Me: I think I'm going to regret opening up that post with the blocked "Gilroy" tag, but I just have to know what the hell Sissi's post above it was referring to.
Me, two seconds later: Yep. I regret it.
FFS is that man still talking
so sorry 😭 I thought (hoped) he'd finally stopped but apparently he's still at it... I mean he was asked a question but bringing Jyn up was completely unprompted and I don't understand what reason he has to think Vel would be annoyed by Jyn?? it's so strange
First of, while I am an Enjoyer of Classical Music, I am very, very much not a Knower of Classical Music. And, I technically played in an orchestra, but it was our legendarily awful school orchestra and I played the horn section on an alto saxophone, so. It does not amount to real knowledge. I have *some* through osmosis because one of my closest friends went to a music conservatory as a kid and is Knowledgeable in that way, but she's very busy so I need to work with what info I have.
That very long disclaimer aside, this is just supposed to be one of those sort-of skin-deep two-chapter AUs with one pov each and a little dramatic twist in the middle. I came up with the twist first and had to work backwards, which is why Cassian is now first chair violin and Jyn is the piano soloist, which isn't exactly where I would have placed either of them in the orchestra? But I think I can make it make sense - Cassian as the conductor's right hand and sort of one foot in both worlds works very well, and I can kind of picture Jyn as an unconventional (and maybe slightly unwilling) piano prodigy. The draft is currently like 40 percent finished, but I'm hoping this will be a quick-ish project!
Sneak:
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“Ran out of other people to complain to, Andor?” she asks cooly and swigs the rest of the murky tea in her paper cup.
He bristles. Some nerve on that woman. This is his orchestra, she doesn’t get to be this uppity at the mere idea of being asked to play ball.
“Your E3 is flat,” he gives back, matching her tone. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“It’s tuned to my specifications.”
Go easy on the expensive soloists, Andor, Draven said. He takes a deep breath, and makes a pretty half-hearted attempt at a conciliatory tone. “Can you just check it? I'm sure it’s an easy fix.”
Her nails, decked out with splintering black polish, dig into the soft lip of her paper cup, but her green eyes don’t relent.
“It’s tuned to my specifications,” she repeats.
“No, it’s tuned to –“ Cassian groans. “You tampered with – Look, whatever you did to that key specifically, can you just get Mr. Îmwe to fix it? That fucking E is throwing off the whole passage –“
She scoffs. “Can you get the stick removed from up your arse? I guarantee you most of this orchestra doesn’t even hear the difference –“
“I don’t care!” he snaps, his commitment to diplomacy immediately forgotten. “I hear it, and it’s flat, and I’m telling you to fix it.”
“I sound exactly the way I want to sound,” Erso gives back, the empty cup crumpling dangerously in her hand, “exactly the way I was hired to sound –“
“You weren’t hired to be out of tune. You can retune every single key to G minor for your solo during intermission for all I care, but –”
“Yeah, absolutely let me retune my piano in the twenty-minute intermission, this isn’t your stupid fiddle –“
“You can do whatever you want with your own piece,” Cassian cuts her off in what he hopes to be a final sort of tone – going by the ducked heads of the people suddenly busily tiptoeing past them, it would have worked on the rest of his colleagues – and finishes through gritted teeth: “But you’re not gonna throw off the whole Rachmaninov for your – your fucking sense of whimsy or whatever this is.”
Something bright and hot sparks in her eyes at that, and she draws herself to her full height right up in his face – it’s really not a very impressive move on paper, but something in her eyes makes him want to run for cover, anyway. (Something else in him is drawn to that sudden fire like a very deplorable, very lonely moth, and he does his best to swat down the errant instinct.)
“I don’t have to explain my methods to you,” she says, still with that sudden rage he’s not sure he’s earned – but he’s not about to back down. She doesn’t scare him. Well, she kind of does (and that sad moth part of him flutters at that, too), but he’s right. The key is flat. He’s right, no matter how sharp or how green her eyes are.
This is a bit of Cassian POV that didn't fit into For Your Consideration (the actor AU):
After any project wrapped, a liminal waiting period began. Cassian always had a few days of feeling aimless, slightly unmoored, and then he was fine. He’d move on to the next job and forget about this one until the publicity gears ground into motion and he was required to start up the round of interviews and talk shows, trying to remember what he’d been doing six months ago well enough to tell a few interesting anecdotes.
This time he didn’t forget. It was harder not to think about Jyn than to recall her every day: when he looked at the “ego shelf” in his office, when he read a script and heard her caustic remarks on it in his ear, when he went home and slept alone in his cloud-like California King.
He didn’t miss that fucking cheap hotel mattress. He did miss her. The memory of her hand on his skin still held heat, like a sunburn. There was no point in lingering, though; Jyn had been very clear that what was done was done.
After a week of downtime, Cassian started a voice acting gig for an animated kids’ show that was cute and charming and extremely forgettable. Still, the money was decent and his sister’s kids would enjoy hearing their uncle on the TV. He worked out. He ate what his nutritionist suggested. He listened and nodded when Melshi told him he’d been booked on a couple of talk shows to promote a heist comedy he'd filmed last year.
He dressed in the clothes his stylist had chosen, went to the studios, and sat on the hard, overstuffed sofas, smiling and laughing and recounting carefully edited charming anecdotes to the hosts. He was on auto-pilot and thoroughly bored, but these days most of his life was like that. He just hadn’t noticed how much until Jyn startled him out of it.
If I had a nickel for all the times I didn't vibe with a book series when it first came out, but your reblogs convinced me to watch the streaming adaptation of it anyway, I would have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice. Anyway I'll be watching Percy Jackson this weekend.
the 2014 girlie in me is L I V I N G for this PJO revival, I'm already so in love with the quest trio. can't wait to see Annabeth further baffle and confuse Percy!!
Because I know it's been on your mind :D the staff's crisis of faith toward the end of Stargirl S1
The Cosmic Staff had lain in that small, dark box for nearly a decade, empty and cold. Failure was as much a tomb as the wooden slats, and now that failure closed in tight again, dimming the fire that had danced in its metal and lit its core with courage and hope. It had felt so good, to be out again, to soar under the night stars and dance with the girl-child, to blaze and fiercely, to feel the weight of someone sure it would hold, to hold, and protect, to fight back again.
It had been in that box so long but it knew the faces. Hatred burned like a coal in the fire, dark and steady. It would see the humans Brainwave and Icicle dead. They had killed the Wielder, they had broken the heart of the one who held it so gently and wept, they had caused it to lie in the dark.
When the sidekick had stood at the crate’s edge and begged it to be careful with the Star-girl, the dancer, it had listened. It would not feel another wielder’s hand grow cold upon it. Not again. Still, though, still, something had to happen, and quickly. It could feel the winter chill creeping in, circling this town. Icicle and Brainwave lived, through the stellar-flame, the white-hot cleansing of a mind--they lived and while they did justice lay as broken as a shattered window. The threat to the star-girl could not be permitted.
It could not risk her life, not if she was unwilling, not still so untested. It would have to fight on it’s own, carried by the power of its own, relit core.
The Cosmic staff had not been ready. Unguided, too full of fire, eager to see the icemelt, it had struck, and missed, an advantage lost to the void as ice clenched around it tight. So this is how it would end, shattered like so many others at Icicle’s hand. It hoped the children might escape. And then it did not shatter.
Nothing had been worse than the crate, that dark wood box locked up tight, trapping it in with all the thoughts and memories it held. Now, something was, the metal chains that sang cold, cold, cold against it, keeping it suspended to watch its enemies plan. Failure then, failure now, powerless. The dark, and the empty-sad voice of the sidekick was far preferable to the under-lit and empty-hearted pleasure below.
~
The staff sang out as bright-loud as it could, to be held again in warm hands, in loving hands, the girl that danced in the air and knew exactly where to hold and set her stance and glide. One more chance, to prove itself, to make certain the threat to her was ended. It blazed as it swung through the air, letting her hand guide it, anticipating her movement as it had not done all those nights in a box.
Brainwave advanced, and the staff remembered the look on his face. Oh, it hated him. This man had drained it, had held his wielder's attention until the ice spear pierced him. It was as much Brainwave’s fault as Icicle’s-- and then Brainwave had attacked again, when his new chosen had never even laid eyes upon him, when it had only been in the sky a little while. The staff would see him pay for that.
The light shone, but did not strike, blocked by metal bars and a shield of mental energy it knew, too well.
~
Another child, dead. The Staff had Known him, in that final burst of energy--a shared blood with its dead wielder. The staff felt cold, hollowed out. Another child dead, and who would be next? The sidekick had begged it to protect the children, and it had done nothing but fail them. It had nothing but fail, and fail, and fail. Sylvester, dead. Merry’s boy, and the child with the glasses, too far away to save. Who would it lead into harm’s way next? When would the star-girl’s hands go numb around it, when would the light leave her eyes?
No. it could not bear that. Not again.
The cosmic staff lay in the crate, and longed for darkness.
mosylu replied to your link “Subway Launches New BBQ Rib Sandwich”
I had this last week! It was actually pretty good, considering
You know, being honest, I went and got one last night and it was...
Okay, it’s terrible food, as the McRib is, like it’s not good, but for being not good it wasn’t inedible. Subpar to the McRib in my opinion since they don’t put as much sauce on it and the sauce is blander, but for garbage it’s decent garbage.
timetravelingvampire replied to your post “I’ve been reading an article about the bad data coming out of the...”
data cleaning is the worst. you would think that people would know their own zipcodes or how to spell their city or road or STATE, but no. i had to clean provider licensure files - people with lots of schooling renewing their medical license - and it took two full weeks of work to clean the addresses.
Data cleaning definitely is the worst but I also find it really satisfying, somehow. Depends on the program you’re working with, of course, but I enjoy finding ways to efficiently sort good from bad and then clean the bad. If I was doing it all day erry day I can only imagine how much I would hate it, but as a once-in-a-while project it’s a nice balance of soothing monotony and intellectual challenge.
wetwareproblem replied to your post “asteroiideae replied to your post “I’ve been trying to explain the...”
Genuinely confused here: What's the difference between a pizza puff and a panzerotto, or an Italian beef and an au jus sandwich? (Actually, the latter usually comes in garlic bread, which... yum.)
I know you commented way before I posted the beef/dip discussion, so this isn’t me being snotty, but I’ll just drop that link here (unless an au jus sandwich is yet another variation? I’ve never encountered that) :D
The pizza puff/panzerotto difference seems to be mainly in the bread type. I’ve never encountered a panzerotto, actually, so there could be other differences, but apparently panzerotto bread is usually a thin-stretched yeasted dough, whereas usually a pizza puff is wrapped in a flour tortilla, which is non-yeasted. I would imagine there’s a slight flavor difference and something of a texture difference, especially since usually a pizza puff is much thicker on one side where the tortilla is folded.
Looking at photos, I think also probably there’s more stuffing in a panzerotto, which looks thicker to me than the average pizza puff.
oh!!!! For your TROS prompts: I have so many thoughts and honestly may write some of these myself anyway BUT - Rey's parents, maybe ReyMama's reaction to the news that her love is the prince of the galaxy basically
I’m taking TRoS ficlet prompts.
TW: Mentions of sex work.
Matthel was nervous. Linea could see it in every inch of his movement. The jerky way he poured the tea a little too quickly, the quick way he folded his napkin into a neat triangle.
Linea wondered if this finally meant he was going to get back to her on her proposal. She'd been spending every minute she was on Nal Hutta with him for the last three years (too few, but that was how the smuggling business was), after all. That she was interested in something more committed couldn't be that much of a surprise, now could it?
Matthel, her fussy little shipyard supervisor, a neat man with a neat life that had managed to catch her attention anyway. She wondered if it was precisely because he was, well, a little boring. Boring was hard to come by on Nal Hutta. Ironically, it stood out.
(Continued after cut)
"Linea," he said, deliberately, slowly. "I…" He stopped, blinked, then reached over and flicked on the sound dampener built into the table.
Linea raised an eyebrow. "I figured we'd at least get through dinner before we did anything that warranted a sound dampener."
Matthel flushed, as she'd known he would, and maybe it was a good thing he had turned it on after all, as the desire to taste his reddened throat was nearly irresistible. She leaned forward, and she must have looked predatory, because Matthel quickly raise his hands defensively. "I need to tell you something," he said in a rush.
Linea settled back down with a wink and a pout, gesturing for him to continue.
Looking rather like he was about to face his own execution, Matthel said slowly, "I—before we get any more…serious. Like you, um…" Matthel turned his eyes toward the ceiling and took a fortifying breath. When he looked back at her, there was a serious glint in his normally-gentle eyes. "There's something you need to know. About my family."
"Oh!" Linea laughed, feeling her spine unbend as she relaxed. Matthel's nervousness had gotten to her more than she had realized. "I know."
Matthel blinked at her. "I assure you, you do not."
"The Scarlet Queen?" Linea smiled before continuing, "Independent pirate that ran a crew on a reign of terror through half of Hutt Space before she retired? Also known as your mother? She and I have talked about this before. I've known you were royalty for a while, beloved."
Matthel groaned at this, and buried his head in his hands. "You have no idea," he muttered.
Linea sat up stiffly, starting to feel offended. "If this is about some sort of issue with criminal behavior I think you're living on rather the wrong planet."
Matthel dropped his hands, and gave her a blank look. "I'm also dating rather the wrong person. No…just, listen. Before Mum was a pirate she…" he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should have made her tell you this. You see, in order to survive, before she—"
Linea decided to put him out of his misery. "I am well aware what women do in order to survive. You can't imagine I'd judge her for it?"
"No," Matthel said quickly. "But she, um, worked in the Imperial Center."
"Hm, yeah, I can see how that would be unpleasant. For her. I really don't see why I need to know, though." Linea reached over, taking his hands. They shook in her own grip. "This is between you and me, not you and your past."
"She was an Imperial concubine!" Matthel blurted, the words coming out all tangled up in each other. His fingers tightened around hers. "She got pregnant, and she knew what happened to potential heirs, so she faked her own death and…"
"Potential...heirs…" Linea said slowly.
Matthel gave a short bow. In a more ironic tone than she had ever heard him use, he announced. "Matthel Palpatine, in the flesh. Mum thought for ages he was going to find me and kill me. It's why she ran a pirate crew. Of course now that Dear Old Dad is dead, the issue is more what the New Republic might do in the interest of permanently stamping out his line."
"Stars…" Linea breathed slowly.
"You can see why I use Mum's last name." Matthel sighed, and on the exhale, that strange irony left him, and in its place was her boring, solid Matthel, once again. "I really would like to marry you. But…well, it's an awful legacy. And I felt like you should know."
Linea swallowed before reaching forward and deliberately taking his hands again. "Come now, I'm not going to let a little bit of family drama chase me off. I'm made of sterner stuff than that. Like I said, this is between you and me, and nobody else."
Matthel gave her a smile so warm she remembered all over again why she kept coming back here. Where else would she be this known and this loved? He had always done that for her. The least she could do was the same for him.
"Well, Linea," Matthel said softly, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth. He laid a soft kiss along the backs of her knuckles, before saying, "In that case, your answer is yes."
I'm listening to a Behind the Scenes Witcher podcast and the creator basically confirmed your Roach theory. She's like "his horses die, as they do, so every time he just gets another mare and names her Roach. It's maybe not healthy???" I was delighted on your behalf.
HA. Well, I figured that was it, because if it were anything more elaborate they’d mention it.
Says a lot about him, I suppose.
I’ve had a number of replies/reblogs confirming that’s the game/book canon for sure, so.
But I wonder how many viewers of the show will just never... consider that. I mean, to be fair, the timeline’s so screwy it’s perfectly likely that if you don’t dork out and Google it, you’d never really understand that it’s been something like, what, seventy years? Fifty at least? between the earliest scenes and the last. Since nobody ages-- and like, ok Geralt doesn’t, Yennefer’s unchanging, but Jaskier is supposed to age twenty years at least and they made zero effort to change his appearance, not even changing the style of his dress or his hairstyle at all, and that’s seriously confusing. (Having Yennefer comment on his crow’s feet is a reasonable approach except I looked it up and literally two years are supposed to have passed between those scenes, so like-- not super effective, there.)
I get not putting age makeup on him, that’d look corny, but at least give him different hair or something. Yeesh.
Anyway. Good to know that Geralt is a fucking dork who can’t come up with names in the TV show too.
If I were going to write fanfic in this fandom it would definitely be about Roach, but I am not convinced I actually want to take the time to do it. We’ll see, LOL.
