus giving him his bizarre appearance and his seeming obsession with experimenting on others.  (There is some disagreement in the Megamind fandom about exactly why Gallaxhar was subjected to such treatment, ranging from falling into the hands of an unscrupulous scientist to being part of an experimental medical program.  The latter fan theory suggests that Gallaxhar was both blind and paraplegic, and that his additional eyes and tentacle “legs” were meant to rectify that, but that those physical differences made him an outsider, thus leading to his unhappy life and ultimate hatred for his own planet.)

If that were true, many may wonder what, exactly, Megamind might do if he ever found out about Gallaxhar.  Well, good news!  Just like there’s an app for everything, there’s a fan theory for that, too!  I will warn you, however, that this one is, frankly, build upon pretty thin evidence.  However, it’s interesting enough to be worth relating.

There is a character in Monsters VS. Aliens named General Warren R. Monger who, on the surface, is exactly what he appears to be: a high-ranking military man.  However, there are a few things that fans point to as possible evidence that Monger isn’t what he seems.  

The first is so simple that, alone, it would be inconsequential.  Monger rose through the ranks uncommonly fast, so much so that it caused some comment among others.  The second is significantly odder; Monger claims to be ninety years old despite looking like he is in his late forties.  Now, of course, this may have simply been the character exaggerating or messing with the “monsters” under his care, but some fans say it’s more than that, and claim that Monger chose that age because he was unfamiliar with human lifespans.  Next there is the fact that Monger is so intelligent that, despite one of the beings in his containment facility. Doctor Cockroach, being a super-genius, Monger outwits every escape attempt the monsters can make.  Then, of course, there is the fact that, despite his brusque manner, Monger seems to actually sympathize with the inhuman people he is charged with containing, and even pushes for them to be given a chance to prove themselves.  There is the oddity that, although he is assigned to the secret military base at “Area Fifty-Something,” Monger seems to disappear a lot, often for days at a time.  Finally, there are a few key physical and technological attributes: Monger has some odd and incredibly energetic facial expression—including a nearly maniacal smile and a dark scowl—as well as a jet pack that he appears to have constructed himself and green eyes.

I’m still not certain I see the resemblance, but maybe there are some similarities?  What do you think?

If you’re familiar with Metro City’s resident blue alien, you can probably see where this is going.  Although it’s not a popular theory, I’ve heard it suggested in the Megamind fandom that Monger is, in fact, Megamind disguised using his holowatch.  (This is why the green eyes are significant; Megamind’s eye color is the only aspect of his appearance that the holowatch doesn’t change.  However, I feel compelled to note that the shade of green appears to be different.) Fans insist that it would have been easy for someone as incredibly brilliant as Megamind to hack government systems and forge documents such as birth certificates thoroughly enough to dupe even U.S. Military Intelligence. The two jet packs, some have contested, look different either because of the disguise or because the one featured in Monster VS. Aliens is an older model. I’ve even seen the fact that both Megamind and Monger begin with M being pointed to as possible evidence that the latter is no more than an invention of the former.

The argument is as follows: as Monsters VS. Aliens takes place in 2009, one year before events in Megamind, it’s possible that Megamind, still being a villain, created an alter-ego which he could use to help him search for and deal with other alien life.  (He is shown to be painfully lonely, and the Megamind comics reveal his desperate desire to find other survivors from his home planet.)  Upon figuring out who Gallaxhar was, and more importantly what he had done, Megamind wanted to be part of taking him down.  But he couldn’t be too open about it; he was, after all, still a “Bad Guy.”  This theory explains Monger’s frequent long absences—during those time Megamind was back in Metro City taking care of his regular business— as well as why Monger had a secret soft spot for the “monsters.”  Megamind, having always been treated like a monster himself, would naturally want to give them a chance, but wouldn’t dare behave in too overtly friendly a manner as it would have aroused suspicion.

As I said, support for that particular theory is, perhaps, a little thin, especially given the fact the Monsters VS. Aliens preceded Megamind, so character designs from the former are unlikely to have been influenced by the latter.  Nonetheless, I admit to appreciating the complexity and creativity of it.  It’s an undeniably fun theory. If they haven’t already, maybe someone will write a fan fiction about it one day.

Those are only a few of the theories out there connecting Megamind with other fandoms.  One could go on and on about the subject, but I won’t torture readers by doing that.  Nonetheless, it illustrates once again the immense love and original thought that Megamind fans put into developing their theories!  I dare say that few other animated movies have earned a following so dedicated and inventive…  But, then, any of us who love the film Megamind will tell you that it has more than earned the consideration!

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FIVE -A Rogue One fanfic

I honestly don’t know this was going to take the detour it did, but hey, that’s fine. Anyway, Jyn is very confused about her attachment to Cassian, and his own messy feelings.

Also on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Five

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Implied Bi!Cassian; References to Naked Times in the Shower; Characters being hot messes and confused about Feelings

Words: 3,226

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The energy level in the large mess hall was an incongruous mix of highs and lows. Quite a number of people were congregated at various tables, but it wasn’t at capacity. Some groups were chattering away, with a happiness and lightness Jyn honestly couldn’t recall witnessing in anyone in a long, long time, on any planet or moon. But there were other groups, and individuals, that were quiet, lethargic, mostly just nursing cups of restorative drinks and pushing bland food around their plates. Hungover.

Jyn supposed that made sense. Either way, no one was really in a down mood. They were either still excited about the Great Victory, or suffering the consequences from being too excited about it the previous night.

Why did she feel like Cassian and herself were the mopiest pair in the entire mess hall? Yes, it was really gratifying to know that their suicide mission hadn’t been entirely in vain. They had more than succeeded, the plans had been transmitted to the rebels, and the rebels had used them to destroy the Death Star. But still… The feeling of loss weighed heavily on Jyn. And she sensed it was yet another burden laid on Cassian’s shoulders. In a vulnerable, pained moment, he’d told her that maybe it would’ve been better if she’d left him on Scarif when they’d miraculously been spared from the blastwave. And perhaps near the end there (what should’ve been the end), he’d embraced the release from his conscience as hard as he’d embraced her.

She understood. She’d felt the peace there on that beach, as well.

The thing was, she still felt it, with him. Even when filled with other confusing emotions, some of which he was the cause of, she still felt… content… even happy? Was this what happy felt like?

Well, no, maybe not this, not still half-mourning a father she’d lost decades ago but then lost again, mourning the loss of the friends she’d made in just a matter of a day but who had been truer than any others in her life, coming to terms with the guilt of leading so many on a suicide mission, which she then survived.

And Cassian had survived.

“I’ll get the food,” Jyn said after they’d found a table tucked in a corner and Cassian claimed the seat that allowed him to put his back to the wall. (Of course). Jyn would’ve chosen it herself, but she didn’t protest that she would be forced to sit with her back to the entire mess hall. He was rubbing at his leg. The memory of the surgical scars running down his hip and thigh, barely a week old, a fresh pink against olive skin, popped abruptly into her mind. She shoved them aside. “Is there anything specific you want?”

“No.” He was smiling even as he shook his head. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not picky.”

“Me, neither.” Force, sometimes they were so much the same, their lives filled with the same sort of deprivation, that it hurt. It hurt to think of the little boy Cassian had been, not having a favorite food, because having food at all was something to be grateful for. Something Jyn had known herself, still knew, and would never unlearn her associated habits of eating too much (if given the opportunity) and too fast.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the serving line.

A couple people stared as she added more than two helpings of everything to her tray, but she thought it was more out of shock over the disproportionate amount of food to her size than anger that she was maybe taking more than her share. By the time she’d collected enough to feed an entire unit of Wookies and headed back to Cassian, two humans in non-uniforms (which wasn’t uncommon for the rebels) had sat down at the table.

They were the type of people who took up more space than they needed. An amateurish attempt at intimidating others through establishing dominance. Jyn had learned to be more wary of those who drew no attention, who lurked in the shadows, who had unassuming appearances disguising a lethality the brazen could never hope to possess.

So it was really just instinct that had her assessing gaze passing over the two trying-too-hard-to-have-swagger rebels to the slight man sitting quietly in the corner. He was a killer, undeniably. But not by choice. And Jyn knew something she thought most didn’t remotely suspect; Cassian Andor was soft deep down inside. And every terrible thing he’d done tortured him. Which made him even more dangerous, especially to Jyn, who she feared may be the only one to have ever seen his vulnerability, his humanity. To everyone else, he was just some Rebel super-spy-assassin, a good little soldier.

He’d locked eyes with her, but neither of his companions had seemed to notice, instead going on about some miraculous feats of badassery during some mission or other.

“You’re in my seat,” Jyn said, interrupting the bigger of the pair mid-sentence.

The man who was easily twice her size froze, puffing himself up when he looked at her, not that he needed to with that bulk of muscle, but his first instinct was obviously to meet her firm tone with aggression. She knew the response of those who’d survived on the streets well. And even if this was no seedy back alley or dive, this was her territory. And she wasn’t going to be the one to back down.

“Am I?” Big man said.

Before Jyn could respond, Cassian’s quiet voice cut in.

“You are.”

The big man looked at the wounded captain and his entire demeanor changed. Apparently, the soldier knew Cassian for the dangerous creature he was.

After a brief moment in which the expression on Cassian’s face gave nothing away, Big Man’s attention returned to Jyn.

“Uh, sorry,” he said, vacating the chair. Setting the heavily-laden tray down, Jyn plopped into the spot opposite Casian as the big guy lumbered off to find another chair, seemingly to rejoin them. Ugh.

Jyn slid the tray across the table in front of Cassian, then dragged her chair to sit directly beside him. There was no way to lift any of the dishes off the tray without losing some of the impressive pile of food. They could share.

She reached across Cassian and grabbed some sort of bread roll and- oh, force, he smelled good, like the cleanser from the shower and freshly washed skin that was silky smooth except for the scars and- she shoved the roll in her mouth before she did something embarrassing like hop onto his lap and bury her face in his neck.

The very large rebel’s companion had remained at the table, and was staring. Yes, at Jyn, but also at Cassian, at the pair of them, at the pile of food she’d torn into but Casian was contemplating eating with an actual utensil like some sort of civilized person. And the man’s gaze dropped, but Jyn knew it wasn’t to assess her attributes, none were visible beneath the loose-fitting clothes she was wearing, Cassian’s clothes. Oh. Right.

“You must be Jyn Erso,” he said and held out a hand, which was surprisingly clean, so Jyn shoved the last bite of roll into her mouth and shook it. Firm but not too firm, and his dark brown eyes were surprisingly soft as they met her gaze, a little guarded and very curious. This one was obviously the more intelligent of the pair.

“That I am,” she said after swallowing the large piece of bread that threatened to lodge in her throat. “And you are…?”

“Oh,” he laughed self-consciously. He had a nice, easy going smile. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m Tarrek Zin.” His large friend returned with a chair. “And this is Utto.”

The giant known as Utto nodded, grunted in response, before sitting down in the chair that was obviously ill-equipped to handle his bulk. A man of even less words than the spy.

“And you’re… friends of Cassian?” she asked, trying not to appear too interested. Who were these people? Cassian didn’t have friends. Not that she’d known him all that long, but she was pretty certain the man was a resolute loner. Aside from K-2SO, who was lost to him now.

“Yes,” Tarrek said at the same time Cassian said, “No.”

She withheld her laughter because Tarrek Zin seemed genuinely a little hurt by the terse captain’s response.

“We’ve worked together before,” Cassian gave as further explanation. “They’re…”

“Freelance,” Tarrek said.

Cassian gave a little snort of laughter. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a larger bite of the mystery protein.

“Oh, what does that mean?” Now, Jyn was intrigued. They were an odd sort to find on a military base, even amongst the ragtag collection of rebels that formed the Alliance. They were both human, Jyn thought, although there could be a bit of something else in the big man, who was surprisingly not unattractive for a bruiser type, with thick brown hair and a symmetrical face with a square jaw and only a small crescent scar on one cheek. The smaller man was by no means small, taller than Cassian, well built with flawless brown skin and a friendly, appealing face with just a hint of scruff neatly trimmed into a goatee. And a charmer’s grin, which he turned on Jyn.

“We find things.”

Again, that ironic little half-laugh from Cassian, who finally looked up from the pile of food.

“They steal things,” he said, pointing his fork at them. “Don’t let Tarrek try to pretty it up. They’re nothing more than thieves.”

“So’s your girl, from what I hear,” Tarrek said. “Didn’t you all find her in Wobani, serving time for forgery and assault amongst many other crimes?”

“She’s not my girl,” Cassian said, not denying her criminal record. And Jyn would be lying if she claimed the denial that she was his girl didn’t hurt a little. Even though it shouldn’t. She wasn’t a possession. And neither was Cassian, so she could stop feeling possessive of him, as well, really-

“Then you’re a free agent?” Tarrek flashed that charming grin of his again, with an edge of mischievousness. And a bit of something else in his eyes as he lookd at Cassian. “Because with the Empire scrambling after the destruction of their favorite new toy, no one’s going to notice if some stray things get found. We could use your skills on at least a dozen different jobs I can think of…” Tarrek shot a brief glance to Jyn before returning his attention to Cassian. “And Not Your Girl for that matter.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear I will not be going on any jobs with you,” Cassian said. “Even if the Alliance thought we’d need someone with your skillset again for some reason, I’d find someone else.”

Oh, wow. That seemed a little harsh, even from the jaded captain. The hurt on Tarrek’s face was blatant, and he looked away. Jyn couldn’t help but think there was some sort of complicated history at play.

“May I…?” Utto asked, indicating the crispy poultry leg sitting near the edge of the tray, the big man oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Uh… be my guest,” Jyn said and large, burly fingers snatched it right up. Unsurprisingly, the whole drumstick fit in the man’s mouth. He ate even faster than Jyn, chewing a bit then pulling the bare bone out, picked absolutely clean in less time than it took Cassian to cut another bite off the brick of vegetable-thing or whatever it was. Food. That’s all Jyn needed to know.

“Well, we better get going if we want to get a good seat at the ceremony, seeing as we’re not guests of honor,” Tarrek said, seeming to have recovered from the hurt feelings enough to tease. Cassian made a displeased noise but said nothing as Tarrek got to his feet and locked eyes with the rebel captain. Some sort of weird exchange passed between them, that seemed almost- “The offer always stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Cassian said, then went back to studiously eating.

Tarrek rolled his eyes but then gave Jyn a broad grin, leaning over to whisper loudly, “You think about it, too, Jyn Erso. Maybe you can convince the captain here not to throw his life away for the rebellion.”

Jyn just gave him a nod, disconcerted about the man’s extremely accurate knowledge of Cassian. Or maybe his unwavering loyalty was just that obvious.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tarrek said to his large companion, who appeared about Wookie-size when he stood up, only beefier.

Utto lingered a moment as his friend walked away, and Cassian frowned at him, that furrow forming between his brows. Jyn’s curiosity was also piqued as the moment stretched out awkwardly long, Utto’s fierce blue-grey gaze scouring Cassian’s face.

Cassian broke first, dropping his fork onto the tray with a clatter and sighing loudly.

“You have something you want to say, Utto?” he asked.

“You hurt Tarrek,” he said. “Don’t change your mind about joining us. Unless you mean it.”

“Understood,” Cassian said. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Utto glanced at Jyn, then gave Cassian another assessing look before grunting and shaking his head, then stalked off after his partner.

Cassian returned his attention to the food in front of him, like nothing had happened at all.

“What was that?” Jyn asked, her mind racing, trying to put everything she’d just witnessed into some sort of context.

“Nothing,” Cassian said. “Just two of many I’ve pissed off.”

“But they’re angry because they want you.” Jyn was pretty sure about what she’d just witnessed, albeit confusing.

“The Alliance used them to break into an Imperial facility. We were after intelligence stored there. Tarrek and Utto made out like the bandits they are by stealing the tech stored there and selling it on the black market. It was their most lucrative job ever. They still pick up odd smuggling tasks for the rebellion, but they want me to help them with more heist like that again.”

His face was closed off, but Jyn needed to know if she was right, needed for Cassian to continue to let her in, needed his trust and confidence.

“I get that,” she said, “but they want you… like physically. At least, Tarrek does.”

Cassian met her gaze, slowly closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head.

“I never should’ve kissed him.”

“Oh.” Well, that explained both the heat and the chill in Tarrek’s gaze when he looked at Cassian. Apparently, it hadn’t been just one-sided. And maybe she’d been reading Cassian’s looks, the way he touched her, all wrong. Maybe the intimacy they’d shared in the shower, naked but not uncomfortable, washing one another with tender caresses, had only held sexual undertones on her side. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him. Maybe he- “You er… kiss males?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “When it’s necessary to complete a mission.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes just because I want to.”

Jyn stared at the pile of green puree of what she hoped was a vegetable of some sort, trying to swallow down the stupid feelings clashing inside of her; jealousy and possessiveness, hurt, and even a little bit of titillation contemplating Cassian’s sexual history.

Long fingers skimmed the back of her hand and curled around hers, squeezing gently until she met those rich, dark eyes of his.

“Sometimes I kiss females, too.” He held her gaze so she resisted the urge to stare at his mouth.

“When it’s necessary to complete a mission?”

“And just because I want to.”

Did he want to? Jyn felt like he did, thought everything in the way he looked at her indicated a deep affection and need for her. But at the same time, she knew he wouldn’t, not here in a public place, not when he hadn’t even kissed her when they were alone. Not even when they were naked, standing under the spray of water, his hands buried in her hair, rinsing out the cleanser, her hands wrapped around his waist, helping to support his weight, her skin prickling with the closeness of his body, the caress of his fingers on her scalp, the feeling of his-

“We should get moving,” he said, releasing her hand to push his chair back and stand, looking only a little unsteady on his feet. “We need to find you some clothes that fit.”

“Why?” Jyn said, standing as well and brushing her hand over the front of the loose shirt. At least Cassian wasn’t an extremely large man, or else his clothes would fall right off her. As it was, she’d had to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and tuck as much as possible into the fatigues that she’d belted to cinch in at the waist, which would’ve been entirely hopeless if he wasn’t a lean man. She’d also had to roll up the hems to her ankles. She had no other option than the infirmary shoes. Okay, she looked ridiculous. But she didn’t care. The clothes smelled like Cassian and made her feel perpetually wrapped up in him.

“It’s not exactly fit for being presented to a princess.”

Cassian reached to pick up the tray, which Jyn felt a little bit of guilt for not having completely cleaned of its contents and wasting food, but there had been unforeseen interruptions. She grabbed it before he could, doubting his ability to walk and carry a laden tray a few days after major surgeries and with bones still healing. But had he said,

“Princess?! What princess?”

“Princess Leia will be hosting the ceremony.”

“Oh.” Jyn headed across the mess hall to bus the remains of their meal, perhaps moving a little too quickly for her wounded companion, a sort of panicky nervousness fluttering in her stomach as their potentially being the center of attention approached. It would be brief if they were, she tried to tell herself. The last time she’d been the center of the Alliance’s attention hadn’t gone well. Had, in point of fact, ended in a rogue suicide mission.

“You’ll be fine. She’s Bail Organa’s daughter. Sensible woman. Fierce.”

Jyn shoved the tray into the reclamation unit a little harder than necessary. “And how do you know her?”

Cassian laughed, light and genuine.

“I don’t know her, not personally.” His hand went to her shoulder, seemingly to guide her but she knew the request inherent in it and snaked her arm around his waist to let him lean a little of his weight on her. “Let’s see if we can track down your missing clothes.”

Jyn didn’t care if they couldn’t. Let the princess see her in Cassian’s clothes, let everyone think they were together. Because whether or not he kissed her, whether or not it was romantic, Cassian Andor was hers. Even if he sent her away and she never saw him again while she lived, he would always be hers.

Force, she needed to get a handle on this possessiveness. Because it owned her. He owned her.

His palm came to rest on the back of her neck as they left the mess and headed towards the storage and supply wing of the base. His thumb stroked along her nape and she leaned into him, relaxed as a Savarian cat being petted.

Dank farrik, did she ever belong to him.

[porcelain-blue]

Stray Dogs Seem to Follow

What if Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze did not die? What if they, along with Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, start their dream sect where no bloodlines matter, only skill and hard work?

The all-star trained-by-an-immortal cast is honestly reason enough for random rogue cultivators to start to flock to them, but the truth is the reputations that draw people are not one of battle prowess, but of human decency, humility, and a penchant for treating people equally between farmers and gentry. 

YilingWei is a small but growing power in the cultivation world, and through Wei Changze has an alliance with the Jiang Clan, and through Cangze Sanren, has an alliance with GusuLan. Many of the other sects dislike this very much, because nobody likes to see the idea that noble blood actually doesn’t really matter be proven so soundly.  Wei Wuxian has an uncanny ability for picking up strays. 

Stray #1: Wei Wuxian is ambling around Yueyang, let loose with uncle Song Lan at a good pace watching him, when he sees a kid get beaten up for asking for a reward of a snack. He darts forward, catching a fist and stepping to the side so the man is twisted under his knee in one smooth motion. Training had been going well, and he thinks mama would be proud.  The man sputters, face red, and makes all sorts of demands, puffing and going on and on about the YueyangChang. 

Wei Wuxian, professional brat and heir to YilingWei, lets the man go with a light shove that sends him kneeling into the dirt, and speaks, heaping on extra insolence just for fun.

“Ah, well. Sorry, gongzi, I’m not from here, so I don’t know who is who around these parts,” he sing-songs, moving to help the very battered kid up from the ground. He looks like he’s about his age. He beams at him, although the kid is looking at him warily. “But my mama tells me you can’t make promises you can’t keep, and a rich gongzi like you surely can buy some candy to pay for your errands, can’t you?” 

“Who the fuck are you, brat? You think you can speak to me like this?” The man seems to be reaching forward, ready to strike, and Wei Wuxian is ready to throw down, but his uncle Song Lan steps smoothly between them, bows with grace to the man and asks softly what the matter is. 

“Has our young master Wei gotten himself into trouble again?” Song Lan asks, all civil and gentlemanly and terrifying. The Distant Snow and Cold Frost is recognisable to most, and Wei Wuxian watches as the man puts two and two together. That said, YilingWei isn’t that prestigious a clan to warrant that much respect, but the man clearly knows he is outclassed. He turns in a bad temper, stomping away.  Song Lan turns to him, raises an eyebrow, and then bends down to speak to the kid who is fidgeting behind Wei Wuxian.  “Haizi, don’t worry, we mean no harm. Will you tell gege your name?” The kid looks at the two of them warily, eyeing their simple clothing, their lack of ornament. “Xue Yang,” he mutters.  “Alright, A-Yang, A-Ying, will you tell gege what happened?” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his uncle. “That guy was being an ass! Yang-di did something for him for a snack and he got all mad!” He huffs, annoyed. “We should have beat him up.”  Song Lan waits to see if Xue Yang will dispute the story, and when the kid just looks at his feet, angry tears in his eyes, he sighs. Grabs Wei Wuxian by the scruff of his robes and puts a gentle hand on Xue Yang’s head.  “Come on, gege was getting hungry anyways. I was going to get some food. I’m sure A-Ying will want too many snacks, but if there’s two of you, you can share, hm?” He starts walking away.  Wei Wuxian grins. “Uncle is really a pushover, c’mon, I want some tanghulu. Do you have any family? Our sect is great, we don’t care who or where you’re from. You wanna come see?”  Xue Yang blinks at him, lets his wrist get grabbed and towed away, buoyed by the promise of tanghulu and snacks. Maybe this time it won’t end in suffering.  ----------

Stray #2:  It’s the third day of the discussion conference in Lanling, and while Wei Wuxian had been dragged by his parents to attend and bow and get his everything commented, he had finally bargained the day off, cheeks sore from getting pinched by random and well-meaning older aunties. He grabs Xue Yang and uncle Xingchen, badgering them into going to town with him. He wants to try Lanling street food! He’s heard the baozi are really good! It’s about lunchtime when they wander into a food stall that smells amazing, but before they can order there’s a commotion.  “Stay away from us, you son of a whore!” A scuffle, and there, a kid is being pushed down, his baozi thrown onto the floor.  “Yeah, I bet you’re full of disease, just like your mother!” another kid, bigger and meaner, spits on the ground. Gross. The kid on the floor looks incensed at this, eyes flashing, but before he can do anything his hair is being yanked and he’s gasping in pain.  Wei Wuxian has really got to stop meeting peers like this. He slants a look at Xue Yang, who has gone still and tense. Xue Yang hates these kinds of people the most. They step into the stall together, and while he’s tempted to really mess around with these guys, he probably shouldn’t make a fuss during a discussion conference, or mama will make them do drills for hours.  So he nudges Xue Yang forward, and his shidi grips the hand holding the boy’s hair hard enough that the bones creak, until the bully is gasping in pain and wrenching back, letting go of the younger boy. Wei Wuxian helps the kid up, makes sure he’s alright.  “Who the fuck are you guys?” the kids say, and Wei Wuxian notices that they’re in Jin gold. Gross. It occurs to him then that they probably also cannot make a fuss during LanlingJin’s discussion conference, so Wei Wuxian just grins his most diplomatic smile, throws an exaggerated bow and says, “Wei Wuxian, heir to YilingWei, at your service! This is my shidi Xue Chengmei! We compliment LanlingJin for hosting our sect. LanlingJin must be very rich, if minor disciples can afford to waste food like this!” He waves an airy hand at the remains of the boy’s baozi scattered across the floor. One of the Jin boys sneer, “We don’t have to care about commoners and trash like that,” he spits, but is clearly not willing to challenge a sect heir outright. Xue Yang is still pissed, so he puts a hand on the sword at his hip, and narrows his eyes at them.  “YilingWei strongly discourages actions and words like that,” he says. And the threat is very, very much implied.  Eventally, Uncle Xingchen appears, smoothes things over, and sends the Jins on their way. Wei Wuxian turns round to the kid who is looking at them with wide doe eyes, half afraid, half in awe.  “This Meng Yao thanks the two honored cultivators for their assistance,” he murmurs, polite and formal, but the hands folded in front of his bow are trembling.  Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose as Xue Yang ambles off to buy three baozi from the lady at the front of the stall. It’s kind of nice, Wei Wuxian thinks absently, that Xue Yang gets to feed other kids, now. 

“Aw, none of that,” Wei Wuxian says, pulling the kid’s hands apart and lifting him back upright. “We’re all common folk here, aren’t we, Yang-di!”  “Aren’t you the heir of the Wei Sect, gongzi?” Meng Yao asks.  “Well, yeah, but my dad was born a servant. Anyways our sect doesn’t care about that sort of stuff. You want a baozi? I’m sorry yours got thrown.”  Meng Yao accepts a baozi and eats it with more elegance than Wei Wuxian has ever seen. He doesn’t finish, though, even though he’s obviously still hungry.  “Saving it for later?” Xue Yang asks, eyeing him.

Meng Yao shakes his head gently. “My mother, ah. She works at a brothel, as I’m sure you heard earlier. They don’t... they don’t feed her much if she doesn’t work enough.”  They sit there for a moment, three kids digesting the weight of the world. The moment passes, though, and Wei Wuxian darts back to the front of the store to get another baozi, and some other snacks wrapped up in paper to go. He gestures at them to come out, and the trail after him.  “C’mon, I got some extra food for your mom. Can you take us to her?”  Meng Yao blanches for a moment, obviously torn. He nods, after a moment, and they walk a ways to the establishment where Meng Shi works. Meng Yao fidgets for a moment, but gestures them in through a side door. They meet Meng Yao’s mother, who looks a lot like him, She thanks them graciously for the food, and asks them questions about their sword, and the cultivation world in general. They’re not there for long before Wei Wuxian’s yaopei glows softly, and he winces.  At the two pairs of delicately raised eyebrows, he answers, “Mama’s using her tracking talisman.”  Meng Shi laughs, then, a clear, high sound. She slaps a delicate hand on the table in mirth. “Oh, I wish I had one of those for my boy here! Your mother would make a killing if she sold those!”  Before he can reply, he hears a scuffle, a few shouts of “Excuse me, You can’t be here!” before his mother thows the doors open and stomps in, stopping before them to stare her son and disciple down. “Well boys, aren’t you two a little young to be in a place like this?” she says archly.  Meng Shi rises gracefully, bowing low. “Ah, we beg your forgiveness, your boys were helping my son with some trouble, and were kind enough to bring me some food. Please let me repay you for their troubles.”  Meng Yao looks alarmed at that, but he doesn’t say anything. Cangse Sanren looks at the whole scene, narrows her eyes at her son before waving her hands at the other woman. She pushes her son and Xue Yang’s heads down roughly, making them bow.  “No, no, thank you for keeping my boys out of trouble!” she says, and the two women stare at each other for a beat, before they both smile and sit down at the table in unison.  “Psst. Mama, can we bring them back? “ Wei Wuxian asks, tugging on her sleeve. She sighs at him, and then directs her question to Meng Shi. “Well, Meng-guniang. It looks like my boys have made friends with your son here, and to be honest, we’d like some more young disciples. Would you want to come with us?” 

Meng Shi looks taken aback. She thinks of Jin Guangshan and his many empty promises. She thinks of her son, and wonders if he will make a good cultivator in Yiling black and white instead of Jin gold. She knows, that of the two sects, only one has been kind to her son so far. But still. “I’m a prostitute. What use could YilingWei have for a woman like me?”  Cangse Sanren looks straight at her. “You can read?”  She nods. It is her one pride. “I can sing, and play erhu. I can sew” The othe woman nods. “You can teach my boys manners, too, it seems. We will take you, if you come with us. You would have to work your debt off, but, we wouldn’t ask you to do it like this. There are other girls, who come from your line of work. They help us with accounts and sewing and whatever else they are deft at.”  Meng Shi looks at her son, notes the way his eyes are wide and guileless. He has yet to learn how to lie and scheme and seduce his way into power. He looks at the two other boys, who look away at the scantily dressed women who walk by and smile at them, who are young and strong and seem to not care about her sons birth.  She stands, and bows deeply. “We humbly request a place in YilingWei.”  Cangse Sanren smiles, and leads the way, three boys trotting along at her heels as she goes off in search of her husband. It’s time to go home. 

[smolbeandrabbles]

Common Threads - An Orson Krennic AU (Rogue One: A Star Wars Story)

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

This will be a short series set across a number of parts.

Author’s Note: All credit, and I mean ALL credit, to Harry & Rob @ Stop Making Sense Podcast. They’re real ones!  REAL ones. Thank you both for letting me write such a genius idea!

Basically this all started here on Instagram. And if you want to see where it’s going you’ll want 54:33-61:20 of this! Also please support these guys, they’re so great and so funny! Highly recommended!  While we’ll have no central romance, we know how Krennic is so... there’ll be fleeting mentions of goings on.

Also it wouldn’t be my writing if I didn’t almost lose half of it due to microsoft word complications, would it?

Disclaimer: Star Wars & Rogue One characters places etc all not mine / There’s some call backs to Catalyst but they’re rather small / The idea certainly isn’t mine either in this case / lyrics not mine / I did bring my OCs into this.

Premise: When Krennic is attacked by a band of rebel insurgents and they get away with vital information, the Empire devise a rather unusual punishment...

Words: 3547

Warnings: Slight sexual references / Please don’t look at the timelines too closely / AU

_____ I know what I want And I'ma go and get it, I'm a number one, I know you won't forget it Keep my eyes on the prize, no surprise that I'm lit I be cruisin', you be snoozin' That's why you losin', I'm oozin' Confidence is boomin', boomin'

I ain't worried 'bout nada 'Less it Gucci, 'less it Prada 'Less it Dolce and Gabbana 'Less a trip to the Bahamas I wanna feel like I'm way up Stay lit every single day I wake up I ain't worried 'bout shit, you a parody Ain't no wonder why they all so scared of me I'm a rarity, I got clarity

---

Part 1: Stitched Up. 

The communications device rumbled across the table again, begging to be picked up. This time it annoyed her; she’d managed to ignore it up to now but if it interrupted the meeting one more time she was in danger of being thrown out. She pulled it from the table, glaring. The person on the other end of the line, who clearly needed her desperately, could have only been one of two people – and due to the frequency, she could easily narrow it down to one. Krennic. And if it was her boss, she’d find that highly ironic, considering he’d been the one to tell her how imperative it was she took note of every little thing said here. ‘I don’t want a single detail missed Lieutenant; do you understand me!?’   It continued to buzz on and off feebly in her lap as she listened to the group of commanders drone on and on… but at least it wasn’t disturbing anyone but her anymore. Upon exiting the meeting it rang again, probably for the billionth time, and she answered: “Director.” He seemed a little taken aback that she knew it was definitely him, “What took you so long to pick up!?” “I was in a briefing you told me to go to! And yes, before you ask, I made all your notes. I’ll send you a copy of them right away.” “Well forget about that, I have something far more urgent for you to attend to!” “Sir?” She stilled in the corridor, ready to run in whichever direction he commanded. Krennic’s voice lowered to a hiss, “This is very embarrassing Lieutenant, and I would prefer you kept it discreet. Can you get yourself to my place?” “Yes, Sir.” She waited for a further instruction, yet upon receiving none but “Good, and make it quick, Suraya.” and the click of a terminated communication, she supposed that the only thing to do was board a shuttle to his apartment and pray that his version of urgent was not ‘I need a suit for a ball tonight, and your help to pick one!’ …again. ***

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary when she stepped off the ship, smoothing out her uniform as she did so. Krennic was waiting for her by the door and ushered her in quickly – what could this have been about? Suraya’s question was answered before he’d even closed the door, “Oh… my…” Her eyes traced slowly from floor to wall to ceiling, but there wasn’t a part of his apartment that wasn’t ransacked. “…word.” She finished, not able to think of something better to say. Krennic stepped forward into the room, arms crossed and staring hard at everything before turning to her. “Rebels!” “…Rebels?” Suraya immediately questioned, “In your house? ON Coruscant?” That didn’t make any sense, “They wouldn’t dare!” “Well they did!” He indicated around, then waved her forward, implying she should join him. “How?” “That’s what you’re here for.” “I’m hardly a detective, Director… where were you?” His blue eyes lowered to the floor and he chewed his lip, face a little flushed – she could bet from embarrassment and anger. Therefore his answer was a little mumbled, “Not conscious.” Suraya couldn’t help stifle a laugh which turned his steely gaze on her, “The rebels knocked you out?” She scanned the room again, “Well did they break in, there’s no broken glass or forced entry?” “...No.” Krennic was hesitant, and the lieutenant knew she’d missed something, turning in a complete circle on the balls of her feet, she stopped as she eyed the bed. Bed sheets rumpled and his clothes strewn nonchalantly around, there was no evidence that he’d been with anyone, but Suraya knew better. “Where’s the woman?” “What woman!?” Although there was hesitation in Krennic’s voice again. She quirked an eyebrow as she looked back at him; there wasn’t a planet in the Galaxy that didn’t know about his reputation. Her look was enough to get him to confess. “She was here when I was blindsided, when I came to, nothing!” She doubted this account by the fact that, although Krennic looked fairly unscathed, there was a mark above his eye. He’d likely let them in and would never admit it. He grumbled again, “What kind of woman would just answer the door to the rebellion!?” Or maybe that was it, but Suraya doubted Krennic would have just let anyone else answer his door for him without express permission or command. “Did it occur to you she was a rebel?” The Director nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, then composed himself. “Nah. I would have known. Anyway, why would she?!” Suraya let her eyes linger on him a little longer than she perhaps ought to; “I dunno, if I got the opportunity to say I’d slept with you, I would. Your reputation does precede you, Director Krennic. Why not take the opportunity to see if the rumours are true?” Krennic flushed but automatically dismissed it, “No. There’s no way. Self-respecting rebels would never-! And I---” She kept her mouth shut for now, and pushed a scoff and a taunt back down where they belonged. “---No. No.” As he began walking across the floor, musing to himself, Suraya traced his footsteps. “Well, what did they take?” “Hm?” “If they’ve overturned everything here, then they were looking for something Director, what have they found? What was here?” “Most of my research is back with Galen at the Eadu facility. I suppose there are a few data packs… but that’s general Weapons Division stuff. And-” Krennic turned quickly, trying to figure out where he’d last seen his personal data pad. He wasn’t about to outwardly look flustered about this though, he’d been in little mishaps before and he’d always come out of them on the right side of things. This was just another one of those, Krennic told himself he had nothing to worry about. Something else was pressing on the lieutenant’s mind as she watched him move around, and Suraya wasn’t thinking as she interrupted him to voice it. “Where’s your cape?” Suraya wasn’t sure he wore it all the time. Did he wear it when he relaxed? There weren’t so many times she’d seen Krennic in civvies or ever had a reason to come over here, unless it was for an early morning pre-meeting briefing; by which time he was usually up and dressed. But he was certainly in his uniform right now – so, where was the most iconic piece of it? Then Krennic really did go red and in his attempt to stutter through a sentence, couldn’t, and had to sit down, running his hands over his face. Then it all clicked; this was what was so urgent. It wasn’t that the rebels had come here, upturned his place, perhaps stolen documents – Krennic was annoyed about that but he wasn’t bothered by it. The information he was about to impart to her was his top concern. “It’s gone.” He managed, muffled slightly behind his hands. Okay, but he had more, right? Krennic wasn’t the type of man to keep one copy of a uniform around, especially when he was so picky about tailoring. Those poor imperial tailors were yelled at if there was even so much as a stitch wrong. She was pretty sure that he’d even stood over their shoulders to watch them remake it after he’d sent it back. “There’s more than just one, isn’t there?” If there wasn’t, he at least had a rainwear version he could substitute until they made him another. Krennic just shook his head, but still wasn’t looking up. Suraya crossed to his wardrobe, pulling it open and immediately seeing the problem. She stepped back with a gasp. By ‘it’s gone’ Krennic didn’t just mean the cape, he meant his entire closet was empty. No uniforms, no finely tailored suits (that he spent who knows how many credits on just so he was on trend), nothing. There was a single note stuck to the inside of the door, which upon reading Suraya found was indeed from the rebellion – but also fairly unrepeatable. She untacked it and walked back to him. “…Well, that’s a story you’ll have to tell Uniform.” “They’ll make my life hell.” He protested, suddenly regretting all the times he’d had them redo his clothing over one stitch, finally taking his head out of his hands and looking up at her, “I can’t leave my house like this!” “At least you have a uniform, Sir.” Was the best she could do, and by the looks of it Krennic also had whatever he’d been wearing last night, so not all was lost. Still, Suraya knew why she’d been called here, “I’ll put an expedited request in for you.” He nodded, and opened his mouth to verbally agree, when there was another sharp knock at his door that demanded both of their attention. “Director Krennic! Open this door at once!” Her heart dropped and Krennic groaned, “This is just what I need!” He stood, turning back to his assistant, “I TOLD you not to say anything.” “I didn’t! It’s not like I knew this had anything to do with the rebels before I got here-!” Suraya would have hit him with her data pad if she thought it would get her anywhere. Krennic swivelled from the door to her and then back to the door, “Then how the hell does Tarkin know!?” Forced to play defensive she held her hands up, and said her next sentence almost hopefully, “We don’t know he does, maybe that’s not what he’s here for!” ***  Krennic took the deepest of deep breaths as he cracked the door open, leaving Suraya to stand to attention on one side of the room, data pad behind her back keeping it dead straight, a trick she’d learned was pretty useful as a cadet. “Governor Tarkin, how may I assist you?” “Let us in, Director, my day is very busy and I don’t have time for this, particularly.” Tarkin was curt as ever, it didn’t help Orson’s mood. “Time for what?” Clearly Krennic’s feign of ignorance wasn’t making him friends. “Oh, out of the way, Krennic! We spotted some Rebel insurgents leaving atmosphere and on breaking down the contrails of their craft and fuel particles in the atmosphere, it appears they came from your apartment. Now I don’t wish to accuse you of treason, but if you want to confess it might make things easier.” The lieutenant found herself suddenly wishing Krennic hadn’t dragged her into this first, so she could be saved from watching these two argue again. The Director scowled as he was forced to open his door wider on the chaos of his apartment.  “Oh dear!” Although as Tarkin waltzed in it was clearly only said as a formality, and the sharp smile on his face let Suraya know he was about to lord this over her boss. He was followed in by no less than five other imperials, all young looking protégés, eager to survey the scene for themselves. She would suppose even if they found forensic evidence, Krennic wasn’t about to be told of it, and it also didn’t look like they were about to be too careful with his remaining things. Once Tarkin had acknowledged her presence at the scene and turned back to Krennic, still scowling, Suraya made her way quickly across the room to kick Krennic’s discarded clothing under the bed. Maybe the kids wouldn’t put two and two together, but Tarkin certainly would. Rebels were scandals themselves without a potential sleeping-with-the-enemy situation. “It seems to be a bit of a mess you find yourself in, Director.” “It’s hardly of my own doing.” Krennic straightened, defensive, “There were far more of them than I, I fought back but was unfortunately blindsided.” “I see no evidence of force entry.” Suraya shook her head subtly as Krennic’s eyes flicked momentarily to her; if he wanted to go that way, he probably should have opened a window or the balcony doors or… something. “Well, no, as it turns out I let them in.” She couldn’t see Tarkin’s face, but his movement and the freeze of the others in the room said everything. Krennic’s eyes momentarily flickered in panic but he controlled it, “I expected to see my assistant returning to de-brief me on the meeting I sent her to this morning.” Suraya did everything in her power not to look pissed that he’d just thrown her to the wolves instead, with Tarkin immediately turning, but it was not her he addressed, “I believe I know the briefing the lieutenant attended, which you also therefore would have known did not finish until after the incident took place. Why would you expect her so early?” Krennic shrugged coolly, “Sometimes they end early.” This wasn’t untrue, of course, but it was a big bluff. It didn’t explain why Krennic wouldn’t have checked who was knocking. Also if Tarkin had the inclination to check the call log, it would show that the Director also began his tirade of calls after the rebels had left. Krennic, having become suddenly useless, was dismissed, for Tarkin to turn back to her. “Lieutenant. When you arrived did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” Suraya could see Krennic gesturing out of the corner of her eye but ignored him. “Besides the whole place being over turned, nothing Sir.” Although she tilted her head, before pausing, immediately thinking better of it. “Lieutenant?” It didn’t get passed Tarkin. “I just don’t understand why they would take the Director’s wardrobe, Sir.” The word ‘take’ obviously alerted Tarkin to something else, and his eyes darted around the room again, Krennic walked forward, clearly bumping Tarkin’s arm on purpose as he strolled to the closet to present evidence. You watched the Governor’s little smile widen in amusement, before he became serious again, “Well, well, Director. You better check they’ve not stolen anything important. Especially with the project you’re working on.” “Anything of significance is with Galen.” Krennic disliked how quick he was to address that point, he didn’t want Tarkin to know how irked he was. “Still, it would be best to check. I believe that your personal data pad will have been here along with some files. Something as significant as those would not have escaped the rebels notice.” Krennic’s teeth gritted, as he indicated back to the closet; “My WARDROBE is gone!!” Suraya was right, that was the most important thing to him. Tarkin’s eyes flicked to hers, and they shared the same exchange of exasperation, unable to quite comprehend why clothing was at the forefront of Krennic’s mind. “As I was saying…” She almost chuckled as Tarkin made it clear on what he perceived as important and it was not Krennic’s lack of uniform, “There’ll be consequences if anything is missing, Director! This is already a dire security breach.” Ironically Krennic thought that was a little dramatic, but simply grumbled to himself as Tarkin took his forensics team back and exited the apartment. The Director was just glad to get them out of his hair. “Security breach.” He muttered, “You’d think I handed them the whole damn Project Stardust!” Suraya sighed gently as she made her way back over to him, “For now, Sir, I believe we should figure out exactly what data has been taken. And report it up the chain as soon as possible, less Tarkin find a reason to return. Then we can get your uniform re-ordered.” He turned those blue eyes back on her, at least a little brighter at that idea than they had looked when she arrived, “Yes. Let’s… let’s do that.” *** It took a couple of days to overturn the damage that the rebels had done and take stock of what was actually missing. Krennic had retrieved his personal data pad, and they hadn’t managed to gain access to the most important discs in his desk. Nor his own weapon, thankfully. That didn’t mean data packs and other things of value weren’t looted. Krennic had to go through the ordeal of cancelling a lot of his access pips and cards – but they arrived fairly quickly from the Intelligence Bureau, reset. Suraya remained with him to assist the clean-up operation and order his uniform; this took a little longer to arrive and by the end of the second day Krennic was starting to get antsy. “What takes them so long!?” “Well you do have very exacting standards, Sir!” “Exactly! So they should know how to do it by now. Did I not specify clearly enough!?” She wasn’t about to answer that question. If his previous interactions with them were anything to go by the urgent note she’d placed on it was being wholly ignored and the Director would be constantly bumped to the back of the queue. She couldn’t say she’d blame them, either. On the morning of the third day, as they both anxiously awaited the results of their carefully worded email detailing exactly what documentation the rebels had stolen, Krennic received another knock at the door. “If this is Tarkin-” Suraya wasn’t about to tell him to keep a level head, but she did give him a look to tell him not to blow up. He opened the door to a woman dressed in civilian clothing, even though it appeared that she possessed rank pins. She had bright pink hair and light eyes and as she moved her hair flew as if she was starring in some kind of commercial. “Director Krennic? My name is Kora, I’m here about your uniform.” “About time it turned up!” He took a pace back in order for her to walk in, “Are you from Uniform? Next time you ought to tell them that when I say urgent, I mean same day-” Kora wasn’t done talking, and she turned back to him, saying rather bluntly, “Request denied. For letting the rebellion enter and steal documentation of the upmost importance to the Empire, YOU are going to star in a documentary about Empire approved businesses.” There was silence in the room for a moment and Krennic wore a half smile as he tried to work out if she was serious. Kora simply stared him down, and as the Director’s face fell, Suraya once again wished she wasn’t in the room. “No.” Suraya couldn’t tell if that was Krennic refusing or his own disbelief. Kora knew which way she was taking it. “Well it better be a yes before I go back, Director, or you’ll be in hot lava.” Krennic’s eyes widened and no one was under any illusions as to what he was thinking; “Not Mustafar again-!” There had to be a way out, he wasn’t about to waste his time on this! “This documentary will be of the upmost importance Director. Lord Vader and the Governor only hope that you will take it seriously.” Suraya couldn’t help giggling behind her hand at this. It wasn’t the being in front of a camera, it wasn’t the thought of doing a documentary on business – or fashion - it was that Krennic was being forced into this by a man he hated. Krennic cleared his throat, once more folding his arms as he looked back to Kora, giving her a single nod. “Very well, but there is nothing in my wardrobe that isn’t tailored to within an inch of its life and most of it is from high end shops, some of which are on Lexrul.” Krennic was a very big advocate of his home planet after all, so he’d expect at least one part of this documentary to take place there, “So you better have budget!” Instead of agreeing Kora simply smiled, in the same way that Tarkin had a habit of, “Oh no, Director, we’re highlighting small businesses that scrape by for a living, right here on Coruscant, to show our support and cater to all audiences.” Suraya thought that his face fell even faster than it had with Tarkin around, and she also didn’t think that livid covered it. “WHAT!?” “That’s the deal Director.” “It’s not much of a DEAL!” “It’s the one I’m giving you, I can take it elsewhere… and I’m sure that Lord Vader and Governor Tarkin would love to hear why you couldn’t do it.” The Director looked desperately to Suraya, but she wasn’t sure what she could say. How could, at her position, she possibly rescue him from what Tarkin wanted?

Realising indeed that his assistant wouldn’t be much aid to him, Krennic’s eyes fell back to Kora and he swallowed hard, smile feigning confidence - but also a little nervous. “Well then, I suppose I will accept your offer.” This time Kora’s returned smile was warm and sweet, “That’s great news, Director Krennic.” She took a step forward and extended her hand to him, “Well, as series producer and director, I’m very much looking forward to working with you. Welcome to the team.” Suraya bit her lip as she watched him step down to shake Kora’s hand, hoping he wasn’t crossing his fingers behind his back: this could be huge for Krennic if he used this opportunity wisely. Things were about to get interesting around here...

---

Thank you for reading! 😘😘

I really am SO excited to bring you the rest of this

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa. (The one where I had to cheat a little - these are not all letters, per se. But it still fun, I think!)

Chapter Nineteen: The Ketterdam Daily Ledger

LANKSROON BAKERY ORDER FORM

Customer Information

Name: K. Brekker

Delivery Address: Fifth Harbor

Rush Processing: Yes

Payment Method: Cash plus rush deposit, paid in advance

Order Specifications:

Five layer chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, raspberry drizzle, fresh raspberries

Two dozen sugared waffles with apple syrup

Special Instructions:

Just don’t fuck it up.

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

(in a package containing a folded up newspaper)  

Look! We’re headline news. My father will be so pleased…to never read this, ever. Seriously, I will murder anyone who sends this to him. I’m a little tempted to buy up every copy, but Wylan’s keeping the cheque book under lock and key.

In any case, here it is, in all its glory. Your wanted sketch is so mysterious and glamorous! They got Wylan’s all wrong, and he’s quite put out about it. See if Brekker wants one framed for The Slat. I have plenty of extras.

The dust is settling here. Life is slowly resuming a bit of normalcy now that the Dregs have returned to The Slat. Anika’s at the reins for the interim, and there’s been very little activity from Stadhall. No inquiry whatsoever. I can’t shake the feeling Kaz has something to do with that. Ask him for me?  

- Jesper  

P.S. – Ambroos is waiting at the window again. He does it every afternoon around lunch time. Let Kaz know.  

THE KETTERDAM DAILY LEDGER

Stadhall In Shambles

Explosion at the Stadwatch’s central headquarters releases dozens of alleged criminals back into Ketterdam’s streets; Foul play suspected, officials report

By A. Van Poel

Stadwatch officers are investigating the cause of a massive explosion that occurred last night in the northern sector of Stadhall in Ketterdam, as well as varying reports of what led up to the event. Citizens of Ketterdam are advised to remain vigilant after dozens of detainees who were awaiting trial are now on the loose following the eruption that tore away wide sections of Stadhall’s northern wall.

According to sources within Stadhall, investigators have set their sights on tracking down accomplices of a privateer known only as The Wraith, who is said to have connections to criminal networks in East Stave.

The Wraith was one of the dozens of detainees who escaped last night, and is described by officers as of a young female of Suli descent, slight of stature and build.

“Don’t let her fool you,” said Stadwatch Chief Inspector Hoedemann, in a statement to The Ketterdam Daily Ledger. “The Wraith is a serious threat and should be considered armed and dangerous. Anyone with information as to her whereabouts should report the tip directly to Stadhall. And absolutely no one should attempt to engage her or her associates without the assistance of law enforcement.”

Rumors swirled last night as multiple sources speculated on sightings of a rogue Grisha Corporalki and possibly a Materialki working in connection with The Wraith, but as of this morning, these rumors had not been confirmed. Speculation on what this could imply regarding Ravka’s involvement in the explosion also remained unconfirmed.

In a statement released by Stadwatch Chief Inspector Hoedemann, the events last night began after a Zemeni man dressed as a Stadwatch guard led in three detainees he was said to have arrested. It was later discovered that the arrest warrants as well as the man’s identification had been forged. Chief Inspector Hoedemann released the following sketches to The Ketterdam Daily Ledger of the man and his cohorts, who are believed to have been assistants of The Wraith.

(in Kaz’s handwriting in the margin: “Assistants”?!?! Inej has drawn a devilish little smiley face.)

In the timeline of events shared by Chief Inspector Hoedemann, the four – three male and one female – are alleged to have walked the length of the Stadwatch detainment cells as this time, as many sources reported multiple sightings around the same time in the evening.

“It is my belief,” said Chief Inspector Hoedemann, “that it was during this period of time that the suspects were discovering the whereabouts of The Wraith’s detainment and possibly other associates of The Wraith that were to be freed in last night’s operation.”

Chief Inspector Hoedemann also reported that the four seemed to have knowledge of the inner workings of Stadwatch personnel and patrolling, as, according to the timeline, they appear to have waited until a particular guard shift change to put their plan into motion. This raised many questions among reporters as to a possible inside connection to Stadwatch officers themselves; however, Chief Inspector Hoedemann emphatically denied these rumors.

“Each one of my officers holds themselves to the highest standard of integrity that the good people of Ketterdam have come to expect of their lawmen,” Chief Inspector Hoedemann said.

Multiple Stadwatch officers who were on duty that night reported that they recognized the female in the group, the suspected Grisha Corporalki, but none would go on record about neither her identity nor how they might have known her.

“I will just say she’s a wiley one,” said one officer, who spoke to reporters with the promise of anonymity, “and leave it at that. She’s like no other Grisha I’ve ever seen.”

The suspected Ravkan Corporalki, described as tall and alluring, is suspected to have distracted the Stadwatch patrolmen while her associates met The Wraith at her detainment cell.

Other eye-witnesses are not as convinced that The Wraith was working in connection with these suspects as Chief Inspector Hoedemann would have the public believe. One Stadwatch officer, who asked only to be known as Officer B., was reported to be down the hall from where the suspects were releasing The Wraith. It is suspected they used a Materialki, as no keys were found missing and no damage had been done to the lock.

“I think they were kidnapping her,” Officer B. speculated. “Maybe revenge or something. From what I could see, it looked like The Wraith was trying to wrestle one of them, the tall one with the funny haircut. At one point, she had him pinned against the far wall, but I guess he won out in the end.”

It is one of multiple opinions about the nature of the relationship between The Wraith and the mysterious four who helped her escape.

“That wasn’t wrestling,” said another eyewitness who wished to remain anonymous. “They were obviously lovers. She was snogging his face the minute they let her out. I think he was an art thief or something. It sounded like she was asking about the art, and he was telling her she could do whatever she wanted with it. He must’ve stolen something for her.”

“Kind of romantic,” he added, “if you’re willing to overlook the illegal nature of it and the complete lack of conscience.”

Chief Inspector Hoedemann would not comment on the nature of the relationship of the two suspects, only that it was clear that all five were familiar with each other on some level.

“We are interested in protecting the public from some very dangerous criminals, not spreading folk lore and entertaining the public,” he told reporters.

Hoedemann has reason to want to wrap the case up quickly and air-tight, as he is running for election to the Merchant Council this year. His handling of the attack on Stadhall is seen by many as a make-or-break moment in his campaign. Many of his would-be constituents are already scratching their heads at how so many of his officers could have been witness to the events and yet were powerless to stop it or apprehend the suspects in the wake of the explosion.

According to reports obtained from Stadhall by The Ketterdam Daily Ledger, at least twelve different Stadwatch guards reported being stopped by the alleged Corporalki or were within range of The Wraith at the time of her escape. Chief Inspector Hoedemann confirmed that there was a significant confrontation that occurred between his officers and the five suspects in the hallways just outside of the detainment cells, but did not report if anyone had been injured during the skirmish.

“By my count, at least a dozen shots were fired off,” Officer B. told reporters. “But the Materialki could stop them all. And the Corporalki…could do something that terrified us all. The lights…the air…it felt like we were being suffocated by dead hands.”

Most eye-witnesses have refused to comment on the nature of the Corporalki’s small science, only that it frightened them, causing several to turn and run.

“We thought at first that we’d had them surrounded - outnumbered two to one,” said Officer B. “But it didn’t matter.”

One thing all reports have agreed on: the smallest of the suspects, a male, was the one to carry in the explosive. And when it seemed as though they were cornered, he used it – but not before the suspected Materialki had loosened all the locks on the detainment cells.

“One moment, it seemed like we could turn the tide,” said an anonymous witness, “and then in the next, a whole wall was blowing out. And there was mayhem all down the hall – all the cell doors were rattling open in the debris. Everyone was running for the hole, into the night.”

The explosion took down all internal communications within Stadhall for hours, and amidst whatever small science the Ravkan Corporalki was using, only a handful of Stadwatch guards managed to follow the escapees into the debris.

None, however, returned.

“We want to assure everyone that this was not a random act,” said Chief Inspector Hoedemann in his statement. “This was an organized, prepared attack for the sole purpose of freeing The Wraith, and, for the majority of Ketterdam, as long as you are not an associate of these people, you are as safe as you have always been within our city limits. The structural damage to our headquarters in no way hinders our ability to carry out our duties to the people of Ketterdam, and I can give every assurance that all is reparable and will be put right long before election day.”

As for any current leads about The Wraith’s whereabouts today, investigators have had nothing to show. But Officer B. put it best.

“She’s a pirate,” he said. “She could be anywhere in the world by now.”

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

Dear Mr. Brekker,  

This is to send my gratitude for your very generous campaign donation. I am interested in hearing your terms in regards to becoming a regular contributor to our cause and would be happy to discuss it further either in person or in continued correspondence.  

I thank you for your continued patronage and support of the Merchant Council.

With gratitude,

Chief Inspector Hoedemann

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

My dearest, loveliest Inej (for you are mine, after all, no matter what Brekker insists),

We did not have anywhere near enough time to celebrate and catch up in the aftermath of this whirlwind adventure, so I’m writing this down. In my haste to come to your aid, I left all the letters I’ve been writing you in Fjerda, so one of these days, you’re going to get a massive envelope, but in the meantime, you’ll have this for now.  

Saints, it was so good to see all of your faces again, but especially yours. This was somehow not at all and exactly the proper reunion we all needed, and not just because of the monstrous mountain of cake that I still can’t believe Brekker had delivered to the harbor in the midst of a goddamn getaway. What have you done to him? Or has kruge actually fulfilled his cold, empty heart after all? (I would like to reiterate that it may have been the best cake I've ever eaten, but don't let it go to his head.)

I tease, love – there was a time when I would not have wished love on either of you, but you’re here now, and I cannot imagine it any other way. The sea suits you, and he suits you, and you suit him, and if I could somehow alchemize the feeling of seeing you happy into a flavor of waffle, I’d be the richest woman in Ketterdam. Brekker, too. You can even tell him I said so.

So, while I’m sad to leave you again for a little while, know that I’m cherishing these moments and they will sustain me for months. Change can happen so slowly sometimes, it can feel as if it will never happen at all. But seeing you this time – you and your mad, sloppy prison-kissing and your chocolate-cake-filled face – and how your brilliance feeds and fuels the people around you, the people who love you, I feel I’ve caught a glimpse of the other side. Even people like Brekker can be happy. Even people like me.  

You slurp up every moment of goodness in your getaway. You are not a criminal slinking away into the night. You are a mastermind seizing her bit of the world.

Until we are together again, love,  

Nina

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

Dearest Jesper,

Kaz is annoyed that the paper called his haircut funny, and he’s not thrilled at all at the prospect of having that framed. But don’t throw them all out yet. Maybe he’ll change his tune by the time we get back to Ketterdam.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Jesper, I don’t know what I would have done without you, and that goes equally for Wylan. Kaz would be dead, and I probably would be, too. You held us all together like the valiant and steadfast true friend you have always been. Kaz agrees – begrudgingly and in far fewer words, but he agrees.  

Kiss Wylan and Ambroos for us. Well, fine, for me. Kaz just made a face, but I know, deep down, he wants to make sure Ambroos is patted and kissed, too.  

We’ve a long journey ahead of us to Leflin, and I’m not sure yet how long we will be in Novyi Zem. A couple months, I think, if I can have my way, and I think I can. We’ll have a more celebratory reunion when we return than this last one, I promise.

With all our love,  

Inej and Kaz

(in Kaz’s handwriting)

P.S. – Dogs respond to body language and consistency. Try not to ruin him while I’m gone.

[blamethebanana]

Character Study : Pansy Parkinson

Like many characters in Harry Potter, Pansy is one of those whose vocation is only to represent oneself absolute evil or the greatest good. They are as deep as a breaded fish and are reduced only to their function.

Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin in her greatest role.

Maleficent, hateful, manipulative, selfish, cruel, cowardly. So many adjectives that describe the Slytherins of the original series who are neither Draco Malfoy, nor Severus Rogue, nor so insignificant that we forgot until their very existence.

Ah yes, I forget Slughorn, but it corresponds to another snapshot of the Slytherin, elitism even if it means ignoring those it considers banal and without talent, see stupid as well as ugliness. Yes, apart from Draco Malfoy and young Tom Riddle, Slytherins are doomed to be ugly or fat, or both.

(This statement can be corrected with Fantastic Beasts or The Cursed Child, but let's face it even if the first is absolutely great, they are both a way for Rowling to limit criticism of the original works by putting more complex characters, different ethnicities and different sexual orientations - although the representation of the LGBT community goes more through Ezra Miller than through Dumbledore, let's face it.)

Pansy is also described as a sadistic person with an evil spirit, who likes to harass his little comrades, faults corresponding to the image given to all Slytherins during the books. She uses her vicious spirit to enter the good graces of Draco Malfoy with whom she seems in love.

The complexity of Pansy Parkinson?

At first glance, in JK Rowling's work, none of the Slytherins outside of Draco, Regulus Black, Narcissa and Rogue have complex personalities. Yes even Voldemort, but it is another subject that I would raise in the future.

Yet ... Pansy Parkinson has the potential to be so much more than the obedient little dog who attacks in place of his master, and when that could be explained.

Pansy Parkinson belongs to one of the twenty-eight sacred and although the place of the woman in the society of the purebloods is not specially described, it is implied that the role of a woman does not differ from that a few centuries earlier. Give birth and stay at home. Molly Weasley being pureblood, we can use it as an example. In addition, the Pureblood Suprematists, sometimes affectionately named Death Eater, have very few women in their rank, they are counted as two - Narcissa excluded. Pansy would therefore have lived in a society where his role was to be led by a man, only to be given to another. The Malfoy family being powerful and influential, it is not surprising that her ambition is focused on them, even if it means being an object for sale, as much as being sold to an owner who can bring us a few things.

Pansy is only bad because that is probably all she has been taught to be. She's probably just a scared little girl trying to cope. Character strength is often something that Fanon associates with Pansy due to her assertive tongue which is canon and which would be a protective mechanism.

If Pansy lived in a loveless home, with outdated ideas about the place of the destined woman, it is not difficult to imagine what her father, a death eater, could do with her. In addition, Pansy has no brother, and seems to be an only daughter, so it marks the end of the Parkinson lineage, and that even with a beautiful marriage should not help to be better seen by his family, like Leta Lestrange .

Pansy is therefore moved by the fear hidden behind a cruel facade induced by a childhood that could have been difficult for her. She could also have created in her a need for recognition from her peers, in particular the recognition of Draco Malfoy.

This argument is reinforced by the big scene from Pansy Parkinson. You don't know what I'm talking about? When she yells to hand Harry over to Voldemort to “save” them all of the battle of Hogwarts. It is not the actions of a Death Eater, but rather of a terrified person, which is reinforced by the fact that he is not taken part in the war.

The appearance of Pansy Parkinson?

Like many characters from Slytherin, her physique is described as unsightly. Would it be a feature to enter the house? Only Blaise, Draco, the Black sisters, and a young Tom Riddle seem to have been spared the curse of the ugliness that descends on the house.

We therefore have two options: The first is the most likely, it is simply that the story is told from the point of view of a Gryffindor who coats Gryffindors and that Pansy is an ugly Slytherin, the judgment that carries Harry Potter or even Hermione Granger on her physique are therefore biased by their enmity. Indeed, Rita Skeeter describes Pansy as vivacious and pretty. Is this true? Or does she compliment her because of the information she provides?

The second option is sad. Pansy was touched by the Slytherin ugly curse.

Why is the universe that fans create so important?

Does this question need to be answered? Harry Potter features a lot of characters who are ignored, or categorized by their action and where their character trait is often pushed to exaggeration. And that allows us to have a different vision of them, like Percy who is only limited to his ambition, Charlie to his dragons - thank god Hogwart's mystery is there -, Crabbe and Goyle have their stupid looks and their gorilla builds, Oliver Wood has his viceral need to win the Quidditch or Lavender and her relationship with Ron and her taste for gossip and superficality.

We thank JK Rowling for giving the world the universe of Harry, but we can never congratulate the fans enough for what they have done with it, an open place where everyone is accepted and where the characters are human., with more complexity than being kind or mean.

I can understand that we can't develop all the characters, but two lines on them that offer more than "She sold Harry first, and then she said bad things about Neville and Parvati, and what's more a Slytherin! ".

So thank you to those who made Pansy a lesbian with a strong character or a powerful feminist with a strong voice. You gave her what she deserved.

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: The Murdock Papers, Part 2

Bendis is going out with a bang, y’all! This is the back half of “The Murdock Papers” (DD v2 76-81), Bendis/Maleev. In Part 1, Matt and Elektra were on the hunt for the titular Murdock Papers, a file of proof the Kingpin had amassed that proved Daredevil’s identity. They’re in the middle of brawling in the street with Bullseye when Matt is shot by a sniper working for the FBI.

...And then he vanishes before the FBI can collect him.

Oh, and also? Fisk has a little surprise for everyone:

There are no Murdock Papers! But if they find Matt Murdock and he has a bullet wound exactly where Daredevil was just shot, well...that’s even better, isn’t it?

(Side note: I have absolutely no idea how a file proving that Matt Murdock is Daredevil would have kept Fisk’s underlings in line, especially since Fisk was under the impression that his underlings didn’t even know Matt’s secret until recently, as per Bendis’s own storyline. This strikes me as Bendis writing himself into a hole and climbing out somewhat inelegantly three issues later.)

Meanwhile, Milla is still naked:

All Milla really does from here on out is have hysterics. I’m sorry. Anyway Natasha is there to get Milla to safety, as she promised Matt she would, but Milla is understandably distracted and upset by the news story that Daredevil is dead.

Back to the FBI! The problem with using the bullet wound as proof that Matt is Daredevil is that they have no idea where Matt is. But Fisk has a guess - or rather, he’s pretty sure that Ben knows.

See, Elektra would undoubtedly have taken a wounded Matt to the Night Nurse. And Ben knows how to find the Night Nurse:

Yeah, Leland has gone completely off the rails here. Ben is furious (he actually physically attacks Fisk, which is why the FBI is holding him in the first panel up there), but he’s still faced with a choice: give up Matt, or face federal charges.

Meanwhile, Luke and Danny take Foggy somewhere safe to hole up:

I don’t know who this cheerful hausfrau is, but she’s not Jessica “Fuck You” Jones. I’m guessing her fuller figure is meant to imply that she’s currently pregnant, but that doesn’t explain the a) babushka and peasant scarf, b) completely different face, and c) pleasant demeanor. But then, Foggy looks like an unemployed garment worker from 1890 in that top right panel, so who even knows what’s happening here.

Anyway now both of Matt’s spouses know he’s “dead.” Anxiety abounds!

Well, actually, Milla has the advantage over Foggy, because Natasha has taken her to the Night Nurse’s clinic, so she knows that Matt is dying but not actually dead. Also, Elektra has shown up with the Hand, which she is currently in charge of, because we need another reason to have a bunch of women screaming at each other over Matt. Luckily the Hand has ~mystic healing powers~ which they are using on Matt:

God, how much would I love a scene with this many women without the arbitrary hostility and Orientalism? (I would totally buy organic hostility between Natasha and Elektra based on their jobs. But not based on Matt, who Natasha knows - and Elektra knows intellectually if not emotionally - is not worth it.)

WAIT LOOK AT THAT LAST PANEL, OH DANG BEN TOLD THE FBI WHERE MATT IS

Hey, you know who’s outside with the FBI? A whole bunch of Hand assassins, who are not just going to let the FBI round them up! Which means they start fighting the FBI. Which means Luke and Danny, who have just arrived with Foggy, stuff Foggy back in the car and start fighting the FBI, because even though technically the Hand is currently on Matt’s side, Luke and Danny can’t let FBI agents be killed by zombie assassins.

So to recap: FBI fighting the Hand fighting Luke and Danny outside, Milla having hysterics inside, Foggy having hysterics in a car, Natasha and Elektra are also there somewhere, and Matt, having regained consciousness, decides that enough is enough. There’s too much risk of someone getting seriously hurt here.

So he turns himself in:

Natasha keeps Luke and Danny out of jail, but there’s nothing she can do for Matt. And so:

AW BUDDY. :(

The last issue of this storyline begins at Matt’s arraignment. The judge asks Matt what he pleads and Matt absolutely spaces out, leaving Foggy, as always, carrying the ball:

DO NOT DO THIS TO FOGGY, MATTHEW, DO NOT...

Aw beans, you did it.

Matt makes his way to a rendezvous point and meets up with two of his girls and arguably the silliest accessory he has ever worn, Mike era included:

Please note that Matt has dyed his hair black to enter France, as is tradition. Also, he and Milla look so stereotypically Parisian right now that they are probably actively offensive to the French. Natasha why did you do this to them.

ANYWAY WHO CARES, LOOK AT THAT DIALOGUE. “Tell him I love him.” “He knows.” “He might now.” I’M CRYING.

Matt’s blissful life as a fugitive is cut short almost immediately, though, as he wakes in the middle of the night to find Milla lying dead beside him. (I decided to spare y’all the sight of yet another murdered woman in these recaps.) It’s Bullseye, of course, who has tracked Matt down. Matt pursues him, and in the ensuing fight does the unthinkable (but arguably necessary):

Unfortunately for Matt, there are witnesses, who run off shouting in what I’m pretty sure is grammatically incorrect French. Matt flees to the only person who will take him in:

Speaking of walking sartorial stereotypes, hoo boy Elektra’s outfit.

Anyway, Matt and Elektra have sex, but he quickly decides he can’t stay with her for long:

Wait, what’s this? Why is Elektra referring to Matt as “Mister Murdock” in the last panel?

BECAUSE NONE OF IT EVER HAPPENED!!! Matt is still standing in court deciding how to plead!

I find this whole sequence simultaneously utterly hilarious and utterly infuriating. This is what’s going through Matt’s mind? “What if I ran away? Milla and I could move to France. But then Bullseye would probably kill her. Then I’d have to kill him, and then I’d have to go to Elektra, and then we’d have a sex scene which I will now imagine in detail, and then...” Why are you fantasizing about unrelated murder and having sex with your ex-girlfriend right now, Matt??? This is so off the rails. It's like a dead serious Simpsons gag. It’s an R-rated If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Also, please bear in mind that that sequence above takes up almost the whole issue. If I’d waited a month for that issue and paid for it individually instead of binge reading on Marvel Unlimited, I’d be furious.

Moving on! Matt’s been to Japan 7 times in the past 7 years? We’ve only ever seen one trip, and that was way back in the O’Neil run. But sure.

Matt is denied bail. His friends are dismayed:

WHO BOUGHT STEVE THAT TERRIBLE TIE. WHO DID THAT TO HIM.

Matt is carted back to Rikers Island, but he’s not the only one:

Sure, they dropped the charges against Fisk, but there’s always new stuff to charge him with! And so Fisk is packed off to Rikers (the real world NYC jail, FYI), along with the Owl, and a couple other familiar friends we’ll see in the next storyline.

(When I first described the conclusion of this storyline to @puzzleboat​, she sent me the following image, and I still find it highly accurate and hilarious:

Apologies to anyone not old enough to remember that extremely controversial series finale.)

Hmm, locked in a prison with tons of people with good reason to hate him, including several of his rogues? Doesn’t look good for Matt, does it?

Next up: The Devil in Cell Block D, and the death of Foggy Nelson.

[godzillajuniorreborn]

Godzilla King of the Monsters review

In memory of my father. Even though we didn't always see eye-to-eye, without him, I would've never become the fan of Godzilla I am today. Thanks, Dad.

Here it is, my belated review of the recent American Godzilla movie that serves as the sequel to Gareth Edwards' 2014 cinematic reboot and the third installment in the Monsterverse. I saw this movie on Sunday with my mom and brother. Let me just say this to the critics who bashed this movie. I am so sorry this movie doesn't pander to your standards. I'm sorry this movie doesn't exactly have a hidden agenda for you to latch on to. I'm sorry this movie was made for the fans of Godzilla and Kaiju in general. But, you should have known, after seeing the trailers, this movie was going to be a monster slugfest. I also find your critiques very hypocritical since you're more willing to bash this movie yet give praise to the MCU despite those movies not being in the realm of reality. With that said, let's get on to the review.

Story: Five years have passed since mankind bore witness to the rise of Godzilla and the very staggering realization that monsters do exist. Now, humanity is aware of the gigantic beasts known as Titans. However, a dark plan to overthrow humanity and return the rule of Earth to the Titans is underway as an eco-terrorist and rogue Monarch agent let loose a powerful, dragon-like Titan locked away within Antarctica named King Ghidorah whose very presence can summon Category 6 hurricanes all over the world. As humanity faces a worldwide monster apocalypse, Monarch finds itself in a race against time to stop the evil Ghidorah as Godzilla and the other Titans, including the lepidopteran Mothra and the pterosaur-like Rodan, are on a collision course for a battle to decide the fate of the world and who reigns on top as "King of the Monsters".

Let's start with the cons. Just a warning, there WILL be spoilers:

1. The pacing: The first half of the movie feels like it goes a little bit too fast. In the first thirty minutes, we are introduced to Mothra, Ghidorah's awakening in Antarctica as well as his first battle with Godzilla, Rodan's introduction, Godzilla getting incapacitated by the Oxygen Destroyer, and Ghidorah taking control over the other Titans. Luckily, the movie slows down in the second act and allows the audience to catch their breath.

2. Not a lot of Titans: Despite the movie having a total of about twenty Titans, the only ones to get any screen time dedicated to them are the Main Four (Godzilla, Mothra, Rodan, and King Ghidorah) as well as four new monsters (Behemoth, Scylla, Methuselah, and Bosmuto). That's a total of eight Kaiju out of at least twenty with the majority either being names on computer screens or a cameo from Kong. In addition, Rodan and Mothra don't appear that much in the film, mostly taking a backseat to Godzilla and King Ghidorah.

3. Some scenes feel incomplete: For example, there is a scene where Madison (Millie Bobby Brown's character) steals the ORCA, a device meant to communicate with Titans designed by her mother and father, and she does so with little to no effort at all, despite it being a key component in Alan Jonah's (Charles Dance's character) plans. You'd think for such a key instrument, he'd have someone at least guarding it. Heck, in the novelization, there's one guy protecting it who Madison takes out with a taser. In the movie, Maddie just swipes the device with no opposition whatsoever.

4. Emma Russell's Plan: In this movie Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga), after losing her son Andrew to Godzilla during the Battle of San Francisco, apparently went mad and decided to give the planet back to the Titans and is working with Alan Jonah, a former army colonel turned eco-terrorist to set about bringing forth a Kaiju apocalypse by setting loose the Titans from their hibernation and having them fix the planet's ecosystem. Yeah, while it is obvious she's being driven by five years worth of grief and she's not in the right mental state, here are two things wrong with her plan (Heck, even Jonah who is the film's main human villain calls her out on this.):

The Titan you have spear-heading this operation is a three-headed dragon who we later find out is from space and was so feared, ancient people refused to go into depth about him (which should be a major red flag that nobody wants to even acknowledge his existence).

Emma says the radiation brought up from the Titans results in new plant-life. Okay, this lady clearly hasn't heard of the effects radiation has on plant-life. Three words: Red. Forests. Chernobyl.

Granted, she kinda gets proven right, for as soon as the Titans are free, the world gets better, but, she was still willing to kick-start global genocide. When a former British Colonel turned eco-warrior is calling you out on your crap, then something's gone wrong.

Now, the pros:

1. The four main Kaiju: Godzilla, Rodan, Mothra, and King Ghidorah are all perfectly realized. As much as I loved the 2014 reboot, I felt like Godzilla could've had a few more scenes to it to flesh out his character. Here, Godzilla is the main character and we get a better grasp at his personality: a weathered, determined king who feels the weight of keeping the natural order in balance on his shoulders. Speaking of personalities, the other three Toho Kaiju have their own distinct personalities, though one gets a category on his own (and I'm pretty sure you know which one) with the stand outs being Rodan who has a hot-headed rogue feel to him but tends to showcase his loyalty to the current Alpha Titan while Mothra is purely benevolent and seems to have a touch of Anguirus' personality with her being loyal to Godzilla alone. I also think this may be the most aggressive incarnation of the Goddess of Peace since GMK.

2. King Ghidorah: The 1991 Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah film was the first Godzilla movie I ever saw, thus King Ghidorah was the first Godzilla villain I saw and he was TERRIFYING. I mean, he's a three-headed dragon the size of a building, that alone is scary. Michael Dougherty succeeded in reminding me why Ghidorah was a nightmare of my childhood. This version of the King of Terror is the most evil I've seen of the character, even more so than Grand King Ghidorah (and that's saying a lot considering that version of Ghidorah was willing to kidnap kids so he could suck them of their life-force as a snack). I like how each of his three heads have their own personalites; the center head being the cold, calculating, arrogant leader, the right head is smarter yet also more aggressive, and the left is an over-achieving, psychotic manchild that has to be kept in line by the center head. In addition, this is the one film villain of 2019 who is evil just for the sake of being evil. There is NOTHING worth sympathizing over. For starters, he's an alien dragon (Yeah, that's right, alien.They don't mince words on that either.) who wants to terraform Earth into his own liking (and it's implied he's done this to other planets as well). He has no conscience, no sympathy, no empathy, and no mercy. He's evil. Nothing more, nothing less. Putting it simply, Ghidorah is that one villain whom you're going to love simply on the grounds of how despicable he is.

3. The Music: The score for the movie by Bear McCeary is excellent. In addition to the classic Ifukube themes for Godzilla and Mothra, it also gives themes for Rodan and Ghidorah that fit them with Rodan having a fast-paced, bombastic theme and Ghidorah having a theme with the Heart Sutra as part of his leitmotif that makes him feel all the more demonic.  I also like the heroic theme given to Monarch.

4. The Human Characters: IMO, I found the human characters surprisingly likable and engaging. They were fleshed out (well, much more than you'd expect in a typical Godzilla movie) and had their own story arcs. My favorite characters would have to be Ishiro Serizawa (Ken Watanabe), Ilene Chen (Zhang Ziyi), Alan Jonah, and Rick Stanton (Brad Whitford).  Rick especially since his jokes are actually pretty good. I also like Alan considering he's not your typical Godzilla human villain who wants to use the Orca and turn the Titans into weapons of war, rather, he comes off more as a Miyazaki villain like Kushana or Lady Eboshi, in that he has good intentions (he's sick and tired of humanity's nonsense and it would be better if the Titans took back the planet), it's just his execution of this plan involved the near extinction of human civilization and the reliance on a three-headed, psychotic dragon from space. Also, Mark Russell (Kyle Chandler) is pretty much the anti-Haruo Sakaki. He holds a grudge against Godzilla, but even then he knows it's downright suicidal to try and fight him and, in the end, realizes the Big G's the only thing standing in the way of Ghidorah's machinations. Heck, some of his actions save more people as opposed to Haruo whose blind hatred towards Godzilla got people killed.  

5. NO! POLITICAL! AGENDA!: Seriously, am I the only one sick of seeing overly PC elements in movies nowadays? I mean, I get it, there should be more representation, but when those themes bring a film to a screeching halt, it feels more like propaganda posing as entertainment. Luckily, KOTM doesn't do that. If anything, it sticks closer to the themes of the Godzilla franchise (coexistence with Nature and what not) and the only political jab it made was a mention of a Titan attacking Stone Mountain. However, it's so brief and so quick, you'd miss it and it wouldn't change a damn thing. Heck, the only actual politics in the movie is a conference scene you'd expect to see in a Godzilla film. Not only that, but none of the main female characters (Emma, Madison, Ilene etc) are Mary Sues, not even Mothra who is the most powerful of the main female leads (yes, Mothra is technically a character) is all powerful. Emma, despite her stupid, STUPID plan, is clearly not thinking straight due to five years of mourning her son and going extreme with Serizawa's belief of the Titans bringing balance to Earth clearly isn't helping. So, yeah, this movie isn't trying to get Woke points, it's trying to tell a story.

6. The Action Sequences: Aside from one scene, most of the action in this movie is probably some of the best out of any Godzilla film, heck, it's some of the best action I've seen in a Kaiju movie in general. And, trust me, if the anime Godzilla trilogy left a bad taste in your mouth (not that I blame you), you can rest comfortably that we get a proper fight between Godzilla and King Ghidorah. Also, this is the first time we get to see Godzilla and Ghidorah really go at it.

Overall:

This movie was exactly what I wanted to see from an American Godzilla film. It was also the nice little pick-me-up after the utter disappointment that was the anime Godzilla trilogy. Frankly, I think Kong better have something up his sleeves when he and Godzilla have their cinematic rematch next year.

[19mrs-barnes17]

Love Makes You Reckless

Summary: You are a CSI and your boyfriend Billy Russo hasn’t been home in a few days. When a strange man comes looking, you begin fear the worst.

Part: 1/1

Warnings: cursing, blood, threats, angst?

Word count: 1,439

A/N: Requested by @drinix (27: “I vote we cuddle all day and do that tomorrow.”/ 35:“I love a good near death experience at 2 in the morning.” “It was just a spider.” “Exactly.” / 39:“Who does that?” “People. People do that.” “Ah, that explains it.”). Hope you enjoy!

“Hello?”

Silence. You could hardly stand the emptiness of the air around you. You hated the way it felt in your ears, the way it longed to be filled.

“Hello?!” Echoes. They were almost worse, like a taunt, like a laugh.

There should have been a response. He was supposed to be here, he was supposed to be sitting right there. You had hoped that it was all a dream.

How were you supposed to live like this? How could he do this to you? How could you let yourself rely so much on his warmth?

This was complete and utter bullshit.

“He’s not here. But, I think you already knew that. Didn’t you, (Y/N)?” His figure had been well hidden by the shadows.

“Who are you?” He laughs so easily, it makes you tense.

“It’s always that, only on the rare occasion is it ‘Why are you here?’.” You nearly scoffed, however, elected to bite your lip instead.

“That would imply that I know you which, last time I checked, I didn’t.” He raised a brow and his lip twitched into a smirk.

“Bold for only being a CSI.” He gradually stood, squaring his shoulders. “Perhaps that’s why he liked you.”

“That.” Your voice quivered with anger. “Is none of your business. So if we could get to the point, I’d rather appreciate it.”

“I need to know where he is.” Now, now you scoffed.

You turned your back on him and set your things in their place. He couldn’t kill you until he got what he wanted. You knew this well enough. Though it was your first time being a hostage, it wasn’t your first time around this kind of situation.

“I’m afraid I’m in a rush.”

“And I’m afraid I’m completely out of fucks to give.”

“You see, this is why he went rogue. You were filling his head with lies. Making him believe he could fight back? That. That was your biggest mistake.” In the light his pale blue eye stood out like a birthmark, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring.

“I didn’t fill his head with anything. He is a free man, capable of deciding shit on his own.”

“You gave him hope. And that was enough to spark a flame. Revolutions were built on such a thing.”

“Yes. Thank you for the history lesson. I don’t know where he is and I don’t think he’ll ever be back. But, I think you already knew that, yeah? So if you’re gonna shoot, shoot. Otherwise I’d quite like for you to get the hell out of my apartment.”

You stood at the door, one hand holding it open and the other taunting him to get on with it. He chuckled at your hurried tone, almost admiring your tenacity.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the nonexistent person who cares.”

Once the door was shut you slid your back down it. Fuck. What the hell had you gotten into? Who the fuck was that? How did he know Billy?

There was a throbbing in your head and a twist in your gut as you let the first of many tears slip down your cheek.

~

“(Y/N/N)?”

“In here!” You shouted over your shoulder as you scanned your third outfit of the morning, still unsatisfied. Letting out a huff, you turned to you closet once more.

“I thought you were wearing the maroon one?” His shoulder was slumped against the door as he studied you.

“Ugh.” You flopped onto your bed, frustration clawing away at your mind. “I don’t know. I just… Nothing seems to feel right.”

“It’s just a birthday party, babe. You can wear whatever. And,” He wraps an arm around your waist. “I think you look gorgeous no matter what you wear.”

“Yeah, yeah. Filthy liar. You should get ready, we need to go soon. This gift won’t deliver itself.”

“Well, I vote we cuddle all day and do that tomorrow.” You giggled in delight as he pulled you closer and nestled his face into the crook of your neck.

Throughout the party you stood in the corner with Billy, not joining the ever growing social scene. He rested the back of his head against the wall. His eyes distant. The booth was empty, save for the two of you.

“We should dance.” You were startled by his sudden return to reality that you nearly choked on your whiskey.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Dance. You and me. C’mon.” He held out a hand, which you looked at incredulously.

“Who does that?” He laughed gently and shook his head. “I mean, of their own free will of course.”

“People. People do that.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

When you were once again in the comforts of home, you kicked off your shoes and flung yourself onto the bed. Billy laughed.

“For someone who demanded we go, you seem awfully happy to have left.”

“Being social is exhausting. Remind me never to do that again.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You loved when talked like that. Even better, was when he was in uniform, but you hadn’t seen that in person. Photos only.

When you woke you were thirsty. A bottle of water in the fridge was calling your name and, who were you to refuse?

Your scream was high in pitch and loud in decibels. Billy came barreling clumsily, half-asleep, down the hall. His eyes darted about until they found you.

“What is it?”

All you could do was point as you sat perched upon the island. A spider was crawling across the wood floor. It was fucking huge.

Billy heaved a sigh of relief.

“Is that all?” He held up his hands in defeat when you narrowed your eyes and searched the cupboard for a disposable cup and a napkin.

The threat was removed. Billy lifted you down, hand on your hips, and gently shook his head at you.

“I love a good near death experience at 2 in the morning.”

“It was just a spider.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed you softly before picking you up bridal style. You snatched your water up and allowed him to carry you back to bed. You felt safe.

~

You woke to a knock at the door startling you from your dreams. You blood ran cold. Grabbing the bat from under the bed, you cautiously approached.

“Who is it?!”

Silence.

Seven knocks. Slow. Spread out.

Your heart dropped and so did the bat as you unlocked flung the front door open. You were gripped in a tight and desperate embrace. He was covered in blood.

“Billy.” You voice hardly came above a whisper. “What happened?”

“I-uh…” He sniffled. “I-he found me. He said he had taken care of you, and I got angry. I got so angry. It was a blur. I don’t really know how it happened.”

“How what happened? Billy what the hell is going on?” He pulled away and ran a hand through his tangled hair before closing the door and moving you to the kitchen.

“I killed him. I didn’t mean to, I was supposed to be out of that life. But, he wouldn’t let me leave. God, what have I done? They’re gonna come for me. They’ll come for you.” His eyes widened at the realization. “Fuck. You gotta pretend I wasn’t here baby. Okay? Can you do that?”

You were frozen. This was not what you had expected to happen to you. You were obligated to turn him in, but, your heart wouldn’t allow it. Your morals were being clouded by selfishness. Love for Billy was hindering your decision making.

Quickly you turned on the shower and grabbed fresh clothes. Tossing him a towel, you stared him defiantly in the eye.

“Get your ass in the shower and I’ll pack.”

“What are you doing?”

You sighed, glancing down at the floor boards before returning to his gaze.

“I don’t know.”

He gripped your shoulders and had a mix of emotions pass through his eyes. He was in the shower in the next second, clothes littering the floor.

Everything was packed and you tossed the bloody clothes. You had slipped into fresh clothes as the door opened. There was a hand tracing your back and shoulders, all the way around to your cheek. You leaned into his touch.

There was hardly a word spoken as the two of you dressed and grabbed the bags.

A surge of adrenaline kicked in as you walked the streets. Sunglasses adorning both your faces. Billy’s hand in yours kept you present, aware, and sane.

This was it. You were now a fugitive.

And all for a man.

How cliché.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

In which I whinge about art for a bit

So recently, the Husband and I got X-Men: Primer, which features in its X-Team line-up Storm, Psylocke, Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee and Rachel Grey. It is an excellent comic and you should all read it. It is by Brian Wood and Olivier Coipel. Go go go. Read.

Anyway. I am a long-standing fan of Olivier Coipel, because his artwork is beautiful; people have realistic anatomy that is sexy rather than sexualised, there's actual variation in body shape, he knows how to direct and therefore storytell, and he's not afraid of drawing expressions on his female characters. Steff read the comic first, and when he gave it to me, he happily told me how, even though he knows Jubilee is meant to be Chinese American, he's never actually noticed it before; until this comic, the artwork has never made it clear.

Now, if you know the above characters, you know that that's a team featuring six women, only two of whom are white westerners (physically; oh, the Nineties, how unkind you were to Psylocke): Kitty is Ashkenazi Jewish, Psylocke is outwardly Japanese, Jubilee is Chinese American, and Storm is Kenyan. That's feasibly five different sets of phenotypes to be portrayed. And, you know, Coipel does do a good job. They all have different-looking faces beyond just hair/eye/skin colour, certainly have different body types; they look like individuals.

And, actually, Steff is right. They don't all look like creepy white women in black or yellowface.

But it's not particularly pronounced when you look at either east Asian woman, actually, and I think I have spotted a thing why, Tumblrs, so now I shall whinge.

Firstly, there is a legit problem among comic artists of them drawing the same white features over and over again, which really emphasises the disturbing fucking 'ideal' of white-beauty-is-right-beauty. But actually, I'm not sure it is white beauty here. I think it's a mash-up of white and east Asian.

Exhibit A, Greg Land. Here is his One Woman's Face over and over again:

Yes, yes, I know, he's obviously appalling, but he is a good illustrator of this problem therefore so shut up, who's writing this anyway? Now. Look at all four of these, and let's split them into the following categories: nose, mouth, jaw, eyes.

Nose: always small and dainty. Both white and east Asian phenotypes can come in the nasally-dainty mold, of course, but look at the differences between the top close-up shots and the distance shots. In the close-ups, look, Phoenix and Emma both have straight, raised nasal bridges, which is characteristically white, especially among Celtic populations. Here is the very Welsh Catherine Zeta Jones:

This is a very Welsh nose right here. Now, In the bottom three distance shots, Rogue, Orgasm Lady and Storm have small, upturned noses with flat nasal bridges, which is characteristically Asian. Here is Zhang Ziyi:

And, in fact, even in the top ones, we're actually only given the illusion of nasal bridges. If you look, it's all implied by the colourist, not by the pencils.

And this is very much not limited to Greg Land (none of the things I'm pointing out here are, in fact.) Many artists these days actively will not draw a full nose on a woman's face; just nostrils, and then they clock off and go to the pub or something. Most odd.

Mouth: full lips, always rosebud shaped, but NOT SO FULL THEY LOOK BLACK OH DEAR ME NO CAN'T HAVE THAT yeah yeah suck my inner ball, the lot of you. Generally modelled on white phenotypes, although such mouth shapes obviously do happen in all; in fact, it's more evident in that photo of Zhang ZIyi than Catherine Zeta Jones, look.

Jaw: slimly pointed and delicate, coupled with broad, raised cheekbones. Stereotypically both white and east Asian.

Every time. I have never, in recent years, seen a woman in a comic with a square jaw, or with a square, rectangular or round face. Oval/heart-shaped or go home, fuckers. Usually heart-shaped.

Eyes: Ha, yes, the big one. The phenotype for east Asian people that everyone has most commonly heard of is the epicanthal fold, a layer of skin around the upper eye that gives it the distinctive almond shape; naturally, of course, there are plenty of other racial groups that can and do have an epicanthal fold, but you try telling that to a dyed-in-the-wool fetishiser.

But, white beauty standards fucking idolise the concept of the almond-shaped eye. Many white folks go to great lengths to create the effect - the big modern example of the last century from the 50s onwards being winged eyeliner (which does look fabulous, don't get me wrong; I'm not criticising it as a make-up technique.) This means, though, that comic artists try to draw every woman on the page with almond-shaped eyes, regardless of who they are or what ethnicity/race they are. Look at Storm, Rogue and Emma in those above pictures. See what I mean? They draw in their own eyeliner.

But here's the thing, Tumblrs, the thing what I have spotted and am complaining about. Two Things are colliding here, you see. The first Thing:

These white-Asian features are being used on every woman.

The second Thing:

Artists live in fear of putting too many lines on a woman's face because then she might look imperfect and so ugly.

And what this means is, they're dispensing with vitally important lines that ought to be clearly delineating ethnic phenotypes. Given all the white women above, why don't they have nasal bridges? That would be a nice easy distinguishing marker between white and Asian characters, no?

And that brings me nicely to the big criticism of drawing eyes. Almost no comic artists in the industry at the minute seem to be willing to draw in the line above the eye denoting the crease between eyeball and eye socket. This, here, let me show you, this:

Look, look, this is an eye, right? Look at it, being an eye. See how there is a second line, a semi-circular curve, above the upper lash line DO YOU SEE THAT BIT OF THAT HUMAN'S ANATOMY LOOK I'LL DRAW IT ON IN RED FOR YOU ARTISTS:

DRAW THAT FUCKING LINE IN.

You will only ever see that in the extreme close-up shots of some artists. Once again, it's left to the colourists to imply. And if they just drew the bastards in, like that you can have people with almond-shaped eyes who nonetheless very obviously do not have epicanthal folds.

And now that I've noticed this it's as annoying as shit to me. Like, additionally to that, any artist worth their salt should have made a detailed study of faces and be able to draw someone anyway who can look, say, Chinese, and yet not have an epicanthal fold (since, you know, HUMAN BEINGS IN NOT-ALL-LOOKING-THE-SAME SHOCK); but apparently comic artists these days have not done this, or at the very least are far too happy to clock off after a set of nostrils. Instead, we get strange white-Asian mash-up identikit faces that mean, when we finally get a rare Asian character in a comic, half of the time you can't actually tell, because all of the phenotypes that once would have clued a reader in have been used up on white characters, and so now are coded as white.

After noticing this last night I went back through my sketchbook and discovered that I've fallen right into the trap of doing this, too. It's like trying to unlearn brokeback and automatic sex poses. I'm having to unlearn never putting in any lines.

Anyway, whinge over.

[cardshcrp]

'five times kissed'

FIVE TIMES KISSED.

@trickarrowd // ROY HARPER // always selectively accepting !

                                                                                                                  i.

          Remy doesn’t take constant lovers. It’s something of a rule. He barely takes any at all, really, because it reminds him too much of when he hadn’t been fine, when he fucked his way through everything, let go because he couldn’t take much more. He’d been an animal because he had to be, fucked nonstop because it felt alright and alright was better than nothing. These days, he figures it’s better to be alone, for him and everyone else - he’s got too many secrets, and he’s too hard to pin down. 

He’s a great fuck, a beautiful distraction, a charming shadow at night. He isn’t made for soft morning light or sleepy kisses or familiarity, so he doesn’t let it happen. He still leaks sex, knows he does; he knows the mansion still whispers playboy, nympho, slut when his clothes are too rumpled and he’s a little too languid. 

It doesn’t bother him too much (anymore). They can think what they want. He knows sex doesn’t work, so he doesn’t have much. And he sure as shit doesn’t allow repeats.

He makes an exception for Roy, mainly because he’s got a sneaking suspicion that Roy knows a little something about cutting off bad behavior and because he’s familiar enough with how shit works in the back alleys that he doesn’t ask a lot of questions. He knows that Remy’s something, somewhere, for sure; they’ve seen each other naked, and there’s pieces to their bodies that don’t come without being a super something. But it’s better not to ask which side, so neither of them do.

So it’s extra surprising when there’s a soft whistle from an alley when he’s passing through Winnipeg and one of the kids he’d shifted off the street and into the Guild just last month slides up, says hey boss, some redhead guy was lookin’ for you down at the Rose, y’know - 

But it’s enough that he’s at the New York bar he owns under another name not quite different enough to matter the next night against his better judgment, and it’s enough that he doesn’t ask why Roy looks a little sad when he buries his face into Remy’s shoulder all panting and want want need, and it’s more than enough that he lingers late into the morning after Roy’s sound asleep and presses a warm kiss to the corner of that slack mouth, a careful thumb smearing balm over chapped lips before he slips away with only the barest creak of the motel door.

                                                                                                                  ii.

          Oh, man, oh man but Roy looked good like this. It’s a thought Remy has a hell of a lot when they’re draped over each other searching for air, bodies sweat-slick and faintly sticky, or when Roy’s got his head tipped back and his throat bobs in a quiet moan and Remy’s got his fingers dug into wiry hips or that pretty hair wrapped around his fist in a pull that’s more like a promise.

He looks good all the time, really, even when he keeps his eyes open to continue the spell that holds Remy there for a while longer, watches him breathe out smoke with a faint, satisfied grumble like he’s found inspiration in the greasy guts of a classic car. 

So it’s not really all that surprising that Remy obliges a question that’s never asked every goddamn time, lets his spine bow so that too-warm lips can press up to Roy’s mouth and leave behind a sharp little spark of energy like a quiet thank-you. 

“We should really make a trip for Mardi Gras.” He likes saying that, a secret between them, a plan that’ll probably never happen and sure, Roy might not know how much an offer like that means coming from him, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he says it and he means it; he thinks Roy would fit right in to it, be swept away in the wild beat, learn the words real fast. 

I-ko i-ko un-day, and when Roy inevitably laughs and says “Yeah, maybe,” Remy always has to give him another kiss, just ’cause.

                                                                                                                 iii.

          He’d kinda known before. Mostly because he was damn familiar with the way Roy looked and moved, and as much as he thought hero politics were dumb as hell even he watched the news sometimes. It was better to know. 

(And the dork wore the same damn hat.)

It’s the usual stupid, outlandish circumstance that calls for whatever larger team-up, something about giant, rampaging spider robots that wasn’t enough for him to call in his own contacts but enough for the long, long lecture about cooperation and playing nice and together we will prevail, and to be entirely honest he’d been about passed out on the floor with the lingering remnants of a hangover when he’d noticed a real familiar tattoo and smile flash through the door late. 

And he has to kind of think, ah, shit, because maybe their silent agreement is going to be broken by the for-sure knowing but it’s not like he can really pretend Roy’s not there, and he doesn’t want to when his day already involved giant fucking spiders, so he might as well be glad maybe someone will watch his back for once.

Though knowing Roy it was more likely to be his ass, but still.

It takes a hell of a lot of effort not to cackle, though, when he sneaks up behind Roy and drapes an arm around his shoulder and murmurs hey dere, cher in his ear, ’cause Roy about jumps out of his skin and it’s satisfying, somehow, that he gets a half-shocked, half-warm glare and a smile of pleased surprise. 

He tucks a little kiss to Roy’s cheek, quick enough that nobody else spots them, and somehow the prospect of dealing with rampaging robots isn’t so bad even if he’s forced to pull his arm away and just lean back on the wall beside him until it’s time to get to work. 

Doesn’t feel so bad when Roy says see you when I see you after with a cheeky grin and a little wave, either.

An invitation is an invitation, after all.

                                                                                                                 iv.

          Gambit doesn’t like being accessible. It’s something that drives everyone around him fuckin’ nuts, that they can’t call him when he disappears, that they don’t know where he goes but that he just pops up when they need him - but at the end of the day they put up with it because he doesn’t give them a choice, really.

He likes to say that if he’s in one place enough to be tethered by a landline, he’s probably in his grave and not climbing back out.

He isn’t completely behind the times. He’s not totally lost it yet - when you’re a man with as many affairs to juggle as he is, you had your ways, and he does keep a cell phone. Two, actually. One for business and those scared scared messages that get him up and on the way, and one that matters.

Remy doesn’t answer the one that matters, never, and he doesn’t make calls from it either. The list of people that know its number are so short it’s almost sad, really - the father who’s taken him in and cast him out as he must. The woman who was as close to a mother as he’d ever had. The sister-in-law he hasn’t spoken to in four years. The wife he’d never truly been married to. Laura, because no parent could live without giving their child an out - not Gabby yet, because if Gabby wasn’t with Laura, there were worse problems than a phone call and Gambit was already at work. Storm and Rogue get the business number. None of them call him or text him.

Roy Harper does, and Remy isn’t entirely sure why the hell he’d given Roy this phone and not the other to tap his number into with his face scrunched up into that sunny grin of his, all freckles and sunshine and doing better, and Remy isn’t sure why he never tells him that he’s not the sort to text or call for shits or giggles or anything else. He just answers.

He’s spacing out, can’t really remember what the hell they’re chatting about anymore, too much tired in his veins and the faint sticky sweet of blue curaçao on nicotine-smeared lips, so he just raises the silly little glowing screen that reminds him that he isn’t entirely alone in the world and squints at the words swimming in front of him, faintly recognizes the cheery red heart emoji hanging on the tail end of some joke. 

Scarred fingers hesitate for just a moment, but his eyes are so very soft when he blows a little kiss back, just a stupid little bit of pixelated nonsense that’s as damning as any confession to his sometimes-lover’s face.

                                                                                                                  v.

         “Hey,” he says, without looking up; he doesn’t have to. Even quiet, Roy still makes more noise than a master thief, and Remy’s put enough of them through their paces that he’d know. Red eyes stay glued to the laptop resting atop the kitchen table, slim fingers tapping at a muscled thigh rather than the keyboard; as easygoing as he could be, not even Remy could think of reading reports in the early morning as enjoyable, but it’s preferable than meeting Roy’s groggy stare and acknowledging that there’s been a definite change in their routine. 

Roy’s slow surprise is evident, red brows furrowing as he takes in the full coffeepot, the ridiculously high stack of pancakes on the table and the absolutely destroyed remnants of what Remy had already eaten on the stack of plates in the sink. His gaze finally land on Remy, and there’s a faint clearing of scratchy morning throat - it’s enough for Remy to glance up finally, half guilty, looking at Roy like he’s done something wrong because maybe he has. He just doesn’t know for sure yet.

“You stayed,” he says, and it’s puzzled, questioning. Remy shrugs, points at the pan on the stove with still-warm bacon in it because it’s easier than actually answering that on any level. “Eat,” he orders instead, dragging out the neighboring chair with his bare foot and shoving himself upright to start cleaning up. “If you don’t get it in ya soon you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin lunch.”

Implying he’d also be there for lunch, which is enough to make him want to kick himself - but he doesn’t.

He washes the dishes and cookware he’d dirtied in the sink, slow and methodical, letting the sound of running water swallow up anything else between them for the moment. It doesn’t last long, of course.

Ten minutes later, when he passes behind Roy and brushes tentative lips over the nape of his neck, he feels the archer freeze, just for a moment. 

And then the rough screech of chair leg on tile breaks the ice, shatters it quick and lets it splinter, and Remy isn’t entirely sure but he thinks maybe his heart thaws a little when Roy turns to give him a proper kiss, or at least he can admit that it’s been warm for a while now, but thinking is overrated at the minute anyway.

Roy’s grinning at him like an absolute idiot by the time he pulls away; it’s enough to make him roll his eyes, not that it stops him from stroking an affectionate thumb over the redhead’s jaw. “Stop lookin’ at me like that. If you don’t eat that bacon in the next five seconds, you gon’ have to fight me for it.”

[anghraine]

“the words we’ve both fallen under” - fic

So, the people (aka @brynnmclean and @ladytharen) have spoken! They chose the queer Rogue One AU (Jyn/f!Cassian + Baze/Chirrut + Bodhi/Luke) for the Theoretical Fic, which was spawned by @therebelcaptainnetwork’s Friday prompt (“hope”). Like everything ever, it grew well beyond anything I anticipated. OH WELL.

fandom: Star Wars

characters: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor (as Cassia); Jyn/Cassian, implied Bodhi/Luke

verse: the queer Rogue One AU, of course!

length: 2k

stuff that happens: Jyn and Cassia after the bedsharing!

Jyn didn’t begrudge the Rebels their victory celebrations, which extended for several weeks, at least at night. She didn’t even think of herself as separate from the Rebellion, exactly—not after Scarif.

It was just … crowded. Very crowded, considering that this particular cantina grew out of a skeletal base on Solis 2, where her team had just arrived with some soldiers and senators. And it was loud. Easily as loud as Massassi’s cantina, spurring her nerves to screeching alert. She could endure that, had endured it many times, but she didn’t want to. And this was not a time for doing anything she didn’t want to.

Searching for a discreet exit, Jyn must have betrayed some part of what she felt. She didn’t usually, and nobody seemed to be paying particular attention to her—she’d taken care to wedge herself behind Baze—but suddenly, she felt Cassia’s mouth near her ear.

Only the habits of years kept Jyn motionless. Her blood ran cold, or maybe hot; she couldn’t tell the difference.

“Do you want some fresh air?” Cassia murmured.

Jyn tried not to look grateful.

“Yes.”

Cassia shifted in some unobtrusive way that placed her at Jyn’s side, hand warm against her back. With some resignation, Jyn suspected that last was her imagination. The leather vest hardly registered slight changes in human temperature. And Cassia ran cold, anyway. Jyn had shared her bed enough times (eleven) to know that it wasn’t some Cassia façade.

Platonically shared her bed. Jyn had even managed to platonically pin Cassia to the bed and straddle her hips, which took some doing.

Cassia made a smooth excuse that Jyn didn’t bother listening to, but which everyone accepted. More or less. Baze actually smiled—it was faint, but unmistakably a smile. That struck Jyn as deeply suspicious. But he didn’t say anything, so neither did she, instead letting Cassia maneuver them outside without incident.

(Jyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d tolerated anyone maneuvering her at all. Well, anyone else, since they’d done the same thing back on Jedha. Cassia might just be an exception. Sometimes.)

As soon as the doors snapped together behind them, Jyn’s tensed muscles relaxed. Cassia drew a breath of the base’s crisp, cool air.

“That’s better.”

Jyn shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Beer and sweat not your favourite smells?”

Cassia kept her—their—quarters in pristine order, regardless of where those quarters happened to be. Jyn herself couldn’t have cared less, but once she realized that Cassia didn’t expect her to assist in any meaningful way, she shrugged off her initial irritation. If Cassia wanted to soothe herself with colour coordinating her (many) outfits, fine. Jyn soothed herself with cleaning and loading her blasters, after all.

(By now, she didn’t just possess a nonzero number of blasters, but several, only two of which originally belonged to Cassia. That alone would nearly have made everything worth it, and … she had quite a bit more than that alone.)

“No, not really,” said Cassia dryly, heading down stairs that led to a narrow steel platform beneath the main portion of the cantina. This particular base consisted almost entirely of platforms, square buildings, and assorted stairs and ramps, all in featureless grey metal. Jyn gathered that it had been cobbled together out of some abandoned Imperial installation. Or a Republic one, maybe. It had railings and everything.

“I figured.”

“Too many people, too,” Cassia added, tone suspiciously neutral.

Jyn eyed the back of her head. “I thought you were a … people person.”

“Really?”

Thinking back over the … five weeks they’d known each other, Jyn supposed it could go either way. Cassia always had something to say, but she wasn’t exactly outgoing. “You’re good with them.”

“When I have to be.” She stopped and leaned against the platform’s wide rail while Jyn caught up. “I like the quiet.”

That pleased Jyn in a fuzzy way she didn’t care to interrogate. She settled for an indistinct noise of agreement.

Suitably enough, they continued side-by-side without talking, making their way to the furthest wall. There they remained visible from the cantina, if anyone chose to look, but at least didn’t stand beneath the noisiest part of it.

It was nice. Jyn, not overburdened by self-consciousness, felt just enough of it to avoid saying so. But she enjoyed everything: the coolness of the air, not heavy like Yavin 4’s, the easy silence, the mingling light of Solis’s moons, the smaller two eclipsing the largest into a slice of gold. She had two blasters in her holster, no enemies in the vicinity, and Cassia at her side, her limp all but gone. Without even touching her crystal, Jyn felt calm and contented in a way she very rarely experienced, far beyond her usual stoicism.

She didn’t look at Cassia. They shared quarters, a bed, and most hours of day and night; while Jyn welcomed the eagerly yielding Cassia that now and then shattered her nightmares, she took care to separate her from the actual woman. At this point, she already had seen Cassia a) young and beautiful in her silly parka, b) drenched from hair to boots, c) striding past in an Imperial uniform that fit her much better than the Alliance one, d) collapsing in Jyn’s arms, and e) swathed in shadows under Jyn’s body. She didn’t feel the need to try herself further by adding ‘gilded by moonlight’ to the rest.

Not that she’d be able to avoid it, really.

“Have you seen Bodhi?” Jyn asked.

“Yes, in the cantina,” said Cassia, unperturbed by the abruptly broken silence. “Not in the best mood. I think he ran into Skywalker.”

“Again?” Jyn didn’t mind Skywalker in himself: rather liked him, in fact. He’d personally asked her if he could name his squadron after her team, and had possibly less patience for cowards and fools than she did. But for whatever reason, he and Bodhi had taken an almost immediate dislike to each other. “I don’t even know what they find to disagree about.”

Cassia paused. “Skywalker is attractive, isn’t he? I’m not the best judge.”

Raw determination kept Jyn’s eyes on the blotted moon. She blinked several times at it. “You think that’s why—?”

“A factor, perhaps,” Cassia replied. “I can’t say for sure, of course. It could be nothing more than Skywalker hating Imperials without much ... discrimination.”

Jyn could understand that, in general. She rarely saw one without wanting to club them into a bloody corpse. But not Bodhi, who had defected and suffered and sacrificed, whatever he might have been or done before.

“We all hate Imperials,” said Jyn. “Does he think he’s special?”

Cassia’s hand tapped idly along the railing. Jyn would bet credits that she had a frown on her face.

“Maybe.”

Jyn would have blamed her uncommunicativeness on right, she’s a spy, if not for the fact that Cassia would tell her pretty much anything (unclassified), if asked. She just never volunteered it, so Jyn—or someone, but usually Jyn—always had to drag it out in pieces.

“All right, what did they do to him? Do you know?”

“Burned his family alive,” said Cassia.

A few moments passed without a word from either. Above them, somebody laughed, followed by others, before their voices faded into some other part of the room.

“Fuck,” Jyn muttered.

Cassia shifted again. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“No,” said Jyn automatically. “That’s not—that’s not fair to Bodhi, but—damn.” She’d hoped it was a bit more mundane.

“None of us are fair to each other,” replied Cassia, her voice still more even. “Not always.”

That snapped Jyn’s resolve. She glanced over her, but Cassia was staring ahead, her back a straight line from her shoulders to the cybernetics hidden under her skin. Attraction seemed rather besides the point.

“I know,” said Jyn quietly.

She suspected it might be as close to an apology as Cassia got. Since I’m not used to people sticking around was as close to one as Jyn had offered, she decided she’d take it.

Features softening, Cassia turned her head to face her, amusement flickering into her face. “Anyway, I think the unfairness has gone both ways with them.” She cleared her throat. “As it were.”

Jyn didn’t mean to smile, but she did, anyway. “You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“I never forget anything,” Cassia said.

Jyn shook her head. “Then I’ll expect you to remember my birthday every year.”

Cassia’s low, startled laugh altogether banished Bodhi and Skywalker’s whatever-it-was. “If I know where you are.”

“Shouldn’t be hard,” said Jyn.

The amusement faded into something else, sweeter and more cautious. “You’re staying?—I—you mean, indefinitely?”

Jyn thought of a good half-dozen responses, alternately snide and earnest. But she only said,

“Yes.”

Cassia’s face broke into a bright, dimpled smile. Jyn, who had not expected that particular attack, felt dazed. Just a little. Physical awareness flooded back, or became relevant again. The golden moonlight caught in Cassia’s eyes, her skin, even her dark hair, gleaming from within. The hazy glow of it gentled her features without weakening them, her face warm and pretty rather than starkly beautiful. For all of that, her eyes fixed on Jyn with the same elated intensity that she remembered from the not-apology in the hangar, and after.

Speaking of unfair—

“How long do you think we’ll stay here?” she asked. “Assuming it’s not classified.”

Cassia seemed puzzled but undisturbed. “Not very long. We want to keep the small bases as unobtrusive as possible, and the rest will be scattering from Yavin soon. We’ll need a new central base.”

“Colder than Massassi, I hope,” said Jyn, vengefully.

Cassia looked betrayed. Her smile turning crooked, she twisted back towards the base below them, though without the rigidity of before. “You’re the one who’ll suffer if we get stationed there.”

“I’ll live,” said Jyn. “Not all of us are delicate flowers.”

“Really, Jyn?”

Jyn grinned openly, leaning against the platform’s side. “So what about you? Are you hoping for anything in particular?”

Cassia’s fingers splayed out on the railing, then grasped it. She wet her lip.

“A few things,” she said.

Jyn gave up.

“Cassia?”

When Cassia turned towards her, inquisitive, Jyn didn’t wait long enough for fear. She stepped forward, curled her fingers into Cassia’s jacket, and kissed her.

Cassia’s lips parted in what Jyn assumed to be surprise rather than invitation, but within a moment, her mouth was pressing back, as soft and careful as in the turbolift. They’d finally circled back, finally—and then her hands slid about Jyn’s waist, up her back. It was so little, but Jyn felt drunk, heady and flushed all over, more than she’d been capable of before, maybe more than she’d been capable of in her life. She had her arms about Cassia’s neck again, fingers walking against the nape and threading into her hair, smooth and soft instead of stiff with sweat and blood. She pressed closer when Cassia tilted her head to slant her mouth against Jyn’s, both panting.

No, Cassia was saying something, whispering against Jyn’s lips. Cassia and her words; she always had something. Even now! A very tiny bit exasperated, Jyn slowed and forced herself to pay attention.

“Jyn,” Cassia murmured. “Jyn, Jyn, Jyn—”

Jyn almost shuddered, fingers clutching in Cassia’s hair. She’d never kissed anyone who knew her name. Anyone who knew her at all. And this wasn’t anyone—this was—

“Cassia,” she breathed.

They stepped back for air, because they had to. Inevitably, that first moment was awkward. Neither quite knew what to say, and it’d been so much even though it was nothing they hadn’t done already. But Jyn took in Cassia’s rumpled hair and swollen mouth and half-shy smile, and could only think, again.

A small breeze rustled past. Cassia shivered.

Jyn had too much self-respect to say I’ll warm you up, or anything of the sort. To go by Cassia’s flush and thinly-veiled pleasure, her face said it for her.

“That one of the things you were hoping for?” she asked.

Cassia could have said something clever, or beautiful, or wry: Jyn didn’t doubt that she had it in her. But she just laid her hand against Jyn’s cheek, her eyes wide, almost stunned, as she smoothed the fringe aside.

Cassia leaned down and kissed her again.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Family Gatherings

This is pure self indulgent fluff. Also the Phone Fic that I keep bloging about. Can be found here on my ao3! Rating: PG (Mild language) Words: 5,112 Gen

Family gatherings are not words generally associated with the individuals who make up Gotham’s vigilantes. Strategy meetings, subterfuge, infighting, assassin, spy, creepy, know it all. These are terms they are well versed in. This is why the text message that Bruce sent out at 9 am on Saturday was such a surprise.

“I request that all of you come to the manor for a family gathering at 7. Alfred will be serving dinner promptly at 7:30. What the hell is that supposed to mean Tim?!” Dick could practically hear his little brother shrugging on the other end of the phone.

“I dunno. Maybe he wants to go over his will.”

“That’s not funny and you know it.”

“C'mon Dick! Like you have a better explanation?”

Dick sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Do you think everyone will come?”

“I know Steph and Harper will out of pure curiosity. Everyone else,” Tim paused and took a deep breath, releasing the rest of his sentence on the exhale, “who knows.”

Dick nodded, not really caring that he couldn’t be seen as habit was habit. “Ok. Well Damian will be, Cass for sure, Babs is going to be there cause she hates being out of the loop, Jason…” Dick trailed off, looking down at his bare feet. He’d woken to find the text blinking at him from a half dead phone screen. Knowing that he’d have seen it already too Dick immediately called Tim and had been pacing around the apartment in his pajamas with the now nearly dead cell to his ear.

“Yeah,” Tim said empathically.

“Maybe he’ll come for Alfred?” Dick tried.

“You know him better than I do.”

“You’re right. And I don’t even know why he does half the things he does. I’ve gotta charge my phone. I’ll see you later?”

Tim snorted. “Of course you do. Alright, yeah. I’m meeting up with Tam soon anyway. Bye.”

“Bye,” Dick frowned at the phone. Now that the call with Tim had ended it had returned to the group chat Bruce had sent his text in. Not a single person had replied and Bruce likely didn’t expect them to. Just that they showed up. He stuck it on a charger in the living room and went to get a shower. After breakfast Dick collapsed onto the couch. Having wrapped up a case the night before he decided to reward himself with some video games.

Dick started up Call of Duty, grabbing a controller and his headset. He smiled as he saw that both Roy and Wally were currently online. He started a game with them and as soon as he slipped the headset on he could hear Roy swearing already. “What gives, it’s like 7 or something out there. How the hell are both of you awake and playing video games?” He asked once the cursing died down.

Wally snorted as his character took out a sniper on the screen. “Linda and the kids went to visit her parents. I’ve got the house to myself for the weekend and Bart and I have been playing all night. Kid passed out about 2 hours ago.”

Dick shook his head and tried to figure out how many energy drinks the speedster must’ve downed in order to still be awake. Especially taking into account his metabolism.

“How’d you get out of going with?” Roy tossed a grenade into the building on the screen, causing the whole thing to be temporarily covered in cgi flames.

“I’m the Flash. And her parents don’t know. Plus I’m on call for the League.”

“Then how was staying up all night a good idea if you were on call?” Dick punched a complicated series of buttons that Tim had shown him, taking out the three guys on the roof and the two on the ground.

“Clark’s on monitor duty. I’m just the back up. And nobody does anything in the middle of June. It’s like common knowledge.”

The other two made noncommittal sounds of agreement as they continued to play.

“Alright, Roy what’s your excuse?” Dick tried to reload as they were ambushed from above.

“Lian had a nightmare. I just got her back to sleep about a half hour ago and now I can’t sleep. Living on the West Coast has its perks when your gaming buddies don’t get up ‘til noon and live in Jersey.”

“I don’t know which part of that I should be more offended by. The fact you think I don’t get up ‘til noon or the way you said Jersey.”

“Jersey,” the others replied in unison.

Dick scoffed and pouted, not that it did any good as his friends were in Keystone and Star respectively.

“Alright, you’re chattier than usual. What gives?” Roy asked.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” Dick sputtered.

Wally paused the game and snorted. “Dude. You’re being nosy. Even for you. Plus you only ever play Call of Duty if stuck on a case or having personal drama. We’ve known you since you were in pixie boots, doesn’t take a detective to know your quirks by this point.”

Dick groaned and put the controller down, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Bruce texted us all this morning that he’s having a ‘family gathering’,” he knew they’d hear the implied air quotes in his tone, “and that we’re all expected to be there.”

“That’s rough,” Wally told him.

“Yeah man. D'you know why?” Roy added.

“No. And I don’t even know if everyone’s gonna bother showing up. He did it in a group chat but there still hasn’t been a response from anyone. I dunno. I honestly think I’d be less stressed if he’d said there was a mass break out at Arkham and we needed to meet for assignments.”

“Ok, that’s depressing. Also the fact that breakouts don’t even phase you anymore? Like? The hell?” Wally said, still obviously on an energy drink high.

“If we start an argument about rogues we’re gonna get so off topic and be here forever,” Dick shot back.

Grumbling could be heard from Wally but Dick was satisfied that his friend wouldn’t say anything.

“Lemme guess. You’re worried about Jason. You think cause Bruce asked you guys to come he’s not gonna bother,” Roy speculated.

“Pretty much,” Dick sighed. “Have you heard from him recently?”

“Sorry man. Last I heard he was running around with that new team of his. I think he’s still a little pissed I rejoined the Titans,” Roy replied.

“Yeah. Ok. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Whine at us anytime, that’s what friends are for,” Dick could hear the smirk Roy was giving him.

“That and getting drunk at dive bars while listening to crappy cover bands together,” Wally chimed in.

Dick burst out laughing at that. “You can’t even get drunk!”

“So? Doesn’t mean I can’t go with!” Wally sounded wounded but Roy didn’t care about offending the other redhead and Dick knew his friend was about ready to crash and wasn’t going to remember much of this conversation anyway.

“Go to sleep West,” Roy got out between snorts.

“Seriously dude. Way too many red bulls.”

Wally grumbled and finally said, “Fine. Whatever. Text bout what happens,” before signing off.

“So do you think he’ll show?” Roy asked once he caught his breath.

“I honestly don’t know. As far as I’ve heard none of us have done anything to particularly piss him off recently. Not even Bruce. And it was a request, granted he’s going to just expect us all to be there but the text at least made it sound optional. And it said Alfred would be there which is always a plus for Jay.”

“Well good luck and keep me in the loop. I’m always willing to act as an outside opinion on your family’s drama,” Roy told him.

Dick chuckled. “That’s just because it makes your family drama look tame.”

“You bet! We made be loud and extremely dysfunctional but at least we haven’t tried to kill each other.”

“You make that sound like it happens a lot,” Dick whined.

“Dude.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll text you later.” Dick closed the game and pulled his headset off. Tossing it onto the coffee table he laid down on the couch. He was still unsure about what was going to happen later that night but he at least felt better knowing that he had friends who would let him vent afterward.

Dick swung his legs off the couch and stood in one fluid motion. He grabbed his phone, headphones, and keys and decided to go for a jog. It was a nice day, Gotham wasn’t too busy on a Saturday in the early afternoon, maybe he could have a normal jog for once. He returned to his apartment 20 minutes later after avoiding no less than six paparazzi, being cat called about ten times, and literally running into Helena. She had been out for a jog too and while he was trying to lose a particularly insistent cameraman they had both rounded the corner at the same time going in opposite directions. She had not been happy, yelling something about how he should watch where he’s going and “Dammit Grayson! That hurt!” As well as a mix of fairly creative curses in Italian.

Dick had offered to make it up to her but she just waved him off. Saying “You and Barbara are obviously both distracted. Bruce has got you ex sidekicks seriously messed up with these mind games. I’ll just send you Zinda and my next bar tab.” Dick had felt himself visibly pale at that and she had laughed and said not to worry before continuing on her way.

Dick was still pondering over her mention that Babs was distracted too. Obviously Bruce’s text was having some effect on her that Helena had mentioned it. Normally, the Birds were close knit and never talked about personal business with the rest of Gotham’s heroes. Especially not the personal business of Oracle their fearless leader.

Flopping back down on his couch Dick fished his phone out of his pocket. He tapped out a quick text to Babs and hit send, hopping something hadn’t suddenly sprung up that needed her attention. Luckily that wasn’t the case as her response was practically immediate.

~What’s up boy wonder? Helena said you ran into her and that you were super frazzled.

~I was wondering if you had heard anything about what Bruce wants us for tonight.

Her response to that took a bit longer and her words were obviously a bit more measured.

~No, I haven’t heard a thing. Why? Have you?

~No. I talked to Tim this morning and he says that he’s in the dark too. It’s obviously nothing serious but it’s been bugging me all day.

Her response to that was more relaxed. If he had to guess he’d say she had thought he knew something she didn’t, and Dick knew that she hated that.

~Me too! I can’t figure out what it is he could possibly want to talk about that we ALL need to be there. I mean, you boys and Cass yeah. Me, Steph, & Harper? Idk. Have you heard from Damian or Jason at all?

~No. I was going to head over in a bit to bug D though. Nothing on Jay.

~Yeah, same here. I kinda hope he comes at least for Alfred but…

~I was thinking the same thing Babs.

~Oh well. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. I’ll talk to ya later pixie boots.

~You’re one to talk miss go-go.

Her response was simply the eye roll emoji and Dick snorted as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He let his head fall against the back of the couch and fell into a light doze. He woke from his brief nap and patted his shorts for his phone. There were no new messages from Babs, Bruce, Tim or anyone else. No missed calls or alien invasions either. The time told him he ought to get ready and head to the manor if he wanted to pump Damian for information. As well as just hang out with his youngest brother.

Once dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt Dick headed to garage that occupied the basement of his apartment building. Shrugging on a leather jacket and fastening his helmet he gave the bike’s engine a good rev before driving up the ramp and onto the streets of Gotham.

Knowing that the cops would definitely try and stop Dick Grayson for speeding he made sure to restrain himself from weaving in and out of traffic, especially because Nightwing would be pushing the motorcycle through its paces soon enough. Sitting in Gotham wasn’t enjoyable but being able to fly up the manor’s long gravel drive sure made up for it. He pulled in next to Steph’s purple Mini Cooper, glad to see the Compact was holding up for her. He cut the engine and took his helmet off, giving his head a shake to undo any helmet hair.

Bounding up the steps he swung the over large front door open with a shout of “Hello? Anybody actually above ground?”

The sound of running feet could be heard coming from somewhere on the second floor as Dick put his jacket and helmet on the coat rack. He turned just as he heard a sharp “-tt-” coming from the balcony at the top of the steps. Damian stood there with his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, the twitch of his lips betrayed his annoyed facade. “Must you be so abhorrently loud, Grayson?”

“Must you be using SAT vocab at such a young age?” Dick shot back with a grin.

Damian rolled his eyes but his arms fell to his sides and his mouth finally turned up into a smile. “Brown and Row have coerced Cassandra into assisting in appropriating my room, the extra person on my side would be helpful.”

Dick chuckled, “Whatever you say Dami.” He ran up the stairs and followed Damian down the hall to his room. Sure enough the three girls were spread over the plush carpeting, nail polish bottles and other manicure supplies between them.

Damian crossed the room and sat himself on his bed next to Titus and Alfred the cat. The three watched the teen girls from their perch, Damian with minor annoyance, Titus with amusement, and Alfred with the type of utter nonchalance only achieved by felines. The girls glanced up at Dick who had paused in the doorway. Cass’s face immediately lit up and she fluidly rose to her feet and came over to wrap her arms around his neck. Dick returned the hug as she whispered a warm “Hi” in his ear.

“Hey Cass,” he murmured back. She let go and skipped back to the others. Harper gave him a small, two-fingered salute while Steph waved with a large smile. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long,” Damian instantly grumbled.

Harper snorted and Steph nearly doubled over in a fit of giggles. Cass quirked an eyebrow at her little brother before calmly sticking her tongue out at him. “We came for brunch with Cass as we had originally planned and just stayed since we all received the super mysterious text,” Steph told him once she had recovered from her laughter, which had doubled thanks to Cass’s antics.

Dick nodded in response and sat himself down on the floor next to them. Damian gave a short “-tt- Traitor.” He did however edge closer to the end of the bed where he could participate in their conversation.

Dick picked up a bottle of forest green polish and examined it. Cass held out her left hand to him, the fingers of which had been painted, to show him the color. He nodded and gestured that she let him do her other hand. Cass turned to face him as Dick shook the bottle. “So have you guys heard anything about tonight?”

“I wish,” Harper said with a slight huff. “He just kinda grumbled and bolted when we asked.”

“Seriously. We were having our lovely quasi weekly brunch and chatting with Alfred and chasing away this gremlin,” she waved her bright yellow nails at Damian who furrowed his brows indignantly. “All of a sudden, Mr I-am-the-night-and-cannot-properly-socialize-without-being-forced-by-my-over-energetic-ex-sidekick-or-alien-and-amazon-besties walks in-”

Dick nearly choked as a laugh burst out of his mouth, interrupting Steph.

“Can I help you?” She deadpanned with a raised brow.

“I’m good. Just, that’s a new one. Keep going.”

Steph sniffed and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “As I was saying. Bruce walks in and kinda blinks at all of us sitting in his kitchen. Using his surprise to our advantage Harper courageously seized the moment and asked him what exactly this family gathering will entail tonight. He froze, looking exactly like a cat-sized crime alley rat in the batmobile’s headlights, while Cass jumped up to block his exit. I immediately jumped to add my assistance by asking if this means that Harper, Duke, and myself are technically family too at this point. He just blinked, grabbed a muffin, said something highly unintelligible, and beat a hasty retreat.” Steph gave a sharp nod before turning back to her nails.

Dick had to stop doing Cass’s nails as he was trying too hard on not laughing to keep his hand steady. She swatted at him before rolling her eyes and turning to Damian. “Come,” she said, handing him the nail polish. Damian blinked but skootched to the floor next to Cass and diligently began painting her nails.

Dick wiped at his eyes, trying to remember why he had been so against Steph being Batgirl when the two so easily amused each other. “So we’ve got nothing?” he finally asked.

“Nope,” Cass said, admiring Damian’s handiwork.

Harper tossed a bottle of matte black at the youngest Robin and waved her hand toward Dick. Damian blinked but began shaking the bottle and moved to sit in front of Dick. With a shrug he gave his little brother his hand to be painted. “We tracked down Duke then and asked him what he knew. Nada. Honestly we were kinda hoping you’d bring some info with you,” Harper added.

“I’ve got nothing,” he told them with a shrug. “Neither do Tim or Babs.”

“Have you tried contacting Todd?” Damian looked up from Dick’s hand.

“No. He threatened to have baby ducks imprint on me if I called him again.” Damian nodded sagely at that.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harper’s head and eyebrows had shot up.

“He’s been doing that lately. Something about how ‘we all have a death wish but we’ll take care of cute baby animals’ or something,” Steph said, using a poor imitation of Jason’s voice as she acted out his threat.

“You’re kidding?” Harper obviously didn’t believe them.

Cass just shook her head gravely. “No. And baby ducks? No patrol for months.”

“Plus they’re so darn cute like how could you not want to love them?” Steph said in a rush.

“Brown is correct. Also, it is entirely within Todd’s skill set to get them to imprint on one of us.” Damian looked at Harper seriously before turning back to apply another coat to Dick’s nails.

Harper blinked at them before narrowing her eyes, “If you guys are shitting me right now I swear…”

“Scouts honor!” Dick called and held up the three-finger salute.

Damian batted at his hand. “I swear Grayson if I have to redo this,” he grumbled.

“C’mere,” Steph tugged on Damian’s arm and held up a dark shimmering blue. He nodded and allowed her to begin painting.

“So do we have any ideas at least? I know you guys aren’t the type to just let something go,” Dick watched the others.

Cass shot him a smirk. “Understatement.”

There was a knock on the door frame and they all looked up to see Tim and a rather unsure looking Duke standing there. “Alfred told us that you were all up here. Mind if we come in?”

Damian sniffed, “It’s not like my opinion matters at this point.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes…” Tim walked in and took a seat next to Steph.

She squinted at him before leaning forward to search through the pile of small glass bottles. She found whatever one she was looking for and held it up triumphantly. “Maroon?” She asked Tim, waving it just in front of his nose. Tim shrugged and let her pull his hands towards him.

Duke sat down cautiously next to Dick. “So do they always do your nails or…?”

Dick smiled at him. “We don’t really get a say in the matter. Cass just paints them when you fall asleep if you say no.” The girl in question waggled her brows and grinned.

“What about Bruce’s?” Duke asked as he watched Harper shifting through the pile, holding colors up for Cass to consider.

“Ballet Slipper. Once a month,” Cass showed Duke the light pink color. His eyes widened in disbelief and Dick couldn’t help but laugh. Finally, Harper held up a pale orange that both Cass and Dick nodded at. She crawled towards Duke and pulled his hands onto her lap.

“So ideas regarding our impending doom?” Dick asked.

“Like I told you before, I think it’s a reading of his will. He even texted Kate and with the exception of Damian she’s his only living blood relative,” Tim said, peering over the top of Steph’s head.

“Damn Timbo. Way to be morbid. Also, why would I be here if that were the case seeing a how I am legally deceased.” They all whipped their heads to see Jason leaning in the doorway, a smirk on his lips and a nasty glint in his eye. He sauntered in and plopped himself down between Steph and Cass. “Give me the most obnoxious color you have,” he challenged.

“How bout this?” Harper wiggled her own bright metallic pink at him.

Jason scrunched up his nose with a “nah.”

Dick rummaged around in the pile before pulling out a glitter gold. He threw it to Jason who caught it and beamed. “Why thank you Dickie-bird.”

“So, uh, why did you come then?” Duke asked.

Jason shrugged and began to paint his own nails. “You know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” Duke finished the expression.

Jason gave the other boy a Cheshire smile. “I knew I liked you.” He then continued to add layers of glitter. They all just stared in shock for a few seconds. Jason looked up and his eyes skipped past them as he smiled. “Hey there Barbie. This Batgirl is free for manicure giving,” he said pointing to Cass.

Dick turned to see Babs just outside the door. Her expression was amused but the set of her mouth was definitely her trying to look annoyed. With an eye roll she wheeled herself into the room. “I thought we were supposed to be here for seven. Why is it that we all managed to get here just under three hours earlier?”

Dick pushed himself back up onto the bed so that he would be eye level with Barbara as the others offered up a jumble of explanations. “Paranoia” “Fear of the unknown” “Intrigue” and “Who the hell knows” were the few Dick could make out.

He mumbled “Slow day at the office” and caused Babs to crack up.

“That it is,” she told him with a smile. Cass held up a dark purple that Babs nodded at and before she could get up Dick grabbed the bottle. He turned to Babs and motioned for her hand. They spent the rest of the time leading up to the big meeting sitting in a circle in Damian’s room with painted nails and the animals now nudging for attention.

That was exactly how Bruce and Kate found them when they went looking for them. Dick had seen them coming up the hall and gave a quick jut of his chin to acknowledge them. They had stopped short of coming in though, Kate wearing a huge smile and Bruce his more subdued but still genuine lip twitch.

They stood there for a few seconds, watching as Steph and Jason fell against each other in a fit of giggles. Cass had taken the tiny hair rubber bands and was using them to give Damian braids. Duke and Tim were engaged in a detailed discussion of Lord of the Rings and Harper was letting Babs style her short blue hair. All in all they looked like an average, happy family.

Bruce cleared his throat and they all turned to see him and Kate. Cass leapt to her feet and hopped over the legs of everyone else to go give Bruce a hug. Dick couldn’t help but smile because the hug was obviously more forceful than the one she had given him. Or Bruce hadn’t been expecting it as he had swayed slightly when she had jumped up to wrap her arms around his neck. Kate laughed and ruffled Cass’s hair.

Once Cass released him Bruce attempted to recover by smoothing out the wrinkles in his polo shirt. Dick and the others simply waited, knowing that he would speak when ready. He looked up and gave another small smile. “Thank you all for coming. Kate has… explained to me that having monthly gatherings might help you all with your stress levels and, ah, work on interpersonal relations.”

Kate rolled her eyes and give him a sharp jab in the side courtesy of her elbow. Bruce shot her a wounded look that Dick had to try very hard not to laugh at but his cousin ignored it. “What the stick in the mud is trying to say is that we’re having a game night because you all need a morale boost. Now c’mon, Alfred’s got dinner ready.”

With that Kate turned on her heel and marched back down the hall. Bruce gave a sharp nod before following her in a hasty retreat. They all looked around at each other in a stunned silence. Dick pinched himself for good measure, this wouldn’t be the weirdest dream he’d ever had but it was still good to rule out the possibility.

“What the actual, ever-loving fuck?” Jason finally said.

“What he said,” Harper pointed at Jason, eyes wide.

“Grayson, you have the most experience with Father and his moods. What could this be about?” Damian looked up at him from the carpet.

Dick shrugged and shook his head. “I’m honestly as lost as you are. Maybe we should go eat and, I don’t know, enjoy it?”

They all looked much too suspicious to actually enjoy anything but Dick dutifully herded them towards the dining room. Tim hung back until he had fallen in step with Dick. “You don’t actually think he wants us to play monopoly with him or something?” The younger man asked.

“I really don’t know Tim. Kate’s been getting him to actually be Bruce rather than Brucie or Batman lately and this is obviously all her.”

Tim snorted, “Ya think?”

Dick ruffled Tim’s hair and gained a rather interesting hand flail and cat like yowling combination in protest. Finger combing his hair back into position Tim sent him a glare. “I think we should trust Kate on this one and see what happens. Also, you either need a haircut or one of those ponytails Cass had.”

Tim’s glare turned up to full on bat and had Dick not known the kid, or been just about anyone else, he probably would’ve run in fear. As it was he could handle a few dirty looks from Tim.

Dinner was delicious, as everything Alfred made was. The conversation was semi-normal too. Steph complaining about classes, Harper talking about her work at the clinic, Dick told them about his run in with Helena that Babs then added the other half of the story to. No one made a single death threat, no food or utensils were thrown, and all insults were good natured teasing. For a second Dick thought he fell into a parallel world.

That feeling only got worse as Alfred chased them to the living room while he cleaned up. Jason stayed to help and the butler begrudgingly let him. The two joined the others soon enough and they began an intense game of Cards Against Humanity. Alfred and Babs soon took the lead, surprising everyone except maybe Alfred himself.

Bruce came in dead last, only earning that position by having a single less card than Damian. Steph and Jason tied for second and in a surprise twist Cass won. Kate was still cackling at some of the combinations that had won and Babs was telling her she could send the security footage to her later. They played well into the night and Barbara contacted the Birds to patrol as Bruce indicated that the assembled vigilantes were not leaving anytime soon. By the wee hours of the morning they had all stumbled upstairs to their respective bedrooms with the exception of Kate, Bruce, Alfred, and Dick himself.

He had stretched out on the floor watching as Kate slowly took over the sofa and Bruce was forced to go claim his recliner. Alfred chuckled from the love seat, a late-night cup of tea in hand.

“So how do you think it went, chum?” Bruce asked him once he had settled.

Dick shrugged, feeling his shoulders push against the carpet. “You had us all really worried. Tim was convinced that you were going to read us your will.”

Bruce snorted, Kate cracked up and sat up to be able to look down at Dick. “You’re kidding,” she accused.

Dick smirked, “I wish.”

They all laughed and once it had died down Alfred said, “Well you do have a tendency to have the whole family over only in the case of emergencies, Master Bruce.”

That received a small “Hnnh.”

“He’s right. I was telling Roy and Wally that I would’ve been less worried if it had been an Arkham breakout.”

Bruce shot him a wounded look before frowning at a point just above the fireplace. “I want to try and change that,” he finally said.

“If it helps I think this was a really good start. Monthly family game nights definitely are a thing normal people do. And I had fun, I think the others did too. Even Jason,” Dick told him candidly. Bruce nodded, a small smile forming. “Just next time don’t call it a family gathering. You scared the crap out of all of us.”

[emalynde]

Dwin’orrel & the Dinner Date 9

Emalynde sipped at her own flute of champagne delicately, letting the golden liquid coat her lips before running her tongue across them in a gesture that was both dainty and almost sensuous.  "I cannot deny as much; I do have that drow priestess to thank for my life, in all likeliness.  But it is certainly an intriguing subject--the drow as a goodly race."  The redhead was not responding in any negative fashion, more so musing about how ironic it was.  She took Thalandril at his word, it seemed, and trusted his knowledge of the matter, despite being somewhat fascinated by the concept in general.  At the mention of his direct involvement, both crimson brows loft in subtle incredulity, "You?"  A light laugh parts lips like velvet, sure that Thalandril was in some way mocking her.  "I have not known you to care about anything other than yourself, and now you suddenly have an interest in saving an entire race of almost exclusively evil elves--the same elves who you keep from encroaching upon our fair city with their single-minded plans of destruction?  Surely you jest."  Emalynde shakes her head, jostling the curls that fell about her doll-like face, "Next you shall tell me that you're hopelessly in love with me and wish to be bound."  It was definitely Thalandril's altruism that the freckled elf did not believe in--not that the drow could not be redeemed.  She'd seen proof of that already.  Thalandril's innate selfishness was what was in question.

***

After reality warps and the tea had turned into champagne, Thalandril sipped delicately at it, enjoying the sweet aroma and fizz.  He thought about what the priestess was saying to him.  Indeed, he did probably seem selfish--and in many ways was; yet, few knew of his actual intentions.  "By the gods, not the entire race.  However, everyone deserves a better life if they are willing to put in the work, don't you agree?"  Thalandril gave her an amused, knowing look.  It was much the same as he did for her: offer assistance to those who want a to better themselves and could be useful to him in the future.  He taps the flute of bubbly liquid with his fingers in a rhythmic pattern while pursing his lips, thinking.  "You say that like it would be a bad thing."  An arched brow matched by a single side of his lip curling upwards donned his handsome face, wondering how she would reply.

*** At the mention of his own benefactor-like role in her life, the freckled elf quiets for a moment, rolling the notion about within her mind before replying smoothly, "Your personal doting does not align with those sentiments.  You did what you saw fit because that effort served you.  You now have a rather disposable asset who can gather what information you might need with the skills toward that end and the perfect 'cover' to execute them from.  You did not mold and groom me from the kindness of your heart."  She hated speaking of this; it left such a sour taste in her mouth to be reminded she was just another one of his tools--especially as of late.  Thusly, Emalynde was not convinced of any altruism Thalandril might claim.  She by no means thought him a bad man, but he had ever shown himself--in her opinion--to be single-minded and concerned almost exclusively with his own desires.  

But the jibe at falling in love with her catches Emalynde off her guard.  She had fully expected him to roll his eyes or otherwise express a lack of interest--in the very least--toward the entirely playful proposal.  Golden orbs hold his gaze, if he would allow it, visibly searching for signs of mocking or crueler such antics.  She found none.  "It would be," she replies for him, a hint of bitterness subtly coloring her speech--although it would only ever be noticeable to one as perceptive as Thalandril, "you not only are bound already, but love another--do you not?  Did you not wish--just this past week--to be free of my company in such a manner?"  It was... a low blow.  The redhead already knew, but decided to drag out Thalandril's dirty laundry anyways in a small semblance of spitefulness.  She rarely did such things, but the pair did have their fights.  It was a display of hurt feelings more than anything, but she was not above such things.

*** Thalandril listened quietly as the young priestess of Hanali talked about his selfish nature, it was not wrong.  There was always a plan to use her.  "I could have chosen any number of other candidates for my personal designs.  However, you kept coming back, kept impressing me, kept trying to prove yourself.  That is why I made the arrangements that I did."  He spun the half empty flute of champagne enough to get the liquid within to create a small whirlpool.  "You are correct.  I did benefit from our exchange, but it was because of who you are that I chose to engage you in the manner that I have.  You have always impressed me and that meant you deserved a better life."

Thalandril keeps her gaze a moment but soon darts his eyes off to the side to look across the rolling river before them, just listening.  The flute stops moving and his visage takes on a grave look to its handsome contours. "It seems that you are not the only one to think negatively of me in such a way--being in love and bound to them.  It would seem to be a fairly common sentiment of late." The flue was making straining sounds under the pressure of his two fingers holding it. ***

Emalynde did not know what to make of Thalandril's declaration.  Another compliment seemed hard to believe, not to mention that the redhead was rather cross with him, and so she assumed he was simply being logical.  That made the most sense.  Dry logic was something the rogue was unprecedentedly adept at.  "It seems you simply chose the most suitable candidate for the job, then.  It was nothing more than a business deal.  You would have nothing less than your expectations and I was the only one to meet them.  You know nothing of, nor little care for, who I am as an individual."  She'd remembered the zone of silence, no longer letting her anger simmer underneath the perfected mask she wore.  Her outer visage remained pleasant, but her brows contracted every so often, betraying slightly--alongside her tone--her irritation.

The freckled elf makes note of the diverted gaze when she spoke of the intelligence agent's bindings.  A sinking feeling manifests in her stomach.  She'd gotten what she wanted, but the result did not make her feel any better.  Guilt at her behavior starts to creep up Emalynde's spine, like a slow, eventual chill.  After a few moments of weighted silence, she exhales in resignation, "You have my apologies.  I should not have.  It is not my business and... "   Her torso heaves a sigh once more, "I am sorry, Thalandril."  That apology was not for her conduct, but more for the fact that he, too, had been rejected.  While the enchantress could be petty, It was usually only a flash of anger--lashing out like a lick of flame only to retreat once more.  Normally, she would have comforted him physically--a hand on his, upon his knee or shoulder, etc.  But she refrains, still miffed about being an implement but not so heartless as to not see her closest friend's pain.  She still did not believe him about his altruistic 'goals' or that he in any way loved her--besides a small affection given their time together.

*** "It seems as though you and Chelyse both would prefer to keep me at a distance as a business acquaintance."  Thalandril made a motion implying washing his hands of the situation.  He would not look at her.  His face was grim, tight, pulled into a very business-like manner.  "It seems as though that is what I am best at, and so I shall keep it at that."  He moved to get out of his seat unless stopped. Pain was evident in his eyes; this was not how he wanted the evening to go.  He had fully planned on expressing himself in some way to Emalynde, to let her know he did in fact have feelings for her, however, perhaps that was not what was best.

*** Emalynde's brow furrows, confusion marking the delicate contours of her face.  It was... so unlike Thalandril to be emotional, much less self-pitying.  Could he really be so thoroughly affected?  The redhead quiets, watching the facial features of the intelligence operative closely and placing her own anger aside for the moment.  Elongated ears wilt slightly at recognizing just how hurt Thalandril must be to have been rejected by the person he cared so deeply for.  It was likely the first time he'd cared about anyone other than himself.  And she was not like him, in that manner, Emalynde reassures herself.  She was being as selfish and self-centered as she chided the blonde for.  As the freckled elf sorts through all this, her visage begins to reflect her thought process, sympathy slowly overtaking her.  At the declaration that business arrangements were all that the rogue was cut out for, Emalynde's resolve breaks.  While he had hurt her, hers was not the only hurt in play.  The rustle of chiffon sounds as the Companion rises quickly in Thalandril's wake, closing the distance between them in short order to attempt to wrap her arms about him.  "I am sorry she did not return your affection; she knows not what she surrendered," the fiery-tressed elf murmurs gently to her friend, petting the back of his head in soft, soothing motions if he would allow it.  They had only been here a select few times--perhaps twice in their many years in each other's company.  And this was in public--Thalandril must have loved her greatly, Emalynde admits with a pang of disappointment. *** Thalandril allows the affection.  Instead of leaving, he even returns the embrace.  He looked quizzically at her for a moment, though. "Oh.  You think I am upset because she did not return my affection?  I could not care less that she did not love me in return."  He continued the embrace if allowed, permitting the young elf to question what he meant if that was her course of action, as he had assumed it would be.

[totalactionrampage-blog]

Rogue One made me hate Star Wars

But not in the petty way that that title implies.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story is Disney’s latest ploy to separate fanboys from their greasy fanboy money installment in the Star Wars franchise, and the first that doesn’t directly tie in to the overarching plot of the “Skywalker saga.” As such, it represented an opportunity to branch out in different directions, taking chances that the installments of the main plotline couldn’t take - or, it risked stagnation and boredom, pandering to fans in a cynical effort to shift more merchandise. Curiously enough, the viewing public can’t seem to decide which of the two scenarios outlined above actually applies. I, at least, know exactly where I stand on the issue. Rogue One tells the story of a desperate band of rebels’ struggle against the Galactic Empire, as it concludes construction on the Death Star. Years after Jyn Erso’s father is kidnapped by the Empire to serve as the chief engineer of the Death Star’s superlaser, she is recruited by Cassian Andor, an agent of the nascent Rebellion, to help track down Saw Gerrera, an extremist former Rebel turned terrorist ringleader. Gerrera has received a transmission from Jyn’s father - still overseeing the engineering project, he has intentionally built in a fatal vulnerability. Right at this moment, the Empire tests the capabilities of the Death Star by demolishing a nearby city. Jyn and Cassian manage to escape the blast, along with the Imperial pilot and two locals - on whom more later - and attempt to rescue Jyn’s father. As the stakes ratchet up and war becomes inevitable, Jyn must decide whether to cast her lot in with the Rebellion or wash her hands of the matter.

Spoilers follow. If you’re one of the five people on earth who haven’t seen this film yet, read no further.

Jyn, of course, ultimately sides with the Rebellion, wanting vengeance for the death of her father. The Alliance hesitates to commit to an outright war, so Jyn and Cassian commandeer a shuttle and sneak onto an Imperial-owned planet to acquire the plans to the Death Star. A band of Rebels launches a diversionary attack while Jyn and Cassian battle their way through the complex, eventually managing to transmit the plans to a supporting Rebel fleet. The tide of the battle turns, though, with the arrival of the Death Star, which destroys the entire facility (killing every main character - I thought this was a Disney movie!) while Rebel soldiers scramble to escape with the plans. At the last moment, they are safely taken onto a ship we all know as the Tantive IV, which launches into hyperspace with an Imperial Star Destroyer in hot pursuit, leading directly to the opening of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

All of the characters who are smiling in this picture survive the events of the film.

Right off the bat, the viewer is struck by how much darker this film is than its predecessors. I went into the film, having assiduously avoided spoilers, under the assumption that someone was gonna die - after all, none of the characters show up in the main Star Wars continuity and they’ve gotta up the ante over Han Solo’s surprise death in The Force Awakens - but was completely blindsided by the film’s murder of all its main characters, one after the next, in the finale. Jyn and Cassian’s final scene, in particular, is tremendously emotionally effective, as they huddle together trying to find solace in the knowledge that they’ve planted a seed of hope while the blast wave inexorably rushes towards them. The Star Wars films have always struggled to find their emotional tone, veering from moments of slapstick comedy to pulpy adventure to tragedy within a single film - and that was before the release of the really dreadful prequels, which gave us the cartoon Jar Jar shocking his tongue as well as Anakin Skywalker’s mass murder of children. Rogue One’s grim ending, then, really serves to establish the Empire as a threat and locks in the theme, paid lip service to but seldom made much of, that the (star!) wars are a desperate struggle against a near-invincible enemy. Strangely, the fan reaction has been very mixed. Red Letter Media, the deviants geniuses people responsible for the infamous and wonderful Episode One review, dissect Rogue One at length as part of their Half in the Bag series, and I found myself disagreeing with their points they raise there exactly as strongly as I agreed with their take on Episode One. The bulk of their criticism centers on the characters being weak, which I’m don’t think is entirely valid. I’ll agree that Jyn Erso, portrayed by British actress Felicity Jones, is not particularly compelling; a combination of somewhat weak writing and Jones’ staid acting result in her seeming a little lifeless. But I think that many people are missing the point when they level the same accusation at Cassian Andor (Diego Luna): he isn’t shallow, he’s sad. Andor is a man worn down by years of violence, tired of fighting but at the same time unwilling to concede. You see that resignation and pain in his eyes as he’s handed down orders to assassinate another target or take part in whatever the next mission is: a spark of humanity, struggling to stay lit. Two supporting characters have come under fire from reviewers as well: Chirrut Imwe (Donnie Yen), a Force-sensitive Zen monk type (but NOT Jedi!) and Baze Malbus (Wen Jiang), his machine gun-toting companion. The charge leveled at them is that they’re improbable and feel out of place in the film, which I suppose is somewhat valid in the case of Baze Malbus - his character design is a bit silly - but completely off the mark when it comes to Chirrut. I found his portrayal of devout folk spirituality - the first hint we see of devotion to the Force outside of the space!monastic orders of the Sith and Jedi - to be extremely compelling. Indeed, I found the portrayal of the Force in general to be one of the best aspects of this film within the context of the broader canon. We get a sense that it’s a true universal in the Star Wars galaxy, not the exclusive purview of a handful of monks. If it really is “ …an energy field created by all living things” that “binds the galaxy together,” the extreme scarcity of interest paid to it by all but a very few in the previous films is baffling. Religion, after all, is virtually a universal aspect of human societies; especially in a setting where the Force demonstrably exists, it seems bizarre that no one pays it much heed. Rogue One does a fantastic job at restoring a sense of wonder to the Star Wars universe (on which more here) and undoing the damage done by the prequels’ “medichlorians.” As much as I enjoyed the democratization of the Force, I liked the different origins of the characters even more. Classic Star Wars operates on a more or less fairy-tale level: its heroes are space!knights and princesses, rogues and wizards. The central characters are related by blood and more or less destined to greatness, which the prequel trilogy reinforces to ludicrous extremes by making Anakin the result of a virgin birth. Nor can we escape from this in the sequel trilogy: we’re right back to watching the exploits of another Skywalker descendant, Kylo Ren. (And smart money is on the other protagonists of The Force Awakens having some other shoehorned-in connection to the Skywalker clan.) George Lucas, of course, was cribbing from the likes of Lord of the Rings and Joseph Campbell’s “monomyth” as he wrote, but something about these space aristocrats doesn’t sit right with me. Why are we only following the story of Luke Skywalker, the Space Jesus, when we have an entire galaxy to explore? What about the soldiers on the ground, who we mostly see being curb-stomped by storm troopers to establish the danger the Empire poses? What are their stories? Don’t they matter? An added bonus to the Rogue One approach is that, when we do finally see Darth Vader in action in the closing scene, he is palpably more frightening: by placing him side-by-side with ordinary people, we see the fearful power that the Force grants him. In making all these changes to the Star Wars formula, Rogue One breaks decisively from its predecessors. War, in this film, brings out the best and worst in human nature; its heroes are ennobled and dehumanized by their experience. The characters of Rogue One face impossible odds without the benefit of plot armor or good breeding; all they have to their name is grit, determination and hope. Fans are right to say that that Rogue One is not equally as good as the other Star Wars films: it’s better.