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eloquentmoon · 1 year

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By The Light Of The Second Moon

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

chapter eighteen: all that glitters

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CHAPTER SUMMARY: Your dazzling new life on Coruscant is not all that you dreamed it would be. RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT. CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.7k CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: Listed beneath the cut. CHAPTER SONGS: without you, ursine vulpine, annaca. love you more, llynks. A/N: Hello lovely readers. A friend's OC appears in this chapter - Risha was created by @elledjarin. A big thank you to her for letting me write her character. Apologies for the absence, I needed a break. But now I'm back and ready to finally wrap up this story. Beware, this is an angsty one. Eternally grateful for your support, El ♡

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: loneliness, confusion, betrayal, trauma response, panic attack, threat, violence, murder.

Chapter Eighteen All That Glitters

“Keep your head down,” instructs Maul rather sternly, draping you in one of his inky black robes. He slowly lifts the large hood to hide your face, his touch lingering, as though he is hesitant to hide you away. He then raises his hood, concealing his own distinctive features. He takes your small bag, filled with all your belongings in the galaxy, and grips your shaking fingers in his own. Without a further word, he gently helps you down the entry ramp and to the surface of the planet, and into the very heart of the Republic, the thriving hub of the Core worlds.

The next few hours swarm with urgent movement. Time streams past you like the leaves of the Great Wood in autumn winds. Maul was able to stealthily land the starship in a vast docking station, and the gleaming durasteel of its flooring looks as though it stretches on forever. Your legs quiver with each step you take, the metallic thud of your footsteps foreign to ears so used to soil. Your stomach turns with every industrial sound, with every droid that buzzes by, each bright artificial light hurting your eyes. The constant flurry of people makes your strained vision swim with vertigo. All different kinds of people you have never seen before, so many people. You and Maul move swiftly, hand in hand, going up and down platforms, in and out of carriages that shoot you through the vast city. This vibrant forever city. It never seems to end.

Maul takes complete control, so knowing and determined, his eyes fixed forward beneath his hood, silent. Every so often he places his palm on your lower back, as if to check that you're still standing. His competence is an anchor to the commotion of the newness around you, a comfort to your complete ignorance and lack of understanding. You don’t have much choice other than to trust that he knows what is best for you. Your anxiety builds with every step, his words from the starship ringing in your ears. You look up to try and distract yourself, watch for the clouds or the stars or the moons - but all you can see are buildings. You can no longer even see the sky, now you are so deeply entrenched in this city-planet.

As you whizz through this strange and unfamiliar metropolis, you find yourself circling back to the same fixation to cope with the chaos of this new place. Your fear is held back in your own strange, disconnected way. You focus on a silent quest that you have never had the opportunity to embark on before. You realise that you are looking at each person you pass in their face, scouring their features for something, some kind of recognition. After what feels like an hour you make sense of what you are doing: that you are seeking the features of her. Your Mother. You see her in each of the hundreds of skin tones, each new race, each gender and style of person. You see her in the odd buskers that play strange instruments on the streets, you see her in the women that huddle together and squeak at one another in excitement. You see her in the parents that coddle their children, in the street vendors and market stall owners, the pompous folk strutting around in flowing robes as though they are floating. But you mainly see her in the faces of those who suffer. You see her in the bodies that litter the ground, without an aim or a home. You see her in the drunken souls that shout and holler through the crowds, the crying children and angry men. You see her in those that wander the streets in obvious involuntary solitude. You surprise yourself, because though it is spiteful, you catch yourself hoping that you will see her in a state similar to those that have clearly been broken by the unkindness of living. You want to see her intoxicated, destitute and alone. Because one question spins through your mind as Maul leads you through the biggest city in the universe, as resentment and fury burns inside your guts.

How could she leave you?

You wonder if she would recognise you, if she saw you now. If she’d cry in relief, disbelief or amazement. If she’d shrivel up in shame. What if she has a whole new family? That last thought forms a lump in your throat, and suddenly you want her to feel pain, feel your pain: the pain that she caused by leaving you. Any understanding or empathy you held for her now dissipates in the hot, polluted air. You are shaking now, not with trepidation, but with rage. Your temper blossoms wildly, replacing all of your apprehension and excitement. Your eyes sting with the threat of unshed, wrathful tears. Maul does not react, though you know he must be sensing your discontent. He pulls you along, holds your hand a little tighter, and you continue your silent search for your mother in the faces of strangers.

The more time that passes, the more people, speeders, noises, smells and sights you encounter. The more unique faces that you interrogate with scowling eyes. Until soon, Maul stops, and sits you down gently on a bench in what appears to be a small food district, placing your belongings at your side. You keep your eyes tracked on him, wide, disbelieving. Your own rage is set aside as you notice that Maul seems agitated, as though he is on edge and raring to separate himself from you. Your stomach drops, fury transforming into dread, as you are suddenly and vibrantly aware of his wishes, of how naive you have been. His true nature dawns on you once again, his priorities, his life’s purpose. The conversation you had with him in the starship comes back to you once more, and you wonder what tiny sliver of significance you even are to him? What space, if any, do you take up in his cold, brutal hearts?

“Stay here. Do not talk to anybody. I have somewhere I need to be.” You blink at him, unable to compute his callousness. “I will return in good time.”

Is he serious? But before you can object, he swiftly steps backwards, is lost to the heaving crowds, and is gone. And though you are sitting in the heart of the most densely populated location in existence, you have never felt so terribly, unfathomably alone.

At first you are unsure what to do with yourself, and sit on your bench with a straight back, nervous and intimidated by all the people around you, hyper aware of their proximity. You watch them all, still unable to prevent yourself from looking for your Mother. All these people. People who so easily ignore you, walking by as though you are not even sitting there.

It isn’t long until you notice your stomach rumbling. To distract yourself from the shock of being dumped in some strange place by Maul to fend for yourself, you eye up the range of strange alien cuisines, wondering what each would taste like. Your gaze settles on a four armed man who is tossing up something into the air...odd looking pieces of…bread?

“I wouldn’t…if I were you,” comes a soft voice to your left.

The voice is shy, even sweet. But it still makes you jump. “E-Excuse me?”

“That particular dish does not suit human appetites.”

You turn towards the sound of the voice and see the speaker. She is a woman of a species you have never encountered before. She is rather tall, and has skin of the brightest and most compelling blue. Her skin is like the sky on the Planet in midsummer, and the markings on her face are as white as the clouds. Instead of hair atop her head there are two large horn-shaped growths that reach upwards in the direction of the planet’s surface, and beneath them, framing her face are three long appendages; one hanging behind her at her back, and two in front of each shoulder. You recognise that they are similar to the lekku of the Twi'leks, and you wonder where she comes from. She has thick white stripes across the blue of them, and once again you are reminded of cloud-touched skies. The woman slips onto the bench beside you, and you hear the delicate tinkle of her silver jewellery that adorns her head, face, wrists.

“You’re new here,” she says as a matter of fact.

“Oh,” you reply. “Is it so obvious?”

“Kind of,” she pauses, a little hesitant, and then leans closer. “I like your accent. I don’t think I have heard anything quite like that before. Can I ask where you are from?”

Accent? It never dawned on you that you’d have one. “Very far away,” you reply awkwardly. After a pause you realise that the stranger would probably appreciate a better answer. “Well, I …I think the planet is known as Sushariel.”

“The outer rim?” she asks curiously.

“Yes.”

“Ah,” she says, and purses her lips slightly. You recognise in her expression a stunted curiosity. You can see her refraining from asking more of you about where you came from, what world you left behind. It is then that you can see yourself in her, that glint of excitement when meeting somebody new, from so many stars away. What stories and experiences come with such a soul?

“Is it your first time on Coruscant?” she enquiries politely.

“Yes, it is.”

“I know how daunting and exciting that can be. I moved here from my home planet not long ago. Coruscant is a magnificent place, but a little overwhelming at first.”

You nod in agreement, reminding yourself to take a deep breath. You inhale the sweet and spicy scents of a multitude of foods being bought and sold around you. The odd aromas alongside the tall woman’s voice begin to ground you slightly. However, you are still wrecked with such an engulfing sense of isolation and anxiety that you are unable to respond, but: you have stopped instinctively looking for your Mother. A wave of relief settles across your shoulders.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Risha.” Risha flashes you a warm smile, and you feel your eyes prickle with tears at her sincerity and kindness. You tell her your name in return, and find yourself thanking the stars that such a gracious woman found her way to your side at your time of such fervent loneliness and upheaval.

"What kind of food do you like?”

“Well...we eat a lot of fruit where I come from.”

Risha points at a small stall to the north side of the food court in response, where a small elderly Duros woman hunches over a stall of what appears to be fruits of varying shapes and sizes. “Try anything from Old Dira over there. She has the sweetest produce in this quadrant.” She flashes you a smirk. “Those shiny little green berries are my favourite.”

“Thank you, so much,” you manage to say. “I would have no idea where to begin.”

A beeping noise begins to flare from a pocket at her waist. “Stars,” Risha mutters, silencing a strange looking device. “I have to go, I’m going to be late for class.” She stands up, straightening a pretty sash at her hips, that hangs down her legs, over her long, flowing skirt. Her clothing is light and breezy, and reminds you of those that you once owned in girlhood. Her sparkling jewellery twinkles under the glare of the bright lights, and you are struck by how pretty she is. Your hands start to twitch, gravitating to your sketching tools in your bag. How badly you would like to draw this warm, thoughtful stranger. Then she asks, “where are you staying?”

You do not know what to say in response. Where are you staying? Where are you going to go? What if Maul doesn’t come back?

“I haven’t quite figured it out yet,” you try to sound casual instead of panicked. “There were complications. I have a…a… friend who is figuring it out now.”

“That’s okay! These things happen.” Risha smiles in understanding, though she seems hesitant to leave you by yourself. “I study at the University, and I am often on shift in the library. Visit me? I’d love to hear about your home planet.”

You nod enthusiastically. “Absolutely. It has been so nice to meet you, Risha. Thanks for your advice.”

She bows her head and walks away, and you watch her meander through the crowd, a tall blue beacon of grace and compassion. You suddenly feel less broken after your encounter with her. Your belief in the kindness of strangers flares back to life, and you smile widely looking toward the fruit stall Risha recommended. Maul’s betrayal and rather stark apathy still stings, of course, but the coursing joy of hope roars in your veins. You are in a glittering, bright new world.

You are about to head over to buy some berries, but soon remember that you have no money to make a purchase. Your face licks with heat, embarrassment at your own stupidity and ignorance. How are you going to do anything without money? How are you going to do anything without Maul? The thought makes your insides lurch slightly, trepidation and dread twisting your stomach. You look down at your feet, awash with a sense of foreboding, but then you notice a little glint in your peripheral vision. On the bench at your side are a few strange pieces of rectangular durasteel. Republic credits, “accidentally” left behind, courtesy of your new friend Risha.

Moons bless you, Risha.

You vow to visit the library, to pay her back her kindness as soon as you can.

You nibble on the strange little berries you bought from Old Dira. They are good, sweeter than any fruit on your home planet, and the tiny bursts of fructose slightly soothe your bleating worries. With no sign of Maul, you find yourself growing restless and decide to go for a walk, to stretch your legs and see what the city has to offer. If you're lucky, even clear your mind a little. You conversed with the elderly lady as you made your purchase, asking if there was anything to see nearby. She did not speak much, but pointed upwards with her long pale green fingers, indicating that you should head up as high as you can. So now you wander, berries in hand, bag on your shoulder. Exploring, using what is left of your credits to pay for fast transport upwards.

You eventually arrive on a large platform, high enough on the surface that you are looking out upon the city. Speeders and taxis zip across the sky in orderly yet swiftly moving queues of traffic. The lights from the buildings are endless, there are an infinite amount of them, each one filled with souls from all walks of life. It is still so incomprehensible how many people there are here.

And your Mother may be one of them.

You breathe away the thought, relinquishing her hold on you, if only for the moment, to look up at the sky. It is so hazy, strangely muted and blurred, so unlike the clarity of the skies of your home planet. You are unaware of the time, but assume it is the early evening by the dusky birch colour of the sky.

You walk the length of the platform, passing the multitudes of strangers. Watching them. Couples stroll arm in arm, workers jest with one another, lone joggers exercise. You lean against the railings, surveying the forever city, totally unsure of what to do next. When should you return to the spot Maul left you? Has he truly left you? Does he have any intention of returning? What does he expect of you? Should you even go back? You imagine disappearing into the city, hiding behind the many people here, responding to his apathy by abandoning him in return out of sheer spite. Never to see him again. You resent how much heartache the idea induces, how the possibility of living without him is entirely shattering. How likely that possibility is...

Your melancholy is broken by the cheers and laughter of a group of young adults walking in your direction. They look like party goers by their attire, and they holler together like a strange, joyful choir. Colourful limbs wrap around each other, their voices whooping and singing. Rich in hope, melodic. You ponder the occasion, envy the comfort of a large group of friends, of being so known. How does it feel to be a part of such mirthful exultation?

A pretty Mirialan woman in the group giggles and releases a burst of sparkling lights from a small device. They whizz and pop around them, bright colours flashing, zipping, illuminating the warm industrial air. A flash of vivid green flares across your vision and gives you pause, and when a red light bursts forth from the group, you see it cut through a young teenage boy draped in sacred robes, his boyish features twisted with the agony of failure. You try to shake yourself out of it, but there he is: young Farley, stabbed in front of your eyes once more. The lights are there, the rain is on your skin, you fly backwards and then: the water in your lungs, wringing you of air. The currents lap at your legs, pulling you down to the depths. Your skin prickles, your insides are sick with nausea, and it is as though the hazy sky has wrapped itself around you, inside and out. It suffocates you. You are drowning again, and this time Maul has left you to your fate at the bottom of the river, completely alone.

“Miss? Are you alright?” You hear a modulated voice that seemingly comes from a large man of another species that you do not recognise. The group with the lights have long since passed you, and yet you cannot get your breath back. Your vision blurs, and you sway on your feet. You sense the voices of other people approaching, the cool durasteel of the platform floor on your palms. The air ripped from your lungs as gravity pulls you to the cold ground.

But then a pair of smooth hands helping you to your feet. “Do not crowd her, give her space, please.”

“I’m okay,” you try to mutter, the colours of the lights having thrown you into what feels like total oblivion. Is this how you die? After all that has happened?

“Breathe,” someone tells you. You can’t make sense of the voice that comforts you, but you do see a Twi’lek man at your side. He walks you to a bench, settling beside you. “You look unwell. Can I contact anyone for you?”

“No, no…” you try to stand but the watery sky clenches at your lungs and you wobble. The crowd has dispersed.

“Take your time.”

You are moved by such kindness, such care from this man who owes you nothing. And yet, there is total apathy from the man you believed held feelings for you. How can strangers care more for your well being than the man you have bared your body and soul to? The man who's love you can still feel the ache of between your thighs?

As if manifesting him with your thoughts, you suddenly feel his eyes, heavy on your back. The man at your side seems totally unaware of Maul’s presence. It is then that you notice the innocent touch of the Twi’lek man’s hand on your arm, and you feel a strange sense of dread. What were you thinking, dragging generous strangers into your life, when it is so inexplicably connected to such violence? When Maul is the way that he is?

“She is with me,” Maul says calmly.

The Twi’lek man stands, relief drenching his words. “She seemed to suffer a -”

Maul pushes past him, ignoring him, bringing you to your feet. You lean against him, body leached of all energy, unable to resist putting your weight on him. To lean and depend on him. He pulls you into an embrace and you inhale his scent, the comforting aroma settling your panic. Oh how he soothes me, you are unable to prevent yourself from thinking, even though he is the cause of my discontent.

“T-thank you,” you try to say to the stranger, to assuage his concern. “I’m ok now, this man he…he is my…my friend.”

Your voice breaks on the word. Is he even your friend? Is he still your lover? Do friends or lovers abandon you when you need them most?

“Have a good evening, miss,” says the stranger, but you notice a layer of suspicion in his voice. “Feel better soon.” It is then that you feel an odd sense of calm, and the comfort of it is like a strange omen. A silence before a storm. You try to utter something, anything to the stranger, to reassure him of your safety. But all you can manage is the name of your maybe lover-friend.

“Maul…”

Do not follow us, kind stranger, you implore him in your mind as your lips cannot form the words. Please.

But as you walk into the darkness of an alleyway, you hear the unmistakable patter of footsteps behind you. Dread coils in your abdomen.

“Maul. Maul…”

You feel him freeze against you, his body twisting toward the sound of the worried stranger.

“Don’t,” your voice pleads in a pathetic whimper.

The weight of his strong warmth against you slackens. You crumple to the ground, cover your eyes and head with your arms. You cry, all you can do is cry. You cannot fathom that this is happening, but you know Maul well enough to be fully aware that it is. There is no mercy within him. No mercy. You consider your own life, how he holds it so precariously in his gloved hands. Is this all just a game to him? How is the soul and life of a person a mere irritant to him, easily snuffed out without a drop of regret? And how is that not what frightens you most about him?

You hear a scuffling sound and a gasp of surprise. Then a slight growl, a thud, a body falling to the ground. The sound of footsteps, kindness and concern, being silenced.

No, no, no.

You know what he is capable of. What has he done? Oh, that violent language of his. How its poison spills from his lips in decadent fragments, sharp words of heartbreak driven directly into the depths of your soul. How his fury is ripped from his fists in fatal blasts of merciless terror to all in his way; all who are not you.

“What did you do?” you ask in utter disbelief as Maul drags you through a sliding door into a small, sterile looking apartment by your upper arm. You almost trip over yourself with the momentum in which he pulls you inside. “He was helping me…” “Sit down,” he instructs clearly through gritted teeth as he lets you go. You struggle to find your balance for a moment without his support, your extremities are all numb, your chest tight and your middle heavy. Your mind vibrates from the aftershock of the lights, the panic and resurgence of the feeling of the Great River’s currents. The murder of another in the space of a few days. Your trembling hand covers your mouth feebly. You ignore his instruction to sit and begin to pace around the room in silence instead, unable to stay still or form any words for a moment. Maul stands as rigid as a stone statue, his glowing eyes cold and fixed on you as you wander aimlessly around the room. He glowers at you quietly until you realise that he is waiting for you to heed to his request, to sit down, before he will allow the conversation to continue. And so you bring yourself to do so, falling into that comfortable dynamic of obeying what he says, slipping into your usual compliance. It makes you angry though, how easy it is, how good it feels to give in and submit to his every whim even though it goes against what you really want. What about your own freedom? When you are perched at the edge of the couch you look up at him with total incomprehension. The silence is heavy as you compose yourself, and when you are able to eventually find your voice, you ask him, “Maul, what did you do? Why, I -” you suddenly lose the ability to speak again as the memory of such abrupt and fatal violence ripples through you. He ignores your question. You look around yourself and ask instead, “...where are we?” “I explicitly instructed you to stay where you were. What was so difficult for you to understand about that?” he scolds.

“I did stay there, but you were gone for hours!” You watch him sigh in frustration at your response, and your eyes once again begin to prickle with the threat of tears at his hostility. But you blink them back and refuse to let them fall.

He is the one being unfair. He is the one who left you alone and vulnerable to your own devices. He is the villain who just murdered a man for no reason.

In response to your thoughts he scowls. “You, my lady, know nothing of what you are dealing with.” “What has happened to you?” the desperation in your voice shocks you. “Why are you being so aggressive with me? What has changed? What did I…what did I do?” You are unable to help the break in your voice. He ignores you and continues to seethe in silence.

“You have to do as I say, particularly when I am not with you. You should have stayed where I left you.”

"Stars above, Maul, why?”

“Why?” He repeats cruelly. “Is your naivety so blatant that you are unable to realise you could have been taken advantage of?”

“You left me alone!”

“Anything could have happened.”

“But it didn’t. ”

He exhales with impatience, his eyes glaring into you, his chest heaving up and down.

“That man you killed was helping me.”

“Helping with what? What could you possibly need aid with?”

“I saw the lights of those people and I…I was…” The feeling of tightness in your chest returns, and you cannot finish your sentence.

A derisive scoff from Maul, who still stands in front of you. “Oh, how weak you are.”

You feel hot tears streaming down your cheeks, unable to prevent them from falling any longer. “Why did you kill him?” you ask meekly.

“I kill anyone in my way.” A pause. “Anyone.”

Anyone. The word sits between you, his gaze imploring you to understand what he is saying, as though a confession is hidden beneath the word. Did he…? You stop yourself from investigating that thought any further. You are unable to cope with such a revelation. Not now, no. His eyes soften, ever so slightly. “You have to obey me.”

“You freed me just to imprison me again," you say in realisation, your voice growing louder in your anger, your sadness and grief melting into rage. "You really expect me to just stay here, stay wherever it pleases you to place me, doing nothing? Living to wait for you? Waiting for you to show up like I am - "

“This is not about you,” he also raises his voice, his patience now exhausted.

“Then what is it about? You?”

He stares daggers into you as though it is obvious, and what fury you have inside you builds and combusts. The anger of being abandoned by your Mother, neglected by your Father, tossed aside without a second thought by this glorious, insufferable man. Anger at yourself for being so enamoured of him.

“You are so arrogant and self-absorbed. Is that part of your precious lifestyle? Whatever nonsensical and ruinous path you have dragged me into? The Sith?”

He lunges forward so fast that it makes you flinch as he covers your mouth with a gloved palm. “Never say that again. Never.” He uses a tone you haven't ever heard from him before, as that booming, threatening power is awakened from deep within him. It stirs. You stare at him with wide, shocked eyes and he kneels in front of you, holding your face intimately, delicately. Even in his rage and with his threats, he is gentle. It hurts your heart. Maul quickly relinquishes you, and you whimper.

You stand up, shocked. And then you are painfully conscious of his motivations. You gasp a composing breath before levelling your gaze at him in realisation.“You are trying to frighten me, aren’t you?”

He does not respond, only raking his severe eyes across the length of your body, up and down. How are these the same eyes as the ones that witness you take him so reverently?

“It won’t work, Maul. You don’t scare me anymore.” And you mean it. You feel no fear. “I am not frightened. You won’t hurt me.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if debating whether or not to take that as a challenge. You refuse to acknowledge the whirling of disquiet in your stomach, and you push through, brave and steadfast. Having faith in your knowing of him.

“I think that you have grown to resent me,” you admit quietly. “I am a burden to you, now that we are no longer removed from the rest of the galaxy.”

“You know nothing,” he spits furiously.

“You resent me," you take a deep breath, gathering your courage to say what you have foolishly, finally understood. "You call me weak, but Maul, you resent me because it is I that makes you weak.”

He replies with utter vehemence. "How dare you imply such a thing?"

“You do resent me," you confirm. “What are you so afraid of? Where have you been?”

He pauses, and his tone entirely transforms. "Anyone who knows my path, who has bore witness to my power, I have not suffered to live. With one exception. You.”

You freeze in utter disbelief. Is he implying -

“You…” he stalks forward, like the predator he was when you first met in the woods, “...are a liability.”

You move away from the couch and backwards, putting your hands behind you, as they are beginning to shake. He follows you. You laugh slightly, a deranged chuckle tinted with disbelief. “Are you threatening to kill me?"

His face is hard, his eyes two beacons of hatred, pain and regret. Oh, Moons. Have you really been so blind?

"After everything?” Where has the benevolent stranger gone? The man with the delicate touch, the hesitant polite kindness? How is this the same lover who kissed you so softly that you thought you had fallen into a dream?

“You lied to me," you say, understanding. “You’re not mine, Maul. I am yours, I am irrevocably yours. But you're not mine. You never were, and you never, ever will be. I am not a priority to you, I will always be an afterthought and there will always be th - ”

“I never said it would be any other way. I never gave you anything and I never said I would.” He is closer to you, your back against the wall now. Cornered. His face is close to yours, his strong arms either side of you.

“Yes, well…maybe it's for the best,” you bite back, hissing each word with contempt, glaring into his eyes. “Maybe I wouldn't want it anyway, whatever you could give me. Because you are cruel, and you are broken, and all you do is spread your misery and your defectiveness. You break people and in doing so you hurt me. Again and again and again.” He does not outwardly react, though you notice the muscle in his jaw flexing in anger.

“Do you know what you have done to me?” he asks in such earnest, in a cool, disconnected tone that turns your bones to dust.

“Speak it,” you demand bitterly. “Why don’t you finally tell me the truth? Confess to me how much I have wronged you, Maul. How cruel it was of me to awaken something so wonderful in you, how utterly terrible of me it was to force you to confront that you lack the strength to handle your own dissent. That you are too feeble and damaged to embrace your own happiness.”

His eyes darken. “I do resent you. I resent your ignorance, your fragility, your beauty, your softness. I resent it all.”

“Finally,” you smile and shake your head, more tears welling in your eyes. “I knew it.”

“I resent you because you stand between me and what I am. My purpose.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you mutter in response.

“Nothing stands in my way. No one.”

“You are ridiculous,” you repeat.

“And you are an aggravating and infuriating nobody. Your company and comfort I should never have entertained. I regret it. I regret it all. I should have killed you when I first saw you. I should have let you die, I should have let you drown.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I almost did."

Your eyes are as wide as they have ever been. He steps back, looking you up and down in disgust.

“What are you talking about?” you demand.

"When you went into the water.”

You stare at him, confusion melding your features into a pitiful expression as he chuckles cruelly.

“Oh, I hesitated, dear stupid girl. I refused to let the Jedi leave, and when I was fighting her, she begged me to save you. But all I wanted was her blood. I made a choice to kill her, and in doing so let you die. Because that is what matters. Their blood. That is all that matters, all that will ever matter: that the Jedi are destroyed.”

He doesn't tell you the rest of what happened that night, of his regret in that choice. He speaks not of the vow he made when you took that breath of life he begged for, the relief that surged through him when he felt your lonesome heart beat again. No. He only speaks of sorrow.

His harsh words dip into that deep emotional wound he inflicted upon you when you first spoke with him, the lesion of insecurity and worthlessness that lies rotting deep inside of you. The betrayal licks at the horrific emptiness beneath and gnaws at the injury.

And then he speaks again, the most devastating words, words that crush your spirit into nothing.

“You will never matter. You didn't matter then and you do not matter now."

You stand there in silence, disbelief thrumming in your veins. This whole time you believed that he saved you because he...you thought you did matter. To him. And you justified leaving and trusting him because he came to your aid, but this whole time, you really truly were an afterthought?

“Then why am I alive?” your lips move of their own volition.

He shrugs, his continued apathy more and more tormenting with every breath he takes. “By the will of the Force. I thought you dead when I pulled you from the river.”

The tension in the room peaks as you speak that obvious, fatal truth. “You still pulled me from the river, Maul.”

"Indeed." A moment of silence, and then he continues, quieter, "I should murder you where you stand. Rid myself of your foolishness once and for all."

“Then why don’t you?” you sneer in response, any sense of self preservation fizzling away with your composure, your heartbreak feels as though it is ripping you in half. "Why don't you just kill me? End your torment, Maul. End my life!"

He stews in his silence for a moment, and you flicker your eyes down to his hands, which linger on the hilt of the lightsaber at his belt. And yet…no fear strikes you. It's all you have felt for so long. The fear of the pirates that stole your Mother away in your nightmares, the fear of being caught disobeying your Father, the fear of being lost to the depths of the river. But now, there is nothing.

You do not believe he would really do it.

“I am not the foolish one here,” you say, your eyes locked on his hand, your sight fixed on how he unhooks the saber and takes it in his grip, how he slowly saunters closer to you whilst brandishing the long, cylindrical hilt of his weapon. And yet, as you speak, as you allow your truth to pour from your lips: you do not once stutter with your words.

There is no fear.

“It's you, you are foolish. I forgive you, again and again for your violence and I live with the horror of your abhorrent actions of what you have done to the Jedi, to that child, to my fa - ” You stop abruptly, unable to fully voice your suspicions, his confession: to confront him about that. Not now.

“I abandon my home, all that I know, I give you all that I am, all that I have, and then I must watch you waste it. You squander it all, sabotaging any sliver of goodness that comes your way.”

He’s as close to you now as he can be. The end of the weapon is now against your chest, his eyes boring into yours.

“You could still just have this,” you whisper, your agony rich in every word. “Have me, have us. You could give up all of the pain Maul. You are so strong,” you begin to cry again, wishing you could kiss him, comfort him, hide in his arms forever. “You have such potential: and not only in your violence.” His expression softens for the slightest moment as he registers what you say. “It doesn't have to be this way, you could just stop -”

“It is really that simple for you isn't it?” He asks, his words thick with an emotion you have never once heard before in his voice. “Just stop? Forsake my destiny, my greatness? All I have trained for, bled for, all that I am?" He shakes his head. "Only to exist in banal misery alongside someone as ignorant and worthless as you?”

You gasp in agony as his words strike you deep, and your chest hurts so much that for a moment, you are sure he has ignited the weapon and cleaved your heart in two. But when you look down, there is no crimson glow, no laser splitting you apart.

“You know nothing,” he continues. “You are hollow and stupid. I cannot stand to even look at you.” He does not, however, take his eyes away from your face.

“And yet, I love you,” you lament, your streaming gaze fixed on his beautiful, cruel face. Before you can stop yourself, the truth of your feelings for him roars from your broken heart like a waterfall, crashing into the depths of his apathy.

“You are probably already aware of it. Sometimes it's as though you know my mind better than I do, you can and do take whatever you want from my head, from me. But in my own words I want to tell you before I cannot. Before it all ends. That even if you do resent me and cannot stand to look at me any longer, even though you spew the most vile of words at me…even though you are breaking my heart, wish me dead and want nothing more than to strike me down yourself - I have never, ever loved anyone before. And I love you, Maul."

“Inconsequential," he whispers immediately, pity rippling through the word. His eyes scream in glowing amber despair, his beautiful irises speaking a thousand words he will never be able to speak. “I will always resent you.”

When you reply, your voice is quiet, broken. “But why?”

He moves quickly then, kissing you hard. You whimper into the rough movement of his familiar lips, indulging in the unique spice of his midnight scent. You grip on to him, kissing him back, tasting the sweetness of his tongue and the salty truth of your own tears. How can he utter such sharp words and still kiss you so passionately with the very same mouth? He caresses a gentle palm down the side of your face, and then he pulls back from your lips to speak quietly into your ear. He whispers your name with longing, his body shaking, and his next words are tinted with regret and dismay.

“Because no matter how much I need to or want to,” he admits with the faintest quiver wracking his gut-wrenching words. “I cannot kill you.” He growls it with an aching breath, then strides from the room without looking back.

You sink down the wall, collapsing to the floor with a sob, devastated and torn apart. All alone, in a strange room, on an even stranger world, without even the solace of the second moon for comfort. You spend the remainder of the night longing only for the winds and the rain, for the earthy smell of the Great Wood, for the calming glow of the Moons of home. What a worthless, silly little girl you are, leaving with him. The regret and self loathing feels so terrible that part of you despises Maul for his weakness; for how dare he not ignite his saber, how dare he not sever your shared torture by ending your life? The beat of your heart thumps with vivid memories of each betrayal of your short existence, and you ask aloud: how could she, how could he, how could you? But your heart keeps beating, no questions are answered, and your despair reaches long into the dawn.

–

darth maul taglist: (like this post to be added, message me to be removed):

my tags have been broken! i can only apologise if you have missed updates.

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#darth maul #darth maul fanfic #darth maul fic #maul fic #maul fanfic #darth maul fanfiction #darth maul x you #maul x you #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #by the light of the second moon #second moon #lemon #chapter 18 #my writing #btlotsm

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the-hopefulpenguin · 1 month

Note

Commentary on this exchange from The Isoru Airlift?

Excerpt from Princess Ursa’s Remarks to Republic City Press Corps:

“We stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the United Republic in opposing abuses of human dignity and defending the rights of citizens, wherever they may be. But we cannot send Fire Army troops into the Earth Kingdom. To do so would revive the memory of the Hundred Year War, fuel the grievances which empower warlords and genocidaires, and undermine any hope of a lasting peace.”

—

Republic City Gazette: Fire Nation Refuses Military Support to Isoru Evacuation, Citing Escalation Risk

Yue Bay Times: BETRAYAL! Fire Nation Princess Stabs Brother in Back

Star of Teyana: FINE, WE’LL DO IT OURSELVES: Sixteen retired officers make the case for the war, exclusive on page 3.

The Times of Caldera: United Republic, Fire Nation, “Shoulder-to-Shoulder” for International Peace, Says Princess Ursa

Equality Now: Arrogant Fire Nation Once Again Abandons United Republic

—

Iroh,

You won’t be surprised to hear I’ve been following the news closely. I think I can help.

A. Sato.

Isoru! The fic I really ought to get back to and a setting I am keen to talk about, so thank you for the ask! There’s a few different components in this, so apologies if the reply rambles a little.

First, ref: Ursa’s remarks, I think there’s some commentary on both the context of including it, and the content too. On context, I wrote this with a bit of an eye towards the sort of role a member of the Fire Nation royal family might have in a crisis situation. My sense was that while Ursa is not a professional diplomat, as a very visible symbolic representative of her country, she has particular utility in public diplomatic efforts (this leaves aside the liaison value-add of her brother being the UF military C-in-C, of course). Hence, it felt appropriate to have a major intervention in the narrative come via comments to press.

Regarding the context of her remarks, the language is quite modern/real world in some respects (“We therefore, here in Britain, stand shoulder to shoulder with our American friends” to quote Tony Blair), but the sentiment is linked into the LOK world-state. I think the Fire Nation, while far from abandoning the military instrument of national power, has huge sensitivities regarding deployment of ground troops into the Earth Kingdom. This is both a cultural piece, but also political; leaving aside the textual comments Ursa makes about their reception in the EK, there are likely domestic revanchists in the Fire Nation who would be emboldened.

Also – the reference to abuses of human dignity is a stealthy shout-out to the Conventions on the Protection of Innocents and Respect for the Dignity of the Human Person (also known as the Cranefish Conventions), from another one of my fics.

Second, the newspaper headlines; I love newspapers very much! The thinking here is to represent a spectrum of opinion – of course The Times of Caldera dodges the whole issue and notes only the joint resolve of the two nations, while the Gazette is an even-handed broadsheet. Equality Now is particularly interesting (I think, anyway) because it references a broader headcanon I have that the Equalist movement had strong nationalist shades, focusing its ire on foreign benders. And Star of Teyana being militaristic is a reference to some of my thinking on the United Forces’; Teyana is a major base for them.

Last, with Asami! So the Airlift was initially envisaged as part of a series of stories called ‘Sato’s War’ which was predicated on the assumption of Asami Sato becoming heavily enmeshed within the United Forces’ and Kuvira’s efforts to manage conflict in the Earth Kingdom* - with all the moral peril and interesting high-tech shenanigans involved. In general, I think she is the sort of woman who wants to solve problems, particularly technical ones, and whether one is an Irohsami shipper or not, she definitely has a working relationship with Iroh in any event.

*Chapter 3 of the story would feature Asami flying on a secret diplomatic mission to Kuvira to request her army supports United Forces troops cut off in Isoru; in my notes, I have a line from Iroh where he muses that Asami “has a face which could launch a thousand ships; no doubt her words could re-route an armoured brigade.” On a less self-indulgent note, I think there is some rich story-telling material in the connection between Kuvira and the United Forces during the timeskip which would be great to unpick.

Thank you again for the ask!

#lok #lok worldbuilding #asami sato #iroh ii #irohsami #asami solves problems!

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itsdirector · 4 months

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The New Species 2

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Chapter 2

Subject: Ship-Head Uleena

Species: Urakari

Description: Reptilian humanoid, no tail. 5'3" (1.6 m) avg height. 135 lbs (61 kg) avg weight. 105 year life expectancy.

Ship: RSV Lowelana {Fights with Honor}

Location: Sol

The bridge was silent as we all watched the holographic display of the massive ship that had come to our rescue. The armor plating of the ship gave it the shape of driftwood. Or something an artist would try to create with driftwood before they gave up part of the way through. Flat-semi round and very, very thick plates covered almost the entirety of the vessel with the exception of a few spots. It took me some time to realize that those spots were likely weapon ports. Or maybe even fighter bays.

There were four obvious weapons, two at the top and two at the bottom, pointing in separate directions. Judging from the shape, they had to be some sort of magnetically accelerated cannon. They were bigger than the Lowelana.

"Sir, part of the unknown vessel is opening up and something is detaching from the interior," Kriin informed me in a voice just above a whisper. "It looks like... it's another ship."

A ship that was a little larger than our own separated from the unknown vessel and positioned itself alongside the Lowelana. An even smaller ship then left that one and began a course for us.

"We're being hailed by the small vessel," Liwna croaked, struggling to find his voice.

I cleared my throat and said, "Put them through."

The speaker crackled to life and the voice on the other end said, "RSV Lowelana this is Lieutenant Sergey Babanin of the USSS Valor. Please respond."

"We're here, Lieutenant Sergey Babanin of the USSS Valor. I am ship-head Uleena and this is the RSV Lowelana. You have permission to come aboard," I said, trying to mask the tension in my voice.

This was the worst-case scenario for a first contact from a species outside of the Republic. Indebting ourselves at first contact is definitely going to have some political backlash, especially with some of the more xenophobic member species. You would think that going to war would be, but being indebted to someone you don't know is usually a lose-lose scenario. Either we're out something by repaying the debt, or we don't repay the debt and go to war anyway.

"Uh, well..." Lt. Babanin began hesitantly, "we're not quite ready for boarding yet. We're showing several hull breaches and your structural integrity is... well..."

"Our frame is damaged, we know."

"It's not just damaged, capt... er... ship-head. It's cracked. Your frame is being held together by your hull and your hull has holes in it. If we're not extremely precise with our docking maneuver you're going to fall to bits."

I gave Liwna a bewildered look. He returned my stare with one of his own before looking back at his instrument panel.

"By the Suns, he's right. Apologies ship-head, the damage is much more severe than we originally assessed," he said.

"What can we do?" I asked, trying not to sound panicked. I don't want to lose any more of my crew.

"I... I don't know," Liwna said, nearly losing his composure.

"Don't worry too much ship-head, we're going to be able to extract you," Lt. Babanin interjected. "We are just going to need precision guidance. We're downloading the software required right now."

"Do you have compatible docking equipment? Clamps and such?" I asked.

"Well, we're currently waiting for the download to finish to solidify our plan of action, but I think our best bet is to use an umbilical. Looking at your ship's layout and the holes in it, we can probably attach to the hole in your... I think that's your living quarters? It's the room near your bridge."

I did some mental mapping, "Yes, that's right. That area's sealed off due to depressurization though."

"That won't be a problem," Lt. Babanin said cheerily. "We've brought enough gas to repressurize your entire ship. Once we're attached and the room is repressurized you'll be able to unseal it and exit through the umbilical."

The plan was solid but one thing bothered me, "If you're going to be using an umbilical then why do you need precision guidance software?"

"We're not familiar with your ship's construction methods or composition," he began. "For all we know just getting close to your ship can cause it to break apart due to the forces generated by our proximity. We'll need to be in a position far enough away that we won't be affecting you, aim and guide the umbilical to the proper position, and fire it gently enough that it won't send a shockwave that will shatter your ship."

"Understood," I said, satisfied by the explanation.

"Alright. Do you have pressure suits available?" he asked.

Liwna shook his head and said, "We don't have pressure suits but we do have respirators. They won't last long if we're exposed to vacuum, though."

"Well, that's better than nothing. I suggest you prep them. We'll be in touch when we're ready to begin."

"Acknowledged. Ship-head Uleena, out."

The comms light winked out as the connection was severed. The crew sat in silence for a time, unsure of what to say. Something was bothering me about that interaction, but I couldn't quite place it. It was Kriin who made it click into place.

"Their sensors must be much more advanced than ours," she said in a hushed tone.

"What do you mean?" asked Liwna.

I spoke up, "They were able to tell that our frame was fractured before we were. They were also able to determine our ship's layout to a degree that allowed them to formulate a rescue plan without consulting us. Not only that, but they were able to scan our databases well enough to be able to extrapolate and translate our language."

More silence. We hadn't just indebted ourselves in first contact with an unknown alien species. We'd indebted ourselves with a more advanced unknown alien species. I spent the next few minutes wondering what I should wear to my hearing. I took solace in the fact that what's left of my crew might live.

"We're being hailed, sir," Liwna informed me.

"Open a channel."

Lt. Babanin sounded more cheerful as he said, "We're ready to rescue you. Turns out my plan held up to scrutiny so we'll be proceeding with it. The only change is that we'll be sending some of our people aboard to assist with the evacuation, and I'll be joining the away team. Once everyone is safely off the ship, the USSS Thanatos will scoop it up so we can begin repairs."

Even though it was likely a very accurate description of what will happen, something deeply bothered me about the idea of a ship that can crew 50 people being 'scooped up'.

"Understood," I replied. "You have my permission to board. We'll begin evacuation preparation immediately. I'll see you on the bridge, Uleena out."

The comms light once again flashed off and the crew gathered around the holographic display in anticipation. We watched as the alien ship expertly maneuvered into a position far enough away that its magnetic fields and gravity wouldn't effect us enough to break us into pieces. We held our breath as the umbilical was fired and slowly traveled the distance between us. There was a time delay of half a second so we actually heard the ever-so-soft thud of the umbilical making contact before we saw it.

"The umbilical has hit its mark, and we're holding steady!" Kriin said joyfully.

The tension in the air evaporated as the crew allowed themselves a little celebration. For my part, I exhaled the breath I had been holding in. We're almost safe.

"Don't celebrate too heartily. We'll be having guests soon, and I want everyone on their best behavior. No staring," I said with a smile.

"Short-band signal coming in, sir," Kriin said, holding her hand to her ear, "it's the lieutenant. He and his team are proceeding through the umbilical."

"Okay everyone, respirators on. I want the injured evacuated first. Then the non-essentials. Kriin, Liwna, you'll be evacuating with me," I said with as much authority as I could muster.

"Yes, sir!" the remaining crew said unanimously.

"Sir, they're aboard. The lieutenant is headed this way," Kriin said.

I heard the thudding footsteps before I saw what they belonged to. The first one through the door was huge. I was fooled at first because it had to slump through the door, but then it rose to its full height. At least 6'5" {195 cm} and very wide. It was obviously wearing a pressure suit, but the suit looked more like body armor. The helmet was completely opaque, with what looked like lights and cameras installed. There were thick plates strategically placed on what looked like a rubbery weaved body suit. The body suit was black, but everything else was navy blue.

We were all staring in a shocked silence when the other two monstrosities crouched through the door. They were both 7' {216 cm} tall and wearing a similar pressure suit but in olive drab. Even under such seemingly cumbersome attire, it was obvious that their musculature would put our most avid body-builders to shame. I fought my fight-or-flight instincts as I briefly wondered if they were even organic at all.

"Air's safe, lieutenant," one of the green monsters said.

The one in blue took off his helmet to reveal soft, beige skin with golden high-cut hair. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room like a predator before he affixed his gaze to me. His lips curled in what could be mistaken for a snarl, showing four pointed teeth and several flat ones. This actually set me at ease because I recognized the expression as a smile. Several primate species have similar expressions. Even the Urakari have our own variation.

"You must be cap... ship-head Uleena," it said.

"Y-yes. And you must be lieutenant Babanin. W-welcome aboard," I said, trying my best not to stammer.

"I'm sorry if we look frightening. These are designed to do that, but they're all we had on hand."

"I understand. You're... uh... quite larger than we pictured," I said as I rubbed the back of my neck nervously.

One of the green monsters chuckled slightly. The other turned to look at him with what I assume was a glare.

"The suits add to our size by an inch or two. It doesn't sound like it makes a difference, but it definitely does," he gestured to his left, "This is Corporal Simmons," then he gestured to his right, "This is Lance-Corporal Johnson."

"Nice to meet you," Johnson said in a gruff voice. I nodded in acknowledgment, unable to speak.

"Well then, let's get you rescued, shall we?" Lt. Babanin said with another smile.

I was about to agree when the proximity alert chimed again. This time I definitely recognized the sound. I had been hearing it more and more lately, and the last time I heard it was right before we found ourselves in this situation. My hearts skipped a beat.

Kriin looked up from her station and shouted, "SIR! OMNI-UNION SHIPS!"

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#stories #story #the new species #science fiction #scifi #novel

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rahmanhakhagir · 2 years

Video

vimeo

Strange people they were (2022) FB.mov from Rahman Hak-Hagir on Vimeo.

Rahman Hak-Hagir & Mad Lane - Komische Leit worn des / Strange people they were (2022) „A performative protest at the current geopolitical state of the world, using language, elements and imagery from Western hip-hop and pop culture - and a civil and artistic endorsement of Joseph Beus' 1982 protest song „Sonne statt Reagan“

Music: Mad Lane aka Madeleine Fremuth Vocals: Mad Lane and Rahman Hak-Hagir aka Rorschach Vinyl-Cuts: DJ Nik aka Michael Ertl Camera: Alina Ferrufino aka Alina Latina aka Antistar Video-Postproduction: Rahman Hak-Hagir

Mad Lane programmed the instrumental on August 7th, 2021 on Propellerheads’ free smartphone software “Figure”, during a delayed train journey from La Rochelle to Paris.

Recorded and produced in the Future Art Lab at the University of Music and Performing Arts. Video filmed at the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna.

Video contains footage of "Plan A“. A simulation for a plausible escalating war between the United States and Russia using realistic nuclear force postures, targets and fatality estimates. It is estimated that there would be more than 90 million people dead and injured within the first few hours of the conflict. A collaboration with Alex Wellerstein and Jeff Snyder. Full video: youtube.com/watch?v=2jy3JU-ORpo&t=126s

RAHMAN HAK-HAGIR (May 15, 1972) is an Austrian born Vienna based half-Afghan conceptual and performance artist who began his career in 1990. Active for two decades in varied fields of art, his work is focusing on the conflicting priorities between individual and social environment. Rahman Hak-Hagir also was an active as a Rapper (Rorschach) and Producer in Austria between 1998 and 2006. Official: rahmanhakhagir.com / vimeo.com/rahmanhakhagir

MAD LANE aka Madeleine Freut is an Austrian musical and sound artist active in the Austrian independent music scene since 1998. Mad Lane is also a composer and producer. Her songs and lyrics deal with serious, funny, absurd and tragic perspectives on culture and society. Soundcloud: soundcloud.com/madestlane

Supported by #Toyoida #FlavaClub1120 #AnArmyOfArtists #WE and #TheOtherSociety

+++

Mad Lane & Rahman Hak-Hagir - Komische Leit worn des / Strange people they were (2022) Lyrics (Austrian/English translation)

Attention. Attention. Attention, an announcement. We are sorry to inform you that our train to "Fuck-it-all-Land" will be delayed due to some problems abroad. We apologize to the passengers on the I don't care train. There are technical problems. We're trying... Ahh.

Too late. Too late. We are delayed again. Our own funeral and us? We stand by. Just next to it is also over. Easier to swim downstream because disguised as a party, per se, we just add another layer of paint to the sinking.

We're drifting there on purpose. Don't worry and don't swab. The abyss opens before us. We go down with the Nazis. I swear it's going to be close. Don't gossip to me anymore. There is no one ready to hand it over to you! No.

OK then we will be swallowed - gulp. It doesn't hurt - hurt. You will hardly feel it - feel it. The others we don't care. We are us and we are enough. We stick together through our Styrian blood. If you can't think of anything better then just be proud of your heritage.

Alarm! alarm ! Alarm! It will soon be our turn. Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! We slide in circles. Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! We're all killing ourselves. We are funny and we lie. This is how we live a particularly long time.

Listen up. You experienced this before. First stop: terminus. Second stop: terminus. Third stop: terminus. Fourth stop: terminus. Fifth stop: terminus. Sixth stop where I live aka terminus. I smash bluebottles in petty wars. Yes. And in great infernos. What's happening? Bro, listen to the boss. Rorschach with MadLane at university level. You can't do anything but stick to the executive chair. But hey. Now you will be fired soon. The republic will be renewed. Dude. Everything overpriced.

Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! It will soon be our turn. Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! We slide in circles. Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! We're all killing ourselves. We are funny and we lie. This is how we live a particularly long time.

Lousy rappers want to live too.

Missed the next chance. As if in a trance, we advance. To the light at the end of the tunnel. So far away. It's not our turn yet. Something always comes up. The next joint or something fresh. Holy shit. Always the same. If it doesn't burn then we'll take the yellow from the egg and another piece of bread. The others are in line. We don't need to share. I heat up. I am fine. I take a warm shower. Twenty minutes. It rings but I don't hear it. Alarm secured door, please do not disturb.

Refrain

We'll be home soon. We'll soon reach the end of the line. So. Please everyone get off. Get off now?

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bellsarefun · 3 years

Text

Bad Batch Headcanons [Artsy S/O]

【Ａｎｏｎｙｍｏｕｓ　ａｓｋｅｄ："Omg okay what about imagines or head canon for female reader opening up bad batch boys to the world of art and music that they didn’t get to see much of while raised on kamino and fighting".】

【ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13 and sfw!】

【ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ：The reader was written with she/her pronouns in mind! This is entirely fluff about the reader's hobby and or job in the arts. In Crosshair's there is a bit of violence, but not heavy.】

【ａ／ｎ：One of my first requests! How exciting for me and I adored the overall idea. Thank you, anonymous! I know more about art rather than poetry or dance so I apologize in advance. In Tech's headcanon I mention a specific style of art but that is explained. 】

Hunter — Musician

You kept your love of music a secret to many, only singing or playing one of the many instruments you know in private. It wasn't that you were ashamed of your hobby, more like you never thought to mention it before. You didn't try to hide it as you did have a habit of humming aloud while you worked on various things.

Hunter enjoyed your humming, it helped to have your voice to listen to if his sense were getting to overwhelmed. Furthermore, when he overheard you humming to Omega while you combed through her hair his heart melted into tiny pieces. He had a inkling that you had more talent than that, but he decided not to press it and enjoyed the humming you did give. But, when one day Omega asked you to sing for her and you couldn't refuse her puppy eyes, Hunter couldn't help himself but overhear.

After lulling Omega into a sound peaceful sleep, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Hunter's arms slid around you and hugged you from behind. When he asked, you couldn't deny it and relented into telling him that you enjoyed singing. He was a bit saddened that you thought it wouldn't be worth mentioning and he kissed your neck, muttering that you should definitely sing more often and or him sometime. This was enough for you to open up about your hobby.

You would sing to him when he couldn't sleep, your voice easily lulling him to sleep. He would love it when you fingers would run through his hair and his head would rest on your chest where he could listen to the notes emanating from your chest. You wouldn't hide away when you would practice any longer, Omega would be by your side watching you as you worked. Some of the best most happiest memories Hunter can recall is listening to your sweet voice trailing along with beautifully performed notes.

Crosshair — Dancer

You were a ballet dancer for a living but, of course, the spy and informant aspect was a big part of it as well. However, you never considered it to be the defining feature of your job. The Republic utilized your spying skills many times to gather important information from high ranking nobles and elites you would perform for. After Order 66, even the newly formed Empire wanted your services.

Crosshair at first thought your talent in dancing was shallow and trivial. You were introduced to him while on a mission with the rest of the Bad Batch where you had the information about their target. He insulted your work by calling it "entertaining old men" which you promptly slapped him across the face for and called him a "disrespectful sexist piece of Mudhorn shit." He tried to retaliate and it ended with him on the ground with you on top of him pinning a knife to his throat. Suffice to say, you could match him wit to wit on any occasion.

Over time and through a gentle evolution of your relationship from enemies to lovers, he came to respect your talent in ballet dancing. He drew parallels to his own talent in sharpshooting, there was natural talent but the both of you needed to train to keep your skills up to par and near perfection.

You would spend hours practicing and rehearsing, the dedication was something he liked the most about you. Crosshair would often clean his sniper and watched as you practiced. He grew to understand the intricacies of your work, he always had an eye for the small things, and would appreciate the effort to maintain the delicate, poised composure in your movements—of course, he would never say that out loud but can catch the small loving glimpses when you rehearse.

Wrecker — Photographer

Your interest in photography started with a simple tradition of taking a picture after every successful mission and hanging it on your wall within your bunk. To you, the memories captured in every image made you happy. Soon enough you were taking pictures in almost every world you visited, you had a natural eye for it.

Wrecker often liked to be the subject of your photos, along with Omega of course. He would strike a dramatic pose with Omega sitting on his shoulder or the biggest goofy smile on his face as he would run to tackle you in a hug. But, your favourite ones would be when he didn't know you were taking a picture of him. Those pictures would often capture a different side of him, the gentler and caring side that many didn't care to look for.

He wouldn't entire know the finer smaller details of photography and the time you would spent getting the perfect shot of a landscape or subject. But, he supported your hobby and when you'd place them into a small scrapbook he'd bring you an assortment of items that he thought would make great additions to the pages. It could be anything from a pebble to a stick that he thought you'd like. Tech compared him to a magpie once, bringing you shiny interesting things and such, but that reference went over Wrecker's head.

Wrecker would often sit behind you, hugging you from behind while you worked on a new scrapbook. You would be planted on his lap while he snuggled you close to him and you'd show him the pictures you had taken over the past month. He would often point out where one of the items he gave you could go, he had an extremely specific sense of style but you never minded the input.

Tech — Painter

[Alright, I mention a specific style of painting. I am aware some of you might not know what post-impressionism is, so a famous example would be Vincent Van Gough's Starry Night. Use of colour and expression that forms unnatural looks in natural scenes.]

There were many nobles and elites who knew of your work across the galaxy, your naturally gifted talent to paint photorealistic portraits was extremely sought after in a technologically advanced universe. But, in all honesty, that wasn't your biggest passion. Instead, you enjoyed Post-Impressionism the most.

To Tech, there was a part of him that didn't understand why you didn't draw entirely in realism. His brain functioned in the analytical and your choice of a post-impressionist style often confused him. He'd seen your sketchbook before, you had sketched most of the Bad Batch in an almost perfect realistic form. He noted that a lot of them were of himself, which brought him a glint of pride. But, when you weren't working on portraits instead you painted landscapes with vibrant rich colours that looked nowhere near what was actually there.

While he worked on the ship or other projects, you would paint or sketch happily. If he wasn't already spouting off to you about some topic, he would quietly observe you out of the corner of his eye. The way you would be so focused on a single brush stroke or line of your pencil made him consider that your impressionist work was just as time-consuming as your realism portraits that he once thought.

The way your lips pursed in concentration that the attempts to bring to life the image of vibrant colour and beauty that only existed in your mind was enough for him to understand the intricacies of your art. Soon enough, you'd be the one telling him about the styles of art and the meanings behind the pieces you produced. He understood then that you choose to paint how you wanted and that it was because it was your choice was what made your art matter.

Echo — Poet

You enjoyed writing and reading poetry as it had been a hobby of yours for years. You considered yourself no master at writing words down on a page, but you knew you weren't terrible either. The nights you couldn't sleep would be spent writing in your journal by dim lantern light. But, more often than not you wouldn't be alone for long.

Echo never really knew much about life outside of war, he'd caught fleeting glimpses of it when they would pass through a city or town. So he didn't fully understand why you'd spend hours scribbling in your journal or reading the same few written lines over and over again. He found it oddly adorable, but the thought confused him—that was until you offered to read one to him.

The poem was simple but meaningful and was one of the ones you were planning on reading to Omega the next day. But suffice it to say, Echo didn't really understand what you meant when you said to "look for deeper meanings within the words." To you, this was to going to be a process that was going to take a while but Echo wanted to learn and understand.

Eventually, Echo learned to understand poetry better but never fully understood your fascination with it. But, it made you happy and he would never turn down the opportunity to listen to you recite poetry about anything and everything. He would lay his head in your lap while you read and kept notes. The way you'd put the effort in the pronunciation of the words and your eyes lighting up when you asked him after what he thought it meant he wouldn't trade.

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kckenobi · 2 years

Note

I’m loving the orchestra au! I was wondering how you chose everyone’s instruments? I never would’ve thought to put anakin on trumpet but it’s such a great fit!

ahhh thank you!! this ask totally made my night because I LOVE to talk about this au sksjsks. Hmm I mostly picked everyone's instruments based on Vibes™️ and stereotypes lmao. Like it was always lowkey a thing in high school and college to try to guess people's instruments before you knew and I felt like that's what I was doing here lol, like:

Anakin felt like a trumpet purely bc of the stereotype that trumpet players are kind of cocky and suave lol

Obi-Wan felt like a cello player because he's defined and disciplined, but a deeper sound felt better for him, instead of like violin

Cody just had piano vibes, like when I introduced him in chapter 2 he was pushing a piano and I was like oh! Okay! Guess that's his instrument!

Satine had to be a cello bc she and obi-wan needed a rivalry, but also I think the vibes match; Maul and Ahsoka also just had to play cello for narrative purposes!

I made Padmé principal violinist and concertmaster because she's such a key piece of the Republic in canon, like just trying to represent her rank in the senate and her importance in general

And then there's a few random ones I just picked to be funny, like, Grevious plays flute lmao. I'm picturing him with piccolos in his collection instead of lightsabers

I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but Palpatine is a bassoon player. My sincerest apologies to bassoon players everywhere.

Thanks so much for the ask!! So happy to hear you're enjoying the fic so far :'))))))

(read the orchestra au here!)

#:'))))#orchestra au #fic related asks #also lmao at one point I equate jazz to the dark side so my apologies to jazz musicians too oops

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zaffrenotes · 3 years

Text

[TRR: WD106] Avoiding A Blunder

Summary: Prince Liam has to fill in for Crown Prince Leo, and Murphy’s Law is put into motion at the end of his trip. Chaos ensues, condensed Wacky Drabble style. Fic Rating/Warning: M; alcohol consumption, minor health/medical emergency, anxiety/angst Author’s Note: All main characters belong to Pixelberry/The Royal Romance, I’m just borrowing them * Fictional versions of IRL individuals are included with affection; any other characters mentioned in this piece are my creation * This is my submission for @wackydrabbles Prompt 106: You’re gonna get us busted! * You have @the-soot-sprite and @ao719 to thank for this ridiculousness, lol - Soot reblogged a photo, Betsy sent me this request

and...this is what my brain came up with (PS - thank you both for the movie discussion) * For the purposes of this story, Triydalia is a fictional country that shares a border with Thailand * Word Count: 1999 😅 (7 minutes reading time)

Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I'll tag you in the comments): @/ao719 @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @ofpixelsandscribbles @rainbowsinthestorm @superharriet @/the-soot-sprite @choiceskatie @jaqren @aestheticartsx @bbrandy2002 @dcbbw @gnatbrain @jared2612 @kingliam2019 @ladyangel70 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @princessleac1 @queenjilian @sfb123 @texaskitten30 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @yourmajesty09

Liam was used to filling in for Leo at a moment’s notice; participating in conference calls with ambassadors for early morning updates when Leo overslept, and attending meetings with ministers when Leo went AWOL. He’d grown accustomed to his brother’s antics, but he wondered how Bastien managed to keep his position, when he’d lost track of Leo’s whereabouts countless times.

While Leo spent more time avoiding his duties as Crown Prince of Cordonia, Liam dutifully took on the extra responsibilities in stride. It often meant partitioning his already packed schedule to sit in on vital cabinet meetings or dining with visiting dignitaries, but sometimes Leo’s vanishing acts gave Liam the opportunity to travel.

Though their ambassadors handled the majority of day-to-day relations with other countries for trade, Constantine preferred to meet face-to-face when he could. One such time, a lingering cough turned to walking pneumonia, restricting Constantine to as much bed rest as possible. It also meant sending Leo to Japan for a meeting with the Prime Minister in his stead.

It would have been fine, if Leo hadn’t pulled another one of his disappearing acts.

A week later, Liam was seated on the royal jet on his way back from Tokyo, navy attache with espresso brown leather trim in the chair next to him. Across from him, Maxwell chatted with Anya over various Thai dishes. On the other side of the plane, Drake was in a heated discussion with leggy blonde Anitah while the ladies’ petite friend Donna observed in silence, fighting back a grin. “You’re an imbecile if that’s your opinion,” Anitah declared, raising her hands up in the air. “Are you sure that’s the hill you wanna die on?”

Drake smugly sipped from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “I’m right and you know it.”

“What are you two talking about?” Liam asked, relieved to think about anything other than what was in the bag and why it was so important he hand deliver it to his father.

“Fight Club being a better cinematic masterpiece than The Princess Bride,” Drake replied. “You guys agree, right? If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, you’d want to watch Tyler Durden fight the system instead of some…” he paused to sneer at Anitah, who crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue at him, “...story about a swashbuckler rescuing a princess? She’s not even a real princess!”

“Fight Club is such a guy movie though,” Anya argued, turning in her seat to face Drake. “Princess Bride appeals to men and women, with a much larger audience.”

“Okay, that’s two for Buttercup,” Drake sighed. “Maxwell? Li?” He looked at his friends expectantly.

“Fight Club, definitely,” Maxwell said, nodding his head. He’d spent the better part of the trip doing everything to get into Drake’s good graces after the octopus incident on the first night in Tokyo.

Before Liam could respond, a commotion from the front of the plane made everyone’s heads turn, where a pair of Kings Guards and two flight attendants were seated near the galley. One of the guards slipped into the cockpit, rushing out a moment later in Liam’s direction, as the jet slowly tilted to the right. “Apologies, Your Highness. Do you or any of your guests happen to speak Triydalian?”

Anya slowly raised her hand. “I knew a bit when I was a kid, but I haven’t used it in years.”

The guard motioned for her to join him. “Please come with us, miss. The pilots need a translator.”

“Is everything alright, Remy?” Liam peered past the guard, eyes widening at the sight of the other guard and one attendant hovering in front of the other attendant in a chair.

“We need to land the plane, Sir,” Remy answered, ushering Anya up from her seat. “Ramona passed out. She’s breathing but unresponsive.”

Twenty minutes later and after a jarring landing, they’d arrived at a small airport in the Republic of Triydalia, at the edge of one of the country’s many jungle forests. Calling it an airport was generous - it was more of a cleared dirt path in the middle of the jungle with a shack for an airport tower, and a man that looked like more of a hunter than an air traffic controller. After a choppy conversation that required pantomiming and hand signals, Anya left with Remy and the man from the tower to fetch a tribal doctor, while Anitah and Donna assisted the other member of the cabin crew to look after Ramona. They were warned to remain as quiet as possible and to stay inside the jet.

Minutes passed by in tense observation; Anitah and Drake continued their debate in low whispers, growing louder as they defended their choices. Liam could see the pilots discussing something pointedly as they checked readings on the instrument panel and worked on calculations. One of them stepped out, claiming that he needed to stretch his legs, and walked cautiously down the runway. When he returned, the other pilot joined him outside, despite the original warning to stay inside. Liam peered out the windows and checked his watch, worrying about Anya and Remy, along with his father’s instructions to avoid delaying their return.

While the remaining guard headed towards the back of the plane to pace back and forth for the eighth time, Liam took it upon himself to speak with the pilots. The air was thick and stifling the moment he stepped outside. Around them, there was nothing but green, green, and more green from the wilderness that surrounded them, abuzz with tropical birds and insects. At his side he carried the blue attache, remembering the promise to his father that the bag wouldn’t leave his sight. He spoke in a hushed tone when he approached the pilots. “You’re doing more than just stretching your legs, aren’t you, Captain?”

Both men grimaced slightly. “Yes, Your Highness. Even if we pulled back to one end of the runway, we’re still at least five hundred feet short of clearing takeoff.”

“What if we worked to try and clear the brush on either end?” Liam offered, looking off into the distance.

“There’s no way to clear out the trees, even the young ones,” the co-captain answered. “We might be able to take off if we could drop some weight, but the larger concern is the longer we wait, we increase the risk of encountering someone who doesn’t want us here.”

Liam nodded gravely; months of civil unrest in Triydalia meant rebel groups assembled faster than the government could contain them. There was no guarantee of anyone’s safety, stranded on a remote runway. There was no telling what was wrong with Ramona while she was unconscious, and therefore no way to treat her without the aid of a doctor. Ensuring the safety of the crew and his friends could have been avoided altogether if Leo didn’t constantly opt out of handling the duties of his station. In that moment, Liam abhorred the never-ending list of responsibilities thrust at him as a result of having to pick up the slack for his brother, knowing if their roles were reversed, Leo would manage to find a way to leave Liam to solve problems on his own.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?”

He’d barely finished asking the question before walking into the tall grass by the edge of the runway. Ignoring the pilots’ calls to return, Liam sprinted into the dense greenery, dodging between vines and scanning the ground for tripwires until he could no longer see the plane over his shoulder. When he finally stopped running, he bent over, hands on his knees as he gulped in air. Liam looked down at the blue bag in his hand, wondering what on earth was so precious to reduce him to a courier.

Shaking the bag did nothing; it felt practically empty, though he could tell something was inside. He couldn’t open the bag to check, since Prime Minister Abe and his father were the only ones with keys, and PM Abe handed him the sealed bag when they parted ways. Liam wanted to throw the infernal “murse” the ladies had good-naturedly teased him for into the bushes. Perspiration dotted his hairline, and he let out a primal scream, before taking slow, deep breaths to quiet the worrisome thoughts racing in his head and bring his heartbeat down to normal.

Cursed courier bag in his right hand, Liam braced his arm against his torso, pinning it in place with his elbow when he bent his other arm up towards his face. Curling his fingers into a relaxed fist, he pressed his lips against his thumb, thick brows furrowing in thought. All around him, wild birds called to one another amidst the chittering clamor of insects hidden in the foliage. He was so busy running through scenarios in his head that he didn’t hear the quiet click of a camera, turning to look up only when he heard a branch snap in the distance.

“Watch it! You’re gonna get us busted!” Donna hissed to Drake. She pocketed her phone, elbowing Drake in the ribs as they crouched behind large leaves. She ticked her head in Liam’s direction. “Go get your boy, none of us are safe out here.”

After some coaxing, Liam headed back to the plane with Donna and Drake, walking briskly through the jungle, eyes trained to look for anything out of the ordinary. Liam was alarmed when he heard and then saw the engines running, until Drake explained the pilots were burning off fuel to lighten the plane. They’d begun to walk up the steps, when Maxwell popped out above them. “Whoo!” Maxwell exclaimed, digging for another snack from the container he cradled in his arm. “Feels like a sauna out here!”

“Lower your voice, Maxwell! Please!” Liam seethed. His features pinched together in disbelief. “Are you...eating? Now?”

“You know I stress snack,” Maxwell replied, shrugging his shoulders. He shoved another cookie into his mouth.

Liam’s eyes lit up and he took the stairs two by two, knocking on the cockpit door before swinging it open. “What if we unloaded whatever’s not bolted down? The decor, dinnerware, the food and drink?”

“That...would certainly help,” the captain replied, looking back over his shoulder. He turned to his co-pilot. “It could be enough to get in the air after burning off the excess fuel.”

“You heard the man, Maxwell,” Liam said, offering his friend a nervous grin. “Get Drake to help you start unloading the plane. Has Ramona’s status changed?”

“Donna found the first aid kit just before she took off with Drake to go after you. Anitah found some smelling salts that gave her a rude wakeup call. Turns out her insulin pump shorted and she just needed some juice.”

Several more minutes passed as the group removed whatever they could from the plane, leaving piles of cookware, food, throw pillows, and even seat cushions to lighten the load. Drake whined when they gathered up the liquor, but he stuffed a bottle of whiskey in a cabinet by his seat. They’d nearly finished when Anya and Remy returned, running on foot. “That thing better be ready to take off!” Anya hollered, motioning for everyone to board. “Rebels on our tail! Time to go!”

Everyone scrambled back onto the plane; Liam relayed the urgency to depart to the pilots, who rapidly went through their flight checklist. Remy pulled Anya up onto the steps and they all clamored to buckle into their seats, the sound of gunfire in the air as the jet rolled forward and lurched up into the air, barely clearing the canopy.

Adrenaline pumping and breaths shallow, Liam looked around at his friends and the crew, thankful they were safely in the air again.

Liam thought he was having a stroke at twenty-four when he saw the contents of the bag. Constantine smiled with glee at the small gold cat, one paw raised.

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jerepars · 3 years

Text

My QOTS 5x09 live reactions:

Oscar is in the “previously on”. Oscar x Jeresa team up?

SO MUCH Kote in the “previously on”. Whyyyyyy? We already had to sit through their episodes once, isn’t that enough?

James taking off that ski mask was somehow really hot

Is it bad if I want to skip through this suburbia Kote stuff and just get to the Jeresa team up lol

“Like the devil himself he lives in the shadows” uhhhhh that was a little…YA fiction-esque. Lol who wrote that line and are they serious.

If there were two very attractive people sitting across from me, dressed like yin and yang, promising me protection like that…I think I’d be very confused LOL

Konstantin Federov? Is Kostya like, a Russian hockey player? Did he play in Detroit with the Russian Five? I am howling.

an INSTRUMENT TO DEFEND OUR DEMOCRACY lol lol lol

again Devon leaves the room without being a blatantly obvious Jeresa shipper. Boooooooo.

suburbia suburbia why can’t we do away with ya?

what happened to don’t come out until I tell you to?! Do you understand the consequences of death or not?

oh good job just show the neighbors you guys have a fucking arsenal in your kitchen that’s not gonna be suspicious at all

“I am a soldado, I will never put my guard down” really REALLY we all know that’s not true this is how you guys got banished to Little Rock in the first place

“it was a big raccoon” Raccoons are adorable they look like little bandits leave them alone

Jeresa are sitting ~very close~!!!!

“in the DR” As in, in the Dominican Republic? Do people really say that? Sounds like I’m watching Big Brother and they’re talking about the Diary Room LOL

Wait what Teresa is doing coke right as James leaves the room? What if he forgot something and comes back??? Does he know? Has this just been accepted by him? This is never going to be addressed, is it?

Ooh, theory time. Is the coke...not coke? Is it something else and Teresa has been building up a tolerance to it so she can appear dead?

“I know you want things to go back to normal” BACK to normal? When were things normal? Why does half the episode have to be spent on these two?

“I don’t want to live like this anymore” You…you...WHAT? Why did you join a drug cartel? You BEGGED back in with them. Proved yourself. Worked too hard, isn’t that what you said? What did you think it was going to be like?

Do we, the audience, have to suffer through the garage sale, too?

HOW LONG IS THIS SCENE WHY ARE WE STILL IN SUBURBIA

Yeah snoop through your neighbor’s mail when the whole neighborhood is around THAT’S NOT SUSPICIOUS AT ALL

oh it’s his little girl’s team now we have to suffer through Pote’s redemption for his misogynist sexist comments from earlier in the season

Yo, why are we only meeting Domingo now? I like this guy. He’s fun. Plus he’s got cool piercings.

aaaaand he’s dead.

Oh, okay, not dead. But injured.

YO I LIKE DOMINGO

CHICHO HOW COULD YOU CALL POTE THIS IS NOT HOW I RAISED YOU

omg is KA going to tell Pote to go back to Teresa where he’s happy because she doesn’t want his spirit to die? If so, I think I might want to die.

I don’t need another tender Kote moment JFC MAKE IT STOP

BRICKS!!!! KISS TIME!!!!

“You wouldn’t let me do it, so why should I let you?” Dead. Dead. DEAAAADDDDD. 😭😭😭

I love you. SAME. (I still wish T had said it first)

So no conversation. Just straight to the sex? Okay. I guess we’ll roll with it.

The way he pauses to tuck her hair away from her face and looks at her all starry-eyed when she’s on top of him. Dead. Dead. Dead dead dead.

And then they SMILE. Can you be more dead than dead? I think that’s where I’m at. 👻

Sidenote: I don’t think we’ve ever seen this much of J’s tattoos up close. This is glorious. Lol yeah because there’s sex happening and I’m looking at the details of the tattoos hahaha

The hand on the thigh to end it before the camera pans and then fade to black. That’s great. I will accept it.

She’s touching his arm in the morning after scene. There is SUNLIGHT. This is the best lit Jeresa scene of this show’s existence, lol. Holy shit.

When does she tell him she loves him? This is obviously setting us up for a goodbye.

LOLOLOLOL James is talking about weapons and making sure she’s well equipped and she’s giving him heart eyes instead sooo is she about to say it?

SHE SAID IT!!!!!!!!!

Jeresa making out. Jeresa getting it on. Jeresa kissing after a love confession. In one episode. ❤️ 🥰 🎊 💞 💓 😘 🎇 🔥 Bask in the glory. Savor it. Let’s all enjoy this and rewatch and reblog gifs etc etc etc because it’s all we’re ever going to get. 🎁

“She’s not going in without us.” “I’ll go.” OoOoOoOo this is all part of the plan isn’t it?

But when did you have time to plan this when you spent all night making out and having sex. You must have been spent. Did you multitask in bed? 😂

Scared Puppy James :( :( :(

Wait. WAIT. This is very plot holey. Kostya didn’t know anything about Teresa’s business? He’s apparently the biggest bad-ass there is and he didn’t even vet her? He just let Oksana handle it? WHATTTTTTT

The tequila isn’t poisoned. She put something on the shot glass, probably? That’s why they had Chicho talk about how Oksana was killed at the beginning. Right?

So Kostya has been elusive all season. Fucked everything up. And he dies as soon as he meets her? WHAT. Just like that. This is so deflating.

Uhhhh, listen, I get it, Teresa is obviously gonna make it out of here. But why have Kostya’s guys not shot her in the head yet? This is very unrealistic. They wouldn’t hesitate. She would be on the ground in a second.

WHAT. NO. WHY IS POTE HERE. GO AWAY. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STEP UP, CHICHO.

I wish Pote had died. A final sacrifice for his family. That would have been his redemption. And I’m not apologizing for anything I just said. Full offense. Not sorry.

“You had enough on your plate.” Are you KIDDING ME? Yo WHO THE FUCK DOES CHICHO THINK HE IS? Making decisions for the boss? That’s not…that wouldn’t happen, helpful or not. Teresa would kill HIM. Know your place. Wow how nice of the writers to screw Chicho up.

“I’m only legit until Devon decides I’m not” So…okay. Jeresa have definitely talked about Devon and made the sniper plan now, right? If she’s saying this?

“Can you shut down operations in New Orleans and meet us when you’re done?” “Of course.” That’s the goodbye, isn’t it? We’re still on track for the sniper plan?

“When everything’s settled I’ll send for you.” Uh. Maybe KA is safer in Little Rock. But you’re gonna leave her out in the wind for an indefinite amount of time? OKAY.

“He may not be as nice” LOL

Omg this is like the most continuous dialogue James has had all season and it’s wasted on DEVON

Personally not a fan of this very predictable James-was-still-under-Devon’s-wing-the-whole-time because I think it’s lazy writing. Very lazy. BUT I bet in James’ mind, he’s for sure been pretending and this whole time whenever he’s been sitting boo-boo faced in the corner moping, he’s been planning out how to tell Teresa and going over the plan of how she’s going to “die” and they’re going to disappear. So he could tell her and they could execute it perfectly when the right time presented itself. Right? And that’s all going to be shoved into like the last few minutes of the finale, isn’t it?

Ah okay so sniper James is going to shoot Teresa through the window to make Devon think he followed orders. They WERE multitasking in bed. 😂😂

I knew it. I fucking knew it. It’s exactly the ending to this episode we all expected.

Finale preview: soooooooo Teresa is barely in it because she’s “dead” and we have to watch Pote carry out her “wishes” for most of it until it’s safe for her to come alive again? COME ON.

#qots spoilers #qots 5x09 #qots #queen of the south #teresa mendoza #james valdez #jeresa #pote galvez #kelly anne van awken #kote #boaz jimenez #devon finch #chicho nolastname #i have opinions they are unpopular

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i-lionheart · 3 years

Text

IT'S NOT A WIP ANYMORE BITCHES!!!!!

Ok so i wrote a fic that's basically this post by the-modern-typewriter but i took the concept and some main elements and rewrote it as a kylo ren self insert because of course i did i wanted a comfort fic and i refuse to apologize its not plagiarism i cited my sources k thx

anyways this is a Kylo ren x fem!reader (but the only time reader's gender is referenced as when they're referred to as "good girl" so make of that what you will). Angst, torture mention, self harm tw, suicide tw, depression tw, safe for work but implicit nudity. Also there's none of that "y/n" or (name) shit because I just personally hate it. I made this for me not you but it totally fukin slaps so read on at your own risk lmao

Tell Me Why

“You’ve been astonishingly resilient,” Ren said softly. “What a shame it has to come to this.”

His gaze roamed over you lazily, possessively, drinking in the sight of you. You were bound, gagged, and strapped down to an interrogation table. In his personal quarters, of all places.

You would trade every star in the galaxy to be anywhere but here.

Ren picked up a syringe full of clear, thick liquid off the tray of wicked-looking instruments that lay beside you and held it in front of your eyes. “I’m expect you’re quite familiar with this," he said, voice deceptively casual. "The resistance undoubtedly trained you to resist truth serum as insurance against the unthinkable. Obviously,” he said, indicating your current predicament, “They are fools.”

So it would be truth serum. You could handle this easily enough. All you had to do was tell him the truth, but not the one he was looking for. Simple.

Some miniscule change in your expression must have given your hubris away. Ren chuckled. “You poor thing.” he said. “Do you really think that we haven’t made… improvements on this since my grandfather held your precious General captive so long ago?”

You swallowed thickly, blood pounding through your temples as your breath caught in your throat. What could he possibly be talking about? Truth serum had been perfected in the days of Old Republic and hadn’t changed for centuries.

What advantage could he possibly hope to have?

Ren lowered his face until his eyes were level with yours. Though every fiber of your being screamed at you to look away, you met his gaze, trembling.

“You know as well as I do that the Old Republic, the Jedi, were weak. Fools,” he spat. “They were afraid to do what was truly necessary to meet their goals. The First Order has no such weaknesses.”

He lowered his mouth and whispered rapidly in your ear, his breath ghosting along your skin. “Unfortunately for you, I am not a Jedi, and this will hurt quite a bit. I only wish that I could remove that gag and hear every shriek that comes out of that pretty little mouth without risking you biting off your own tongue.” He clucked his tongue softly as he stood up. “What a shame.”

He replaced the syringe on the tray and selected a small pair of medical scissors, then began to methodically cut through the fabric of your sleeve. "I would apologize for the outfit," he said sardonically, "but I rather suspect that you have much bigger things to be worrying about at the moment."

Once your sleeve was split all the way to your elbow, Ren set the scissors down and set his leather-clad fingers to the task of spreading the halved fabric of your sleeve to fully reveal your bare skin. He was agonizingly gentle, as though trying to spread the petals of a struggling flower and help it bloom.

His work complete, his eyes and his fingers roved over your exposed arm, relishing your vulnerability. If you weren't paralyzed with fear, you would have squirmed, thrashed, done anything to flee his scrutiny.

Force, please, you thought desperately, don't let him see them. Please, anything but that. I'll give anything. Let him do what he wishes to me as long as they go unnoticed. Please.

As though sensing your frantic pleas, Ren's eyes locked onto your wrist, onto the unnaturally straight cuts and scars criss crossing your skin.

"What is this?" he said softly.

Shit.

It was the last straw. The spell of fear holding you in place broke. You twisted your arm as far as you could in the restraints, trying to hide what it was far too late to conceal. Instantly his hand shot out and pinned your wrist to the table as you writhed in his grasp.

"You know as well as I do that you cannot take back what has been revealed. The mynock is out of the bag, little one. Are you going to lie still, and let me finish what your own foolish actions have started? Or am I going to have to make you?"

Realizing it was of no use, that you were absolutely, utterly powerless, you stopped thrashing. Tears glistened on your cheeks. Your breath hitched as choked sobs pushed their way past your gag. You fought for every inhale and exhale, lungs crushed under the weight of your own rising panic.

But bewilderingly, inexorably, you were still.

"Good girl," he breathed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand from your wrist. When you remained motionless, even without his grip holding you to the table, his hands moved to your elbow and, abandoning those damn scissors, he began to finish what he had started.

He tore first one sleeve, then the other, and made short work of everything else until you were laid bare before him. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Kylo Ren's eyes roved over you, taking in every mark, every scar, every bruise on your bare skin. You wanted to fight it so badly, wanted twist yourself away from his agonizing scrutiny, but all you could do was shut your eyes and pray for it to be over. His burning gaze held you immobile like the galaxy's most powerful vice.

"I know what marks I've left on this body, little one," he said, voice unbearably tender. "I know what scars one gets from doing what we do. But this-" his fingers brushed your wrists, your thighs, your torso, tracing the bar code that you had marked yourself with in so many places- "this is not that." His voice, though still intolerably gentle, was taut, hinting at the tightly leashed rage that you could feel bubbling just below his deceptively calm exterior.

For so long, you had been terrified that someone would find out, would ask an unavoidable question, would see something they shouldn't have because you slipped up.

You hadn't expected it to be him.

What the hell was he going to do to you?

After another excruciating moment of consideration, he reached up and unbuckled the gag, carefully sliding it out from between your teeth and setting it on the tray beside the scissors and abandoned syringe. You worked your jaw, gratefully bringing a bit of relief to your sore muscles and parched mouth. You were so tired. So, so tired, too physically and psychologically exhausted to care what happened to you anymore. You had already been on this table for an eternity too long. Let him get what he wanted from you and finally, at long last, leave you for dead.

"What is it?" he asked evenly. "Control? Punishment? Or something else?"

Your eyes snapped open, wide with fear and shock, only to find your gaze locked together with his.

"What?" The word came out of your mouth in a grating, dry rasp.

"You heard me," he said. "Why do you do it?"

How dare he. How dare he. The absolute nerve he had, to strap you to a table you and torture you endlessly, and then find out about this and pretend that he cared.

"Fuck off," you said.

"That's no answer."

"You don't even care." You glanced away, eyes flooded with silent tears that you were too embarrassed about to let him see. "No one does."

You flinched as you felt a leather glove hand touch you, then realized that he was caressing your face. Stroking your hair. Comforting you, exactly where you needed it. Holding you like your mother did, so long ago. Touching you the way you had been starving for for so long.

How could he possibly know what you needed so desperately, much less be doing it of his own accord? What happened to him?

You finally mustered up the courage to look back at him, despite the blinding tears and your fear of what you might see. When you finally wrenched your gaze up to meet his, you were shocked by what you saw.

Pity. Concern. Genuine worry. Anger, not at you, but at the people who watched you spiral so far down and did nothing.

All this he told you with his eyes alone.

How was this possible? Stars' sake, he was your enemy. He hated you. So why was he looking at you like he was trying to offer you a lifeline when he was supposed to want you dead?

"Why are you doing this to me?" you whispered.

"Answer me," he said quietly, "And I'll stop."

You took a rattling breath in, and shut your eyes.

You had no choice.

"It's everything," you said softly. "The control. The punishment. All of it." You opened your eyes again and looked back at him as a sob built in your throat. "It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

---

"It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

The words hit Kylo like a dagger to the heart.

So that was why you had never acted on the desires he sensed in you, why you wanted to join him so badly but rejected his offers at every turn. That was why, when he offered you his hand, his teaching, his service, a position by his side, you almost took it before you wrenched yourself away. The Resistance never understood you, saw you as nothing more than a tool for a job. And you didn't think you deserved the what he could provide.

The sobs he had watched you struggle against for so long finally spilled past your lips in a tidal wave. He shushed you as one would a frightened animal, brushed away your tears with his thumb, and quickly undid the restraints at your ankles and wrist. He slid his arms under you and lifted you as easily as though you were a child, one arm under your legs to support your weight, the other pressing your head to his chest as you sobbed, the Force supporting you where he couldn't.

"Easy now," he said, voice low and soothing. "Easy, easy, easy- there we go, come on, come on, there's a good girl. I've got you. I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe. Good girl, come with me. Come with me, now."

He kept up the constant stream of reassurances as he carried you to his bed, holding you with one arm and the Force as he pulled back the covers with the other before setting you in the bed. He kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, pulling you close to his chest, telling you what you had needed to hear for so long.

You were going to be okay, he told you. He promised. Vowed to keep you by his side and give you everything he had to offer, fulfill your every need.

He'd give you the galaxy, if you asked for it. But all you needed was him.

The two of you stayed there until your sobs subsided, his hand absently stroking your hair, your tears soaking his shirt. Neither of you said anything, but you both knew.

You were finally where you belonged. And you were here to stay.

#kylo ren #star wars #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo x y/n #kylo imagine #torture mention #sh tw #implied nudity #power dynamics #tw depression #tw suicide #ask to tag #or dm to tag that works too #idk what this is but i like it #fuck it

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legional-amvs · 7 years

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Silent voice

#credit: citric.citrus #song: one republic- apologize (instrumental)#silent voice #koe no katachi #anime #anime amv

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curly-headed-one · 3 years

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The lovely @sunflowrhaz tagged me in this! ⭐️ It was so cool to learn these things about you. I also have a new book rec so thank you for that. It took a bit of time to answer, I apologize, but I feel very flattered, thank you! 💗

I’d love to tag: Whoever feels up to this! It was great fun and I’d love to anybody who is that confident to share and say I tagged them. But also: @harrysblackboa @sryluvidrc @kopfcarossell because I would love to hear from you! ❤️

———————-

picrew!

I never did one before but I loved this! I feel pretty happy with my first try!

screenshots

Lockscreen: Iconic; Last song you listened to: I tried to prove a point about another song that had a similar Verse. & Last photo you saved: I think I reblogged this but I loved it so much I needed it in my pictures.

four songs i’ve heard today

Lay Your Love On Me - Mamma Mia Cast

Animals - Martin Garrix (idk either man)

Monster - Kanye West, Jay-Z, Nicki Minaj, Rick Ross

She - Harry Styles

seven comfort films

I’ll jump in and agree: Every Harry Potter film

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Spiderman 1 (The Original with Tobey Maguire)

Disney’s Hercules

Angus, Thongs and Perfect Kissing

Step Up 4 - Miami Heat

Little Shop of Horrors

get to know me

Name/nickname: I don’t have one!! Unacceptable please nickname me!

Star sign: Aquarius

Favourite bands/groups: Listen, what a loaded question; Let’s do five: One Direction, One Republic (you see a theme here?) The 1975, Queen, Arctic Monkeys... Oh god I regret this already.

Favourite solo artists: No okay for real this is too much.

Song stuck in my head: Honestly? Niall’s With or Without You Cover.

Last movie: Little Shop of Horrors

Last show: Grey’s Anatomy (Judge me all you want it let’s me forget/avoid all my problems)

When did I create this blog: December 2011 (I THINK)

What do I post about: One Direction (I am stuck and I only regret it a little bit), everything I like? And sometimes politics (so sorry).

Last thing I googled: The lyrics of “Make You Mine” (As I said I was trying to prove a point!)

Other blogs: I am trying to set up a writing blog but so far it’s useless @yoursilenceisaluxury

Do I get asks: Rarely but I cherish them dearly.

Why did I choose this url: Because I thought the way Liam said it at the Brits 2014 was hilarious. (Insert frantic Harry Styles returning from a wee to accept their award).

Following: 274

Followers: I refuse to put this because it is irrelevant. (It’s small though I am not ashamed! :))

Average hours of sleep: 6-8 right now (So proud of myself)

Lucky number: 36!!

Instruments: Used to play the piano but lost that now. :/

What I am wearing: Mom Jeans and a t-shirt! (So proud of this too).

Dream job: I really don’t have one. Just one that makes me happy.

Dream trip: Norway (again), New York (I know don’t judge me), Argentina.

Favourite food: Probably pasta? But there is barely something I do not eat to be quite frank.

Nationality: Don’t know which one to put ahhh. Guess it’ll stay a secret.

Favourite song: There is no right answer to this. (Also Under Pressure - Queen/David Bowie)

Last book I read: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (it makes me cry in a cool way).

Three fictional universes you'd like to live in: Pirates of the Caribbean, A Marvel Universe (not sure which one right now; most of them are depressing as hell) probably the original Doctor Strange Universe (Am I a nerd? Nope.), anddd I’d love to try the “perfect” world in Matrix.

Wowee that was a wild ride. ☀️

#tag game #thank you so so much #about j

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mariacallous · 3 years

Text

Both @arathesane and @frankenshane tagged me in this, and since I’m needing a slight break before I either break my new work equipment or walk into traffic, let’s fucking do this.

name/nickname: Sean, and I have a whole host of epithets and nicknames accumulated over 30 years and 2 genders and 3 states.

gender: Trans(woman) (there is no iteration of this that doesn’t feel awkward)

star sign: Sagittarius Sun/Leo Moon/Libra Rising

height: 5′9-5′10 depending on when I get measured (without shoes, obvi)

birthday: Pearl Harbor Day

time: is a construct and has lost all meaning after the last year plus

favorite bands: In no particular order Panic! At The Disco, The Who, Fleetwood Mac, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Green Day, Vampire Weekend? and others I can’t think of off the top of my head.

favorite solo artists: Taylor Swift, Beyonce, Lizzo, Marina, St. Vincent, and more.

song stuck in my head: Currently it’s a rotation between Fifth Dimension’s Let The Sunshine In (so NOT including Aquarius)-Annie Lennox’s Walking on Broken Glass-Taylor Swift’s I Think He Knows

last movie: Oh fuck...I don’t remember. I do remember that the last movie I saw in theaters was The Goldfinch

last show: Probably Coupling.

when did i create this blog: 2010-2011, but for sure after I graduated high school.

what do i post: Whatever I feel like, usually? Stuff about my life and work and grad studies (such as they are), current events, food, theatre/drama, history, Chris Evans and other guys I think are hot (apologies for everything in advance btw)

last thing googled: “cost of living Wilmington, DE”, apparently

do i get asks: A fair amount. I’m usually down to answer them, and generally speaking people aren’t assholes.

why i chose my url: Because sometimes I’m truly brilliant and this was one such moment. More seriously, because Maria Callas is one of my favorite opera singers and I like puns and sometimes it fits.

following: A lot of really awesome people who put up with me.

followers: I am so very sorry and thank you for putting up with me.

average hours of sleep: at least 4-6? Let’s split the difference and say 5. Depends on the day/night.

lucky number: None of them currently?

instruments: My parents didn’t let me do band in school but my sisters did.

what am i wearing: The Loft Plus Fair Isle Poncho Sweater (black/white combo) with black stirrup leggings from Torrid, socks from probably Target (black or a very dark grey), and the black chenille cardigan (with pockets) from Target. I think my bra is from Torrid (front close)

dream job: White House Chief of Staff. Alternately, theatre critic and/or tv presenter (cooking/history/all of the above)

dream trip: A month in each of the countries of the former Yugoslavia, plus and/or a month in Hungary, the Czech Republic, and Romania. Or, a month plus going all over China (I went in 2007 for an international youth conference and have been dying to go back ever since).

favorite food: If we’re talking cuisine, Chinese, hands down. It’s my comfort food, my celebration food, my go-to. If we’re talking specific food item, probably cheese.

nationality: American (derogatory)

favorite song: Don’t make me do this - because the first song that came to mind was “High Hopes” by Panic! At The Disco

last book read: Thank You St. Jude: Women’s Devotion to the Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes by Robert A. Orsi. I’ve got like 5-6 others that I’m in the middle of I think, not counting books for grad school.

top three fictional universes i’d like to live in: Uhm...probably -The Trekverse -Whatever universe The Rook Files take place in -The alternate universe or timeline where Democrats are all-powerful that seems to exist for so many people.

A lot of people I’d have tagged were tagged by the two who tagged me, and so therefore you may consider yourself tagged if you so wish and would like to do this.

Thank you.

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not-so-shiny-shinie · 4 years

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So I got inspired by the amazing work of @natelia-aldelliz and just had to write a little something for their Jessix comic (featuring Medical Sergeant Coric). Please check out more of their awesome art too! (that Togmives got me feelin’ some kind of way!)

I also threw in a little nod to my Jessix Headcanons, because it was the perfect opportunity and I couldn’t pass it up.

_______________________________________________________________

Jesse quickly threw his gaze over his shoulder as he tracked the medic that had passed him in the corridor. As soon as the pristine soft-shell uniform turned a corner, he straightened back up and resumed his own route.

He breathed a relieved sigh when he arrived at the bay he was looking for, but quickly held his breath as its door slid open.

“Trooper?”

Jesse stiffened slightly at the voice, which was not the one he had been expecting. Then he threw himself into action.

“Oh! Sergeant Coric, I was just coming to the med bay to get something checked out.” The ARC explained as he clutched a hand to his flank. “I think I might be having a reaction to some of the flora from the planet we did our last mission on. Horrible rash, sir.”

“Do you need me to take a look at it?” he asked, moving to turn back into the bay he had just left.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. Looks like you’re already headed somewhere, so I’ll just snag one of the other medics. Carry on sir.”

The older clone rolled his eyes and shook his head at the hasty response. “All you ARCs are the same. Think you’re damn near indestructible, then you wilt at the slightest inconvenience.” he grumbled as he continued down the hall, empty mug in hand.

Jesse righted himself before activating the door, easily spotting his medic of choice fixated on a task at the counter under the supply cabinets. Sneaking up slowly behind the other, he quietly slipped his hands over the medic’s eyes.

“Jesse, I’m working…” Kix said with a warm smirk.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked as he removed his hands to instead run one over Kix’s shaved hair. “Could’ve been ‘Case.”

Kix let out a low chuckle at that. “Let’s just say I’m intimately familiar with these fingers…” He took one of Jesse’s hands in his own, leading it up to his lips to plant a soft kiss to his partner’s knuckles.

Jesse nuzzled into Kix’s cheek, letting their matching stubble scratch in a way that made the medic shiver against where their bodies were pressed against the counter. He planted a sinfully sweet kiss to the other’s quickly reddening cheek.

“Wanna go get a bit more familiar with them?” his voice was a low, rumbling purr right beside Kix’s ear. The medic coyly giggled in response, his own hands following Jesse’s as they began to explore down the other’s crisp white uniform.

“ahem— ARC Trooper Jesse.”

Both clone troopers immediately froze. Kix’s grip slightly tightened on Jesse’s forearms, warning him not to dare inch his knee between his legs any further.

“How many times must you be reminded of what constitutes an emergency, which should be your only purpose in the med bay…” Sergeant Coric scolded as he assessed the situation through the rising steam from his freshly poured caf. “Or did your ‘rash’ somehow find its way onto Medic Kix?”

Now it was Jesse’s turn to warm his cheeks.

“I was just clearing him for duty, Sergeant.” Kix quipped back, tone filled with the usual amount of cockiness. “Had to make sure he was top shape to serve the Republic.”

Jesse could barely stifle his laughter at the exasperated groan the older clone gave.

Kix leaned his head back to rest on Jesse’s shoulder. “My shift ends in 4 hours. I’ll meet you in your quarters.” he whispered right beneath his ear, lips ghosting over the lobe. “I’ll be checking over that ‘rash’ of yours, so you better be ready when I get there.” He gave Jesse a sharp, but light jab with his elbow to send him on his way.

“Y-Yes sir.” Jesse stammered as he gave a quick salute, backed into an instrument trolly, briskly apologized for the mess, and stumbled back out of the doorway – his caramel gaze fixed on his partner the whole time.

Coric took a long sip of his caf as he heard Kix erupt into a fit of giggles following the other’s rather extra exit.

“Ugh, I have to comm Rex about some kind of promotion. I do not get paid enough for this…”

#jessix #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #clone medic kix #sergeant coric #tcw #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #fanwork #my writing #natelia-aldelliz #this was so much fun

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wutroows · 4 years

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lonesome town (the clones x reader)

pairing: basically all of the clones x reader. hints of reader being romantically attracted to jesse and/or rex, but it isn’t huge or anything warnings: order 66 aftermath, order 66 in general, death, crying (a lot of crying) a/n: this isn’t really super romantic. it’s intended to put pain in your heart. i listened to this version of lonesome town by ricky nelson while writing this. it just reminds me of standing in front of each of their graves and remembering everything about each of the clones. hopefully you enjoy this. get some tissues, it’s a bumpy ride.

the gravity of the moon felt terrifying to you.

it did then, and it did now.

even there, in space, you could see the remnants of the venator-class star destroyer you’d been on when order 66 was executed. when every single one of the clones had the barrel of their guns pointed between your eyes. when jesse put a bullet in your shoulder.

you wanted to save them all, so badly. the way his helmet shook in his hands before falling onto the floor, the jaig eyes you found yourself so familiar with seeming so far away. rex had stared at you desperately that day as you stood next to ahsoka on the bridge. he had one gun pointed at you, and the other at the togruta. “find him! fives!” the terrified voice of the captain in front of you spoke volumes, and he finally gave in to his command.

you didn’t know what to do then, but you deflected as many blaster shots as you could, and as each clone fell to the floor you felt the tears in your eyes continue to build. they weren’t themselves anymore, you told yourself.

you remembered rex’s form being carried by three droids, R7, G-G and cheep, down the hallways of the venator. you held your lightsabers out, walking backwards at his feet. you didn’t want to hurt them, but they all wanted to hurt you. the doors to the medical bay opened, and you immediately put rex’s arm around your shoulders to bring him onto the table. ahsoka ordered for a scan of his mind, trying to find the inhibitor chip. after multiple failed scans, you resorted to the force.

your hands fell to his cheeks, and you mumbled under your breath, “i am one with the force and the force is with me,” and soon, you heard him speak with you. “you found it?” R7 beeps and ahsoka commands the droids to get it out of him as fast as possible, as by then, there were dozens of clones standing just a door away from you.

you remembered the sound of his guns firing from behind you, and you turned, dropping your lightsabers on the ground as G-G was finally able to get the door closed. “rex, are you okay?” ahsoka said, and he nodded. you finally let your tears escape from your eyes, and your arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug you could muster. he was okay, and he was alive, and that’s all that mattered to you.

you hadn’t seen rex or ahsoka since order 66 was declared. you could only hope they were both okay. if you knew ahsoka, she would always find a way out of anything. you were more worried for rex, who’d known no life other than the republic. the republic was his life. the discrimination you knew he’d face as soon as the news of order 66 went out made your heart heavy. he was just as much of a criminal as you were now. it would be a change from his role as captain.

you remembered the barrel of rex’s gun pointed at your back, as he led you in front of the army of clone troopers. as he spoke with jesse, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander across each of their helmets. some adorned with the markings that covered ahsoka’s face, and others still that same old blue and white you loved. every single one of them. all of them you loved, they had their guns pointed straight at you, and it took all of your might to not just kneel in front of them and tell them all you loved them one last time. as if rex could tell what you were thinking, he looked down at you and shook his head.

you couldn’t help but wonder what you would be doing now if this hadn’t happened. you would probably be with jesse, who’d quickly become one of the most important people to you. you hated seeing them like this. you knew under their helmets, their eyebrows would be furrowed and their eyes would be filled with fiery determination as they were on a mission. this was just a mission to them. they’d give their lives for this. they were soldiers, through and through. you were proud, even as they stared you down through the helmets you’d found yourself so acquainted with.

as you found yourself safe, squished between rex and ahsoka, you saw the venator crash on the moon below you.

that was it.

they were all gone. just like that.

“i need to go down there.”

ahsoka and rex eyed each other, but agreed with you after a moment. they needed closure just as much as you did. you couldn’t imagine how much the situation had been hurting rex. they were his brothers, his best friends. his everything. shooting them, even it was set on stun, was painful. you could see the pain lingering in his eyes then.

as the y-wing hit the ground, you opened the cockpit’s hatch and hopped out, ahsoka and rex quickly following after you. you searched through the debris, and you saw each and every one of them. you took their helmets off of their heads, and pressed kisses to each of their foreheads. you didn’t care if they spent their last moments being deceived. they were loyal soldiers, and they were your friends. your family.

ahsoka, rex, and you, all gathered each of the clones and buried them accordingly. you marked their graves with their helmets, sticking their guns into the ground to hold them up. jesse’s helmet was front and center, and you held it in your hands as you sat on the ground.

and then, you finally lost it.

now, you stood the same place you did then. you maneuvered your way through the graves you’d set up, and said your goodbyes to all of them again, picking up their helmets and guns occasionally as they’d fallen over from the weather.

“well, boys.” you let yourself speak, finding yourself standing right in front of where jesse laid, forever. “i missed you.” your voice was rough, not having the need to speak for years, but now, you wanted to tell them everything. “all of you. so much. i’m so sorry for what happened to you.” you apologized to them again, though you’d done that so many times. “hey, jess.” you sat on the ground, ignoring the cold that had begun to seep through your pants. you looked up at his helmet that sat in front of you, and you swore you could feel his presence standing there. the symbol of the republic had started to fade, but you could still make it out, and the paint had started chipping, but it was still his.

“i hope you’re okay, wherever you are.” you told him as if he were there in front of you, and you reached upwards, taking the helmet off of his gun. you stared down at it and looked right into it, where his eyes would be. “you were so special to me, jess.” your hands caressed the helmet, and you pressed your forehead against it. it was freezing, but you didn’t care. it was the closest you could be to him since he passed away.

his life was short lived, all of theirs were. they were born and bred for combat, and that was it. many thought of them as expendable, but you never did. you had bonded with jedi master plo koon over that. you felt him die then. you found he was shot down by his own troops over cato neimoidia. you planned on visiting his grave later on. you knew there was barely anything left of the kel dor since his ship blew up, but it was the thought that counts. maybe he would talk to you through the force. you could only hope.

your eyes poured into jesse’s helmet, and you softly pressed your lips to it. you loved him dearly, he was so kind to you. he was funny, talented. most days, he was glued to your side. “i love you, jesse. i’ll always remember you for who you were, i promise.” you spoke to him, and your eyes filled with tears as you placed his helmet back on his gun. it felt as if you were back burying him all over again. their faces were so different but so similar in terms of expression as you took their helmets off that day.

“i just.. i wish i could’ve helped you.” you told them, looking across their helmets as you finally stood up. “i should’ve listened to fives.” you closed your eyes, remembering the talented arc trooper who’d solved the mystery of the inhibitor chips that were in their heads. he’d figured it all out, and no one listened. not even you.

fives had come to you in a last stitch attempt to get someone to believe him, and he cried. he broke down in your arms and told you everything, but you believed the kaminoans. you should’ve took the word over one of your own friends. you regretted that. you could’ve stopped everything if you believed him then.

you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, eyes settling back on jesse’s helmet. he was always a leader, you thought to yourself seeing his helmet in front of everyone else’s. you were incredibly proud of all of them. they all died as soldiers do.

“should i sing you all a song?” you asked them, knowing full well you’d never get a response from any of them. you didn’t have any instruments with you, but you still were able to sing to them as if they were all just taking a nap, but they weren’t. they’d never wake up.

you cleared your throat, “there’s a place where lovers go, to cry their troubles away.” you sang, your eyes glancing at every single helmet and admiring each of their differences. the clones always put so much effort into their helmets. you truly did love them so much. you continued, “and they call it lonesome town, where the broken hearts stay.” your heart did feel broken. it did then, and it did now. every single man in the ground below you gave their lives for something against their will. you could only wish they were standing here before you, saluting you one last time. you wished you could hug them one last time.

“you can buy a dream or two, to last you all through the years and the only price you pay is a heart full of tears.” as you continued to sing, you wandered through their graves, running the tips of your fingers across each of their helmets. you felt the crevices and dips in between the cracked paint, and you felt yourself start to tear up. they deserved so much better than what they got.

“goin' down to lonesome town, where the broken hearts stay,” you felt a change in the force as you sang, as if hundreds if not thousands of soldiers were watching you, listening to your lullaby as if you were singing them to sleep.

“goin' down to lonesome town, to cry my troubles away,” your voice broke, and your pace slowed, truly taking the time to remember each of the clones that laid in the graves under you. “in the town of broken dreams, the streets are paved with regret. maybe down in lonesome town, i can learn to forget.” you looped around, now back in the front. you made sure to look at each helmet as you sang, feeling their presence in the force.

“maybe down in lonesome town,” you stopped in front of jesse’s grave, taking his helmet off of his gun, falling onto your knees, right back where you started. you pressed your forehead back to his helmet, wishing he were there in front of you.

“i can learn to forget.”

your eyes opened, staring right into the empty eyes of the helmet you held onto tightly in your grasp. you could nearly hear the clones singing along with you, their voices muffled and distant, but there, “i miss you guys.” you told them, sensing their presence in the force. “i wish.. i could’ve done better for you. i promise, i’ll always remember you as what you were to me. loyal soldiers.. and my best friends.” you took another look at jesse’s helmet that laid in your hands, thinking about how each of these graves belonged to real living people. you never understood how some thought they were lesser than you. “i promise, i’ll keep your memory alive.” you told them firmly, and you swore you could feel the aura around you warm on the desolate cold moon.

“i know you’re all here.” you looked in a circle, wishing to see at least one of them again. “i hope you know what happened wasn’t your fault. i should’ve listened to fives.” you repeated your statement from earlier, guilt filling your heart as you thought of him. “always remember i love you. all of you.” you spoke softly.

“i love you all so much.”

you fell to your knees, not being able to hold your tears in anymore. the memory of them seemed too much, and knowing they died wanting to hurt you made everything more painful. your throat closed and you found it hard to breathe, violent sobs racking through your body. “i’m so.. so sorry.” you cried out, hands desperately gripping at your hair. “i wish you could come back to me. i wish i could lead you into battle again. i wish i could hug you again, listen to your stories again. i wish i could do so much. i took you all for granted, and i’m sorry.” your tears streamed down your cheeks and onto your pants, “i love you all, so much. please forgive me.”

“i forgive you, y/n.”

the voice of a clone was always remembered in your mind, half expecting it to be nothing, you didn’t move. you thought it was only your mind begging for a response, but when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you knew someone was really there. his hand was familiar, and you turned. looking upwards, you saw the unforgettable face of rex.

the blonde sat on his knees next to you, and he looked over at you. “you don’t have to keep blaming yourself.” he whispered out. “rex..” you mumbled, turning to look at him. “i’m sorry.” your arms wrapped around his neck, and his embrace was warm. it felt like all of his brothers were hugging you through him. “y/n.. i knew my brothers well. they forgive you, and i know they want you to forgive them.”

your tears seeped onto his shoulder, “there’s nothing i need to forgive them for.” you told him, and you felt his head fall on top of yours. “it’s not their fault. it wasn’t your fault either.” you felt rex nod, and you could just barely make out his voice. “understand that it wasn’t your fault either.”

“you couldn’t have prevented this, y/n.”

his statement hit you hard, and after a minute of sitting in silence in his arms, you pulled away from the hug. “i should’ve listened to him, though, rex.” he knew who you were talking about automatically, and he shook his head. “fives.. he..” he struggled to put his sentence together for a moment, “we should’ve listened to him.” he concluded, and his eyes finally met yours.

he looked so much like all of them, and you felt yourself start to cry again. “you.. you look like them.. like all of them.” their faces haunted you every day. never did you think you would see another clone, “but you’re so different.” you told him, and his hands found yours, squeezing them for reassurance. the tears in his own eyes didn’t go unnoticed to you, but you didn’t point them out to him. “i could’ve.. i could’ve saved them all.”

“no, y/n. not alone.”

he was right and deep down you knew it. if you were going to be able to stop order 66, there would be no war for weeks and the separatists would’ve taken over the entire galaxy. he was right. you wouldn’t be able to stop it at all, but looking back at their graves, you felt a heaviness in your heart.

“i liked your song.”

you let out a soft chuckle at his words, “thank you, rex.” the two of you went into a comfortable silence, sitting next to each other as you looked at their graves both of you remembered making. “i didn’t think i’d see you again.” you broke the silence, “yeah. i didn’t think i’d see you again either, but i’m glad i have. it’s.. nice.”

you nodded, and the silence came back. “i love you, rex.” you spoke after a few minutes, “i love you too, y/n.” you offered him a smile, and he returned it. “i’ll have to be going.. hopefully i’ll see you again.” he saluted you, and you let out a soft sob. “at ease, soldier.”

you helplessly pulled him back into your arms. rex was all you had, and here he was, leaving again. “be safe, please.” he nodded, lips finding the crown of your head. “goodbye, commander.” with that, he was turning walking away from you. you faced the graves of the clones in front of you, again. “i love you guys. i will always be with you.”

you turned, following in rex’s footsteps.

with one last look across their graves, you sang the last line of their lullaby.

“maybe down in lonesome town, i can learn to forget.”

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