Allison Hargreeves | #00.03 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
numberthree) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etcelsior2021-01-04 11:03 am
numberthree) wrote in etcelsior2021-01-04 11:03 am
Fic Tuesday
Drop your character list below (and any other characters you played earlier), and then while waiting for your fellow players to drop you prompts for any/all characters/etc., wander around and drop prompts (lyrics, images, anything your heart can think to) on other players. No requirements to fill these prompts, no guilt if the inspiration doesn't strike, only fun and possible drabbles, snippets, and fics here, whether you're reading or writing!
Amanda ❤
My Characters
Allison Hargreeves
Padme Amidala
Jean Grey [Earlier Character]
Also, willing to take prompts on anyone in the menagerie, if they strike your fancy.
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Re: Amanda ❤
Esp: learning to cook this weird Earth food
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I'd love anything about Padme's thoughts/feelings about Kylo and any sense she might have of a connection there..... ToT
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It's not without small moments, this new friendship she's made (and she thinks it is a friendship, even though she thinks that he would freeze and recoil if the word were placed between; a skimming stone to her, a cracked reactor to him).
That were it only for the expansive height, reliance on black clothes, and general razor edged movements and words, she thinks she would never have pursued this at the beginning. But there is an intensity to him that she cannot miss rivets to her. Wariness at the edge of those eyes, as though an animal ready to lunge in attack or chew off their own leg to escape all in that same second. Absolution in the confusion of which is the right reaction and everything worse for it.
And deeper, stronger, somehow more intense and more gaurded than even all that, a hunger, bleeding pain that lasts only in the most fleeting of seconds. When she catches him staring at her before she'd realized he was at an event. When he suddenly turns toward her sharply, scrutinizing her like she's said something surprising, something perhaps wrong for being right, searching her eyes with a suspicion that boarders on brutal and begs this universe to find the lie.
She knows that there is something there. She's too smart not to see it.
A story she doesn't understand but realized lies somehow between them.
Like Leia's burning anger, and Luke's plaintive, regetful, guilt.
She has begun to count these moments,
grains of sand, drops of water,
stars in the night sky,
But she hasn't pushed.
(She married Anakin, didn't she?
She knows what it is to love something you can not tame. To never want to. To be grateful for its love, and to withstand the terrorized idea of its loss when the passion of its focus, anger, indealism has drawn it somewhere far, far, far away from your side, for both better and worse.
She knows most of all how to wait.)
She knows something is there, something deep and sharp and angry as it is sad and wounded and desperately hungry.
That there is a pit of sharpened rocks between her and it, between it and him. But that he's still sitting on that other edge. By choosing to stand next to her, continuing to have conversations about art and politics, about families and foreign universes. A game with little reveal where she is certain now every word is one that matters, that is weighed. (That is being kept.)
But she has time. They both have time.
It's what this place is made of most.
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Sara - Love lost
Jo - Most current multiverse version of her seeing her mother in the next multiverse bouncing ball place she nebulously lands (for ease’s sake— make it a MoM AU? Your choice tho!)
(You knew, right? Trio of fighty blondes fffforeverrrr)
Tessa
Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch •
Formerly
Sara Lance/White Canary •
Elizabeth Braddock/Psylocke •
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Wanda - the cost of survival
Sara - dark side of the moon
Elizabeth - butterflies or telepathic girls
C
Ysanne Isard / Iceheart
Barbara Gordon / Batgirl
And, if you want, anybody from the ol' repository.
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Barbara - her own rules
Ysanne Isard Snippet (OOC: You describe the boat we're both in with such accuracy :P)
She had been raised a child of the Empire, raised in the Palace itself. Palpatine had been a mentor, no, a better version of her father. Seemingly infinitely wise, all-seeing, all-knowing. Why, then, did she feel the feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched his visage retake its place? The crowds below, cheering the statue's return, were carefully chosen. She had seen to that. The weather was perfect, she had seen to that. It was, quite frankly, a perfectly managed propaganda coup.
But, she realized, it was not any uneasiness about the moment that troubled her. It was greater, deeper. Far worse.
It was resentment. He had raised her up as his subtle left hand; the complement to Darth Vader as his steel right - and yet, here she was. He was dead, and she was left with the absolute mess. Her anger, her resentment grew with each day - fueled by each interaction with the Ruling Council, with every stupid inquiry and message she had to return from the members of what had been, formerly, the Royal Court. He had raised her, yes. But he had hamstrung her, too.
And now she was left alone to maintain the vision, and the unity, of the Empire. And this was Coruscant - be you ever so weary, stars help you if your resolve cracked for one moment. The Rathtars would be all over you, gnawing your bones. And so she didn't. And so she seethed.
Why, then, deep down, did she feel this way? Shame? Anger? The urge to order a turbolaser blast directly into the statue she herself had painstakingly had restored?
It would be done soon, anyways. The triumvirate that made up the Council would soon be dead or in her custody. But it wouldn't be, would it? There were the Prophets of the Dark Side, off scheming ridiculousness. There was Zsinj, loyal in name only and with all the fleet resources she needed to successfully defend the heart of the Empire. And all the others, waiting with daggers or to run off to become Warlords of their own.
Palpatine had raised all of them up, too. And none of them believed. He had saddled her with incompetence and duplicity, installing cancers at the heart of his own Empire.
Why then, the question came, did she still believe?
She turned away, slamming her fist into the door jamb as she passed from the small balcony back into her office. No. She would not waver. She could not waver. It all depended on her will now.
There could be no question.
The Emperor was dead.
Long live the Empire.
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And her internal monologue is so underdone, despite being - to my mind - one of the tip-toppesst villains Star Wars has ever produced.
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She wasn't just Batman's shadow.
It was a lesson she'd had to learn the hard way - the way most of the lessons in Gotham were taught, when you got right down to it. She ran across the rooftop, feet hardly making a sound, launching herself into space when that ran out. There was always joy in that moment, that first leap into the void.
She did things with a bit more flair. An eye towards grace, to the beauty of the thing. He didn't do that. He was a warrior, having trained himself to fight a lone war against crime. She was amazed, sometimes, that he had kept himself...well, himself. That he was still Bruce Wayne underneath it all. She, on the other hand, had been a gymnast. Her strength had come from art, had grown in it.
Oh, if her dad could see her now.
The grapple came forth from her belt as it always did, the trained eye guiding the shot to a nearby flagpole, and she swung through. And that's when she saw her.
It was a robbery, and it was about to go bad. There was a woman, a revolver in her hand, outside of a pharmacy. She was clutching a bag of cash to her chest like it was the most important thing in the world. The police who had just arrived, of course, were screaming at her. Two patrol cars flanked her, with two armed cops behind each. The woman's gun swung back and forth, and even as her feet touched the the brick of the level above the pharmacy, she could see her hands were shaking.
By the numbers, Batman would say. Which meant, by and large: approach stealthily, disarm the suspect, subdue them. He cared, he really did - but he'd been at war too long, or maybe the deep shattering of his youth made it harder for him to see the edges. She had been raised by a loving father, a man who when he was Detective Gordon, always asked: why?
So when she dropped down, it was not a strike from the shadows, but instead she swung through. The police would see just the flash of red hair, the yellow layer of the cape that made her obviously her, and a yelled "I got this!" before the woman was swept up and off the ground. The gun, and the bag of money, thudded to the ground a moment later. When they landed on the roof, she took special care to make sure the landing wasn't hard.
"Sorry about that," she said, to the bent over, sobbing figure, "you didn't leave much room there." The woman looked up at her, eyes wide with adrenaline, fear, and...something else.
"Oh, God," she said, a hand going to her face, "I didn't...I..."
"Hey, hey, it's ok. It's going to be ok." She reached out a hand, offering to help her up.
"You don't understand, it's...it's my daughter, she's sick, and I've been on layoff for months now, and..." the tears came even more loudly as her voice trailed off.
Sometimes, you had to take the leap. And sometimes you had to give it that little bit extra. Extend that bit of grace.
She put a hand on the woman's forearm, waiting until she focused on Barbara's face. "It's going to be ok," she said, with a steady voice, "you're not going to jail tonight. Nobody got hurt, right?" The woman nodded, feverishly. Even the flash of the gun Barbara had seen made her doubt it could be otherwise - it looked as corroded as an old penny.
"Ok, good. I'm going to take you home, and you'll get some rest. What's your name?" She listened to the stammered response. "Right. First thing tomorrow morning, I want you to go to Wayne Enterprises. I know people there - ask for Marnie. She'll set you up with something temporary. Then go see Leslie Thompkins at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Free Clinic, Lexington and ninth. She'll do her best to help."
And so she helped a confused, desperate woman home. What justice would be served by sending her to prison? What greater good was there in locking up those so backed into a corner that the only decisions left were bad ones? How did it make the world better to break apart one more family? Oh, she checked in, of course. You made sure your instincts were right, because Gotham bred them tough, ruthless, and cunning sometimes. Too many times. But you took the leap.
It wasn't Batman's way. But she wasn't Batman. She would never be, could never be, Batman.
Let him be the Knight. She'd just do what she could, one day at a time. By her own rules.
Rose
maybe I'll do some doodles too??
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1. Kylo Ren/Ben Solo: DS-9 Crewman? (Fic or doodle!)
2. Something Batgirl, maybe very please? :P
3. Fight scene Kylo! (Always liked those)
Re: Rose
Julie
formerly Anathema Device (Good Omens)
And feel free to dip into the muselist; I've thrown a few others around on the TDM before and will happily AU characters into the MoM setting, ngl.
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Takeshi - roots & rocks
Jorgen - shadow of greatness
Booker - 'alone or lonely'
George - contradictory
Jake - After That Thing Happened To My Girl
Melanie - locked doors or 'secrets and lies'
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Churby
Formerly:
Rude
Luxord
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David & Allison - in oblivious blonde himbo boysDavid - the new world
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His words must move her some, because Alison's gaze turns from Josh guiding Luther through some early morning Yoga. She just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and David just gestures to the two men on the beach.
"Another beautiful, magical sunrise here on Krakoa, and we only have eyes for them," David points out to his friend. And yeah, her smile says it all. She gets it too.
"Well, you've gotta admit, the view here is nice."
David's eyes rove over Josh's bare skin, shining golden in the light of the dawn.
"Yeah. The best there is."
Beck 🎨
Tony Stark |
I'm nnnooot too great with ficlet things but I'll try! Failing that, I can offer up a possible sketch if you like!
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Re: Beck 🎨
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