#and i say this as someone else living in the imperial core like no yeah i *absolutely* benefit from that.

[lgbtlunaverse]

I think a lot of people's perception of "US centrism" on this site is "americans assuming us-specific problems are universal" but i've found it just as often if not more often manifests as the opposite. Usamericans thinking a problem people deal with worldwide (food deserts, late stage capitalism, bigotry) or a problem that did start primarily in the US but has been exported worldwide via cultural imperialism (this particular example is not the us but canada, but I sure did looooove having trucker protests in my country after they got 'inspired' by those in north america /s) are things only they have to deal with. I regularly get tags on this post that say something like 'blame the puritans for ruining american society' or will straight up go '#usa #fuck this country #i bet the rest of the world doesn't have this problem' I am from the Netherlands and have never set foot on the american continent.

[audaciiaearchive]

🔥

Unpopular opinion time || Accepting

i don't know if this is such an unpopular opinion now, but the way people say 'oh if you write this bad thing that means you support it' realLY GRINDS MY GEARS. like oh, i write the living personification of the british empire so that means i looove imperialism. NO. WRONGO LMAO. i write conall as a terrible irredeemable thing because he IS. but there are some people who see that i write him and would assume that i condone his and the actions of the british empire when thats clearly not how im writing him 🥴

but that can be said for anyone writing anything morally questionable. just bc someone writes something that is wrong, unforgivable, cruel, unjust, etc, doesnt mean they support it. how else do you get conflict in fiction? you as the reader are meant to judge how a character reacts to something bad, and if they react in a way thats against your own morals or the general morals of humankind then you know theyre a questionable person. thats the point. how do we write villains and conflict and things that happen to people if us as writers are made out to support these things simply?? from writing them??

and if youre writing a canon character, sometimes these bad things are a core part of their development as a character (for example, camilla being sexually abused by her own brother. i dont think donna tartt condones that happening, but that was part of camillas character development) and i think we would be doing a disservice to the character if we erased that bad thing from happening to them. same thing with villains or antagonists doing bad things. we'd be doing a disservice to an antagonist by erasing the bad things they do to people.

so...yeah. if you write things that are morally questionable or things that are bad...that doesnt mean you support that thing and it kills me that us as writers are expected to water things down just bc of that 🙄

[spectres-fulcrum]

I have thoughts but I don't know how to arrange them. I just... A lot of people are like "I can't see Tarkin dating a lowly stormtrooper!!! Maybe another officer but not a stormtrooper!"

Which is fair but I also thinks that they work because TK-421 isn't an officer, has no interest in promotions or greed and seems to want to just be free of the imperial army at large.

Like, think about it. A person like Grand Moff Tarkin is probably prime for people dating not for him but people dating the doors he could open for them. It's a status thing. He's in Palpatine's most inner circle. Even for other officers, he can offer promotions and secrets beyond their clearance and access to and the favor of the Emperor. And so he always has to be careful of it-are these people with him for the grand moff? It's like he says in Of MSE-6 and Men. He can't let his icy exterior down because the greed of the core natives are waiting for the first sign they can get a leg up. Even his ex boyfriend longtime friend from their academy years tries to get Tarkin to put in a word for him with Palpatine when Tarkin has just returned from three years off planet

And then comes G7 with the hologram of TK-421. He's gorgeous, and it'll be casual. He'll keep his walls up. He knows what to expect. No one has to know, and it won't go on for long.

But then TK-421 isn't like anyone else. He has no interest in secrets or the Emperor or promotions. In fact, he dreams of leaving it all behind. Of a racing circuit on Coruscant, of comfortable living conditions for him and his droid, and of lighting like the one on the station that Tarkin built.

Of stuff that, being born into the wealthiest family on the planet, Tarkin could've given him if they had met in a different life. All Sevastian wants is something Wilhuff could've easily provided, if their life never expanded past Eriadu. He could've made this man happy by just being Wilhuff.

For once, he doesn't have to be grand moff or governor, or any title. Because he can provide for his lover as a man, provide a home and allowance from his own wealth. And that's probably-huge. Bigger than TK-421 knows.

I think there is very much a safety and comfort thing from sleeping around with someone who has no interest in his work life. Who dreams are probably crazy, but they make him laugh, he makes him laugh. And Tarkin allows it because he's safe. Their job difference is so very unsafe, even Palpatine would scold him for fucking a trooper, but Sevastian is warmth and safety as long as they keep it hidden.

For once in his life, perhaps for the very first time(Definitely since he was in single digits), just being Wilhuff is enough.

(He knows that the stormtrooper is using him for those things, that the trooper doesn't feel as deeply, but he wants to believe once they're away from the army and the Death Star, perhaps he'll feel safe enough to start opening up his heart. He doesn't mind Sev playing him like a fool. Better a fool than an idiot who allowed access to stars know how many secrets)

So yeah that's my response to all those comments. On surface level, yes. But when you think about how characters are fluid and this is definitely bookverse, the only person Wilhuff could truly let in is someone like TK-421 given his past in Tarkin. It's also why King of My Heart by Taylor Swift is SO them, with the themes of the love that is the one being more simplistic and lowkey than all the others(Cause all those boys and their expensive cars/their range rovers and their jaguars/never took me quite where you do and Up on the roof with a school girl crush/drinking beer out of plastic cups/say you fancy me not fancy stuff/Baby, all at once this is enough). I said what I said(But also the acoustic version she sang at an engagement party, not the big studio/concert version).

[static-shocked]

It really baffles me how you guys can enjoy these types of propaganda movies, as someone whose nation and continent has been a victim of us imperialism for decades, I simply cannot stomach a movie where the same people who wouldn't think twice in killing me or my family are the protagonists, I hope to never set a foot in such a country or meet such people; some of y'all are quick to boycott anything russian because of ukraine, but god forbbid us, actual victims of the us military, call out usamericans, I don't care about "the few good ones", the damage y'all done to us by just existing and making these kinds of movies is very much real

I’m gonna start by saying this: Yeah. You’re right.

And I want to state for the record that I don’t give a fuck about the few good ones either. I don’t think you can reform this shit. The amount of damage that the US military/state has done my family and that imperialism continues to do my culture has walked me past that. But here’s the thing: That’s kind of the *point*. If I, someone who gets sick when I hear that someone I know if even considering joining the armed forces because I know that it means furnishing maintenance to a system that kills and maims innocent people in other counties, can go into a movie like that with a vehement stance against anything and everything US related and come out weighing the things I enjoyed on an artistic level against the gut wrenching dread of knowing the function of this film then that means something. 

It means a couple things: that the propaganda worked, that I wasn’t immune to it, even for how much of the enjoyment was taken out for me knowing that this is going to be something that slaughters and colonizes someone else. that’s the goal. To get your walls down and make it palatable, even if just a little. That’s how they get you.

It doesn’t matter that I don’t support the military or the government.  I live here, I have access to privileges that people who are being actively occupied by the US do not have, for however many atrocious things i have to deal with as a person of color. Now, did I make the wrong call going to the theater? Probably, I don’t think these kinds of movies should occupy the largely uncontested public sphere with big box office gains to spread their influence. But it’s done, I went whether I wanted to see it or not (and I didn’t, I was more of a tagalong) 

The point I’m trying to make is not that I support the movie or its intentions, or that it somehow redeems the state, that the “few good ones” disqualify the evil things that the US does in maintaining its interest. It does not, it cannot, and it’s purposes are furthered by the things people overlook entirely. Yes, you’re entirely correct. But I want to clarify that it’s kind of complicated, engaging with content within the constant, unending influence of a state that makes victims of its own people as well. I just think it’s important to say that propaganda exists, and that it’s kind of important to strip away the how and why of it, understand that just because it’s entertaining doesn’t disqualify what it is at it’s core, and conversely that it’s never “just propaganda”. It rarely ever is. That’s the whole function of it, wouldn’t be very effective otherwise.

If you read this and say “good for you. Fuck y’all anyway.”? That’s fine! I won’t begrudge you, it’d be fucked up of me to do that. You don’t owe me sympathy or empathy. No amount of “I’m sorry for what this country has done to you” will wipe away the irreparable damage that US imperialism does. I guess the point of responding was to clear some things up and not totally brush you off.

[thewritewolf]

Adventure to the Heart Chapter 1: AU

Summary: When the miracle box is discovered by Alya, Marinette's lies to cover it up. But one thing leads to another and now her little lie has turned into a major quest. With Adrien joining their party, there's no backing out now.Who knows? It could be that this quest is just what the two of them needed to get closer than ever...

Hello and welcome to the start of my Adrienette April story - Adventure to the Heart, a fun and light-hearted story with a dungeons and dragons campaign boiling in the background. I won't be getting into deep detail with their characters, but I imagine them playing 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons. Most chapters will generally be pretty short (300 to 800 words) since I was still getting used to my new hours when I wrote most of this and didn't have a lot of time for writing.

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy this short, sweet tale for the month!

First | Previous | Next | Last

@adrinetteapril

Read on Ao3

Marinette was now the Guardian of the miracle box.

It was a thought that would come to her in the middle of the night and cause her to bolt upright, unable to sleep. Paranoia started weighing in on her every thought. She’d be only half paying attention to her friends while they talked at school, wanting nothing more than to run home and make sure that the miracle box was still safely tucked away wherever she’d happened to have hidden it last.

Because she hadn’t decided on the best way to keep it safe just yet. Master Fu had the old timey music thing, but while an old Chinese man might be able to deflect suspicion with a piece like that, she definitely could not. It stuck out like a sore thumb in her room. That was the first change she’d made in its protection, and it didn’t bode well that it wasn’t replaced with anything yet.

She’d been working on another of her trap boxes to hold it, disguised as something that would blend in much better with her room, but for now its hiding spot moved constantly. One day it was in her closet, the next under her bed, then in her crafting supplies. On and on it went, for weeks. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t a good idea. Because odds were that a day would come when someone would happen to arrive when it was between hiding spots.

A day like today.

“Uh… girl, what’s that?”

Marinette’s heart sank when she followed Alya’s eyes to the miracle box, pitifully poking out from underneath a pile of yarn. She opened her mouth to make up some sort of justification, but all that came out was a quiet, high-pitched creaking noise.

“Ohhh, wait. I get it.”

Marinette’s heart leapt out of her chest. Had she really figured it out already?! Her mind raced, trying to figure out when Alya could have possibly seen the miracle box before - at least, when she was in her right mind.

Alya’s hands rested on her shoulders and she looked Marinette in the eye. “That’s a dice box, isn’t it?”

Everything skidded to a halt. “Wuh?”

“A dice box, for Dungeons and Dragons. I figured that sort of game was right up your alley, but I didn’t think you’d try to pick it up on the down-low.” Alya nudged her with her elbow. “Come on, girl! If you had told me, I could’ve had Nino give you a couple pointers. You know how crazy he is for the game.”

“Y-yeah, well uh, I didn’t want to… bother him too much, you know?” Marinette laughed nervously. “And besides, it was supposed to be a big secret.”

“Secret?” Her eyebrows scrunched up. “That’s isn’t like you at all, girl. Well, unless it has something to do with Adrien or…” Brown eyes widened in realization. “...if you’re planning a surprise.”

“R-right, so… don’t say anything to anyone! You don’t want to, um… spoil it.”

Alya winked. “I gotchu, girl. But between the best of gal pals…” Alya leaned in conspiratorially. “...When are you planning on going public? ‘Cuz I could start sending out feelers right now to see who would be down for a Dupain-Cheng original campaign.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it's still in the early stages,” Marinette said, entirely truthfully. After all, she hadn’t so much as given it a single thought or even looked at the core rulebook. It was about as early as a stage could be.

“Still! You’ll want to know the players you’re dealing with - personalities, how many of them.” Alya pulled out her phone and began typing at a frantic pace. “Trust me, I hear about from Nino all the time.”

Marinette craned her neck to peer at Alya’s phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Nino first off. Then he can ask a couple people, and I’ll send out an invite to our girl squad. And then we’ll see who else we can come up with.” Alya grinned at her. “This is going to be a great campaign, I can already feel it!”

“Yeah… great.” Marinette put as much enthusiasm into her voice as she could, while the gears in her head began to turn.

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

Later that night, Marinette was sitting in the living room with her mom and a notebook. If she backed out of this now, then it would look suspicious and Alya might rethink her initial impression of the miracle box. No, if she wanted to keep her secret safe, she’d have to go along with this.

Which meant that she would need a campaign - a story, a setting, a plot. She hadn’t tried her hand at writing before and that inexperience was becoming frustratingly obvious as time passed. Half a dozen ideas had been scrapped within the first half of her mother’s Chinese period dramas.

Instead of spending the next thirty minutes racking her head for ideas, she tossed the notebook to the ground and glared at the television… only to fall into a world of plotting nobles in the imperial palace.

With a smirk spreading across her face, Marinette quickly scooped up her notebook and got to writing.

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (7/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,244

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please note the rating change

read it below or read it here on AO3

VII.

—

Jamie swiped up on the tablet to throw the video to the feed at the centre of the table.

"Rebecca, this is everyone," Jamie said. "Everyone, this is Rebecca."

"I thought that maybe you'd been making up your Jedi friends this whole time. Nice to see I was wrong about that." Rebecca gave a little wave. "Hi, Dani. How's the ghost?"

Dani sank down a little in her seat, and her answering smile was more of a grimace. "Hi. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Yeah, about that," said Jamie. “Back on Quint’s ship, you said you knew what was happening at House Thul.”

“Oh? Finally ready to listen to me, are you?”

“Don’t push me,” Jamie growled, jabbing the tip of her finger at Rebecca’s face on the screen. “Remember. Galaxy’s Biggest Favour.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had taken the call with her back to a wall, so it was impossible to glean her surroundings. "The Empire wants a foothold on Alderaan. It's a strategic location in the Core Worlds. They have been working over Lord Wingrave after the death of his brother and sister-in-law, helping him fabricate claims to the House, claims to his niece and nephew, claims to a position in the Republic Senate. You know the drill. Traditional blackmail."

"What else?" Jamie pressed.

For a moment Rebecca glanced over the top of the camera as if looking at something else out of frame, but then her attention returned back to the screen. "The children are Force Sensitives. The Sith have been helping Lord Wingrave keep that under wraps, so that The Order wouldn't take them away to the Temple for training. My sources tell me that the plan was for a Sith Lord to create sleeper agents out of the children through the use of some ancient Sith device containing a ghost."

"Which Sith?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not in the business of keeping tabs on Sith Lords. By the way," Rebecca pointed through the screen at Hannah. "How have you found shaving your head? Because I've been thinking of cutting my hair back, but I’m not sure about going all the way."

Running a hand along her shaved scalp, Hannah said, "There's nothing quite so freeing."

"Good to know. Thanks.” 

"Oi," Jamie snapped her fingers. "Focus. The Sith Lord."

"What else is there to say?" Rebecca replied dryly. "They're a Sith Lord. They're scary. They're dangerous. They're not to be fucked with. Your Jedi friends probably know the drill better than me."

"I hope not," Owen said under his breath as he took a sip of tea.

Hannah sat up a little straighter, hands clasped neatly on the table before her. "Do we know where they are? Where they're going, perhaps? Any information you give us may be vital."

Leaning her back against the wall behind her, Rebecca pursed her lips in thought before answering with a shake of her head. "I know they want the children, and I know they want the holocron. So - Alderaan."

"But the holocron isn't on Alderaan," Dani pointed out.

"They don't know that," said Rebecca. "Peter lied to buy himself time, and told them it was still in the estate of House Thul."

"But -" Dani frowned. "House Thul has its own militia of guardsmen. I know Sith are powerful but the Empire would need to send troops if they wanted to break in and hold ground."

"Then I guess the Sith Lord will be invading with troops as well."

Sighing deeply, Jamie lowered her face to her hands, letting her fingers scrub through her hair. Then she looked up again, hands hooked behind her neck. "Right. Guess we're off to Alderaan, then."

Rebecca laughed. When nobody else joined in, she stopped. "Wait. You're serious? Did you not just hear me say 'Most likely a Sith Lord is going to invade House Thul?' As in — with a shock legion. As in over a thousand soldiers led by a malevolent Force User, who can and would probably kill a room with a snap of their fingers?” 

Lowering her hands, Jamie said, "Yeah, you - uh - you mentioned that. Good thing you'll be right there with us."

"You have got to be joking."

Jamie said nothing. Just gave Rebecca a long look.

"Jamie," said Rebecca, her expression horrified, "You can't be serious. When I said 'favour' I didn't mean 'suicide.'"

"We can’t let them have those kids. Trying to mobilise Republic troops or The Order without enough evidence is a fuckin’ waste of time. We need to get into the estate of House Thul," Jamie gestured around to everyone at the table. "You're a smuggler. So, smuggle us in."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alderaan is Republic territory. Why do you need me to smuggle you onto the planet, when you can just fly and land there yourself?"

"Because of her." Jamie gestured towards Dani, who looked both startled at being mentioned and guilty. "I don't want Pasha and his Troopers linking Dani to this in any way. They can't know she returned to House Thul. She has to come out of this squeaky clean."

Groaning, Rebecca said, "Fine. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as possible," said Owen.

"I'm -" Rebecca looked over the top of the camera again, craning her neck slightly. "Thirty two hours from Alderaan through hyperspace. Meet me in orbit around the planet. How's the ship I gave you?"

"Rude," Jamie said blandly. "It keeps insulting me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca's mouth and she began tapping at the buttons below her screen. "That sounds like Jane."

Jamie's face screwed up. "Jane? It has a name?"

"It's a JN class droid uploaded into the ship’s mainframe. It likes being called Jane. Didn't you ask it?"

"No?"

"Well, no wonder it's rude to you. By the way, I’ve just dropped you those pictures of my godson that you asked for last time. They should be appearing on your device now.” Rebecca waved with a little flutter of her fingers. “See you in thirty two hours.”

The video feed winked out. 

"I rather like that young woman," Hannah said.

“Get in line,” Jamie grumbled. 

The video had been replaced by a file icon. Jamie clicked it and brought up the first photo of Rebecca carrying a blue-skinned Twi’lek child on her back, both wearing big beaming smiles. 

“Oh, they’re adorable,” Owen sighed. 

Fuming, Jamie flicked to the next photo, which was equally adorable. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. They are.”

—

After cleaning up in the dining room and kitchen, Hannah gently nudged Jamie's arm and indicated she should follow her. Jamie glanced over at Dani, but she was engaged in a lively conversation with Owen while they dried dishes together. Dani's smile had lost its tentative edge the longer Owen spoke to her, but there was still a tenseness to the way she held her shoulders, the same tenseness that had been present back in Ho'kyn's bar on Telos IV, as though she were afraid someone would batter down the door at any moment.

Jamie followed Hannah, who led her up a set of stairs to a mezzanine floor where the walls were floor to ceiling scrolls and books and objects of cultural curiosity.

"Find anything new?" Jamie asked. She leaned back against the railing of the mezzanine which overlooked the lounge below.

Hannah plucked a tome from its shelf, dusted it off, and opened it to a page that had already been marked with a length of ribbon. "Yes and no. Nothing helpful, anyway."

She came to stand beside Jamie so that she might also look at the book. Jamie peered at it from the corner of her eye, not recognising the script around the drawing of a grey-skinned woman in dark red robes with a deep cowl.

"That a Sith?" Jamie asked.

Hannah hummed a curious note. "A Witch of Dathomir. Dark-aligned, for the most part, but not Imperial. They're the only practitioners of possession I've been able to find record of at all. I believe The Lady might have been an early precursor. Or perhaps they developed similar techniques independently."

Jamie stood straighter, hands tightening around the railing. "Wait, so - you can reverse it?"

Hannah snapped the book shut. "No. Though a visit to Dathomir might be in order, should we survive. However, if you chose to go, I won't be accompanying you. They dislike Jedi as much as they dislike Sith."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

"I doubt they'll see the difference," Hannah said, and she tucked the book beneath one arm. "Failing that, the only other people who might know anything about this ghost are the Sith themselves."

Jamie scoffed, smiling. "Right. I'll just sail into their capital on Dromund Kaas and ask for help, then. Great advice."

A flick of the Force against Jamie's ear made her wince.

"Don't be cheeky," said Hannah.

Rubbing at her ear, Jamie opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Beneath them Dani and Owen walked into the lounge, still talking. Dani moved her hands when she spoke, and Owen watched her with a fond if guarded smile.

"I am afraid for her," Hannah murmured so that they would not be overheard.

Jamie nodded. "Yeah."

"For someone like our lovely Miss Clayton, the Dark Side is not a lure so much as it is a glue trap," Hannah mused aloud. "It has a gravity of its own, the darkness. And once there, it becomes more and more difficult to claw your way free. Even if you want to. Even if you know you should, but can’t bring yourself to try. Fear is her failing. And fear is the relinquishment of logic."

Jamie glanced at Hannah. "Can you teach her when this is all over? You're the best of the best in The Order when it comes to balance in the Force."

Without looking at Jamie, Hannah lightly smacked her arm, just a dismissive tap with the back of one hand. "Don't try your flattery on me. I've known you too long for that nonsense."

"That nonsense," said Jamie, "has gotten me out of more sticky situations than you know."

"But it won't get Miss Clayton out of this one."

Muttering a curse under her breath, Jamie sank down a bit, gripping the railing as she did so until she stood bent over and leaning against it. "Don't you start, too. I had Owen in my ear last night about it."

"Good man," Hannah murmured appreciatively.

"Bloody hypocrites. The both of you."

"You can't solve everything with your curmudgeonly charm," said Hannah.

"I fuckin' can."

"Sometimes," Hannah turned, leaning her back against the railing, arms crossed over the book gripped loosely to her chest, "a helping hand can only do so much. A person needs to want to help themself."

Jamie scowled. "So, what? If we can't help her we just ship her off to the Empire? 'Here, have a new Sith apprentice?' You haven't even given her a chance, and you two are already lecturing me on how I need to let go." She shook her head with a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

And of course Hannah remained infuriatingly unflappable, her voice calm when she replied, "I will do everything I can, as I know Owen will, too. But — even should we survive this ordeal — our time with her will be limited. She will not be safe on Tython, where some overzealous Knight will surely sense her presence and jump to conclusions."

Jamie's mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Then where am I supposed to take her for training?"

Hannah smiled and placed a warm hand on Jamie's forearm. "Wherever you want, dear. So long as you're there."

Face screwing up in confusion, Jamie straightened. "But you just - You were just telling me how I needed to keep my distance and all that shite."

"Was I?" Hannah murmured, and she let go of Jamie's arm to instead toy at a gold earring. "I don't recall saying that at all."

And with that she crossed back over to place the book on its shelf.

"What do you mean? Hannah?" said Jamie, turning around.

Humming to herself as if she hadn't heard, Hannah drifted off down the stairs.

"Hannah," Jamie repeated, louder this time.

"We really must pack, Owen," said Hannah, ignoring Jamie completely.

Hitting her fist against the railing, Jamie turned back around to glower down at Hannah, who appeared on the floor below. Hannah urged Owen down a hallway with instructions to pack for the trip, leaving Dani standing in the middle of the lounge, alone. Dani looked up, and Jamie's fist loosened.

The last time Jamie had seen her from this angle, Dani had been in the full thrall of The Lady back on the luxury cruiser, her red-gold gaze piercing through a camera in the ceiling. Now, Dani blinked up at her with none of that cold malice to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Hannah's voice called down the hallway.

"Miss Clayton, what's the weather like at House Thul?"

Dani turned and began walking towards the sound, already answering Hannah's question, and leaving Jamie staring after her from the mezzanine floor, lost.

—

The gangway automatically lowered to the ground when Jamie got within a certain distance from the luxury cruiser still docked where they had left it.

"Good afternoon, Bollocks," said the cultured male baritone of the ship's computer. "You've brought guests."

Beside her, Owen mouthed the word 'bollocks?' at Hannah, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jamie rolled her eyes and shooed the two of them up the gangway, trailed by Dani. "I have, yeah. Anything interesting happen while we were away, Jane?"

There followed a pause that was slightly too long for a droid of this calibre, and then the ship's computer replied, "Nothing of note. I did not tell you to call me that."

"Oh? Don't like it? Should I call you bawbag instead?"

Another pause, this one affronted. "Jane," said the ship's computer, "is perfectly serviceable."

"Glad to hear it, mate," Jamie drawled and stepped into the ship proper.

As Dani stepped up behind her, the ship's computer said, "And a good day to you, too, Miss Clayton. You're looking very alive today."

"Uh -" said Dani, and she ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks."

The gangway lifted and sealed behind them once everyone had entered the main atrium, where the ship’s computer had already sent out a small service droid on trundlers bearing glasses of some kind of pale carbonated alcohol. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Owen murmured, picking up a glass and taking a sip. He made an appreciative noise. 

“Where would we like to go?” the ship’s computer asked.

Jamie waved the service droid away when it tried to press an insistent drink into her hand. “No, thanks. Jane, calculate a route to Alderaan. We need to meet someone in orbit around the planet in thirty two hours.”

“Route calculated,” the ship’s computer replied almost immediately. “The journey is only expected to take twenty one hours through hyperspace. I will chart a circuitous route so that we arrive on time. If it would please you, you may make your way to the dining lounge. I have prepared a light lunch before we depart.” 

Frowning, Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did you even know we were coming?”

“I have access to the station’s security cameras and systems.”

That gave everyone pause. Owen froze in the act of draining his glass, while Hannah and Dani shared looks. 

“You hacked the station’s security system?” Jamie said.

“Negative, Bollocks,” said the ship’s computer. “I asked the mainframe for access very nicely.” 

“Are you lying?” Jamie turned to Hannah and Dani. “Can droids lie?”

The ship’s computer did not answer. Which wasn’t concerning. Not at all. Owen suddenly looked a bit queasy, and he gingerly lowered his near empty glass back onto the tray held out by the service droid. 

“You need not fear for the condition of food and drink aboard this vessel,” said the ship’s computer. “I am programmed to care for and protect any legitimate member of this crew as designated by the Captain and owner.” 

Jamie pointed jokingly at Owen and said, “Better watch yourself, then.”

Placing a hand over his chest, Owen pretended to look insulted, then followed Jamie further into the ship towards the dining lounge. 

“May I ask,” started the ship’s computer, “what are we going to be doing on Alderaan?’

Jamie dragged her hand along one of the polished white walls as she walked. “Getting in over our heads.”

“Please clarify.”

“We’re going to have a fight. Why?” Jamie asked dryly. “Do you also happen to have ion cannons strapped to your shiny exterior?”

“Negative. But I do come equipped with some accessories the crew might find useful in the event of a boarding attempt.”

One of the panels beneath Jamie’s hand pressed inwards, and a whole section of the wall peeled back to reveal racks upon racks of blaster pistols, blaster rifles, grenades, vibroweapons with wickedly curved blades some small enough to strap to the leg, others long enough to be wielded with two hands. Everything that would make a Republic Trooper get all hot and bothered.   

All four of them stopped in their tracks and stared. 

“Definitely an ex-Czerka ship,” Hannah muttered under her breath.

Hand on the hilt of the lightsabre at her hip, Dani said, “I think I’ll stick with this. I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot.”

“Likewise,” said Owen. 

Meanwhile Jamie reached out and hefted a blaster pistol. She turned it over in her hands for closer inspection, careful not to graze anyone with the barrel, but all defining marks or serial numbers had been either scrubbed off or hadn’t made it far enough in manufacturing to be stamped in the first place. With a shrug, she took one of the holsters and belted it around her waist. 

Owen gave her a look. “Really?” 

“What?” Jamie holstered the blaster pistol and waved at the other three. “You all have lightsabres, and we’re going up against who only knows what. Am I supposed to just hide behind a pillar while you lot do all the fun stuff?” 

Before they could answer, the ship’s computer chimed and said from its hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Not to interrupt,” said Jane, “but the tea is getting cold.”

Immediately Owen’s eyes brightened. “Oh, tea?” 

It was in fact high tea. Three tiered platters. Fine bone china. Petit fours. The whole lot. They amused themselves in the various lounges and quarters of the ship for hours before departure, at which point the ship’s computer insisted upon harnesses being secured. The jump to hyperspace left Jamie feeling on edge, as though she had left her stomach behind on Tython. And she couldn’t have been the only one. Their talk had been too forced, their laughter too loud, Owen and Jamie swapping stories to the delight of Dani and Hannah, who would chime in every now and then. And when Jane rolled out a more formal dinner, it felt like some kind of last meal before execution at dawn by firing squad. 

Jamie couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the meal. Every bite tasted like ash. The ship’s computer on the other hand seemed thrilled that its crew was finally taking part in its carefully scheduled meals and activities. More than once Jamie thought she heard a low-pitched contented hum from the belly of the ship. Or perhaps that was simply the engine room. 

Eventually, Jamie made her excuses and left the others to their own devices. Jamie walked into the same bedroom she had taken during the initial trip on this vessel. First one on the left from the main lounge. There were at least four other rooms of generally equal size and accommodation on the ship; Jamie had simply picked this one because it was closest to the helm, easy to access and nothing more. 

Jamie sighed and stopped in the middle of the room. She unslung the holster and pistol, dropping it to the ground, then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt she had stolen from the medbay. Back on Tython, Hannah had offered her a spare set of robes, which she’d declined. Jamie hadn’t worn robes since she was a padawan, and after years of boilersuits and undershirts, she wasn’t about to start again any time soon, thanks. Even if it meant dumb slacks and collared shirts made of some anti-wrinkle fabric that cost more than her apartment back on Telos IV. 

She just needed to make it one more day. Just one more day. The last few weeks had shaved off a good few years from her life. Probably. And by this time tomorrow this whole ordeal would be over, alive or dead. Probably. 

There was a knock at the door. With a frown, Jamie turned, hands paused in the act of unbuttoning the shirt halfway down her stomach. “Yeah?” 

The door hissed open and shut again behind Dani as she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Jamie blinked. “Hey.” 

For a long moment Dani did and said nothing. Her mismatched gaze flicked down to the narrow v of skin and the dogtags revealed by the open shirt, only to dart quickly away again, studying the bedside table with a fixed intensity it did not deserve. 

“Sorry,” said Dani. “I just - It's been a few days since we’d really spoken, and I wanted to check in.”

Jamie nodded. “Ah - yeah. I’m good. Are you -?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Another lengthy pause.

Dani gestured to the door behind her. “Hannah and Owen are very nice.” 

“They are, yeah. Good people. Trust ‘em with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.” Jamie tried to smile, to make light, but Dani had turned that wide-eyed fixed intensity upon her now. It was difficult not to squirm in place when Dani looked at her like that.

Dani took an abortive step forward, only to stop herself before she could venture too close. “Are we okay? It’s just - on Tython you seemed to want your own space, and I thought -” She paused to clear her throat, glancing briefly down at her feet. “Did I mess this up or -? I mean - I know I’m not the best option for anyone, and you deserve someone nice, someone who’s not completely messed up or possessed by an ancient Sith ghost or something. But I -” she paused to close her eyes and draw in a deep breath. “I really like you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me after this is all over, I would completely understand, but I -”

Jamie tried. She really did. But the next thing she knew, she had taken a step forward and pulled Dani in for a kiss. Dani made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat that Jamie chased after, feeling her respond in kind, feeling the Force welling up beneath Dani’s skin like a hand reaching out in offering. 

“Do you think -” Jamie said, pulling away just enough to speak, “- that I did all this because I don’t like you?”

Dani gave a breathless little laugh, her hands cupping Jamie’s jaw then sliding to cradle the back of her head. “I thought you did it because you’re good and noble and you’re drawn to a lost cause.”

“Can be lots of things, can’t I?”

They were close enough that Jamie could feel the pull of Dani’s smile against her own lips, their noses brushing. 

“I know you like your life to be boring. So, I was thinking," said Dani, "how nice Corsin must be at this time of year. Just a getaway planet in the middle of nowhere. No Sith. No Jedi. That could be boring, couldn't it?"

Jamie swayed forward, eyes half lidded, and murmured, "Could be awfully boring."

Hannah and Owen be damned. The little voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea be damned. Dani was kissing her again and every thought flew right out of her head until there was nothing but this. Nothing but today, this moment, the call of blood in her veins, life as it was and nothing else. 

There was not push towards the bed, no drive to action beyond this. Still Jamie paused, one hand remaining anchored at Dani’s waist.

“You can still go alone,” Jamie said, “if you want. Doesn’t have to be with me.”

Even as she said it, Jamie dreaded the answer. Knowing Dani’s predilection towards shrinking away from things that were too difficult to face alone. Knowing her own history of always being the odd one out, passed from place to place, from Corps to Corps, unfettered, unwanted. 

Dani’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her close. “Want it to be with you.”

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani kissed her again. Want this, too.

Removing Dani’s cloak and tossing it onto the floor beside the blaster pistol had never felt so easy. Kissing her, unhooking the lightsabre and setting it onto the table had never felt so easy. Unzipping Dani’s vest while Dani finished unbuttoning what Jamie had started had never felt so easy. Being with someone else had never felt so easy. 

Jamie’s shirt was discarded onto the ground beside the bed just as Jamie sank to her knees there. Dani’s hair was mussed, her mouth parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking as Jamie began to slowly drag down the zipper of her trousers. She toyed with the chain of Jamie’s dogtags, winding it around her fingers at the back of Jamie’s neck. 

When Jamie began to tug down the material, Dani sat on the edge of the mattress so her pants could be peeled off and placed aside. Jamie leaned forward and stroked her tongue along the soft skin of Dani’s inner thigh, feeling a hand grip her hair when she bit down gently, and making a low dark sound in the back of her throat. 

Already Dani was moving her hips in small motions and Jamie hadn’t even started yet. Jamie laughed softly.

“What?” Dani breathed.

Jamie shook her head, but the movement was restricted somewhat by the tight grip Dani had on her hair. “Nothing,” she murmured and bowed forward to place her open mouth against slick wet and wanting heat.

Wanting nothing but this. The spread of Dani’s legs on either side of Jamie’s head. The taste of her when Jamie swiped her tongue in long slow strokes. The sound of her name gasped in Dani’s voice. The ache between her own legs as Dani rocked her hips to the rhythm Jamie set with a barely restrained urgency. 

Where last time had been fast and hard, Jamie did the opposite now. She traced Dani with the tip of her tongue as if trying to map her to memory, finding the best reactions and storing them away for later, for a time again with her that may never come. One of Dani’s heels came up to press into the small of Jamie’s back, and Jamie could feel the way the muscle of Dani’s inner thigh trembled against the side of her face. The same way her fingers trembled as they combed back Jamie’s hair. 

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani’s groan ended on a broken noise, as Dani’s hips arched up to press more firmly against her mouth while Jamie offered only a gentle suction. Want her. Want us. 

Dani hauled Jamie up by the chain around her neck to kiss her deeply. The kiss was slick and messy and tasted of her, and when they parted Dani was panting. 

“Did I mention,” Dani said breathlessly, “that I really like you?”

Jamie laughed and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the bed. Smiling broadly, Dani kissed her and rolled her over to start unbuttoning Jamie’s dark-washed slacks. Before she could do more than flick open the first of two buttons, Jamie placed her hands and Dani’s hips and encouraged her to rock against her thigh.

“That’s -” Dani swallowed back a reckless sound, her eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to ruin your nice slacks.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Dani’s answering laugh was breathless. “Do you mean that literally, or -?”

The question died on her tongue when Jamie pressed her knee up and wedged a hand between them just enough that she could brush her thumb just so. She watched as Dani’s face screwed up, as her mouth dropped open and her hips bucked out of time until she came again — smaller this time, but no less gratifying.

Dani slowed to a halt, trying to catch her breath. “All right,” she said. “It’s definitely your turn.”

When they’d finished, Jamie sank bonelessly back onto the mattress. Their clothes were strewn all about the room, and the ship’s computer had set the lights to dim automatically to match a normalised sleep cycle, so that the ceiling was a map of constellations. Dani was stark naked and wiping her hands clean on a shirt with a self-satisfied expression before she crawled back up the bed and snuggled into Jamie’s side.

Jamie rolled onto her side and draped an arm across Dani’s waist to hold her loosely there. She needed to take a shower, but couldn’t find the energy within herself to get up. Not when recent sex had turned her bones to jelly, and not when Dani started to trace the curving lines of Jamie’s monochromatic tattoo. 

Exhaling slowly, Jamie sank further into the mattress. Her eyes slipped shut and she allowed herself this moment of brief respite. 

“Do you ever think,” Dani asked softly, “this was supposed to happen?” 

Blearily, Jamie opened her eyes, lulled half asleep by the way Dani was touching her. “What d’you mean?”

Dani shook her head, admiring the way her fingertips drifted across the pattern of ink on Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just - When I chose the ship to Telos IV, it wasn’t the fastest or the cheapest or even the one leaving the soonest. I was still in shock, I think. From what had happened on Vurdon Ka. There was another transport leaving three hours earlier, heading towards the Outer Rim, but when the droid asked me what ticket I wanted I bought the one to Telos instead.” Her words slowed to a mumble, and her caress stopped. Dani stared at the flowers on Jamie’s skin as if in wonder. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie offered, watching the flicker of Dani’s brow in response.

Dani seemed to be trying to remember something intently. “Maybe, but it was so strange. I had this - this feeling. And when I landed on Telos, you know, I -” She broke off with a small incredulous laugh. “I walked straight to that bar. Just - straight there. Didn’t even ask for directions.”

Jamie blinked, more awake now. That hum of energy had returned, threading between them like an arc. Dani’s presence was stalwart, nothing wavering or questioning about it. 

“I don’t know anything about the Force,” Dani continued, “but I’m glad to have met you.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. It was brief but the warmth pooling in her chest was verdant and budding. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Rebecca’s ship dropped out of hyperspace only three kilometers from the luxury cruiser, so that the two vessels drifted in orbit around Alderaan side by side. The planet below was a vast curved horizon of blues and greens, struck through with white cloud. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Jamie noticed how Dani’s gaze kept drifting towards the broad windows of the left wing, staring out at the planet below with her shoulders tense and her hands clasped behind her back. 

The moment Rebecca’s ship came into view, Owen leaned over Jamie’s shoulder and hit the comm button, requesting a transmission, which was immediately picked up.

“Hello again,” Owen greeted jovially down the line. “We see you’ve just arrived in orbit. And might I say - your ship is exactly what I expected from a smuggler.”

“Aww, thanks,” said Rebecca, her video feed flickering into view. “I worked hard to get it just right.”

Rebecca’s ship was a single bladed shape of stark grey material, like a shark’s fin parting the surface of water. Jamie knew from experience that its small size could mislead larger ships into underestimating its speed and firepower. She also knew from experience that the sleeping cots were cramped and uncomfortable, and that more often than not Rebecca slept in a hammock strung up in the cockpit itself. 

Jamie elbowed Owen in the gut so she could have more room. “Status report?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “What are you? Fleet Commander Taylor?”

“Just tell me how we’re getting down to the surface without being noticed,” Jamie said.

“Funny you should ask that,” Rebecca replied, trailing off.

Owen made a face. “Oh, no. Is it bad?” 

“Well…”

“Get it over with,” groaned Jamie. She could hear Hannah and Dani walking closer to join the conversation. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rebecca hit a few buttons to switch over the feed, and the screen suddenly displayed a scene much nearer to the surface. She must have hacked into a few security cameras, because the view turned slowly alongside her tapping away in the background. A towering estate in slate greys with parapets like speartips jutting into the sky dominated the screen, flanked by snowy mountains. A broad bridge led to the front entrance, and a hundred or so guardsmen had set up allacrete bollards behind which they were taking cover to avoid incoming fire, peeking over to return volleys before crouching down again.

“That’s,” Dani said slowly, pointing towards a crest-emblazoned purple and red banner hanging from the manor walls on the screen, “House Thul.” 

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“They’re being besieged by the Sith Lord,” said Rebecca.

“I said don’t tell me.”

Hannah peered over Jamie’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Can you get us to the surface?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “But after that, I’m all out of ideas. I told you: I’m not a Core World girl. I don’t know Alderaan from a bottle of spotchka.” 

“I do.” 

Jamie opened her eyes and lowered her head. Beside her Dani had lifted her hand slightly as though waiting to be called on in class. “There’s a side entrance used primarily by servants and staff.”

“What? A side entrance dug all the way through the mountains?” Owen pointed to the snowy peaks pressed in tight on either side of the estate. 

“No, it’s here.” Dani tapped her finger against the screen just off to the side of where the camera was currently showing. “It’s where the guards sleep. You go through a security checkpoint and then down a tunnel which leads into a room off the great hall.” 

“Don’t think the security checkpoint won’t be a problem this time,” said Jamie.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca slowly as a guardsman on screen was shot dead and slumped to the ground, only to be pulled back over the bollard by one of his comrades. “They look a little occupied right now.” 

Chatter fizzed from another speaker on the dashboard. Frowning, Rebecca sat in the pilot’s seat and turned a dial until the frequency better matched. They could hear a staticky voice shouting frantic orders over the comm.

“That’s a Pub frequency,” Rebecca said. 

“The Empire has revealed its hand,” Owen said. “The Republic will be arriving with reinforcements soon.”

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Jamie muttered darkly. 

Hannah hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, yes. A fully fledged Sith Lord? They can tear this estate apart and be out with what they want before Republic troops make it into orbit.” 

“Yeah, well, hopefully we can do the same.” 

From the sidelines, Dani suddenly spoke, “Can we talk about the children for a sec?” When she had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath and continued, “What’s going to happen to them now that we know they’re Force Sensitive?” 

She looked towards Jamie, who raised both hands and shook her head, pointing towards Owen and Hannah. Hannah was looking at Owen, who shrugged and made a gesture, which Hannah reacted to with an emphatic tilt of her head, the two of them engaged in the kind of silent conversation only two people who had been together for so long knew. 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Jamie drawled. “Or are you two lovebirds just going to keep having your weird psychic talk that nobody else can hear?”

Hannah gave Jamie an arch, brook-no-nonsense glare, while Owen stuck out his tongue at her. 

“I think it best if we take them back to Tython,” said Hannah to Dani. “There they can be trained in the Force properly.”

Some of the tension held in Dani’s jaw slackened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear that.” 

“Anything else we need to discuss before we leap into the fray?” Rebecca asked from the pilot’s seat. 

Silence. 

“Right,” said Jamie, hand on the holster of her blaster pistol. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

[yeetussfetus]

square up

ok so this is the piece i was talking about and basically it was something for chrismas (in the story its called life day) so theres that. more notes at the end ig

warnings: fighting, cursing, alcohol, drinking, c h a o s

words: 2205 (damn)

Eli was too tired for a “meeting” with anyone today, but he still decided to hear Agent Kallus out. After all, it was rare that the imperial officer even asked for anything, so it must have been something big. 

And while, technically it wasn’t as big as Eli predicted, it still was something he found weird.

“Please, Eli, I don’t care what you have to do, just please help me out this one time!” Kallus was almost about to drop to his knees begging, and what for, you might ask? Life Day was a little more than a day away, and it was on a Friday. Of course, everyone had thought it would be a great idea to plan a Life Day party for the meeting instead of their usual bullshit, but it didn’t go as planned. 

The last meeting was full of angry names, curses and one (1) knocked out director. So, of course, the only people who had planned the party peacefully were the only ones who made the final decisions. Which, of course, was you, Eli and Yularen. Kallus wasn’t present at the meeting, and Pryce had passed out early throughout the meeting, so neither of them were able to even plan anything. This is where Eli's problems began. 

Kallus was actually looking forward to the Life Day celebration, because, in his own words, “It’s a festive day, what’s more to like?” Eli had a sneaking suspicion it was for something else. And he was correct. Since Kallus wasn’t present at the meeting and wasn’t elected to plan out the party, he had no say in what they served, including drinks, food, and most importantly, the type of alcohol. This is why Kallus was begging Eli to help him smuggle a certain type of beer onto the ship for the party.

Eli pinched the bridge of his nose while he spoke, “Why can’t you just do this yourself?” Kallus stopped for a moment, before continuing, “This particular… the beverage is, well, technically, prohibited in official Imperial territory because its known for being produced by rebellious groups.” Kallus saw how Eli was grabbing his things, probably to leave, so he rushed to the doorway to block Elis only escape.

“HOWEVER,” Kallus continued, “I have placed a shipment to arrive near a docking bay at the next planet that we are heading to. All I need is a distraction and I can bring the shipment aboard.” Eli still looked skeptical, but Kallus intervened, “Not only that, but the shipment is small, only about the size of the meeting table, so it won’t even get in the way!”

Eli thought for a moment, wondering what he should do. “Why do you even want this beverage at the party, anyway? What’s so good about it?” Kallus straightened up, before he said, “I have tasted this drink before it was classified as illegal, and it was the best thing I have ever tasted. I can assure you that this sacrifice will be worth it.”

Well, usually when it's about food, Kallus has terrible taste, but when it's alcohol…

Eli sat for a moment, wondering if he should take up Kallus’ offer, and thought of the benefits and liabilities. Finally, he answered Kallus. “Alright, I’ll make a distraction for tomorrow. What time will the shipment be here?”

Kallus showed a face of relief, before he finally responded “Yes, thank you! Oh- the shipment is at 0900.”

Eli nodded and watched as Kallus walked out of the room with surprising confidence. Eli picked up his datapad, only to realize one thing: Who was going to distract an entire cargo bay? At this he suddenly regretted his decision. He set his datapad down, wondering who he could trust and who was someone willing to even do that. Thrawn? No, he isn’t particularly fond of Kallus. Pryce? Would probably use it as blackmail for something. Yularen… yeah, no, he already gets hungover. That left only you. 

He made a mini checklist that would help him determine who would be best for this task. You were someone he trusts. You would definitely be willing to pull it off. And you definitely could distract an entire hangar. He pulled out his comm and pulled up your number, and started to call you. When you answered, you appeared to be sitting at a table. You looked to someone off screen and asked them to give you some privacy before turning back to Eli. “Eli, what can I do for you today?”

Eli shuffled a bit, before asking, “I was wondering if you could help me distract a hangar bay for some beer.” You tilted your head, and asked “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Eli explained, “Kallus wants to drink a certain beer that's been prohibited by the Empire for the party on Friday, but he still ordered some and they’re going to arrive on the moon we’re landing on tomorrow, and he needs a distraction to bring the drinks in the ship. I was wondering if you were able to distract the hangar while he smuggles the shipment into the meeting room.”

You sat there for a moment, and finally responded with, “Fuck it, I’m bored.” Eli smiled and said his goodbyes before pocketing the comm and walking out of the room towards his post for the day.

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

You had already gotten a plan, somehow. It wasn’t your best, but it still was a plan. One of your good friends, Pryce, was talking about how she had to settle a dispute with two stormtroopers that were angry at each other over something, something about it was about a woman named Elisa. The first part of your plan was to acquire a datapad that one of the stormtroopers who was in the feud used quite often and make a fake conversation. You took note that his name was Trenk.

You walked down the hallway, towards the stormtrooper quarters, and stopped at a living area. It wasn’t lavish, but it wasn’t disgusting, either. It was modest. You saw two people in the room itself, and then the same two started to argue. You made your presence known, and as they both were about to throw hands, they saw you enter the room and immediately stopped. You smiled and asked, “Hello. I see that you two are busy. However, I need a datapad from this particular core. The higher ups have noticed some security breaches, and they need some form of evidence to prove their theories. If you have one, or if you know someone in this core to have one, please tell HR.” You were about to turn around when you saw one of them pull out a datapad and hand it to you. You smiled, “Thank you. This will be returned to you in the morning, earliest 0800.”

And with that, you left and started phase II of your plan. When you walked into your office, you pulled his messenger tabs and looked for this ‘Elisa’, and finally found her. Looking through the messages, you found a few that were a little more spicier than the others. You screenshotted them, and then edited the dates to more recent times. You smiled and then put the datapad down for the next part of your plan. You looked at what was going to be picked up that day, on the planet, and made sure that the placement of certain items were going to be placed in a certain way.

With that, you returned to your normal duties until the next day.

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

Walking towards the hangar that was picking up items and disposing of others, you saw the trooper who was having the fight with Trenk walking towards his post. You rushed up to him, and held out the datapad. “Trooper, thank you for your contribution- Oh, I see you're not him. Hmm. Well, I saw you with him, so if you could give this to him when you see him, that would be appreciated.” You turned around, and then followed it up with, “Oh, and when you see him, please tell him to refrain from using Imperial property for his personal use. That might lead to another data breach and its unprofessional.”

The trooper looked back at you, and while you walked off you were able to hear his angry tapping trying to find out what you were talking about, and since he only saw one of the screenshots, he wasn’t able to tell they were edited. He cursed and rushed past you, towards the hangar.

You watched as he turned the corner, before comming Kallus, sending him “Now would be a good time to smuggle your drink on”. You strolled past some troopers to see what was about to go down.

When you did reach the hangar bay, you noticed that the chaos had already started. Both troopers had thrown hands with each other, but this caused some of the items that were being disposed of to knock over which somehow caused another fist fight. Then you noticed that one third of the hangar was just fighting each other. The other third were just trying to stop all the fighting, and then finally the final third were cheering the fight on. And in the corner of the hangar, you saw a tarped hover cart was pushing its way towards the entrance.

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

Thrawn looked through the security cameras, watching as chaos erupted in the hangar. He saw one person body slam somebody. Another grabbed someone and threw them against two other people who were fighting with each other. Tarkin snickered behind him. Yularen was worried about the cargo, and Eli just stared in astonishment as he saw chaos unfold. He knew you were good at these things: he just didn’t realize how good you were.

Finally, he saw Thrawn reach over to speak on the PA. “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn, if you happen to be in hangar bay 6, please refrain from punching your peers, there is cargo that still needs to be delivered. I repeat, hangar bay 6, refrain from punching your peers. There will be court martials for those who do not comply.”

Slowly but steadily, the four men saw that people were being pulled apart and medics were able to rush in to help the injured. Of course, nothing too serious, but it was a complication in the day. Eli looked at Thrawn, who looked like he just wanted to be swallowed into a hole, while Tarkin was just refraining from laughing. Yularen just pulled out a flask and downed the bottle.

This was going to be a long day.

When the Chimera was able to get back into space, everyone had to attend a mandatory meeting where Thrawn stated that if there was a problem with another peer that they worked with, it was better to work it out without fighting. You just sat in the back, smiling.

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

“Damn, Kallus, you really pulled through with these drinks.” You took another sip of the beer that he had brought. It was only your 2nd, since you weren’t an avid drinker, but everyone else was either wasted or just drunk. You yourself were starting to feel woozy. Kallus smiled and took a sip of his own drink. He was starting to get a little drunk himself.

“You know, you’re not supposed to be starting fights.” he said, watching as the others talked amongst themselves. “I know, but then we wouldn’t have any beer would we?” you held up your glass, offering a toast to him. He did the same, and then you both drank the rest of your glasses. You were about to continue the conversation, when you saw Thrawn slam his glass on the table and stumble over, point to Kallus and say, “Square up, bitch.”

Kallus looked surprised for a moment, before asking, “E-Excuse me, sir?” Thrawn stared right into him with anger in his eyes. “Your being too friendly with my wife-” “Sir, she isn’t your wife-” “not YET-” “Thrawn, it’s fine, here, lets go and-” Thrawn finally reached Kallus and just straight up punched him, knocking the blond down, and then just start beating him up. You leaned against the wall as Kallus regained his composure and then grabbed Thrawn's collar and tossed him away before getting up, grabbing his shirt along the way, and then hurling him onto the table. At this point they had everyone's attention. Deciding to document this, and placing it in the wondrous hall of “Times Thrawn should’ve taken his own advice”, you posed in the camera, and then took the actual picture. 

Not looking at the fight in front of you, you study the photo and see Thrawn and Kallus beating the shit out of each other, Yularen panicking, Eli trying to get Thrawn to stop, Pryce posing since she saw you taking a photo, and Tarkin and Krennic seemingly betting on who was going to win. Vader was just standing in the corner. You titled the photo “If you have a problem with your peers, please attempt to try and solve the problem diplomatically.” you saved the photo and then put your drink down to go and help your boyfriend.

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

ok so this was actually really fun to write ngl bc halfway i was like “i should just throw this out” and then i watched the meme that made me want to write this and i was like “nah just finish it” so heres the chrismas present. its for u pls take it lmao. 

i need to go to bed. anyway im gonna go eat some tamales goodbye i love you 

edit: tagging @fallenrepublick bc ik u like chaotic shit

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 10)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (slowburn?) 

WARNINGS: swearing, military talk/slang. Carrillo will not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC. awkwardly written moments, flippy floppy points of view. OC’s are back baby. Sexaul tones/actions. Swapping between metric and imperial units lol

AUTHORS NOTE: holy hecka team im sorry for how long this took for me to get out, honestly this is just a whole heap of word vomit, barely any plot lol, Ash and Henry are not related so don't worry about anything weird going on,  i swear i have an addiction to the coffee cup (IYKYK), might have accidentally repeated a scene from a previous chapter lol. hope y'all enjoy

WORD COUNT: 7k (yeah idk how i wrote this much)

CHAPTER: 10  OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

The week continued without a hitch, while the tension between the two officers continued to grow, the awkwardness that occurred after their last incident never returned, a somewhat confusing signal that to Ash meant that the relationship between the two of them had changed for the better, at least that's what she predicted. She had lost count of the amount of times her mind had wandered back to the steamy moment in the kitchen,that and she often woke from her dreams wound up and teetering on the edge of release. She almost wished she had had the guts to push the bounds of the relationship and defile the kitchen that day, but she was sure that with the ever mounting tension between them that one day her wish might just come true

The outside loop of the property had become her best and latest distraction. Every morning she woke at the crack of dawn to run at least a few laps of her personally carved out track, exhausting both mind and body and taking her thoughts off the hunky officer that she shared a house with. While the runs were a peaceful place to clear her mind she couldn’t deny that her thoughts would reflect on the small moments shared between herself and her commanding officer since their jarring encounter in the kitchen. From the subtle brush of his hand against hers when she’d deliver him one of his many coffees throughout the day, to the soft wandering touch of his fingers along her hip as he made his way round her in the kitchen to grab something, each little thing seemed to have a more than professional meaning to the young officer now, it was as if there was an unspoken agreement that a line had been crossed, but neither one of them was ready to push the boundary to the extent they had once before, something that both frustrated and baffled her to no end. 

It was times like now, as she was running meters deep in the tree line, dodging branch after branch, that she wished she had the courage to go back in the gym. Her body still had tremors whenever she thought of working out, it seemed, much to her dismay, that the assault many weeks ago in the base gym had scared her to her core, an upsetting thought at that. 

Shaking herself from her thoughts Ash urged her legs to move faster, running at a speed akin to her level before the assault, many things were taken from her that day, the biggest loss she found was her fitness. There was nothing Ash loved more than working her body to the point of exertion and then pushing it just that little bit further, now she was lucky to even get half of her usual routine in before she was crouched in the grass hurling up whatever was in her stomach, or clutching her side that was sparking in varying degrees of pain depending on the day.  

Head spinning and stomach clenching she made her way back to the house at a moderate speed, only slowing when she had to key in her code to the front door to make her way inside. She made quick work of showering and getting ready for the day before heading to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on and wait for the Colonel to get up for his day, something that was now a comforting routine for her. It seemed, like most mornings, that Ash would not be waiting long for her commanding officer to make an appearance from his office. 

It was as if the smell of coffee brought the aforementioned man from his room, as a mere few moments after the first cup was poured he graced Ash with his presence. The joys of living away from the rules and regulations of base and being the commanding officer of his own unit meant that the dress standards of a regular operation did not apply for the currently unnamed task force he had in play. While ranks and marks of respect were still very much ingrained in the team, albeit questionably with the junior officer currently in his presence, the standards he once held so high were relaxed in this environment. The states of dress were not complete uniform or daily working rigs, but instead were that of an office rig. While their boots were still polished to the highest of standards and their pants ironed pristinely their working shirts were foregone and replaced with that of a dark green t-shirt with the insignia of their respective ranks printed on the right side of their chest and ‘army’ printed on the left side of their chest. 

While many of the force would remark that every soldier looked their best in the ceremonial dress uniform above all else; Ash would say that she much preferred this look on the Colonel. While he still carried the grace and posture of a man who earned his rank it was nice to see him in a seemingly more relaxed state, although Ash was sure that would change when the rest of the team arrived and their sanctity of peace would be interrupted when the work actually came rolling in. 

She greeted him with a warm smile, holding his fresh cup of coffee out towards him, while her traitorous mind briefly wandered back to the way he had pressed her against the bench and lit the spark to the now raging fire within her days ago. Ash could not conceal the small delighted shiver that wracked her body when his hand briefly covered her own while he procured his cup, nor could she deny the rush of heat that trickled out from where their bodies touched to where she craved it most.  She might have thought it embarrassing, if not for the expression on Carrillo’s face which could only be described as a look of pure unadulterated primal desire that he was so obviously trying to suppress. 

They worked together in comfortable silence, both knew the routine for breakfast like the back of their hands by now, not much had changed since they had first stepped foot in the house nearly five weeks ago, yes Ash had finally healed and yes there was some odd relationship escalating between the two of them, but nothing felt more right to her than standing side by side with the notorious Colonel Carrillo cooking breakfast and stealing fleeting lust filled glances at him when she was positive she wouldn’t get caught, despite secretly hoping she would. 

Ash was first to finish breakfast which was not an unusual feat, whether it from eating ration packs and questionable food for weeks on end in training or just due to the fact that the food Carrillo cooked was some of the best she’d ever had, there was never a meal where food was left on her plate; hungry or not the food was always demolished, his cooking was just that good. Ash gathered her plate and started on the clean up, it was in how she was raised that the cook never did the washing up so with that she never allowed the handsome Colonel help out once he was finished, something he used to protest but now just brushed off with a thankful smile before he grabbed what was left of his coffee and left to his office without a trace. 

This morning however went a little bit differently from the rest. Instead of standing from his chair to take his leave Carrillo rounded the bench to stand opposite Ash, while there was maybe a few feet of space between them she was now hyper aware of his presence. If he were to step just that little bit closer to her she could perhaps throw caution to the wind and enact her deepest fantasy; determining how tight of a grasp he really had on that control of his. As if sensing her thoughts the Colonel took a step closer to her. For a moment she dared not breathe, least that be a give away to what she was really feeling, her heart was beating in an erratic melody inside her chest, threatening to burst out and proclaim its desires to the man in question. 

Ash jumped when a hand came to rest on the small of her back, it being the last thing she had expected to happen. The searing heat of his palm seeped through the thin layer of her shirt and burrowed deep within her muscles relaxing her more than she'd care to admit. She shot him a wide eyed questioning glance as he settled against her side, a raised brow and a brief half smile was all she got in return as he took a sip of what was left of the coffee in his right hand.

Ash tried to act nonchalant but internally she was battling her thoughts, she was unable to determine if there was some ulterior motive behind his actions or if he was genuinely interested in her but if the rumour mill was anything to go by, he was not the kind of man to fuck around with someone for a selfish reason. Ash just wished there was a way where she could get some kind of definitive reaction from him so she could finally sus out his true motive, what reaction she wanted she wasn’t quite sure but anything was better than their subtle touches and nearly there encounters. 

So lost in the mess that was her own thoughts Ash failed to recognise the almost pained thoughtful look on the officers’ face before he closed the rather small gap that was already between them, their bodies now seamlessly slotted against each other in a way that was intimate in ways it shouldn’t be, but craved secretly by the both of them. He was testing boundaries he wasn’t quite sure still even existed between them, he was just far too cautious to step a foot in the wrong direction and make the younger officer uncomfortable, he needed her on the team more than he needed her to be his; at least that's what he told himself.

Ash did not flinch nor shy away from the comforting weight of him against her side, not even when his hand lifted from its welcomed position on her lower back so he could reach around her left side to grab at the coffee pot. It was a move that made Ash want to so desperately cuddle up into his side while his arm was around her like that, there was just something about the quiet confidence and deliberate softness of his actions that drew her in more each day. With a calculated movement he drew his arm back towards himself, stepping briefly away from her to finish pouring his now fresh cup of coffee before once again reaching behind her to replace the glass pot back to its original spot.

Ash felt rather than heard him turn around to lean his back against the bench, she had refocused herself onto the task at hand to not let herself get carried away with the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ behind his actions. He was a man of very few words but the intent and weight behind his actions was always methodical and intentional, that was perhaps the only thing that Ash could rely on to find some truth behind his actions. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time she was washing the dishes, the heat of his eyes travelled the length of her body multiple times, stopping in the odd place here and there before continuing on their path. It was now as she was finishing up the final few utensils that she felt his eyes on her face, she felt her face heat up at the thought, no doubt blushing a deep shade if the small huff of amusement from her right was anything to go by. 

Ash didn’t glance his way until she felt a few short taps against her hip, when she did glance his way she nearly choked on her own spit. His feet were outstretched with one ridiculously glassy boot hooked over the other, accentuating the length of his legs and showing just how well he filled out the fatigues, in more than one place. His hips were resting against the edge of the bench with his left palm flat on the countertop, coffee cup discarded just a few centimeters away. The way his arm bent accentuated the unbridled strength beneath the skin that was toned from all those years of vigorous work. She was unsure how a man could look so intimidating yet enticing at the same time, all she knew was that if she was given the chance she would let this man further into her life in a heartbeat. When her eyes finally made their way to his face she was met with a smirk and an amused glint in his eye, there was absolutely no denying she had been caught checking him out, but at this point she was beyond hiding it. In the half second she took to admire his face he was already speaking, though she never heard a word of what was said because she was too caught up in the rich honeyed colour of his eyes. It was only when he tapped her hip once more than she snapped out of her trance.

“Ash” he spoke softly, the tone commanding yet captivating, drawing her in, “I’ll be in my officer working on posting forms for the team if you need me..” he trailed off for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before adding “for anything, anything at all” with a flirtatious smirk and a well timed wink. He grabbed his cup off the counter before strutting off in the direction of his office, leaving a stunned wordless Ash standing in the kitchen mouth agape and staring in his direction. 

“God do I need you. In my bed. Naked.Preferably” Ash muttered under her breath, silently thanking the gods that the man the comment was directed at had already departed leaving her to run her mouth uncontrollably, like she tended to do around the Colonel. Taking a shaky breath and picking up the dishes to place them away in their respectful places Ash felt her mind wander. There were many a time she had woken from dreams of being pressed against the kitchen counter or his desk while he was balls deep inside her whispering sweet nothings in her ears, but now these little flirty moments were making her want to act on the situations, no matter how unprofessional that may be. She stood up straight from putting a cup away under the counter and was struck with a wave of dizziness, suddenly wary she made her way to the couch lowering herself slowly before closing her eyes to let the room settle. More tired than she though she was she felt herself drift off slowly, this time not fighting it, she definitely needed the rest. 

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The Colonel had to admit to himself that he was getting more and more worked up around the stubborn young officer he resided with. Whether it from her lust filled glances she threw his way when she thought he wasn’t looking, to the subtle fleeting touch she would grant him when handing him files or a new cup of coffee. Each and every little touch and smile she threw his way was getting under his skin, and as much as he prided himself on control and professionalism, he wasn’t sure how much longer each was gonna last around her. There was just something about her that drew him in and made him want to throw out the years of by the book work he had done just for what could be the most rewarding relationship he would ever have.

He had left the kitchen warm all over from her touch, even the briefest brush against her side had been enough to heighten the ever mounting feelings he had for the girl, lust or otherwise. Deciding that doing paperwork in such a worked up state would only serve to make him more frustrated he decided that a workout in the home gym was exactly what he needed, it had already been a few days since his last workout and after cooping himself in his office it was definitely what he needed. As he made his way from his room intent on making it to the gym unnoticed his attention was drawn elsewhere. A soft sleepy sound came from the couch, too quiet for him to hear at this distance so he made slow quiet steps closer, not wanting to make a noise and accidentally wake the sleeping soldier who most definitely needed the rest.

Creeping closer to the noise just might has been his downfall, for when he got closer he noticed the frazzled state the girl was in. she was sweating and rolling round on the couch, seemingly uncomfortable, but just as he went to wake her. He froze. What he heard made his heart race, stomach dip and shorts become uncomfortably tight. The quietly moaned “Carrillo. Sir, please. Harder'' that escaped the sleeping girls’ mouth might have been the sweetest sound he’d heard his whole life. He let out a slow drawn out breath in an attempt to recenter himself, if anyone asked if he was affected by the words that tumbled out her mouth he would deny it at all cost, but his physical reaction to such words was something he couldn’t hide. Grunting lowly as he readjusted himself in his shorts he knew he needed to leave the room, the gym was now calling his name, as was the young officer on the couch before him, but that was a thought he needed to expel from his brain. He spun on his heel and headed for the gym, jamming his headphones in his ears and selecting one of the many pre-made workout playlists he had saved, he needed to focus on something other than the sweet sounds that fell from Ash’s mouth and the very prominent erection he currently had. Losing himself in a workout was the only way he knew how, so thats exactly what he did. 

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Ash was pretty sure she was stuck in a dream loop when the sounds of her dreams were suddenly plaguing her reality. Muted grunts and groans were echoing throughout the house, bouncing from one wall to the next and sending delighted shivers down her spine and a flurry heat straight to her core. She sat up abruptly, taking in her surroundings, there was only one or two places noises like those belonged, the gym or the bedroom, and given Carrillo’s bedroom door was wide open and she could see that the room was empty it clued her in to the fact that he was in the gym. The sudden bombardment of impure thoughts that clouded her now very awake brain were distracting to say the least, how often did one wake from a dream like she just encountered only for the exact scenario to practically be playing out in reality, whatever force was egging her on really knew how to play on her desires. 

Ash pushed up off the couch and wandered towards the gym on shaky legs, whether from the residual gratifying feelings of her dream or the current overwhelming sounds coming from the direction she was heading, she knew she had to get a grip on her feelings before she did something that could be considered dangerous. If Ash didn’t know there was a gym in their current residence she was sure there would be a string of jealousy coursing through her veins right now, the varying depths of the grunt and groans were a melody to her ears, ones she wish she could hear in another kind of physical situation. When she reached the open archway of the gym it was like all the air was sucked from her lungs, the sight before her like a devious punch to the gut. 

From where she was standing she had the utmost perfect view of the most virile man she’d ever seen. Drenched in a layer of sweat and huffing out the occasional grunt was Carrillo, delectably shirtless allowing Ash to drool at the tantalizing display of raw strength as the muscles bunched and twisted under his skin. There was no man on earth that could make bench pressing two hundred pounds look as easy as the Colonel did, the bulge of his biceps and bunch of his pecs as he brought the bar down had Ash subconsciously squeezing her legs together at the feelings it invoked in her, no man had the right to be that enticing, neither did the veins in his arms, which somehow seemed to become more prominent after each pass of the bar. Ash was glad for the fact she was leaning against a door frame for she was sure she would have either been on the floor or mounting the man before her if that was not the case. 

Ash only knew she had been staring too long when the room suddenly went quiet, so far in a hormone filled trace she had failed to notice her commanding officer stop exercising for a moment and sit up and watch her from his position. She felt the warm caress of his eyes take in her form from across the room, body heating further when she watched his tongue dart out across his lip before he delivered her a mind shattering smirk that made her knees weak and her pussy weaker. She watched as he stood from the bench, smirk still plastered on his face, and made his way in her direction, stopping short a mere few feet away. 

From this close Ash was able to watch entranced as a few drops of sweat trailed down from his temple and along the curve of his jaw before dripping onto his chest, flowing over the curved expanse of his pecs and further down his perfectly toned abdomen  to the waistband of his shorts. Shamefully, or maybe not, she let her eyes travel just that tad bit lower, barely concealing an unintentional moan of her own as the lasting effects of her dream combined with the tempting god of a man standing before her. Swallowing down the sounds that so desperately were trying to escape her throat she tilted her head back to meet the polished amber eyes of the walking heroine that was Carrillo. The richness of his eyes had been engulfed by the lust blown soulless depth of his pupils which were no doubt a positive reflection of her own enamoured gaze.

They stood there staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity before he finally broke the silence with words that might just haunt her for the rest of her days, “I couldn’t help but overhear, nice dream there was it Ashy” he questioned with an all knowing gaze, a small jolt of pride flowing through him when he realised he had her perfectly pinned down by his words. He watched bemused as multiple emotions crossed the face of the woman before him, her face flushed as she tried to find the appropriate way to address what he had said, but instead she just stood there for a moment gaping like a fish, he almost wanted to make a comment about her using her mouth for something else but decided his previous comment was torture enough. 

“Sir, I..., oh my god...” she trailed off, turning to face slightly away from him in an attempt to hide her face, even though she knew he’d already caught her expression, it would be hard not to this close. She had never felt so simultaneously embarrassed yet turned on by a situation, damn him and his stupidly handsome face. Luckily for her it seemed that Carrillo had had enough with his teasing for now as he turned away to move to the open space in the gym, doing a few deliberately slow stretches to catch her eye, before starting on what she guessed was a core workout, not that he needed it from his figure. Frustrated both mentally and physically  Ash decided that she too should crack on with a workout to try and let out her tension in a way that didn’t involve jumping the bones of the only other person she lived with and further complicating the already questionable situation they had placed themselves in. 

She made her way towards the boxing bag hanging in the corner, stopping to sit down on a lone chair to untie and remove her boots and socks and roll up her pants to a more practical level, she debated briefly on taking off her shirt to workout in just her bra and pants but thought against adding more fuel to the already roaring fire between the two of them. She wrapped her hands with a practiced ease, eyes wandering over to the other side of the room to admire the view while she worked autonomously. It was like the universe was playing a cruel joke on her today as she watched the Colonel move gracefully from situps in to pushups, she could only imagine herself underneath him as he powered through the pushups like they were nothing, her mind, ever the traitor, briefly flashed back to the time she was once underneath him while he was in a similar position, oh how she now wished that towel of his had just slipped off and that damn phone hadn’t rang that day, although she was sure that moment had kickstarted whatever was now lingering between them. 

Finished with wrapping her hands and quietly admiring the shirtless hunk across the room Ash got up and began stretching out her muscles, it had been a while since she had done anything more than run around the edge of the property, so a full body workout such as this would do her in if she didn’t warm up her muscles beforehand.  She started with a few simple combinations on the bag that she knew like the back of her hand, having practiced since she was only young, from there she slowly increased the amount of punches and kicks per combination, so far in the zone she failed to see Carrillo leave, much to her future disappointment. 

She was unsure how long she had been going before an unusual cold feeling overtook her body, the shakes of her muscles were no longer that of exhaustion but that of what she would assume was fear, her vision was tunneling on the bag, heart rate increasing to beyond that of physical labor and onto something more. Stubborn to a fault Ash pushed on, shaking out her arms and legs ever now and then to rid herself of the ghostly feeling. It was after one particularly bone rattling kick that she felt a presence behind her, thinking it was the man of her desires she spun around, only to be met with an empty gym, shaking her head at her own stupidity, she carried on. After the third feeling of someone behind her and Ash checking and failing to find someone she felt her vision darkening, she was dizzy beyond belief, beginning to hyperventilate and shaking all over when she felt herself fall to the floor, seconds before impact she could have swore she heard a male voice whisper “This is for my brother bitch” before she succumbed to the darkness. 

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A wave of panic shot through the normally emotionally stealed man when he saw the younger officer lying on the floor shaking and babbling. He'd seen similar things before back in Columbia after raids had gone wrong and comrades had been killed, there was no doubt in his mind that the poor girl before him was suffering from flashbacks and potentially even PTSD, something he wouldn’t wish upon anyone with his dying breath. Bending down he carefully scooped Ash up into his arms, being careful not to jostle her and give her a fright, before he hugged her tight to his chest, exaggerating his breaths in an attempt to get hers to even out and match his own. 

He made haste for the couch knowing it was one of her safe spaces, the last thing he needed was to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was. Rounding the corner into the lounge and taking a few quick strides into the room Carrillo went to place Ash down on the couch, only to have her cling to him desperately while shaking her head, the flash of pain that crossed her face and the small anguished cry she made had the man’s heart leaping into his throat. He was a man of duty and honor through and through, he looked after any team he commanded to the best of his ability, but seeing this girl, whom he had begun developing feelings for, in such pain was sending him for a loop, something which hasn't happened since he too was a junior officer. 

With Ash still bundled in his arms Carrillo snagged the blanket hanging off one of the smaller couches before wrapping it around the girls shoulders in an attempt to warm her up, she was shivering furiously, no doubt in shock from rehashing the trauma of her attack. He slowly lowered himself onto the couch, getting as comfortable as possible, before allowing a still slightly incoherent Ash to settle against his chest. He began slowly rubbing up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her, while whispering sayings in his native tongue that his mother used to use to calm him down as a boy. It took a while but Ash slowly started to breathe normally against him, her shaking ebbed away and the babbling that she had been doing when he found her had disappeared. Even as her body began to relax she made no move to get off his lap or out of his arms, something that signalled her trust in him and also managed to put him at ease. 

Ash was hyper aware when she came to, her body was unusually warm on one side and deceptively cold on the other, she took note of the blanket around her shoulders and the strong anchor of an arm wrapped securely around her, providing great comfort when she definitely needed it. Her head was resting comfortably against the strong plane of his shoulder, his breathing seemed deliberately slowed in a far too practiced way, as if he was used to dealing with situations such as this. She cursed herself for being so weak that she needed to be, what she guessed was, carried from one room to the next because she allowed her emotions to get the better of her, a small part of her recognised that this was uncontrollable after the trauma she had faced, but a larger darker part of herself felt ashamed for needing to rely on the comfort of her commanding officers’ arms to calm her frenzied mind and frayed emotions. 

Ash swallowed thickly, tears coming to her eyes, as a wave of deep seated shame overtook her senses. She felt bad for Carrillo, he never signed up for looking after a broken soldier like herself, there was no need for him to be so kind to her, maybe it was best she asked to leave the team, lest she make him shoulder the burden that was her broken soul. She made a move to climb from his lap, only to be brought impossibly close to his warmth when the solid weight of his arm tightened momentarily in warning. If there was ever any doubt that she didn’t belong right where she sat then in that moment it was wiped away, such a simple action had her wanting to bare her soul to the man before her, so broken and touch starved she was that she almost laughed at the humility of her thoughts. 

She sniffled despite not wanting to show the emotions that were clouding her thoughts, she wanted to be strong in front of her commander, not some weak girl who couldn’t cut it in the force. It seemed that the attack that day in the gym had had more of an affect that anyone really could have imagined, so far the doctors had left her in the capable hands of her CO, not that she was complaining, but there was definitely something underlying that was worrying both Ash and the Colonel respectively, neither could put a finger on what though. 

Carrillo felt the sudden staggering of her breaths, she was trying to hide something, and he gathered it wasn’t something that should be hidden. He lifted his left hand slowly and gently grasped her chin to tilt her head up from looking at her hands clasped in her lap to somewhat awkwardly making eye contact with him. The sight of her watery red rimmed eyes made him ache in an uncomfortable but somehow not unwanted way, he wanted to be the person she could come to and vent out her concerns without fear of what might come of the situation, he wanted in every way possible to be that stable force in her life, for better or for worse. He knew from experience that he should quickly disregard these kinds of thoughts, it was entirely too early to be getting this deep with a fellow soldier, let alone a junior officer who he was in command off, but despite knowing all that was stacked against him he just couldn’t stay away, this was something he would pressure until his dying breath. 

Ash could see the wheels in his head turning, his thoughts no doubt flying through his head and being batted away for another time, the formidable Colonel was known for his hard exterior but in this moment she wasn’t sure she could believe the things she had heard. His hand had only just barely moved away from her face, just kind of hovering in her space, a gentle reminder that he did, infact, have a compassionate side, one that she was beginning to see more and more. From this angle meeting his eyes was uncomfortable, feeling brave Ash decided to shift the position into something teetering the edge of the forever thinning professional line between them. She moved quickly but still giving him time to push her away, gathering one leg from underneath her she shifted it to the right so she was straddling his lap, chest to chest and nearly overwhelmingly intimate. 

From this new position she had the perfect opportunity to really take him in, subconsciously her hand came up to cradle his face, lightly tracing over his brows before flowing over his cheekbone, Ash smiled softly when his stormy eyes fluttered shut as he lent into her palm, touch it seemed was something they both craved, she continued lightly tracing over his facial features finally coming to a halt with her palm resting along the side of face, thumb hovering just a few millimeters away from his lips. With his eyes still closed she was almost tempted to close the gap between them to thank him for looking after her, but also in a selfish need to fulfill a small portion of her desires. Instead of following through on that thought, she spoke quietly, not wanting to break this small moment of peace, “Sir, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done, I.... uh...” her voice broke, emotions overwhelming her, “Its just, no one has done this much for me since i was a kid, and i know you didn’t sign up for this so...” her speech was cut off when he placed his finger against her lips, effectively silencing her.

“For one..” he started off strongly “I’m just doing what any good commander would do, you’re part of the team Ash, we look after our own, and two” his voice dropped just that little bit lower, taking on a rough gravelly tone “Please call me Horacio”

Ash just stared at him blankly for a moment while processing his words then at nothing more than a quiet whisper she breathed out his name, a jolt of understanding and desire coursing through her body when a lazy smile overtook his features. Whatever was left of the line of professionalism between them had been shattered in that moment, the overwhelming warmth of his eyes made her heart beat faster in her chest, decision made she leant forward slightly while tilting his head up to meet her own, the first brush of their lips against each others was brief, testing in a way, she went to pull back to assess his reaction but just as she began moving her head away he surged up, reconnecting their lips in a kiss that was all consuming. 

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, too close but somehow too far away, everything that had led up to this moment was poured out in one deep soul shattering kiss that would be burnt into her memory for years to come. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, methodical and thorough and by all means gratifying. He kissed her like a man starved, thrusting his tongue past her parted lips and drowning himself in the taste and feel of her body, committing her to memory while she did the same with him. His hands had moved from her face down to her ass, pulling her even tighter against him in an attempt to satisfy every waking desire he held for her. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders as she ground down on him, the small moan of satisfaction that escaped her lips was soon drowned out by the gravely moan that left his throat when her hands came up to tug on his hair. 

The sound of a camera shutter followed by the sounds of barely concealed joyous laughter had the two of them breaking apart, Ash climbing rather hurriedly from his lap and Horacio’s hands flying out to steady her as she stumbled slightly, her mind still sluggish from the intensity of their kiss . Ash looked towards the front door where the noise had come from only to find Henry standing there with the smuggest smile he could muster plastered on his face, that little bastard. Even while annoyed from being ripped from her moment of bliss she couldn’t be angry at him, but appearances were everything, so without a noise of warning she bolted for the barely older soldier, tackling him to the ground and cursing him out only loud enough for Henry himself to hear. 

Having had enough of being beat down on Henry flipped them over, effectively pinning Ash to the ground and already setting his plan in motion, he was entirely too eager to start pissing the Colonel off, especially now that he had caught him and Ash sucking faces on the couch, making him jealous just might be too easy of a feat now. He smiled cheekily down at Ash, the look in his eye no doubt sending the message to her that he was ready to cause mischief, that smile of his grew when she imperceptibly shook her head at him. Ever the annoying older brother type he was he began tickling her, delighting in the way she tried to escape and started screeching at him to stop, instead of doing that he picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder and he made haste towards her room, already knowing which was hers from the messages his fiance had received from the giggling girl over his shoulder.

Reaching her room he kicked the door shut with his foot before not so gracefully throwing Ash onto the bed, trying not to curl over dying of laughter when she began rolling round on the bed clutching her stomach and laughing breathlessly while trying to speak. Her laughter suddenly stopped when there was a slight banging noise from a few rooms over which seemed to sober her up, looking at Henry with wide eyes she gulped, “Omg, you idiot, he’s gonna bloody kill you for that!”

Henry just shrugged while flopping on the bed beside her, “That's the plan Ashy, we are gonna make that man so jealous he doesn’t know what to do with himself, then you’ll really be enjoying yourself” he said with a jovial wink. 

Ash just groaned before smacking him square in the face with a pillow, she really did love him like a brother but sometimes Henry was an idiot, “Lemme guess, you and lisa made a bet on the Colonel and I, and then you being the idiot you are decided you wanted to take it to the extreme?” she questioned, rolling her eyes when he nodded while giving her the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. Throwing her hands up in the air she huffed, “ok fine, but nothing that’ll weird either of us out, and we only do this until something solid happens between Carrillo and I, deal?” she stuck her hand out to seal their little deal.

“Definitely deal kiddo, now, wanna see Lisa’s reaction when I send this scandalous photo of you and our CO kissing through to her?” The boyish smile he sent her way had her smiling like an idiot. Yup, her brother really was a dumbass. 

[callioope]

Hey there! Re: the WIP title game, I wanted to ask you about the rebelcaptain scene that's most excited you this year and whether you'd mind sharing a little snippet? Hope you're doing well xx

Hello!! Hope you are doing well too! Thanks for the ask!

Oh man, it’s been awhile since I’ve written any rebelcaptain, so I had to reread the last stories I worked on. Settled on a snippet from “YGM Draft1,” which is my yet-untitled, in-universe You’ve Got Mail AU. I actually got super excited rereading this story anyways. Man I really do want to get back to it... so many stories to write! So little time!

[This is in response to the WIP Title Game I did yesterday; anyone else reading this, please feel free to send an ask! I will actually answer in a timely manner this time...]

To the snippet:

“When are you going into town?”

They both turn to look at Bodhi.

“Today, apparently,” Maia says. “Jyn’s acting strange.”

Jyn catches Bodhi staring at her kyber crystal just as she covers it with her scarf, concern plain on his face.

“She seems—fine,” he finishes, looking away when Jyn meets his eyes.

“I caught her humming, and she’s enthusiastic about haggling with Orus.”

“I wouldn’t say enthusiastic,” Jyn says, passing Bodhi to pick up her jacket off the back of her chair—at least something was where she expected it to be.

Bodhi quietly takes in the kitchen area, Maia’s confusion, the parts splayed out on the table, Essie’s chassis next to it, the panel open in the back, the datapad that Jyn hurriedly shoves into her bag.

“You know what it is,” Maia says, gasping.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, looking back at Jyn.

Rolling her eyes, Jyn counts out the credits she’ll need.

“Bodhi!”

He ignores Maia and nods towards Essie’s chassis. “You got a fix for Essie?”

“Yeah, he sent the schematics this morning.”

When Bodhi doesn’t respond, Jyn looks up to catch him sharing a look with Maia. “What?”

They both shift guiltily. “Nothing,” Bodhi mumbles. “I’ll come into town with you. I’ll check on the ‘hopper.”

“Great.” Jyn grabs a ration bar off the shelf and tosses it at Bodhi. “Let’s go.”

He’s less eager fifteen minutes later, when they climb out of the cave and Jyn reveals her transportation plans.

“We’re walking?” Bodhi blurts. 

“It’s a beautiful day,” Jyn replies, gesturing to the rippling blue-green grass and the crisp blue sky. 

“I mean—yeah, it’s—it’s always beautiful here, Jyn, if you hadn’t noticed. I mean, I’ve only been here…” He glances up at the sky as he calculates. “...six years less than you, but yes, yeah, I had noticed.”

She shrugs and bites into a meiloorun fruit. “It’s good to let the speeders charge.”

“Sure.” 

“Something on your mind, Bode?” 

He shakes his head. “No. Nope. What’s on your shopping list?”

She pulls out her data pad, shows him FS152’s pricing chart, with the parts she needs highlighted. “And the disabling bolt for the refinery droids.”

Bodhi skims over the pricing chart, his expression unusually blank. She waits for it, a continuation of Maia’s interrogation, but it never comes. 

They walk a few tense minutes in silence for a bit, before Jyn finally takes the bait. “You two think I can’t be happy?”

“No, no, that’s not what we…” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, you know, I didn’t know you before…”

She knows what he means: before that night a year and a half ago, when an Imperial cargo pilot calling himself Bodhi Rook had showed up at the mouth of their cave, claiming that Mama had told him how to find them, claiming that their meeting on Rudrig had been ambushed, that he’d only just gotten away—

She closes her eyes and inhales. “Yes, Bodhi, I know what you mean.”

“Well, um, Idryssa just, she’s said… before… Ahh.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“It’s alright,” she says softly. “You can tell me.”

Bodhi looks out over the horizon. “How’s that penpal of yours?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

He looks back at her and meets her eyes. “I’m not.”

“I don’t see what he has to do with this conversation.”

“Okay.” Bodhi takes a deep breath. “Let me—let me paint a picture for you. You’re humming while you work. You lose track of things, drift off in your thoughts. You suddenly notice—I don’t know, how blue the sky is. There’s a word people have for that.”

Jyn glares at him, waiting for him to continue to explain this third train of thought, but he just holds out his hands for her to fill in the blanks. “You think I’m in love?”

“Well…”

“Not you, too,” she mutters. She shakes her head. “Hadder and I broke up months ago. I love him, sure, but not like that. Why is everyone—”

“I’m not talking about Hadder.���

No, she didn’t really think he had been. “You think I’m in love with FS152.”

“The evidence suggests…”

“‘Course I don’t love him,” she says, picking at the stem of her meiloorun fruit. “I don’t even know him. I don’t even know where he lives. He could be across the galaxy. What point is there in loving a person on the other side of the galaxy?”

“That’s very convincing.”

“Convincing,” Jyn says, tossing the word around in her head before tossing the meiloorun fruit core into the grass. “What’s convincing is that people don’t just fall in love with someone they met on an Anti-Imperial back channel, whom they’ve never met in person. I don’t even know his real name. How can you love a person you don’t even know?”

“Observe and report, right?” Bodhi says. “I’m just calling what I can see.”

“Then listen,” Jyn says, trying to keep her tone civil. She’s not mad, but Bodhi’s theory—it can’t be entertained. “FS152 is a useful contact who’s helped me plenty in the past, and is currently helping me repair Essie. And I’m excited to have Essie back.”

“Of course.”

Jyn sighs. She shouldn’t snap at Bodhi for caring. She’s grateful for him. She’s grateful for the intel he brought last year—not that she’s been able to do much about it, since then. That’s a dour thought for another day, one less bright as this one. She stows it away.

She’s grateful for his friendship, most of all.

And the stories he brought about Papa, although those, too, are too dark for today. 

Today, she has a message in her inbox from FS152, a schematic to fix Essie, and a friend by her side. 

Today is allowed to be a good day.

[unicyclehippo]

Jester's gone when they wake up.

‘Beau?’

The other girl tenses visibly and it is a matter of time spent together that allows Jester to see what she does to take note of herself and the things around her: shoulders flexing to test the bed—in this case, vine-and-rock; hands clenching into fists in readiness; a release of breath it had taken some time for Jester to learn sends Beau’s ki out in a very minor burst—she had been caught by it once as she had leaned over Beau, intent on drawing on her face, and it had been a strange kind of shock for Beau’s eyes to flash open and already be fixed directly on her. Beau must catalogue Caleb beside her and Fjord’s arm under her neck, Frumpkin and Nott curled up close because when she sits up and stands, her movements are graceful and never come close to jostling any of them.

‘Jester?’ she calls back. Pulls her goggles down over her eyes, which magnify behind them. For a moment, Beau blinks owlishly around at the exterior of the dome before finding Jester standing just beyond it. ‘Hey. What are you doin’ out there? Didn’t you get slashed up by a massive fuckin’ tree cat last time we were in a place like this?’

Beau steps out with her regardless of the note of worry in her voice; the closer she gets, the more Jester realises the worry isn’t for the cats—it’s for her. Jester. Beau’s eyes are fixed on her and the way Jester’s fingers twist and twist and twist her rings upon her fingers.

‘I haven’t seen any cats. Except Frumpkin.’

‘Eh, he doesn’t count,’ Beau says, waves her hand. She stops a few paces away.

‘Beau, that’s rude!’

‘Oh - uh,’

‘He’s a fey king,’ Jester chides, starts to laugh. And then the irony of that joke, that lie, catches up to her and her throat closes tight around the sound.

Beau’s face had cleared with the joke but then Jester croaks her laugh and she gets concerned again. She scratches at her shoulder. ‘Um. I’ll apologise to Frumpkin if he calls me out about it.’

‘Good, good.’

A moment, then,

‘Jes?’

‘Beau?’

They each say one another’s name in the same moment and then stop, waiting for the other to speak. Their apologies break at the same time too, and their huffed laughter, and then finally Beau lifts her hand and puts it fully over her own mouth. Lifts her brows, widens her eyes comically wide, as if to say, See? I can’t possibly talk now.

Jester smiles. Turns the rings on her thumb. ‘I—was gonna ask, um, and you can say no if you want because you’ve had kinda a rough couple days and,’ Jester bites her lip when Beau’s hand drops. But the other girl doesn’t talk. She folds her arms and cocks her head to the side like Jester is a thief or a criminal babbling away and Beau is reading her. When Jester’s words slow, Beau nods for her to continue. ‘I was wondering - hoping, really? That you could take me through that meditation again. It was... it was nice. Calming,’ she says much more softly.

From the way Beau’s head shifts the smallest bit, as if she had been looking at the nimbus of her, whatever surrounds her, and now she sees the core of Jester herself.

Jester continues to talk, because Beau isn’t and she isn’t moving either.

‘I had never done that before and you know, you’re really good at it, have you ever taught people before? Oh my gosh, Beau, have you ever taught little monks? Do they come to the Soul as, like, babies? Or are they all -‘ Jester’s eyes widen as she realises what she was about to say.

‘Kidnapped like me?’ Beau suggests, voice sounding like it has dropped an octave. The words drag out rough, as does the chuckle that follows.

‘...Ya. Sorry.’

‘Nah, it’s all good.’

‘It’s not, Beau! It was shitty of him, of both of them,’

‘This coming from Miss Why Not Forgive Your Dad?’ They both still suddenly, each surprised by the words. Beau grimaces faintly. ‘Sorry. Besides, I kinda meant - it’s fine for you to talk about it. Not that it happened.’

‘Though it did bring you to me. All of us, I mean.’

Beau nods. She tilts her head just so and suddenly Jester can’t see her eyes for the deep shadows; it sends a pang of regret through her, and mild annoyance because she’s pretty sure Beau knows exactly what she’s doing to hide her face and that’s not fair.

‘Anyway,’ Beau says, not chipper but firmly, as though setting them back on the path. ‘You want to meditate?’

‘Oh. Ya.’

‘Okay.’ Beau shrugs her acceptance. ‘We can mediate elsewhere but I think the hut is safer. No guarantee we won’t fall asleep this time and we shouldn’t be out in the open for that. Not this out in the open anyway.’

Beau turns and leads the way back to the hut. Jester has to keep her eyes on the forest floor—it isn’t anything like it had been walking with the Traveller, where the vines bent and warped, grew and shrunk to his design. The jungle floor is knitted and laced with the Wildmother’s intricate weave and if Jester isn’t careful, she’ll break an ankle in it.

‘Where’s your favourite place to mediate?’

Jester watches as, ahead of her, Beau’s step falters. It’s as though she locks up tight for a moment and has to prompt her body into function once more, her foot coming down slightly louder than before.

A twig snaps.

They catch their breath, glance about to see if there are any hungry creatures about. But the jungle—beyond the faint flutter of wings and the drone of many insects—is quiet.

It is broken by a single quiet word. ‘Nicodranas.’

‘Huh?’

‘My favourite place to mediate. Nicodranas.’

Jester slows as they arrive at the hut. Everyone still looks asleep and if they aren’t, well, they could still hear outside of the dome. It just feels more private to be outside, somehow.

‘Really?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Huh.’

‘Never seen so much blue before,’ Beau says, the words faintly garbled by her stepping through the dome. Not enough that Jester can’t understand.

‘You liked the ocean?’

Beau considers the question, arranging herself on the floor of the hut where she can sit and not on someone else. Jester sits beside her. It’s cramped, their thighs and hips pressed together, but it’ll do fine, Beau tells her.

‘Yeah. Nothin’ like that in - in Kamordah. The water there’ll kill you, so,’

‘The ocean has a couple teeth too,’ Jester points out.

‘That’s true. Very true.’

Beau settled into a comfortable pose, talks to her quietly for a short while as she gets Jester to focus on her breathing, on feeling it move through her body. Feeling, noting, disregarding the itching sensation of her legs falling numb.

‘Beau?’

‘You’re supposed to be focused on breathing.’

‘I am, look.’ Jester breathes in and out, more obviously than she needs to. Smiles when she hears Beau snort. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

‘What’s yours?’

‘I asked you first.’

‘I asked you second,’ Beau counters. It would be petulant, which would delight Jester, except for the fact that she sounds uncomfortable. Jester opens her eyes and lets them skate over the furrow between Beau’s brows, the new tension in her shoulders and clenched hands. The way she cricks her neck and her jaw tics before she spits, ‘Blue.’

‘You said green, though. Before? Yesterday?’

Beau shrugs. ‘You didn’t get me with the spell. I didn’t have to tell the truth.’

‘But that means you lied,’ Jester points out. ‘Just because you could?’

Beau’s hand settles on her wrist at the first hint of a wobble in Jester’s voice. She turns toward her, boots scratching in the dirt, and leans in so they can speak more quietly. The goggles let her see but Jester wishes she didn’t need them—wishes she could see Beau’s eyes unimpeded—and reaches up to lift them off. She gestures imperiously for the huts dim light to grow ever so slightly, which it does. Beau helps remove the goggles when they catch on her headband, squints against the sudden light.

‘It wasn’t you,’ Beau says softly.

‘You just like to lie? That’s cool and fun, I guess,’ Jester says, and her voice wobbles the words almost away from sense.

‘No, no, I don’t. I’m not - like that anymore.’ Beau sounds genuinely hurt so Jester flips her hand so she’s holding Beau’s. ‘I just—I dunno. It’s always been green. I loved the valleys and the forests because they were nothing like shitville Kamordah, and I look good in green, and -‘ Her hand goes up to the new jade necklace.

‘Right. Right, right, right.’

‘Why do you wanna know about that anyway?’

‘Oh I don’t know,’ Jester shrugs. ‘Curious, I guess?’

Beau is silent for a bit. Then, ‘Okay.’

Jester finds the strangle hold on her throat tighten somewhat—Beau doesn’t care, Beau doesn’t ask because she doesn’t care, and maybe because Jester is such a good liar now that she can’t tell—but she lets the thoughts and the sensation out on the next breath.

Sucks another in.

Glancing sideways to her friend, Jester finds Beau watching—finds Beau’s face open and gentle and waiting. Peaceful. Like Jester could tell her anything and it wouldn’t flummox her at all.

‘Does this hell you be wise and stuff? Think better?’

‘It helps some people, sure.’

‘Does it help you?’

Beau hesitates. ‘Sometimes,’ she says, which isn’t much of an answer. ‘There’s charms and stuff that meditation helps me counter. Like, I’m more familiar with the patterns of my thoughts and when people try to - to pull them off course, it’s harder.’

‘Huh.’

‘But sometimes I can’t close out my thoughts and fighting is better.’

‘But it hurts.’

‘So do my thoughts, sometimes,’ Beau mutters.

Jester doesn’t think she was supposed to hear it. But she did. So she squeezes Beau’s hand tight and leans her weight into Beau’s shoulder.

‘Mine are just a lot,’ she says. It’s true but it’s a lie as well, and sometimes those are Jester’s favourite statements. Delicate, balanced, and funny only if you know both sides of the joke. ‘I think about whether Toya is singing still and if Caliana is safe and if Pride’s Call has a bunch of lion people living there—‘

‘Why would -‘

‘—and about the big bird in the tree and if it hates us or if it was like oh hey those people were really cool and one of them was a leaf the whole time, which they gotta love right, because they live in a tree?’

‘Probably?’

‘And I think about my mama sometimes,’ Jester confesses, ‘and my dad and Vandren, Fjord’s kind of dad, and your dad,’

‘Wow. We all have daddy issues, huh?’

‘I don’t think Yasha does?’

‘Hmm, well, there’s time yet.’

Beau says it so casually, so well painted with cynicism, that Jester snorts. Claps a hand over her face, mortified. She can’t help but bathe in the amusement, the warm regard that positively shines out of Beau’s eyes when she smiles Jester’s way.

‘Do you wanna try some more?’ Beau asks her, and it’s gentle like she knows there’s more on Jester’s mind, like she knows that’s just what’s on the surface.

‘Ya. If you don’t mind.’

‘Nah. I don’t mind. It’ll help me sleep too.’

‘Okay.’

It’s maybe not perfect meditation practice, but Beau doesn’t let go of her hand.

[msbluebell]

One of my favorite scenes from the Blue Lions route is during the fight with Randolph. Up until that point, Dimitri has given Byleth the cold shoulder, but when you take out Randolph's forces and he says 'a total loss', I love how we get to hear Dimitri call Byleth 'professor' again, especially with such urgency, which shows that despite his sharp words, deep down, he still cares. I just feel that this scene, as small as it is, deserves more recognition.

I think, deep down, Dimitri never did stop caring about Byleth.

Dimitri’s psychology during the Blue Lion Route is fascinating to say the least. I probably could 100% write a term paper on it.There’s a lot to unpack there, and a lot to explore. I’ve actually talked to a friend who is a professional counselor about his psychology several times and we never run out of new things to discuss and break down.

I think the most fascinating and complex state of Dimitri’s psychology is when he’s feral.

It’s important to understand the “how” and “why” whenever we’re discussing something like this. “How” and “why” Dimitri became feral is just as important as “how” and “why” he decided to later atone, and it’s massively important for understanding Dimitri’s actions and how the things that happen to him tie to character development.

Dedue says it best, I think, Dimitri isn’t a person who doesn’t care about others, in fact, he cares too much.  

That’s the heart of the issue right there. Dimitri, no matter how abrasive, dismissive, or aggressive he acts, still cares deeply. He never once STOPPED caring, and if you play close enough attention and pick up on small details you can spot the signs that he’s hiding it behind a mask of indifference because of his self-loathing and madness.

Or maybe he doesn’t even realize he still cares.

I find it utterly fascinating. 

If you break down Dimitri’s whole mentality while he’s feral, you kind find a surprisingly organized and moral (kinda, as moral as you can be while being...that) philosophy. Say what you will, but at the bare bones, Dimitri keeps to his ideals. For a man who considers himself nothing more than just a beast, he take special care of who his targets are. 

He specifically only targets people he actively considers a threat. Thieves and bandits, who he explains are rats preying on the weak and defenseless, Imperial soldiers who are on the enemy side and have been hunting him for years, commanders of armies. He doesn’t target villagers, or anyone in the Church (one priest is even amazed that Dimitri, while feral, patted an orphan child on the head, showing clear signs of humanity). Maybe he would if they agitated him enough. Dimitri isn’t healthy at all. He’s suffering from severe after effects of isolation, delusions, self-imposed brainwashing, stress, etc. He’s a danger to himself and others, and poking him too much. But, at his core, despite all the madness and how far he’s fallen, Dimitri somehow keeps the heart of his ideals of justice and protecting the innocent. Oh, it’s twisted beyond belief, and it’s gone ugly, but it’s still there. It’s just buried under a looooooooooot of...that...

The point is, at his heart, Dimitri still cares. That’s exactly what got him into that state in the first place. His Survivor's Guilt was so strong that he manifested auditory and visual hallucinations over it. His whole reason for wanting to kill Edelgard is so that the dead can finally rest. Heck, we see him actively begging his hallucinations to wait a little longer for him to hunt her. He cares too much and it’s actively destroyed him.

The thing is, those same hallucinations of loved ones are the driving force behind his mental state when he’s feral. We see that they’ve actively been mocking him, heck, we hear him beg them not to look at him with scorn.

Now, we know that these are projections of Dimitri’s own mind, but as far as he’s concerned these are the real opinions and demands of those who have died while he survived. He’s basically emotionally abusing and brainwashing himself so much that he not only believes that he has not other purpose than seeking revenge on the dead’s behalf (this also isn’t helped by his lack of ability to defend himself. With Felix, for example, and I DO love Felix and think he’s right to be scared, but calling Dimitri a boar may have unintentionally reinforced the idea in his head for years even before the brainwashing. Felix, I know that was your way of trying to keep Dimitri from going too far, but bad move bro), but that he ultimately isn’t deserving of the life he’s living either. He’s so damaged at this point, by what’s basically self inflicted harm, that he can barely recognize anything else as mattering.

I’ve seen people who have said that they wanted to beat some sense into Dimitri. Fight the madness out of him, so to speak. I don’t blame them, Dimitri did some disgusting things during the Blue Lion Route. But fighting him wouldn’t have helped, arguing wouldn’t have helped. The problem isn’t that Dimitri doesn’t think he’s wrong, or doesn’t see that he’s a monster. He’s aware of that, completely. What Dimitri needed was to been shown that his life was worth more than being a pawn for revenge, the opposite of having the shit beat out of him, or being yelled at. Negative reinforcement wouldn’t have worked here. Hell, it would probably have only made the situation worse, and reinforced his own brainwashing that he is undeserving of life. I think that’s why Byleth in the game never beat him over the head, or yelled at him, they realized that. 

Dimitri loves too much, and you can’t beat love with hate. He has to be loved out of his state. He has to be shown that his life is worth something, both to other people, and to himself. That’s why Rodrigue’s sacrifice was so important to his development.

(God, there’s so much to say that I’m jumping all over the place, someone Halp Meh)

And, another, just as important, thing. 

I think he’s silently resentful of Byleth and the others for not being there for him when he needed the support the most.

When he sees Byleth again for the first time in five years, when he thinks they’re a ghost, he doesn’t sound as angry and grim at first. He just sounds tired. Tired, and sad, and full of regret. With Byleth dead, he knows he failed them, that they died while he lived. He just accepts their presence in his life as a ghost, acknowledging that they were here to haunt him.

But then it turns out Byleth was alive, and all that sadness and regret and mourning was for nothing. That they were alive the whole time. And, frankly, Byleth’s reasons for WHY they weren’t around kinda DOES sound like bullshit. “I was asleep” isn’t a very good answer in any other route either, heck, in Edelgard’s routes she thinks it’s an unfunny joke. But for Dimitri it seems to piss him off. He probably DOES believe Byleth, maybe, but it’s not an answer he’s happy with. Heck, he’s not happy with anyone after that.

One of the moments where he sounds like his old self, where he looses that anger in his voice, is when Dedue shows up and explains he was too injured to find Dimitri, which is a much more valid excuse and one that Dimitri seems to readily accept. He’s much warmer with Dedue than even Byleth’s return, and I 100% believe that part of the reason was because of Dedue’s not bullshit excuse.

So, yeah, I should actually focus on the ask now. Yes, that scene is great, fantastic even. There’s a bunch of just...tiny moments like that which show the real humanity beneath Dimitri’s thick layer of madness and...feral-ness? I love it. It’s one of the many moments that really make him feel multilayered. And tiny moments like that got me through the four months he was Feral for my Blue Lions playthrough.

Little moments like that are like taking your first gulp of air after being underwater for too long.

[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine 44

Spoilers, obv.

I'm aware that this is either going to be a relatively short one or an epic one. The risk of the latter is that rather than just talking about the issue, for the first time I'm free to talk about the series as a whole, and so talk about some of those other choices. There'll be some of that, but it would warp the nature of the notes, and give some false perspective. I can talk about it being over now, sure, but talking about it all means I'm not talking about this element. Not least because I can't talk about it all – there's still the question of issue 45.

But still. There's a lot to talk about, and a lot of hard things in here to do. We knew where we going, but the devil is in the details. The devil's everywhere.

Jamie/Matt's Cover

Minerva finally gets her head-shot. I was a little worried that people would realise exactly what was happening to Minerva here, but I didn't see anyone realise she's falling, and speculate why. Of course, I knew what it was and couldn't not see it. That's how it works.

It's a striking last image though – this is an especially blank glance, in the middle of all the motion. Matt's pink/white nimbus is really powerful too.

Emma Rios/Miquel Muerto

Emma's one of our favourite artists, and we were so glad that we managed to get her before the end. Emma's always someone who gets this evocative drama of it all – this is obviously a momentous cover, but you don't know the moment until reading. Laura and Lucifer being a core relationship, and the hint of leaving. Miquel does strong, atmospheric things with the colours as well. It's a great cover to end the story on. On - Pretty Deadly is back on the same day as 45, and I can't wait. Gets!

IFC

In terms of minor things we did which have a big emotional effect, changing the gods' names to their human names was certainly one. It sits there and stings.

Page 1

This issue is particularly tightly wound, so we set the clock on the issue in this one page.

I had a couple of people wonder where the cops came from. I presume it's because the delay in publication – the "we have to go now because of woden's tape has revealed we're almost all complicit" is the only reason why they went for Minerva immediately.

For a page that's so tightly wound, Jamie does some great establishing here. Opening panel with the fire in top of Valhalla, to link to last issue. A shot with all these people in it – a character beat, and three extremely dialogue low panels.

Page 2

Riff on Better The Devil You Know.

The weird rhythm in WicDiv is the arcs-which-take-place-in-a-very-short-time and arcs-which-take-place-over-months.  Faust act, Rising Action, Imperial Phase II, "Okay" are the over-a-short time. Fandemonium, Commercial Suicide, Imperial Phase I and Mothering Invention are the extended ones. The closest to one which does both is Faust Act, which spreads its action over a week or two.

Page 3

Lovely stuff in here with Jamie, in terms of character work – obviously this is Lucifer hamming it up, but seeing individual responses around the room is a hell of a thing. Minerva's a total mess here.

Valentine giving up clever insults at this point is probably a thing.

Page 4-5 "Bothersome" is a very Lucifer word. The expression in panel 2 is also key Lucifer – that eye-roll of it.

Laura's captions also arrive mid way through – key, as they're clearly going to be key. I was thinking of having them at the start of page 3 as well, but we can let us live in the moment.

Laura's performance tentacles is a lovely panel – seeing how Matt works the colours on the space. The blues fading to white, the reds. Honestly, this is making me miss working with Matt already, and seeing how good he and Jamie are together.

Callbacks here to Lucifer in the first arc – the cycle of it all.

"There were two girls in hell" makes me well up. |It's one of my favourite Jamie expressions in the issue.

Page 6-7

When planning the larger structure of WicDiv, I was aware that I made certain calls in hope I would be able to save people. The early "death" of the Heads was actually a way to protect them. I was aware that characters who were in play were far more likely to die, as they had more chances to do so. I knew I could likely save the heads, so by making them heads, I made it more likely.

I originally planned for Dionysus to die, but I couldn't bear it. His hubris was real, but the idea that someone could give so much without anyone really caring or doing something for him was too heart breaking, even for me. I realised during Rising Action that I could actually save him – the pieces were already in play, and I just had to lean into those relationships to lead to Baph's choices. At the start, I wasn't sure where Baphomet ended in year 4 – part of me thought he'd survive, as I didn't have that final beat for him at the start. That I didn't have a hard end for Baphomet always made him open to the story finding another purpose for him – which is an end which I can't imagine any other way now. WicDiv is an awful necessary machine.

That applied to Lucifer too. She was a darling, obviously, but she was always going to be trouble. Part of me was aware that she could come back and almost immediately get killed again. I'd like her to make it out, but it was possible she wouldn't.

So, as I said last time, when I realised she was the final opposition I was pleased – that was perfect to the themes and the structure.

I wrote in my synopsis that Laura uses a performance to touch Lucifer and convince her into renouncing her godhood, and left it at that.

There it sat until I came to script it.

Because, in all honesty, I had no idea how Laura was going to convince Lucifer to give up her godhood. I just trusted that there would be some way Laura could reach her. Or, really, I hoped there was – because I knew if I wrote something that didn't feel convincing to me, I wouldn't do the scene. Lucifer would have died instead.

So, the day came when I was scripting this sequence, and I started writing, and wondered what the performance would be, and I just wrote "Laura descends the Ananke head sequence and drags Luci back."

Then I leaned back, a little shocked, because that was clearly right, and so clearly fit with what the series does – a final deconstruction of one of our core visual icons, giving a new way to look at the sequence and think about it. It was just there. As if it was there all along. Or just the sort of thought that emerges when you've been obsessed over this fucking thing for five years.

I'm aware of the weird resonance as well – Laura's finding a performance to save a friend is me finding a performance to save a character. WicDiv was a weird book.

Jamie and Matt go to town, of course – the melting faces are just painful, and wonderfully done. The fleshy reds, the fires. How Clayton uses the captions across the page to play with pacing...

I originally suggested we do it completely as the WicDiv spread, with Laura crawling across the centre spread and making her way up – that it would be treating what is meant to be two columns as a space was decided to be too much, so instead we went with flipping to a subjective perspective on a space that we've only experienced from a single objective outside viewpoint. That's got magic too.

Page 8

A long time to get to this kiss, right?

We moved the dialogue around a little to nail some moments – we had the magic effect on the final panel so the transition to the next page wasn't too much.

The annoyance of Eleanor in the last panel is just my everything. I described it to Jamie by using a metaphor of me in my early thirties, having split up with an Ex, and torn between various places, including seriously wondering whether, after everything, the simple answer to my sexuality stuff was that I was just gay. How annoyed I would have been, after all those years, if it was that. Just a "Oh, FFS. I'm just gay! Why didn't I get that earlier? Why have I wasted all this time? What a fucking fool I am."

That.

Page 9

Repeat of core WicDivian imagery, turned to a different purpose. After these magificent godly reveals, we do this very normal world.

Yeah. This would have been a happy place to end the series.

Page 10

Laura wants to be better, of course. It's easy to say you want to do better.

A+ Cassandra-ing in the background there.

Page 11

Now, Minerva is dead in a few pages time, and she is a genuine monster, trapped in a system of her own making. But I didn't want to send her into the void thinking she had that horror awaiting her. I can't forgive her, but I can give her a little peace.

Title drop, of course, with a wonderful expression by Jamie. There's a lot here.

Okay, let's do this.

"Okay" is a phrase that's haunted WicDiv. We've come back to it multiple times – it's a fascinating word in the English language, and has caused problems for people translating it, in the mixture of ambivalence and optimism in it is really tricky. Clearly, we use everything inside the word.

It wasn't my Dad's last words, but it's the last exchange I remember with him. Everyone else was out, and I was helping him back to his seat. He says to me.

"Son, I know this is strange, but I can't help but think it's going to be okay."

And I can almost imagine my eyes bulging out of my head, as I wanted to howl at him: no, Dad. It really fucking isn't.

This comes up almost verbatim in the first arc, with the exchange between Laura and Lucifer before she breaks out. The series is about many things, but my Father's death was the core inspiration for it, and that "It's going to be okay" haunted me and it.

I don't think this is what my Dad meant, clearly, but it's how I've ended up metabolising it. I've been signing "It's going to be okay" when I sign Faust Acts, partially as it's the WicDiv phrase, partially as a secret-promise-that-they-won't-all-die-and-there-is-hope and partially because "When death comes, it's okay" is that buried in it. If I had to boil the book down to a sentence, it'd be it. It means different things depending how you look at it. That's all I've got.

Page 12

I talk about Solving The Equation of the third year, and Dio being in play for this section is absolutely part of it.

That first panel. I said that the cast were all people I'd have killed to be at various stages of my life. Umar is someone I try to be now. I don't succeed, but he's a worthy goal. Kind is not soft and all that.

While the silent panel is something you've all seen before, it's worth highlighting how good Jamie is. The favourite gesture of the scene is the eyes upwards of Cassandra – I don’t remember Jamie using this angle before, and it's really striking. I suddenly miss that I won't be working with Jamie again for a while. Have fun, Jamie. You were the best.

And now, this.

Page 13-14-15

"It would take a real monster to kill a kid" is one of those lines that have been sitting in the files since the beginning.

There was a fan artist in the WicDiv community early on who kept on doing these totally charming portraits of Baal and Minerva playing around in a big brother and little sister way. Every time I saw them, I felt both love for the art, and a sadness. "In four years time, you are going to have a terrible day."

That's one of the weirdest things of the last four years – that. Knowing that stuff is out there.

Looking at this at a little distance, I see the elements in – the standing on the edge, the "Please Don't" and all that. I sigh. This is awful and upsetting and that page turn is one of the hardest in the series. I wish Valentine would forgive himself, but he couldn't.

This is the sort of thing I want to write a lot about, and want to write nothing. I think I'll keep it as just the facts, in terms of trying to plot this.

Occasionally you get to a knot – I knew Valentine had to kill Minerva, that Valentine couldn't bear to live after that was done and that Minerva had to die after Baal gave up his powers. How to you put those three together, without introducing something else.

C asked "Where does it happen? Could it happen somewhere high?" and the rest was there. Falling being the repeating WicDiv image as well.

I think I pictures this actually side on, without the drop. Jamie's choice is better, just because of the eyes.

The three panels is something we're returned too, but choosing the distance was key. You know it's there, but I didn't want to revel in the dead bodies. This is a different kind of death to many of the ones in the book, and has to be treated as such. Any more blood than shows they're dead would be obscene.

I sigh again. I note that Matt does the lights on the guns perfectly, but I want to highlight craft. The shot of eveyrone waiting is a huge thing – Inanna's grief, Dio stepping in, and the crossed arms of Cassandra...

16

I think it was when I was plotting the second year at WicDiv that I realised that I couldn't see a way out of this which didn't involve the majority of the cast ending up in jail for a while. I was okay with that, as it made some sense. It's thematically resonant for a few ways – it's a choice which shows their acceptance of their acts, and their actual humanity as well as an understanding of their power, and lots more.

However, due to all the straight, white characters being dead, it does mean that a all-queer all-PoC-minus-Lucifer cast going to jail, in the current jail system. That said, while far from perfect, the UK is not the US. I don't think I could have written this ending in the US. Even in the UK, I safety-proof it conceptually as much as I can.

They are all queer, and almost all PoC... but they are also superhumans (and mostly rich.) They have a degree of power, and options which are not open to other people... and it is their one chance to try and navigate this space with no-one else (either them or other humans) getting killed. It's their last chance to act in good faith to the rest of the species.

I wouldn't trust the system if they were people without their resources. They're not. And this is the least-worst choice I can see.

I'm sure some of you will disagree with me on that.

17

More safety-proofing – Voluntuaryism is an anarchist idea. "The only true order is voluntary order" basically.

18-19-20

This is a lot of space for a sequence which is relatively minor dramatic weight, but as we segue towards the end, we want it to breathe a little. Plus there's the matter of the page turns – the previous interstitial was about pushing that as well, so both the "surrender" and Laura's final headshot are on a turn.

Matt's lighting in this sequence is wonderful – I said to Jamie that I was thinking of almost suggesting we're changing genre before Laura steps in. It's a "The special forces go after Batman" sort of sequence. I was thinking of the one from Batman: Year Zero, which is some top class special forces entering darkened environments.

Another moment of the weird-colouring-in-a-balloon, and the actually living in the moment.

Taking the guns is more safety-proofing, showing they are not acting in blind faith of the system. That Laura can take the guns also shows that Laura likely could walk out of prison any time she wants, and the rest will be able to do the same too.

(Not that the people in power know they don't presently have access to their big ones, of course.)

We originally has Cass shouting that final line, but had it much more matter of fact. This is kind of past shouting.

21-22

Yeah, this is calling back all manner of stuff. Back to the courtroom.

Jamie asked me a lot about the final expression, as is only right. This is a story where we've used head shots a lot, normally with pose. This is something else.

23

Worth noting that Laura couldn't be sentenced to life imprisonment. She's 18 so would be sentenced for "custody for life". Not that the story actually says what she's been sentenced to that either – we cut before the sentence is given. Don’t expect a firm answer to that in next issue either.

But they all have been sentenced to life, in the obvious metaphorical way. Laura has been depressed and self-destructive to the point of a death wish throughout. At the end, she's decided to try to live.

I count that as bitter sweet, and I count that as a win. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of them all.

I'm in tears now.

24-28

And we were when compiling the letters page. Thanks you lot.

29

Jamie and I both had really intense feelings about the final cover. It's clear why we've kept it secret (it gives away Laura survives) but to see this young woman we've been writing about older was incredibly moving.

Laura was 20 years younger than me at the start of WicDiv, and she's 20 years older than me at the end. Feeling suspended between the two poles, identically. The duality of it, one more time.

I love this cover so much, and I loved these characters, this book, you lot.

Thanks for reading.

[dreamworksconvict]

She-Ra: Racism Problem Pt. 2

Thanks to everyone who said nice things about my earlier post!!!! I like am really invested in representation and media so I’m glad it’s being received well. 

I also want to add a caveat that I’m not trying to cancel She-Ra. I just want to hold media to a high standard and think that we can critique the things we like.

Next I want to talk about some pretty heavy topics: the White Savior trope and colonialism. Again, I’ll be pretty spoiler-heavy here. I also want to warn people that there will be mention of genocide and antisemitism. I’ll be writing about Hordak in the next part.

In the fourth part I want to add an addendum about Catra being coded as Latina, which I think is a valid interpretation. I also want to talk about the ableism present in the show with both Hordak and Entrapta, which is a separate issue so I’ll label it differently. 

Imagine a story like this: 

“I am a white-coded, able-bodied, implied cisgender protagonist who has a Special Trait that makes me Stronger and/or More Unique than other characters. I also have some connection to Some Evil Colonizers from Space. Oh no! Some Evil Colonizers from Space have showed up to threaten me and my Token Diverse friends who get about half as much screentime as I do! Wait a second, “evil?” There’s no such thing! They’re only Misunderstood Colonizers Who Didn’t Mean It, and/or there was More to the Story. Maybe they came from a Dysfunctional Family or were Abused/Bullied! I think the people/places they colonized may have been Secretly Bad or Just As Bad all along, too! Wowee! Let’s all have a Heart-to-Heart and/or sacrifice one of my Token Diverse friends to save the day!”

Which story am I referring to? Well...

Voltron... or She-Ra... or Steven Universe.. and probably others...yeah.

(And for those who claim that Keith isn’t the protagonist of Voltron, well... I mean he is... but that’s an entirely different essay. But notice how Lance and Hunk are actually smaller than the other characters on the screen and are partly transparent, and that Allura gets pushed to the back row and is mostly covered? Yikes...)

(On my previous post, someone also noted that Steven is half-Jewish. I was not aware that Rebecca had confirmed this officially. As I am not Jewish myself, I don’t want to speak over this, but I do want to point out that you can be white and Jewish, as it is a Diaspora identity. There are many Jewish ethnicities, such as Ashkenazim, Sephardim, and Mizrahim. I also wish that we had seen more of that in the show--like Steven celebrating Hanukkah, or learning Hebrew, or having a Rosh Hashanah celebration... From what I can tell, Rebecca only confirmed this on a Reddit AMA post. So I don’t know specifically how Steven identifies because that was never clarified in the show, but it seems like he is coded as white. Definitely feel free to disagree, this is just how I’ve interpreted the show, especially given its treatment of colonization.)   

On top of all three of these shows recycling a very similar plotline, they all share the White Savior trope. Teen Vogue has an article talking about how this is linked to colonialism and I highly encourage checking that out. I’m going to pull a large chunk of text from there because I think it’s really important and applies to animation, not just live action films. 

“Many white people in films based on the stories of POC are often subliminally depicted as godlike saviors, heroes who are rational and judicious to the core. They are usually deified men or women — glorified and righteous — like scripture out of a Holy Book. Look at Hillary Swank in Freedom Writers. The white savior somehow always ends up usurping the narrative. And in this centering of whiteness and white characters, the POC characters end up becoming props, which only perpetuates ideas of our otherness and unimportance, which then establishes a status quo of racism. Whiteness is again normalized, and POC are decentralized. This is particularly problematic because whiteness is not only favored in Hollywood but also in society at large; white privilege is ever-present and ubiquitous.”

Look at the center poster for She-Ra: Adora is pictured in white and gold and red as an accent. She’s bathed in a golden light. This color combination is no coincidence, because we already associate that combination with religious iconography, like the Vatican. 

(I also want to make a note that this is specifically associated with Christian/Catholic iconography. A lot of these shows could be classified as antisemitic in their handling of colonialism and genocide. I would argue--and will be arguing in my thesis--that Season 6-8 of Voltron’s plot heavily relied on antisemitic tropes, especially as it related to Lotor and the Alteans. But that’s for another day.) (Also see my discussion of Steven Universe’s Jewish identity above.)

So how exactly does She-Ra follow the White Savior trope, how is it similar to other stories’ utilization of the trope, and how does this all relate back to colonialism? I would say there are two main factors: setting up Adora as a white heroine with a darker-skinned foil (Catra), and setting up a narrative where Hordak “isn’t that bad of a guy, really.” For this part I’m gonna focus on Adora.

1: Adora as the White Savior

Adora is from the Horde. Keith is half-Galra. Steven’s mom is Pink Diamond. 

All three of these protagonists have some personal tie or connection to a group of colonizing villains. The Diamonds want(ed) to take over earth and suck the life force from it, as they’d done on other planets. They also used a super-weapon to with the intent to kill all the rebel gems. The Galra created an empire and also sucked the life out of planets. They also created a super-weapon that could kill an entire planet, and had already committed genocide against the Alteans. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Big Bad of She-Ra, Horde Prime, has similar goals. Hordak certainly does.

There is an ever-so-slight separation of Adora from the other two protagonists, who, at the start of the series, do not know they are related to the villain group in some way. (Steven doesn’t know he’s a Diamond.) Adora, on the other hand, starts the series as a villain. She’s part of a group that has actively been fighting and destroying the Princesses and the planet. The first episode notes that she is particularly good at her job, with Hordak nominating her for Force Captain. Adora also notes that “this is what [she’s] been working for her entire life.” When Catra and Adora leave the Fright Zone, it is not out of goodwill. They simply want to go for a joyride on a skiff. 

When Adora gains the power of She-Ra, she acts ignorant of the Horde’s actions. The first episode, Adora is completely defensive of Hordak. She even claims that “Hordak says we’re doing what’s best for Etheria.” It is not until the second episode that Adora begins to have any remorse for her actions--but also note that Adora’s main motivation during the first half of this episode is to continue onward with Bow and Glimmer because she wants to know more about herself, not repent for her actions. It is not until the end of the episode that she begins to become a bit more self-aware, but there is a key phrase that Glimmer utters that is very key to the White Savior narrative: “I feel like maybe you’re here to help us.” This line comes after Glimmer apologizes for not trusting Adora. Adora. The Horde soldier. The soldier from the group of colonizers who were responsible for the death of Glimmer’s father. 

Ok sure. 

Consider how realistic this is. (Not that fantasy has to be realistic, but when you’re working with a narrative based on systemic violence, you need to at least be considerate of how this works in reality.) Adora has been trained to fight and kill Princesses and their allies. She’s been trained to take over Etheria and strategically destroy and/or take resources to weaken them. Yet she acts as if this is all news to her. Suddenly meeting the people she’s been trained to destroy causes her to repent, and suddenly the people who have been victimized forgive her and trust her within two episodes. 

Here’s what I think is going on here: given the current hyper-conservative political climate and rampant xenophobia in the world right now, white creators feel the need to put a white person as the hero as if they’re claiming, “See, this character--and subsequently myself--aren’t like those other bad white people!” They want a degree of separation from the reality that they have white privilege and are part of the problem. 

There is no truly “woke” white person. White people have been raised in a society where they benefit off the oppression of the chosen “other,” in this case black and brown people. Even if you do your research like I’m doing, you still will mess up. White people cannot rid themselves of privilege no matter how hard they try, because in this current society, the legacy of colonialism, imperialism, and racism have made it so that white people will ultimately be more successful and have more opportunities for success than others. (Also, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, so even attempts to be considerate about taking advantage of laborers cannot be completely successful.) 

All of this results in a lot of White Guilt. Thus, we end up with narratives where the white colonizer character suddenly has a change of heart and fights against the system without really challenging the core mechanics that put that system in place. But fighting against oppression and violence doesn’t make a white person special--it just makes them decent. 

It also ignores the fact that white people, to be blunt, haven’t done shit to advocate for inclusion and equity compared to literally everyone else. I want to pull another quote from the Teen Vogue article:

[White saviors] perpetuate an idea that is essentially a historical banner of colonialism: People of color need white people to save them. To this day, some people still latently believe what imperialists such as Rudyard Kipling said, that colonialism was important for everyone: the conqueror and, most importantly, the conquered. That without the colonizers, the colonized had no hope of survival. And by constantly churning out movies with plots in which white people "save" people of color, Hollywood reinforces colonialist dictum.

Why does Glimmer think that they NEED Adora to be saved? Why is this white woman the only one who can do it? Sure, Adora has the power of She-Ra, but remember that giving Adora, a white woman, that power was a CHOICE made by the writers. They could have given the sword to someone else, they could have made Adora a PoC... but they didn’t. So suddenly, because Adora, ex-Horde soldier, is there, the Princess alliance can be reformed, people start working together, the rebellion is saved! etc. etc. etc.... 

So then it’s extra ironic (and honestly is pretty predictable given this White Guilt narrative) when the White Savior trope goes right along with The Colonizers Weren’t Actually Evil, Just Misunderstood.

This post is way too long so I’ll continue in the next part. 

[swinfinities]

Long Live the Queen: Part Sixteen

Padmé took a long, deep breath. It had been years. Long, heart-wrenching, war-torn years. A long time ago, she had been a senator and a diplomat. Negotiation and diplomacy had been her weapons of choice. Now, somehow, she was a general, coordinating attacks and deploying troops, waging war against the most hated man in the galaxy—a man that she had once considered a mentor and a dear friend.

Padmé had only begun to realize that she shouldn’t be so surprised by where she had ended up. Her entire life had been war. Even as a newly-elected queen, war had found its way to the peaceful world of Naboo. She had hardly been a teenager then. She often wondered then if she was really ready for such responsibility. She still wondered.

But it didn’t matter now. The past was the past. The only thing she had the power to change now was the present. And now it was time for action. It was time for her son to come home.

Home. She wasn’t sure where that was, anymore. It had been Naboo. But now that was only a world tainted with sad memories. She hadn’t been back since the Clone War ended. After a while, Padmé just sort of accepted that she was now someone without a home. Like a Purrgil, drifting amid the stars.

But Luke had a home. At least, Padmé hoped Luke would still treat it like his home. For all its faults, Tatooine had kept her son safe for years. Hopefully it would again.

Until they all jumped right back into the danger.

The battered old Corellian YT-model freighter thundered down from the sky, kicking up a miniature sandstorm as it came to rest on the sand.

“It’s a wonder that thing still flies!” coughed Owen Lars.

Padmé’s reunion with the Lars family had been a much sweeter one than she had anticipated. In spite of the way that she had left things, running off in the middle of the night with their nephew and that “crazy old wizard.” They hadn’t spoken in years. For all they knew, Padmé and Luke were both dead, or left rotting in some Imperial prison.

But, as always, Owen and Beru brought Padmé back into their home with open hearts and tearful eyes. And Padmé forgot why she could have ever expected anything different.

When the dust had cleared and the roar of the freighter’s engines died off, Padmé’s heart leaped when the first pair of feet came strolling down the boarding ramp.

She hardly recognized him. She remembered leaving behind a little boy, blonde-haired and starry-eyed. Scared, but ready for adventure. He had returned now a young man, with a strong body and an even stronger resolve shining in his blue eyes.

He was dressed in Jedi robes, the long brown cloak flowing in the wind, his blonde hair shining in the light of the suns—his father’s lightsaber hanging at his waist.

Padmé broke down into tears. Because he looked just like Anakin.

Luke held his mother, and she let herself melt into his arms. The two wept together for a while, happy to just be together again.

“Oh, Luke,” Padmé sobbed. “I can’t believe I ever let you go.”

“It’s alright,” Luke said. “It’s okay. It was supposed to happen. It… well, this was my destiny.”

Padmé had never really understood the Force, at least not in the way that a Jedi did. But she had often heard them speak of destiny and the will of the Force. Now she prayed—to the Force, if it would listen—that destiny wasn’t going to lead them into disaster.

After a few minutes, Obi-Wan Kenobi exited the freighter, followed closely by the diminutive figure of Master Yoda.

Padmé finally pulled herself away and dried her tears, freeing Luke to greet his aunt and uncle. 

“Obi-Wan,” said Padmé. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you as well,” he said, bowing slightly. “I was hoping that at least a few tears would be shed on my behalf, but—”

Padmé laughed. “I’m glad the swamp didn’t do much to weaken your sense of humor.”

 “That remains to be seen,” Obi-Wan replied. “But I am glad, at the very least, for a dry pair of boots.”

Padmé smiled down at Yoda, leaning on his gnarled wooden cane.

“Master Yoda,” she said.

“Your Highness,” he replied.

I am a queen no longer, she thought to reply. But she knew better than to argue with one as wise as Yoda. After all, she hadn’t lived for nine hundred years. So, she was just glad to let the warmth of his smile soften her war-hardened heart for a short, happy moment.

“Not too poorly, the war has treated you, I hope?” Yoda asked.

“As good as any war can treat someone, I suppose,” Padmé sighed. “There are worse days, and there are less worse days.”

Padmé laughed softly, but it was a sad laugh.

“But I don’t need to tell you that,” she said.

“Mmm,” Yoda grunted in reply, shaking his head. “A terrible thing, this war is. Much death have I sensed. Yes, and pain. Much pain still to come, I fear.”

“Well, if your plan really does work, Padmé, hopefully we stop this war before it really gets started,” said Obi-Wan.

“We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Padmé said. “Even three Jedi may not be enough. Which reminds me… Luke?”

He spun around, turning away from his embrace with his Aunt Beru.

“There’s … someone you need to meet,” Padmé said.

She walked up to her son, placing her hands on his shoulders, which were already almost too tall for her to reach.

“This may be hard for you to hear, and… I know you’re probably tired of so many secrets. But it was so important that this was kept a secret, even from you. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, I promise you. But it was the only way to keep the two of you safe.”

“I don’t understand—” Luke started to say.

“There is…” Padmé said. “There is another Skywalker.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Or was it surprise?

“What?” he gasped. 

Padmé looked toward the entrance of the old Lars homestead—the one that had been their home for more than a decade. She motioned for someone to come.

A young woman stepped out from the shade. She was dressed in a simple white robe, her hair done up in two elaborate buns on either side of her head. A white hood was draped gently over her head to shield her porcelain skin from the garish sunlight.

“Luke,” Padmé said. “This is your twin sister: Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan.”

*****

“You know,” Luke said. “It’s funny.”

“How’s that?” Leia replied.

“How you got picked to be Princess of… what is it? Alderaan. And I got shipped off to Tatooine of all places, living on a moisture farm. You know, there’s not a kid in Mos Eisley that wouldn’t kill for a chance to set foot in a palace, let alone live in one.”

“Living in a palace isn’t really as glamorous as you think it is,” Leia said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s really hard waking up to the butler bringing you breakfast in bed every day. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to step out of bed and wonder ‘which balcony shall I sit on to sip my tea today?’.”

Luke tried (rather poorly) to mimic the snooty sort of accent that he had heard many of the core-worlders and Imperial-types use.

Leia socked Luke in the arm. They both laughed.

The long-lost siblings sat alone together in one of the small cabins of the ship that was speedily carrying them back towards the fourth moon of Yavin. It was quiet, except for the dull vibration of the hyperdrive echoing through the cold, metal walls.

Leia sighed and shook her head.

“All this time,” she muttered. “I never knew I had a real family. I mean… my parents—”

“You mean Her Royal Highness, Queen of Alderaan?” Luke tried the accent again.

Leia shot him a look.

“My mom and dad,” she corrected. “Are my real family, of course. But I always thought my birth parents were dead. Then, a few years ago, I met Padm—er… my real mom. Our mom. But I had no idea who she was. Still, I always had this weird… feeling when I was around her. I don’t know... I don’t know how to describe it.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Luke.

“And then… I started getting involved with the Rebellion,” Leia continued. “My dad didn’t like it, but… it was where I belonged. I’ve been lucky enough to see behind the Imperial curtain, so to speak. I know what really goes on in the Empire. And I decided a long time ago that I can’t sit around and wait for someone else to stop it. Anyway… I saw mom around the Rebel base on Yavin a lot, at least whenever I was allowed to be there, which wasn’t often. I knew she was someone important. She hardly ever showed her face to anyone outside of High Command. Only a few people knew her name. It was only a couple weeks ago that I found out why. My dad just sat me down with her one day and explained the whole thing. That Padmé was my birth mother. That she was Padmé Amidala, Queen of Naboo. That I have a brother. That my father is—”

Leia choked on the words.

“Anakin Skwalker,” Luke finished for her. “Jedi Knight. That’s who our father was. Darth Vader is… something else.”

Leia sighed. “I cried and cried for days after that. I don’t know if it was happy or sad, or sometimes both. I was so excited to have this new family, but just so sad that I missed out on it all before. Eventually, I ran out of tears to cry. And now… now I just don’t know how to feel.”

Luke placed his hand on hers.

“Afraid,” he said. “That’s how I feel, anyway.”

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to be afraid,” Leia said.

Luke looked down at his feet, sheepishly. “Fear begets anger, anger begets hate, and hate begets suffering. It is natural to feel fear. It’s what you do with it that matters. Do you turn inward or do you turn outward? At least… that’s what Obi-Wan always says.”

“I’ve heard lots of stories from my dad about Master Kenobi. It’s kind of crazy that the hero from my old bedtime stories is sitting in the next cabin over.”

“And I never even knew he was a Jedi. All my life, he was just the old hermit that lived on the edge of the Dune Sea. Then, all of a sudden, he is a Jedi Master, and I am supposed to just leave everything behind and become a Jedi, too.”

“I’m sorry,” said Leia. “I really can’t imagine what that must have been like. Being so alone for so long…”

“Don’t be sorry. I guess I was scared for a while. And then I was angry for a while after that. But I wasn’t alone, not really. Obi-Wan and Yoda helped me. They made me into who I’m supposed to be.”

“You think it’ll be enough?” Leia asked.

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to win.”

“I… don’t know.”

The Skywalker siblings were quiet for a while.  The silence made it easy for the weight of everything that was about to happen start to sink in.

“Do you… do you think we’re going to make it through this?” Leia asked, clearly forcing back tears.

Luke didn’t say anything for a long time.

“I’ve been taught that I shouldn’t fear death,” he said at last. “That I should… how does Yoda put it? ‘Rejoice for those that transform into the Force.’ But… somehow… I know that we’re going to see dad again. And that’s all that matters.”

“How can you know?”

“A feeling.”

[theculturedmarxist]

ROBERT SCHEER: Hi, this is Robert Scheer with another edition of “Scheer Intelligence,” where the intelligence comes from my guests. In this case Max Blumenthal, who I must say is one of the gutsiest journalists we have in the United States, and have had for the last five years or so. He’s, in addition to having considerable courage and [going] out on these third-rail issues — like Israel, being one of the more prominent ones — and challenging some of the major conceits of even liberal politics in the United States about our virtue, our constant virtue, he’s done just great journalism. I really loved his book, “Goliath: Life and Loathing in Greater Israel,” which came out in 2013, because it was based on just good, solid journalism of interviewing people and trying to figure out what’s going on.

I’d done something a half century earlier, or not quite that long ago, during the Six-Day War in Israel, where I went over when I was the editor of Ramparts. And I know how difficult it is to deal with that issue, because I put Ramparts into bankruptcy over the controversy about it. [Laughter] So maybe that’s a good place to begin. You know, you dared touch this issue of Israel, and it didn’t help that you are Jewish. I guess you are Jewish, right? Do you have a background, did you practice any aspect of Judaism? Literature, culture, religion?

MAX BLUMENTHAL: I’m a Jew who had a bar mitzvah, and I even had a bris.

RS: Oh. [Laughs]

MB: And you know, I’ve continued to pop in in synagogues here and there on High Holy Days. I guess you could say, you know, when the rabbi asked, you know, asked me to join the army of God, I tell him I’m in the Secret Service. But I’m definitely Jewish, you know, and it’s a big part of who I am and why I do what I do.

RS: Well, and I thought your writing on that, and your journalism, was informed by that. Because after all, a very important part of the whole experience of Jewish people as victims, as people forced into refugee status, living in the diaspora, was to develop a sense of universal values, and of decency and obligation to the other. And I think your reporting reflected that. However, my goodness, you got a lot of heat over it. And it’s the heat I want to talk about. I want to talk about the difficulty, in this post-Cold War world, of actually writing about the U.S. imperial presence, or writing critically about what our government does, and some of its allies.

And I think Israel is a really good case in point, because we have one narrative that said in the last election we had foreign interference, mostly coming from Russia. And we talk about Russia as if it’s the old communist Soviet Union, with a top-down, big, organized party — forgetting that [Vladimir] Putin actually defeated the Communist Party, and even though he had been in the KGB, and most Russians had been in some kind of official connection with society or another. Nonetheless, Russia really has gotten very little out of whatever interference it did. Israel, that is very rarely talked about, interfered in the election in a very open, blatant way in the presence of Netanyahu, who denounced Barack Obama’s major foreign policy achievement, the deal with Iran, and has focused U.S. policy mostly against the enemy being Iran, and ignoring Saudi Arabia and everything else.

And the interesting thing is that Israel’s interference in the election, and Netanyahu, has been rewarded over and over — the embassy got shifted, the settlers got more validation, now there’s a big peace plan that gives the hawks in Israel everything they want. So why don’t we begin with that, and your own writing about U.S.-Israel relations. It’s kind of odd that there’s — or maybe not odd, maybe it’s just because it is the third rail — that there’s been so little discussion about Donald Trump’s relation to Israel and his payoff to Netanyahu.

MB: Yeah, I mean, there’s a lot to chew on there. I would first start with just an observation, because you mentioned that we’re in a post-Cold War world — well, we’re not in a post-Cold War world anymore, we’re in a new Cold War. And for all the attacks I got over Israel, which were absolutely vicious, personalized, you know, framed through emotional blackmail, attacking my identity as a Jew, calling me a Jewish anti-Semite — the Simon Wiesenthal Center, which is this right-wing racket over there in L.A., made me the No. 4 anti-Semite of 2015. You know, I was right behind Ayatollah Khomeini. But you know, the worst attacks, the most vicious attacks I’ve received have actually been from centrists and liberal elements over my criticism of the Russiagate narrative that they foisted on the American public starting in 2016, and also on the dirty war that the U.S. has been waging on Syria, and how we at the site that I edit, the Grayzone, started unpacking a lot of the deceptions and lies that were used to try to stimulate support among middle-class liberals in the west for this proxy war on Syria, for regime change in Syria. This was absolutely forbidden, and that attack actually turned out to be more vicious and is ongoing.

With Israel, you have a situation where you have, not maybe a plurality, but maybe a majority of secular Jewish Americans, progressive Jews, who have completely turned their back on the whole Zionist project. And it has a lot to do with Netanyahu. Netanyahu is someone who came out of the American — out of American life. He went to high school in suburban Philadelphia, he went to MIT, he was at Boston Consulting with Mitt Romney. His father ended his life in upstate New York as Jabotinsky’s press secretary, the press secretary for the revisionist wing of the Zionist movement that inspired the Likud party. So Netanyahu is really kind of an American figure, number one; number two, he’s a Republican figure. He’s like a card-carrying neoconservative Republican.

So a lot of Jews who’ve historically aligned themselves with the Democratic Party, who see being a Democrat as almost synonymous with being Jewish in American life, just absolutely revile Netanyahu. And here he is, basically the longest-serving prime minister in Israel; he’s completely redefined the face of Israel and what it is. And he’s provoked — I wouldn’t say provoked, but he’s accelerated the civil war in American Jewish life over Zionism. And what I did was come in at a time when it wasn’t entirely popular, to not just challenge Israel as a kind of occupying entity, but to actually challenge it at its core, to challenge the entire philosophy of Zionism, and to analyze the Israeli occupation as the byproduct of a system of apartheid which has been in place from the beginning, since 1948, which was a product of a settler colonial movement.

That really upset a lot of people who kind of reflect the same elements that I’m getting, who are attacking me on Syria or Russia. People like Eric Alterman at The Nation. He wrote 11 very personal attack pieces on me when my book “Goliath” came out in 2013. Truthdig, you, Chris Hedges, it was a great source of support. And you, you know, you opened up the debate at Truthdig, you allowed people to come in and criticize the book, but kind of in a principled, constructive way. Whereas Eric Alterman was demanding that The Nation censor me, blacklist me, ban me for life, and was comparing me to a neo-Nazi by the end, and claiming I was secretly in league with David Duke. And that was because he had simply no response to my reporting and my analysis of the kind of, the inner contradictions of Zionism.

And so to me, it was really a sign of the success of the book, that someone like Alterman was sort of dispatched, or took it upon himself to wage this really self-destructive attack. And in the end, he really had nothing to show for himself; he wasn’t arguing on the merits. And that’s just what I find time and again with my reporting is, you know, you get these personal attacks and people try to dissuade you from going and touching these third-rail issues, but ultimately there’s no substance to the attacks. I mean, if they really wanted to nail me and take me down, they would address the facts, and they really haven’t been able to do that.

RS: Right. But Max, if I can, let’s focus on the power of your analysis in that book, which is that it is a settler colonialism. And Netanyahu actually is — we can talk about the old labor Zionists, you know, and what was meant by progressive Zionism and so forth. Even at the time of the Six-Day War when I interviewed people like Moshe Dayan and Ya’alon and these people, they all were against a full occupation of the West Bank. They didn’t act on that, unfortunately. But they were aware of the dangers of a colonial model. But right now you have a figure in Israel in Netanyahu, who is, very clearly embodies a racialized view, a jingoistic view of the other, which is really, you know, very troubling. And he’s embraced by this troubling American figure.

And so what your book really predicted is that the settler colonialism was a rot at the center of the Israeli enterprise — and historically, one could justify that enterprise. I don’t know if you would agree. But even the old Soviet Union, I think, was the second, if not the first country to recognize Israel. There was vast worldwide support for some sort of refuge for the Jewish people after such horrible, you know, genocidal policies visited upon them. But what we’re really talking about now is something very different. And that is whether political leadership, and interference and so forth comes mainly for Democrats, very often; obviously, for republicans and Bible-belters and all that, who seem to like this image of the end of time coming in Israel. But really what’s happening — and it’s not discussed in this election, except to attack Bernie Sanders, who dared make some criticisms of Israel in some of these debates — you have a very weird notion of the Jewish experience, as identified with a very hardline, as you say, sort of South African settler colonialist mentality.

And so I want to ask you the question as someone–and we’ll get to it later — you grew up sort of within the Democratic liberal establishment in Washington. Your parents both worked for the Clinton administration, were close to it. How do you explain this blind eye toward Trump’s relationship to Netanyahu? And ironically, for all the Russia-bashing, Netanyahu and Putin seem to get along splendidly, you know. And that doesn’t bother people as far as criticizing Netanyahu. So why don’t we visit that a little bit, and forget about Eric Alterman for a while.

MB: [Laughs] Well, he’s already forgotten, so we don’t have much work to do there. But there’s a lot, again, a lot to chew on, a lot of questions packed into that. You know, just starting with your mention of Moshe Dayan — who is a seminal figure in the Nakba, the initial ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian population in 1948 to establish Israel — he was the southern commander of the Israeli military. And he later kind of became a kind of schizophrenic figure in Israeli politics; he would sometimes offer some kind of left-wing opinions, and then be extremely militaristic. But you know, when it came down to it, Moshe Dayan — like every other member of the Israeli Labor Party — was absolutely opposed to a viable Palestinian state. He even said that we cannot have a Palestinian state because it will connect psychologically, in the minds of the Palestinian public who are citizens of Israel — that 20% of Israel who are indigenous Palestinians — it will connect them to Nablus in the West Bank, and it will provide them with a basis for rebelling against the Israeli state to expand the Palestinian state.

The other labor leaders spoke in terms of the kind of, with the racist language of the demographic time bomb that, you know, we need to give Palestinians a state, otherwise we will be overwhelmed demographically. And so the state that they were proposed was what Yitzhak Rabin, in his final address before the Israeli Knesset, the Israeli parliament, called “less than a state.” He promised Israel that at Oslo, he would deliver the Palestinians less than a state. And if you look at the actual plan that the Palestinians were handed at Oslo — which Yasser Arafat, the Palestinian Authority chairman, didn’t even review before signing — the map was not that different from the map that Donald Trump has offered with the “ultimate deal.” And they’d say, oh, you get 97% of what was, you know, offered in U.N. Resolution 242 in 1967. But it really just isn’t the case when you get down to the details. What the strategy has been with the Labor Party, and with successive Israeli administrations — and with Netanyahu until he got Trump in — was to kind of kick the can down the road with the so-called peace process, so that Israel could keep putting more facts on the ground.

So it was actually Ehud Barak of the Labor Party, Yitzhak Rabin’s successor, who moved more settlers into the West Bank, by a landslide, than Netanyahu did. Ehud Barak actually campaigned on his connection to the settlers. And then Netanyahu capitalizes on the strength of the settlement movement to build this kind of Titanic rock of a right-wing coalition that’s kept him in power for so long. And if you look at who the leading figures are in Israeli life — Naftali Bennett, who was from the Jewish Home Party, he comes out of the Likud party and he’s someone who was an assistant to Netanyahu. Avigdor Lieberman, who was for a long time the leader of the Russian Party. Yisrael Beiteinu, this is someone who came out of the Likud Party, who helped Netanyahu rustle up Russian votes. It’s a Likud one-party state — but then you have, culturally, a dynamic where starting with 1967, the public just becomes more infused with religious Messianism.

The West Bank is the site of the real, emotionally potent Jewish historical sites, particularly in a city like Hebron. And the public becomes attached to it and attains its dynamism through this expansionist project, and the public changes. A lot of people from the kind of liberal labor wing became religious Messianists, started wearing kippot, wearing yarmulkes, the kind of cloth yarmulkes that the modern orthodox settlers where.

RS: OK, but —

MB: Today you not only have that, you have a new movement called the temple movement, which aims to actually replace Jewish prayer at the Western Wall with animal sacrifice, as Jews supposedly practiced thousands of years ago, and to destroy the Al-Aqsa mosque, and practice Jewish prayer there. This is not just a messianic movement, but an apocalyptic movement that is actually gaining strength in the Likud party. So when you mentioned Donald Trump’s “ultimate deal,” there’s one detail that everyone seems to have missed there, which is prayer for all at the Dome of the Rock, at Al-Aqsa. That means there will be Jewish prayer there, officially, that Palestinians must be forced to accept that and destroy the status quo, which has prevailed since 1967.

RS: I know, but Max, before I lose this whole interview here — because I think that’s all really interesting; people should read your book, “Goliath: Life and Loathing in Greater Israel.” That’s not the focus of this discussion I want to have with you.

MB: OK.

RS: And I want to discuss, in this aspect, the whole idea of Israel as a third-rail issue for American politics.

MB: Yeah.

RS: American politics. And the reason I want to do that is there’s obviously a contradiction in the Jewish experience, because Jews — as much or more so than any other group of people in the world — understand what settler colonialism does. They understand what oppression does, they’ve been under the thumb of oppressors. And so I would argue the major part of the Jewish experience was one of revolt against oppression, and recognition of the danger of unbridled power. And that represents a very important force in liberal politics in the United States: a fear of coercive power, a desire for tolerance, and so forth. And we know that Jews have, in the United States and elsewhere in the world, been a source of concern for the other, and tolerance, and criticism of power.

And the reason I’m bringing that up is it seems to me it’s a real contradiction for the Democratic Party, which you know quite a bit about. And in this Democratic Party, there’s this great loathsome feeling about Donald Trump. And many of these people don’t really like Netanyahu. You know, the polling data shows that Jews are, you know, just about as open to the concern for the Palestinians as any other group. And Bernie Sanders, the one Jewish candidate, is the one who dared to bring up the Palestinians — that they have rights also, that they’re human beings. He’s being attacked for it as, like you, a self-hating Jew. And so I want to get at that contradiction. And, you know, full confession, as a Jewish person I believe it’s an honorable tradition of dissent, and concern for the others, and respect for individual freedom. And I think it’s sullied by the identification of the Jewish experience with a colonialist experience. It is a reality that we have to deal with, but that’s not the whole tradition. And I daresay your own family, whatever your contradiction — and I should mention here your father and mother both were quite active in the Clinton administration, right.

And your father, a well-known journalist, Sidney Blumenthal, and your mother, Jacqueline Blumenthal, was I think a White House fellow or something in the Clinton administration? I forget what her job was, but has been active. And they certainly come out of a more liberal Jewish experience, as do most well-known Jewish writers and journalists in the United States. That’s the contradiction that I don’t see being dealt with here. Because after all, it’s easy to blast Putin and his interference, but as I say, Netanyahu interfered very openly, but in a really unseemly way, in the American election by attacking a sitting American president in an appearance before the Congress, and attacking his major foreign-policy initiative. And there’s hardly a word ever said about it. It doesn’t come up in the democratic debates. You know, and the — as I say, there was this incredible moment where Netanyahu, after coming over here and praising Trump for his peace deal, as did his opponent, then he goes off and meets with Putin. And so suddenly it’s OK, and yet the Democrats who want to blast Putin don’t mention Netanyahu, and they don’t mention his relation to Trump.

MB: Well, yeah, I was trying to illustrate kind of the reality of Israel, which just, it’s gotten so extreme that it repels people who even come out of the kind of Democratic Party mainstream. And the Democratic Party was the original bastion in the U.S. for supporting Israel. So my father actually held a book party for my book, “Goliath,” back in 2013. It’s the kind of thing that, you know, a parent who had been a journalist would do for a son or daughter who’s a journalist. And he was harshly attacked when word got out that he had held that party in a neoconservative publication called the Free Beacon, which is kind of part of Netanyahu’s PR operation in D.C. You know, it was like my father had supported, provided material support for terrorism by having a book party for his son.

But the interesting part about that party was who showed up. I didn’t actually know what it was going to be like, and it was absolutely packed. I mean, they live in a pretty small townhouse in D.C, and there just was nowhere to walk, there was nowhere to move. And I found myself in the corner of their dining room shouting through the house to kind of explain what my book was about and answer questions. And a lot of the people there were people who were in or around Hillary’s State Department, people who worked for kind of Democratic Party-linked organizations — just a lot of mainstream Democrat people. And they were giving me a wink and a nod, shaking my hand, giving me a pat on the back, and saying thank you, thank God you did this. Because they cannot stand the Israel lobby, they despise Netanyahu, and they’re disgusted with what Israel’s become.

And we had reached a point by 2013 where it was pretty obvious there was not going to be a two-state solution, and that whole project, the liberal Zionist project, wasn’t going to work out. You know, and the fact that they just could give me a wink and a nod shows also how cowardly a lot of people are in Washington. They weren’t even stepping up to the level my father had, where when his emails with Hillary Clinton were exposed, it became clear that he was sending her my work. And he was actually trying to move people within the State Department toward a more, maybe you could say a more humanistic view, but also a more realistic view of Israel, Palestine and the Netanyahu operation in Washington. Working through [Sheldon] Adelson, using this fraud hack of a rabbi, Shmuley Boteach, has kind of their front man. They ran like a full-page ad in the New York Times painting me and my father as Hillary Clinton’s secret Middle East advisers.

And then one day in the middle of the campaign, Elie Wiesel died. You know, someone who is supposed to be this patron saint of Judaism and the kind of secular theology of Auschwitz, who had spent the last years of his life as part of Sheldon Adelson’s political network. Basically, he had lost all his money to Bernie Madoff, and so he was getting paid off by Adelson. He got half a million dollars from this Christian Zionist, apocalyptic, rapture-ready fanatic, Pastor John Hagee. He was going around with Ted Cruz giving talks. And so when he died, I went on Twitter and tweeted a few photos of Elie Wiesel with these extremist characters.

And I said, you know, here are photos of Elie Wiesel palling around with fascists. And the kind of Netanyahu-Adelson network activated to attack me. And ultimately it led — I actually, within a matter of a few days, it led to Hillary Clinton’s campaign officially denouncing me and demanding that I cease and desist. And so, you know, I looked at the debate on Twitter, and a lot of people were actually supporting me. And it was clear Elie Wiesel, this person who was supposed to be a saint, was actually no longer seen as stainless, that the whole debate had been opened up by 2016.

And now when we look at the Democratic Party and we look at the Democratic field, you know, Bernie Sanders — he’s better than most of the other candidates, or the other candidates, on this issue. After we put a lot of pressure on him in the left wing-grassroots — I mean, I personally protested him at a 2016 event for his position on Palestinians, and we shamed him until he took at least a slightly better position, where you acknowledge the humanity of Palestinians. But what we’re hearing, even from Bernie Sanders, doesn’t even reflect where the grassroots of the Democratic Party — particularly all those young people who are coming out and delivering him a landslide victory tonight in Iowa — are. The Democratic Party is not democratic on Israel, but it’s no longer a third-rail issue. You can talk about it, and the only way that you can be stopped is through legislation, like the legislation we see in statehouses to actually outlaw people who support the Palestinian boycott of Israel. So we’re just in an amazing time where all of the contradictions are completely out in the open.

RS: OK, let me just take a quick break so public radio stations like KCRW that make this available can stick in some advertisements for themselves, which is a good cause. And we’ll be right back with Max Blumenthal. Back with Max Blumenthal, who has written — I mean, I only mentioned one of his books. He wrote a very important book on the right wing in America that was a bestseller; he has been honored in many ways, and yet is a source of great controversy. And I must say, I respect your ability to create this controversy, because it’s controversy about issues people don’t want to deal with. You know, they want to deal with them in sort of feel-good slogans, and it doesn’t work, because people get hurt. And including Jewish people, in the case of Israel. If you develop a settler, colonialist society, and that stands for the Jewish position, and you’re oppressing large numbers of people, be they Palestinian or others, that’s hardly an advertisement for what has been really great about the Jewish experience, which I will argue until my death.

It was represented by people like my mother, who were in the Jewish socialist bund, and two of her sisters were killed by the Czar’s police in Russia. And they believed in Universalist values, an idea of being Jewish as standing for the values of the oppressed, and concern for the oppressed. And most of their experience in the shtetls, and out there in the diaspora, had been being oppressed.

And so I don’t want to lose that there. But I wanted to get now to the last part of this, to what I think is the hypocrisy of the liberal wing of American politics, or so-called. And now they call themselves more progressive. And it really kind of centers around Hillary Clinton. And whatever you want to say about Bernie Sanders — you know, Hillary Clinton’s recent attack on Bernie Sanders, that no one likes him and he stands for nothing and he gets nothing done. And I think this is a, you know, a person that I thought, you know, at one point — despite her starting out as a Goldwater girl and being quite conservative — I thought was, you know, somewhat decent.

And I’m going to make this personal now. I was brought to a more favorable view of Bill and Hillary Clinton, in considerable measure, by your father, as a journalist at the Washington Post, and then working in the administration. And I respect your father and mother, you know, and Sidney Blumenthal and Jacqueline Blumenthal, I think are intelligent people. And I once, you know, went through a White House dinner; I think I only got in because your father put me on the list, and Hillary Clinton said I was her favorite columnist in America — no, the whole world — and it was very flattering. But I look back on it now — Hillary Clinton has really represented a kind of loathsome, interventionist, aggressive, America-first politics that in some ways is even more offensive than Trump. When Trump said he’s going to make America great again, Hillary Clinton said, America’s always been great. What?

MB: Yeah.

RS: What? Slavery, segregation, killing the Native Americans — always been great? You grew up with these people, right? You were in that world. What — so yes, they can come up to you at a book party and say, yes, it’s about time somebody said that. But what are they really about? That they — you know, you mentioned Syria. You know, their great achievement, they created a mess of that society. And she’s the one who went to, said about Libya, oh, we came, we saw, and he’s dead. You know, sodomized to death. So take me into the heart of the so-called liberal experience.

MB: Well, first of all, since you invoke Sidney Blumenthal so frequently, he has a — I think his fourth book in a five-part series on Abraham Lincoln out. And you know, these books address Lincoln almost as if he were a contemporary politician. It’s a completely new contribution to the history of Lincoln, and if you invite him on, be sure —

RS: I’m familiar with it, and I’ll endorse it —

MB: If you invite him on, you can ask him, I would love to hear that debate —

RS: I certainly would, and I have — as I said, I have a lot of respect for your father and mother. I’m asking a different question. Why do good people look the other way? Or how does it work? Just, you know, to the degree you can, take me inside that Washington culture. And where there’s a certain arrogance in it, that they are always, even when they do the wrong things, they’re just always accidents. They’re always mistakes. You know, it never comes out of their ideology, their aggression. So I want to know more about that.

MB: I mean, I saw all these — so many different sides of Washington. And so — and I was always supported by my parents, no matter what view I took. So I don’t feel like I have to live in my father’s shadow or something like that. They remain really supportive of me. I have a new book out — it’s not really new, it came out last April. It’s called “The Management of Savagery,” and it deals substantially with my view of the bipartisan foreign policy establishment, but particularly the Hillary State Department, the Obama foreign policy team, and the destruction they wrought in Libya and Syria. So, you know, I put everything I knew about Washington and foreign policy into that book. And so I really would recommend that as well.

But, you know, how does it work with the Clintons? They were — they set up a machine that was really a juggernaut with all this corporate money they brought in through the DLC, the Democratic Leadership Committee. It was a very different structure than we’d seen with previous Democratic candidates who built — who relied heavily on unions and, you know, the civil rights coalition. And that machine never went away. It kept growing like this — kind of like this amoeba that began to engulf the party and politics itself. So that when Bill Clinton was out of power, the machine was passed to Hillary Clinton, and the machine followed her into the Senate. And the machine grew into the Clinton Global Initiative, which was this giant influence-peddling scam that just cashed in on disasters in Haiti, brought in tons of money, tens of millions of dollars from Gulf monarchies, and big oil and the arms industry — everything that funds all the repulsive think tanks on K Street through the Clinton Foundation.

And everyone who was trying to get close to the Clinton Foundation, whether they were in Clinton’s inner circle or not, was just trying to gather influence. That’s why you saw at Chelsea Clinton’s wedding, behind her, Ghislaine Maxwell, who was basically Jeffrey Epstein’s personal child sex trafficker, just trying to cultivate influence with people who have this gigantic political machine.

So that’s why so many people, I think, have stayed loyal to this odious project, and have looked the other way as entire countries were destroyed under the direct watch of Hillary Clinton. Libya today — where Hillary Clinton took personal credit for destroying this country, which was at the time before its destruction, I think the wealthiest African nation with the highest quality of life — is now in, still in civil war. We’ve seen footage of open-air slave auctions taking place, and large parts of the country for years were occupied by affiliates of Al Qaeda or ISIS, including Muammar Gaddafi’s hometown of Sirte. It was immediately transformed into a haven for the Islamic State.

This is the legacy of Hillary Clinton. There would have been no Benghazi scandal if she hadn’t gone into Libya to come, see, and kill, as she bragged that she did. And in Syria, she attempted the same thing; fortunately failed, thanks to assistance from Iran and Russia. But this was, it consisted of a billion dollars, multibillion-dollar operation to arm and equip some of the most dangerous, psychotic fanatics on the face of the planet in Al Qaeda and 31 flavors of Salafi jihadi. Hillary Clinton said we can’t be negotiating with the Syrian government; the hard men with guns will solve this problem. She said that in an interview, and that’s her legacy.

Beyond that, you know, I in Washington grew up in a very complex situation. I don’t know what view people have of me, but I grew up in what was – D.C. when D.C. was known as C.C., or Chocolate City. It was a mostly black city, run by a local black power structure with a strong black middle class, and I grew up in a black neighborhood. And I kind of saw apartheid firsthand, where I saw how a small white minority actually controlled the city from behind the scenes. And then, you know, and I saw that reality, and then I went to school across town in the one white ward to a private school, and I got to know some of the children of the kind of mostly Democratic Party elite. And so I saw both sides of the city. And it was through that other side, and also my parents’ connection to the Clintons, that I — I mean, I barely interacted with the Clintons. I’ve had very minimal interaction with them ever.

But I did get to meet Chelsea Clinton once. And you know, for all my reservations about the Clintons or what they were, I thought you know, she was kind of an admirable figure at that time. She was a — she was a kid, she was an adolescent who was being mocked on “Saturday Night Live” because she was going through an awkward phase. She went to school down the street at Sidwell Friends, and I met her at a White House Christmas party; she was really friendly and personable. And you know, since then, I’ve watched her grow into adulthood and become a complete kind of replication of the monstrous political apparatus that her family has set up, without really charting her own path. She just basically inherited the reign of the Clinton Foundation and Clinton Global Initiative. She does paid talks for Israel. Her husband Marc Mezvinsky, he gambled on Greece’s debt along with Lloyd Blankfein, the CEO of Goldman Sachs. You know, the squid fish. I mean, there’s just — I mean, as a young person, seeing someone of my generation grow up and follow that path, do nothing to carve out her own space — it just absolutely disgusts me.

And now Hillary Clinton is still there! She won’t go away! She’s not only helped fuel this Russiagate hysteria that’s plunged us into a new Cold War, but she’s trying to destroy the hopes and dreams of millions of young people who are saddled with endless debt by destroying Bernie Sanders. And it’s because she sees her own legacy being smashed to pieces, not by any right-wing, vast conspiracy, but by the electorate, the new electorate of the Democratic Party. And I absolutely welcome that. I think, you know, tonight in Iowa, a landslide Bernie victory, one of the takeaways is this will be the end of Clintonism. It’s time to move on and hand things over to a new generation. They had their chance, and they not only failed, they caused disasters across the world.

RS: So this is — we’re going to wind this up, but I think we’ve hit a really important subject. And I want to take a little bit more time on it. And I thought you expressed it quite powerfully. But the error, if you’ll permit me, is to center it on the personality, or the family. And I don’t think Clintonism is going to go away. Because what it represents — and I know you —

MB: It could be become Bloombergism, you know?

RS: Well, that’s where I’m going. I think what Clintonism represents is this triangulation, this new Democrat. And I interviewed him when he was governor, just when he was campaigning. And I did a lot of writing on the Financial Services Modernization Act and on welfare reform, and all of these ingredients of this policy. And what it really represents — no wonder they’re rewarded by the super wealthy. But the Democratic Party lost its organizational base with the destruction of the labor movement and weakening of other sources of progressive class-based politics, concern about working people and ordinary people.

And what Clinton did is he came along, and he had a sort of variation of Nixon’s Southern Strategy, how he got the Republicans to be so important in the South. And it was this new politics, this redefinition. And it’s not going away, because it’s the cover for Wall Street. It’s the cover for exploitation. And the main thing that happened from when you were young — or born, actually; you’re 42 years — it’s 42 years of, since Clinton really, and you can blame Reagan, you can blame the first President Bush, you can blame other people, and certainly blame the whole bloody Republican Party. I’m not going to give them a pass.

But the fact is, what the Clinton revolution did was it made class warfare for the rich fashionable, in a way that no one else was able to do it, no other movement. And it said these thieves on Wall Street, these people who are going to rip you off 20 different ways to Sunday — they’re good people, and they support good causes. And you mentioned Lloyd Blankfein, you know; “government” Goldman Sachs, you know. Robert Rubin came from Goldman Sachs; he was Clinton’s treasury secretary. And the whole thing of unleashing Wall Street and getting, destroying the New Deal — that was a serious program to basically betray the average American and betray their interest. And that’s why we’ve had this growing income inequality since that time. That’s the Clinton legacy in this world, really, is the billionaire coup, the billionaire culture.

MB: Yep, the oligarchy was put on fast-forward by the new politics of the Clintons. What they promised wasn’t, you know, a break from Reaganism, although there was certainly a cultural difference. They promised continuity, and that’s what we saw through the Obama administration. Obama presided over the biggest decline in black home ownership in the United States since, I think, prior to World War II. You mentioned Glass-Steagall; this set the stage for the financial crisis; NAFTA, destroyed the unions, shipped American jobs first to Mexico and then to China, and destabilized northern Mexico along with the drug war that Clinton put on overdrive, creating the immigration crisis that helped fuel the rise of Donald Trump.

Welfare reform — all of these policies were just, were odious to me and so many people at the time, but there was just this desire to just beat the Republicans and out-triangulate them. Now that we’ve seen the effects on them and so many people have felt the effects, you have an entire generation that sees no future, that realizes they’re living in an oligarchy, realizes that the alternative to Bernie Sanders is a literal oligarch, this miniature Scrooge McDuck in Mike Bloomberg, and they’re just not having it.

I don’t know if Hillary Clinton understands this history; I don’t think she sees it in context. She just blames Russian boogeyman and fake news for everything. But the rest of us who’ve lived through it really do, and it’s the continuity that is so dangerous, especially on foreign policy. I mean, the Libya proxy war and the Syria proxy war, the stage was set in Yugoslavia with NATO’s war that destroyed a socialist country and unleashed hell on a large part of its population. And we still don’t debate that war. The stage for the Iraq invasion was set in 1998 with Bill Clinton passing the Iraqi Liberation Act, which sent $90 million into the pocket of the con-man Ahmed Chalabi and made regime change the official policy of the United States.

It’s tragic that Bernie Sanders voted for that. But we have to see the cause and the effect to understand why so many people are in open revolt against that legacy. And you’re right, it goes well beyond the Clintons. It’s a program that markets right-wing economics and a right-wing foreign policy in a sort of progressive bottle. Now what they’re trying to do with the label on that progressive bottle, the way they’re trying to preserve it — we see it a lot through the [Elizabeth] Warren campaign — is through a kind of neoliberal identity politics that divorces class from race and gender, and attempts to basically distract people with needless arguments about Bernie Sanders saying a woman couldn’t have gotten elected in a private conversation that only Elizabeth Warren was party to.

So I’m really encouraged, I guess, by the results that we’re seeing. We’re talking tonight on the eve of the Iowa caucus. I’m encouraged by those results, just because I see them as a repudiation of the politics that have just dominated my life as a 42-year-old, and just been so absolutely cynical and destructive at their core. But I would just remind anyone who is supporting Bernie Sanders and listening to this — he’s not just running for president. He’s running for the next target of a deep state coup, and the deep state exists, and will respond with more force and viciousness than it did to Donald Trump, who actually has much more in common with them than Bernie Sanders.

RS: I didn’t quite get the grammar of that last paragraph, not any fault of yours. You said he’s not just running — can you —

MB: He’s running for the next target of a deep state coup, the forces of Wall Street. You know, the —

RS: Oh, you mean he will be the target.

MB: He will be the target.

RS: Yeah, you know, it’s — you just said something really — OK, I know we have to wrap this up, but it’s actually just getting interesting for me. [Laughs]

MB: Sorry about that.

RS: No, no, no, come on, come on. [Laughter] What I mean is, I do these things because I learn, and I think, and you know, my selfish interests. And really the question right now, I did a wonderful interview with Chomsky on this podcast, and he took me to school for not appreciating the importance of the lesser evil. And I’ve lost sleep over it since. You know, well — and we always fall for that, you know. On the other hand, some of the things you’ve been talking about, you know — and this is going to get me in big trouble — but you know, Trump is so blatant. He’s so out there in favor of greed and corruption.

He’s so obnoxious. And actually, in terms of his policy impact — not his rhetoric, but his policy impact — is he really that much worse? Well, for instance, you mentioned NAFTA. The rewrite of NAFTA, even before, you know, some progressives got involved in it, it was a substantially better trade agreement than the first NAFTA. You know, he hasn’t gotten us into Syria-type, Iraq-type wars.

He actually — so I’m not — you know, yes, I consider him a neofascist; rhetoric can be very dangerous. He’s obviously spread very evil, poisonous ideas about immigrants and what have you, you know, I can go down the list. But the people that you’ve been talking about, that–you know, and I voted for all of them, and I’ve supported them — are they really the lesser evil? You know, or are they a more effective form of evil?

MB: I mean, to understand Trump, we just have to see him as the apotheosis of an oligarchy. In its most unsheathed, unvarnished form, he’s just lifted the mask off the corruption, the legal corruption that’s prevailed, and been completely unabashed about it. Donald Trump was targeted with this kind of Russiagate campaign, which was partly run by Clintonite dead-enders who wanted to blame Russia for her loss, and to attack Donald Trump with this kind of McCarthyite rhetoric. But it was also being influenced by the intelligence services — figures like John Brennan and James Comey, and neoconservative hardliners who could easily jump back into the Democratic Party. And they were just seeking a new Cold War, to justify the budgets of the intelligence services, and the defense budget and so on.

But at his core, Donald Trump, what he’s actually done, especially domestically, I think outside of the immigration stuff, is he’s been kind of a traditional Republican. And he won a lot of consent from Republicans in Congress when he passed a trillion-dollar tax cut. He’s given corporate America everything he wanted after kind of campaigning with this populist, Bannonite tone. So in a lot of ways, Donald Trump does share more in common with the Democratic Party elite — with a lot of the figures who’ve been nominated to serve on the DNC platform committee, who are just from the Beltway blob and the Beltway bandits — than they do with Bernie Sanders.

And I think that if Bernie Sanders gets the nomination, there will be an effort to McGovern him. To just kind of turn him — turn this whole process into McGovern ’72, hope that Bernie Sanders gets destroyed by Donald Trump, and then wag their fingers at the left for the next 20 years until they get another Bill Clinton. I think that they don’t know how to stop him at this point, but they’re willing to let him be the nominee and go down to Donald Trump, because Bernie Sanders threatens their interests, and the movement behind him particularly, more than Donald Trump does.

RS: You know, they will stop Bernie Sanders, and they will do it by the argument of lesser evilism. And you see the line developing —

MB: But who is the lesser evil, Bob? I mean, Joe Biden is like this doddering wreck. There is no other candidate who seems even remotely viable against Trump.

RS: No, no, no — I understand that. I’m telling you what — well, it seems to me there’s — you know, you want to talk about fake news, the, misreporting of Bernie Sanders — in fact, the misreporting of what democratic socialism is. I mean, he’s now branded in the mainstream media as some hopeless fanatic because he dared to defend democratic socialism. Democratic socialism has been the norm for the most successful economies in the world, even to a degree when we’ve been successful. That was the legacy of Roosevelt, after all, is to try to save capitalism from itself. That’s why you had some enlightened government programs, you know, right down the list, and that’s what saved Germany after the war, and that’s what France and England and so forth, that’s why they have health care systems.

But the mainstream media has actually taken a very moderate figure, Bernie Sanders, and demonized him as some kind of hopeless ideologue, right? And as you point out, Bernie Sanders is hardly a radical thinker on issues — particularly, as you mentioned, about the Mideast and so forth. What he is, is somebody who actually is honoring the best side of Franklin Delano Roosevelt: you can’t let these greed merchants control everything, you have to worry about some compensation for ordinary people. That’s what Bernie Sanders is all about. And it should be an argument that has great appeal to people of power, otherwise they’re going to come after you with the pitchforks. Instead the mainstream media, in its hysteria, you know, has taken this word “democratic socialist” and used it to vilify him.

But the point that I want — and we will end on this, but I’d like to get your reaction — that came up in my discussion with Chomsky, who I have great admiration for. But it is this lesser evilism. And I think while, yes, people in their vote can think about that, they can vote that way — I’ve done it much of my life; I’ve voted for all sorts of evil people because they were lesser. But as a journalist — and I want to end about your journalism — as a journalist, I think we have to get that idea out of our head. And it means being able to be objective about a Donald Trump when he comes up with his NAFTA rewrite, and say hey, there are some good things in it, including the fact that you have to pay $16 an hour to people in Mexico who are working on cars that are going to be sold in the United States, OK. And what the liberal community has been able to do in the mainstream media, MSNBC, is Trumpwash everything.

Which brings us back to your critique. They’ve been able to say — they’ve made warmongering liberal and fashionable. They’ve taken the — they’ve made the CIA now a wonderful institution, the FBI a wonderful institution, [John] Bolton a wonderful hero. And I want to take my hat off to your journalism, because you have — and I do recommend that people go to your website, the Grayzone. Because you have had the courage to say, wait a minute, what’s called a lesser evil can’t be given a pass. Because in fact, maybe in some ways, or in many ways, it’s a more effective evil. We know what Trump is; he stands exposed every hour of every day.

But you know, Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton — and I’m not trying to pick on them, but you know, they represented this embrace of the Wall Street center — they were much more effective in redistributing income to the rich. You know, you can talk about Trump’s tax break, but the real redistribution came with letting Wall Street do its collateralized debt obligations and credit default swaps that caused the destruction of 70% of black wealth in America, 60% of brown wealth in America, according to the Federal Reserve. So really, in this election, people have to think — you know, yes, I’ll hold my nose and I’ll vote for the lesser evil. But what’s that going to get us? Does it get us a more effective evil, a better-packaged evil? Last word from you?

MB: Well, I mean, one of the things that we do at the Grayzone.com, our mission is to oppose this policy of regime change that the U.S. imposes across the world against any state that seeks some independence from the U.S. sphere of influence that wants to craft its own economic policies in a socialist way, like Venezuela, Nicaragua. We, you know, we exposed a lot of the deceptions that were trying to stimulate public support for regime change in Syria, that would have been absolutely disastrous. And in all of these situations, we don’t stand alone, but we stand among a really, really small group of alternative outlets who don’t play the lesser-evil game on regime change.

Where we say, well, this leader or that leader are horrible, and they are evil dictators, but we should also be kind of suspicious of the, you know, of the war that the U.S. might wage. Or we should be critical of these brutal economic sanctions that have killed tens of thousands of Venezuelans through excess deaths. We say — we actually look at the alternative to the current government and show that there actually isn’t the lesser evil, that the alternative is far worse. In Syria it was Al Qaeda and the Syrian Muslim Brotherhood; in Venezuela it’s Juan Guaidó’s right-wing, white collar mafia, which is a front for Exxon Mobil. Same thing in Nicaragua.

And you know, as much as I respect and I’ve learned from Noam Chomsky, he plays that lesser-evil game on regime change. He’s trashed all of the, all of these governments. He celebrated the collapse of the Soviet Union, and we saw what happened to Russia after that. So it’s important to look at lesser evilism through a historical context, and then we can apply it to the United States as well. Look at who’s been sold to us as the lesser evil that we had to support. Well, we’ve been talking about them, Bob, for the last half hour, and they’ve subjected Americans to the same evil the Republican Party has, for the most part. Maybe they’ve limited it to some degree. But now there’s actually an option for something that I’d say is moderate in the United States.

You’re right — Bernie Sanders does nothing, and proposes nothing, outside the framework of the New Deal and LBJ’s Great Society. I don’t even think he’s a democratic socialist. I don’t know what that term really means. He’s a social democrat. And he is someone who at least offers a change from the consensus where the government actually starts to intervene to prevent people from dying excess deaths across the country, from the opioid crisis, from poverty, from homelessness. Eighty percent of new homes that have been built in the U.S. in the past two years are luxury housing. And you know who else is supporting Bernie Sanders besides all these debt-saddled youth? Active duty U.S. military veterans who are sick of permanent war. $160,000 in campaign contributions have been given to Bernie by active duty vets. That’s something like eight times more than have gone to Joe Biden, who is involved at the forefront of almost every American war since Gulf War I.

And we’re really capitalizing on that at the Grayzone. We understand the American public and the western public are sick of being lied into war, and they’re sick of being pushed into lesser evilism, whether it’s abroad in countries that are targeted by the U.S., or at home. And so we’re just there providing balance and exposing whatever the lie is of the day.

RS: Let me, as an older person, end with a little editorial about what — and I agree with the thrust of what you’ve been saying — but why I think this word “democratic socialism” is important, not just social democrat. Because it acknowledges the vast harm that has been done by the left in human history. It’s not just the right, it’s not just the corporate elite, and it’s not just the oligarchs. That people got hold of a message of concern for the ordinary person. It happened in religion too, after all, you know; structures were developed, people who claimed they were following the message of Christ, and they ended up building edifices to the exploitation of ordinary people.

I think what Bernie Sanders represents — and I’ll ask your response, but what I think he represents, the reason he’s so authentic — he actually believes in the grassroots. He actually believes that an ordinary person in Vermont can make intelligent decisions about the human condition, and about justice and freedom. And I think the reason Bernie Sanders can survive the rhetorical assaults on his leftism or his socialism, is that what people of power in the capitalist world have managed to do is identify this cause of social justice, a notion of democratic socialism with totalitarianism, with elitism.  And Bernie Sanders — and this is a good night to celebrate Bernie Sanders, if it’s true; I hadn’t caught up with the news, but if he’s really doing that well in Iowa. Because I thought he would get 1% of the vote four years ago when he started; I never thought this would happen.

I think what makes Bernie Sanders authentic is his respect for the ordinary person. He is the opposite of that leftist elitist–and you have them as well as rightist elitists — who thinks they have to distort history to protect the average person from reality. And Bernie Sanders is — he speaks truth about what’s going on. And at a time when people on the right and the left have nothing but contempt for most of the politicians, and journalistic leaders and everything else, for having betrayed them. So I think Bernie Sanders is a ray of hope. I wish he would be around a lot longer, but then again, I wish I’d be around a lot longer. But it’s nice to run into Max Blumenthal, who’s half my age and has all of that spirit that I’d like to see in journalism. So thanks, Max, for doing this.

MB: Thank you, Bob. It’s a real honor.

RS: And by the way, I ignored that last book of yours. Could you give the title again and how people get it?

MB: It’s called “The Management of Savagery.” And let me pull it off the shelf so I can actually read the subheader. You can edit this. It’s called “The Management of Savagery: How America’s National Security State Fueled the Rise of Al Qaeda, ISIS, and Donald Trump.” And it’s really kind of my look at the, sort of how the politics of my lifetime and my generation has been shaped by foreign policy disasters that an unelected foreign-policy establishment has subjected us to.

RS: Full disclosure, I actually have not read it, and I will get it as soon as I can.

MB: I’ll send you a copy —

RS: No, no, no, you got — it’s hard enough to make a living as a writer. I don’t think you should give these things away for nothing. I’ll get myself a copy. And I want to thank you again. I’ve been talking to Max Blumenthal, check out his work, check out the Grayzone. These podcasts are done basically for KCRW, the public radio station in Santa Monica, where Christopher Ho is the engineer who gets it up on the air.

At Truthdig, Natasha Hakimi Zapata writes the brilliant intros and overview of these things and posts them up there. Here at USC, Sebastian Grubaugh, the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism, really gets the whole thing going and hooks up everyone, thanks to him. And finally, there’d be no “Scheer Intelligence” without the main Scheer, Joshua Scheer, who’s the show’s producer. And we’ll see you next week with another edition of “Scheer Intelligence.”

[otterandterrierwrites]

{Hungry hearts} X. Sahbiye

A/N: Happy May the Fourth and Scoundress Saturday, and welcome new followers! Like I mentioned in the snippet I posted last week, this story it’s set right before the start of the Annual #3 comic. I’m not crazy about how it turned out, but I’ve been wanting to use this dish from “Honour among thieves” almost since the beginning for reasons, and sadly, it also turned into a bit of an homage to Peter Mayhew and our beloved Chewie. We’re getting closer to ESB so things are turning undefinably weird between Han and Leia!

‘So this,’ Leia said, opening her arms to encompass the desolate landscape before them, ‘is your brilliant secret lair?’

‘It’s not “my lair”?’ Han grunted, coming down from the Millennium Falcon’s ramp behind her. ‘Welcome to Odona, Princess.’

Leia threw him a wary look before stepping down into the dusty land and examining their surroundings. Here and there, crumbling stone structures rose from the ground, looking even older than the Massassi temples on Yavin IV. Massive pillars and half-standing statues guarded the dark mouths of the caves Han had pointed out as one of the key features that made Odona the ideal planet for a new military base.

It hadn't been easy to relocate after Yavin. Dantooine had been the Alliance’s first headquarters, and they had lasted a whole two years there. On Yavin IV, it had been a year and a couple of months. Afterwards, they had split and moved between their other, smaller bases, but this arrangement kept their forces too scattered across the galaxy to launch any major attacks. Leia had hoped that destroying the Death Star had been an opening, a victory important enough to let them strike at a weakened Empire until it fell---but while they’d had a few more wins, they seemed to never make much of a dent. She hoped that would change if they could find a base large and isolated enough to safely concentrate a large number of troops.

Han had mentioned that one of Odona’s polar continents was an abandoned rock with a maze of caves favored by pirates and smugglers to escape Imperial detection, and that it was big enough to establish a new base. The only problem, he’d said, was its extreme weather.

Leia and the rest of High Command had decided it was worth checking out, and that it would be more practical if it was just a small team going in and out quietly. If it was risky, it would be easier to get out. The idea had been to have a commander accompany Han and Chewbacca to Odona. Han had insisted he wouldn’t take any other rebels on his ship but Luke or Leia---and Luke had been away on a different recon mission. When she walked into the Falcon, Leia passed Chewie on his way out. For some reason, the Wookiee was not going with them.

‘The weather is nice,’ Leia commented. The pale blue sky was mostly clear but for wispy clouds, and the morning breeze was pleasant. Nothing seemed to hint at a treacherous climate.

‘Yeah, for now,’ Han warned. ‘You got layers?’

Leia assented; he had insisted on the vitality of wearing layered clothes and carrying warm coats besides.

‘Let's go,’ Han said, and closed down the Falcon before they set out towards the nearest cave, rucksacks on their backs.

They did the trek in silence. Things had been strained lately, more so than usual. Generally, she and Han had a disagreement that became a loud blowout, they spent a few days avoiding each other, then she’d go and ask him to run a mission or he’d invite her and Luke to his ship after dinner and things would go back to normal. For some time, they hadn’t even fought, only bickered, which often turned into friendly banter. Han made her laugh---genuinely laugh---and, surprisingly, he could keep his mouth shut when she just wanted to share a drink with someone and not talk about anything---although they often ended up talking anyway. He was also one of the best partners she’d ever had in the field.

Something had shifted recently, though, and she couldn’t put her finger on what or when it had happened. It was closer to the way they were in the beginning, except back then, she hadn’t cared much whether he stayed or left for good. Now, there was a tension between them while they fought, as if there was something fragile on the line, ready to come crashing down at the slightest wrong maneuver.

The last time they fought, Leia was so angry afterwards. They had been cooking together, talking---she was sure he’d even shared something very private with her---and suddenly he was getting up in her space, acting like he was trying to pick someone up in a bar. When she had pulled back from whatever the hell he had in mind, he’d walked away from her and left her with half a dozen star fritters to finish and a kitchen to clean.

‘Are you sure these structures won’t fall down over our heads the minute we step in?’ she asked as they stood on the threshold of the cave, dark and jagged like the maw of a waiting beast.

‘If they ain’t fallen down in a snow storm, they won’t fall down now,’ Han said, surveying the antechamber-like space that narrowed down into a tunnel. He took his blaster from its holder and turned on his flashlight, then motioned for her to follow. ‘C’mon, get yours.’

Alarmed, Leia drew her blaster and asked, ‘Already?’

‘Just in case we need to clear this out.’

‘I was under the impression there were no living beings in this continent.’

‘Well, you know what happens when you assume things,’ Han said in a tone too flippant to be genuine. Without waiting for her, he crossed the chamber and stepped into the tunnel.

Leia hurried to follow, annoyed.

‘So just to be clear, what kind of beings can we expect to run into?’

‘Hopefully none.’

‘Will you cut out the crap?’ she snapped with an angry huff, tugging at the collar of her shirt. It was no wonder she’d started to feel hot: besides the flush her irritation at Han induced, she was wearing a jacket, a long-sleeved shirt and a tank top underneath.

Han stopped and turned to give her a tired look.

‘Look, Princess, we can stand here fightin’ about what hypothetical creatures might live here or we can get on with the recon and worry about them when we have to. If we have to,’ he added.

‘You should know by now that the way we operate is, we lay down all the intel we have on a planet before we get there,’ Leia retorted, glaring at him.

‘I don't have any intel!’ Han raised his arms in exasperation. ‘It's just stupid rumours!’

He glared back, his jaw tight, and then he breathed out forcefully.

‘It’s been years since anyone’s seen them---no one I talked to was sure they even exist. If you gotta know, some folks talk about big blobs covered in eyes and teeth lurkin’ in these caves. Never met ‘em myself. See why I didn't think to mention ‘em? They're probably a myth, no more’n that.’

It was hard to decide whether she was relieved by Han’s assessment that the creatures were likely to be a fantasy, or worried by their description in case they were real, but at least he was being honest.

‘Let’s move,’ she said, with a nod, and began to walk.

The deeper they went into the cave, the hotter it felt. If Leia didn’t know better, she would have believed they were walking straight into the planet’s core.

‘Are there… thermal pools nearby or something?’ she asked, taking off her jacket. Han did the same.

‘No, this ball’s just starting to heat up.’

Less than twenty minutes later, the cave felt like a furnace.

‘Kriff,’ Han said, wiping off his sweaty brow with the back of his wrist. He stopped and took off his vest, then pulled his shirt over his head and stuffed both of them inside his rucksack. ‘You’ll wanna lose some layers.’

Silently, Leia thanked the heat for justifying her blush. After stripping off, Han was left wearing a plain white vest that clung to his skin in all the right places. She’d seen him wearing less, but that didn’t mean she underrated the image in front of her. And just like she was watching him, wouldn’t he watch her if she took off her shirt? Leia wasn’t vain, but she wasn’t oblivious to her features, either.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, and kept moving forward, pointing her flashlight at crevices she feigned interest in.

It was far from fine. Her clothes stuck to her armpits, her back and belly, and she felt as if even her hair was starting to sweat. They were rationing their water: she couldn’t afford to dehydrate just for the sake of her… modesty or whatever ridiculous nonsense was keeping her fully clothed.

Slowing down discreetly to fall behind Han, she dumped her rucksack to the ground and stripped off her shirt, tying it around her waist. It was inevitable that Han turned to check on her when he noticed she was lagging behind, but Leia looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his expression.

The cave seemed all right... at first. Her instruments didn't register radiation or poisoning elements. If Han was right about them being frequently beaten up by storms, then he also had to be right in thinking they were solid enough to not crumble down on them. It seemed that the weather (or perhaps something else) did take its toll on them, however: here are there they began to find sections where the roof had caved in and huge rocks blocked the passages, forcing them to take a different route.

Leia was growing concerned. The cave was more labyrinthine than either of them had prepared for. Han kept insisting that he would not get them lost, and she wanted to believe him, but they’d had to stray off the main tunnel and had taken so many twists and turns, she couldn’t be sure she’d know which way they had come. She’d taken out her handheld navcomp, but it was having trouble reading the complex terrain. On top of it, the heat was almost suffocating. It was getting on both their nerves.

‘It gotta be that way,’ Han said.

‘Why? Because that rock seems more promising than this one?’ Leia snapped as they stood at a crossroads.

‘Because we don’t know which one to take so we might as well go that way and see!’

‘So if I say let’s take this tunnel instead, you’ll follow?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.

‘No, ‘cos you’re just bein’ difficult.’

‘Oh, really? I’m being difficult just for suggesting a different route than the one you pulled out of your ass? How manly of you.’

‘I'm just sayin’ that's not what you want!’ he said, refuting her accusation with a raised finger.

‘What do you know about what I really want, Han?’ she spat out. She knew she was blowing things out of proportion, but she was tired of the encompassing darkness of the cave, of its confusing bowels, of the perspiration that covered her head to toes, and she was tired of letting Han lead this dance around each other.

‘Guess I don’t have a kriffin’ clue!’ Han groaned in frustration and turned around. The tired sigh that followed seemed to discharge him of his anger, and when he spoke, it was in a measured tone. ‘Alright, why don’t we stop for a bit? Let’s take a breather and have a bite, and then we’ll discuss which way to go.’

She resented that his alternative to taking her route was basically to let her cool off so that they could go the way he wanted. She wanted to keep yelling at him even if she wasn't very clear on what exactly to yell at him about. The diplomat in her reasoned that she couldn't know that was his plan, and that he was proposing a truce, so she should meet him halfway.

Taking a deep breath, she slid her rucksack off her shoulders and sat down without a word.

‘You said you’d pack lunch for both of us,’ she said dryly. ‘I hope you remembered, or else---Force help you.’

Han snorted. ‘Some faith you have in me, Your Worshipfulness.’

He sat down on the ground next to her, their bare arms brushing. Leia bit down on her lower lip to keep a shiver at bay while Han took out a portable cooler out of his bag, and retrieved a smaller container.

‘Sahbiye,’ he told her, pointing at a mix of soft green leaves and meat bathed in a golden sauce. ‘Chewie made it. Haven’t been cookin’ much myself ‘cos the thermpad’s been actin’ up more’n usual and it drives me crazy, but he said he’d make this for us---uh, well, actually for you.’

‘For me?’

‘You hadn’t tried his sahbiye yet, he said. He doesn’t make it very often. He must like you, Princess.’

‘That’s very kind of him,’ Leia said, taking the fork he offered her. She speared a piece of meat and scooped up some greens, and took a bite. The flavours were rich and comforting, making her tension ease up a little.

‘That’s Chewie. Can’t shake ‘im off once he’s decided to look after you,’ Han told her. ‘Even though you weren’t very kind to him, in the beginning,’ he added.

Leia frowned in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You called him a walking carpet. When we were tryin’ to get outta the Death Star.’ Han looked at her. ‘You don’t remember?’

She shook her head, then raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I was a bit too preoccupied with other things at the time as to remember everything I said to anyone.’ Leia looked away for a moment. ‘It wasn’t anything personal. I didn’t expect to get out of there alive, and when the possibility seemed real, I wanted to get back to the Rebellion at any cost, because maybe---maybe I could help them when I---’

When I couldn’t help Alderaan, she thought, but she couldn’t say it out loud. She looked at him again. ‘So I’m sorry if I was a bit---’

‘Pain in the ass?’ Han asked through a mouthful of sahbiye.

She made a face that meant “don’t push it”, but nodded. They’d never talked about it, about what had happened in the Death Star (except for Ben Kenobi’s mysterious, sudden death) and about those less than ideal first impressions. The day had seemed a blur to her afterwards, an overwhelming, deafening whirlwind of experiences, most of which she wanted to forget.

‘Even if I don’t remember what I said, I am sorry to have treated him badly. There’s no excuse,’ she said.

Han shook his head. ‘Not me you have to apologise to. Chewie’s probably forgotten, anyway.’

‘Maybe, but I hope he knows how much I appreciate him. He’s a good fighter… and a better friend.’

‘And a great cook,’ Han added.

‘I wholeheartedly agree.’

A chilly breeze swept through the cave, and she put her fork down to rub her arms. ‘Is it cooling down or am I imagining it?’

‘Weather's turnin’ fast. That's how it is around here.’ Han put on his shirt again and set his jacket and parka out next to him in preparation.

Leia looked at him in disbelief, but she too re-dressed herself as the gust of cool wind on her damp skin had given her goosebumps.

‘We should get outta here in case there’s a snowstorm,’ Han suggested, standing up and packing their things.

The crossroads still lay before them, two different paths to choose from, each with their own undiscovered possibilities.

‘So, which way?’ Leia asked, turning to look up at Han.

‘Back the way we came,’ Han said gruffly. ‘Can’t be worse than anything else.’