#rain reads the high republic
apollodreams · 2 months
I love when being force sensitive is an allegory for being queer
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saradika · 1 year
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— if you send for me, you know I'll come
[series masterlist]
din djarin x f!reader
rated E - 4.5k
Tags: protective!neighbor!din, canon-typical violence, Nevarro is attacked, pirate invasion, death of pirates, angst, brief hostage situation, established relationship, outercourse, multiple orgasms, PiV
A/N: mini-sequel to only if for a night (but also can be read as a one-shot!) Spoilers for 03.05 - absolutely cheering over “I decided to take you up on your offer for a tract of land” and wanted to explore that
The blasts rain down. Turning parts of your beloved city into crumbling stone and smoking ash. A cry of distress sent to the New Republic. A whisper throughout the crowd saying that help isn't coming. That this time, Nevarro is on it's own.
But you're sure of one thing. Hang onto that hope like a lifeline, as you send out a small message of you own.
Knowing that Din Djarin will come for you.
That he will find a way.
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The Corsair hangs heavy, overhead.
Appearing suddenly, a dark splash against the sunny, blue skies. A weight in your limbs, an uneasiness creeping up your spine as the hail comes in.
Stuck frozen in place, as you watch the face of the Pirate King - Gorian Shard - appear on the holo. Filling the room with his dripping visage.
Ushered quickly off to the side, as the two engineers make a hasty exit - though you don't remember moving. Listening to the sharp back-and-forth.
“Believe your ears then, and don't mistake my hospitality for weakness."
“The Spinward patrol passes through here regularly."
Karga holds his ground against the threats that fire down. Shard coming back for his revenge, for the pirates killed in the streets of Nevarro all those weeks before.
A day you remember well. The day he had come back into your life.
And for a second you feel safe - until you see that confident veneer chip. That hesitance in Karga's voice, in his words, as Shard calls his bluff.
The blasts that start to rain down, after.
That uneasiness morphing into pure dread. A matching fear that flashes in both your eyes, as the call ends, and the droid enters the room.
"High Magistrate, the escape pod is ready." It chirps. Voice friendly, in spite of the dire situation, "I will lead you to the launch site."
"I won't abandon my city," Karga shakes his head, turning your way, "You take it. Get to safety."
And in spite of your complaints before - those told in confidence to Din, about how your boss was too much, too extravagant, too Karga - you can't bear it. Not when you see how he puts the people first, instead of running.
You shake your own head. Words coming shakily, but you mean every one, "I'm with you. What can I do?"
"We have to get the people to safety. Send out a directive immediately." He barks out, and you're nodding. The command giving you something to do - unsticking your feet.
Raising the alarm.
Following him into the streets.
Your fingers key in the codes for the message - the cry for help. The recording Karga quickly made in his office after the evacuation had begin - his one shot before the building began to shake with the force of the blasts.
A message for Captain Teva, of the New Republic.
You had wanted to protest. Had tried to - arguing that there were others that could help.
"He's one man. He might not even come." Karga had snapped back. His patience thin - each second that passed meant another part of the city crumbled, "We'll have a better shot at surviving this if we reach out to someone with numbers."
You flinched at his tone, at the insinuation. The words from the message replaying in your head.
"The situation is dire."
"I'm afraid that our planet will fall."
His voice softened when he saw your expression, "We don't have time for another message. Send it."
Part of you had wanted to argue.
That Din would come, for you. If he knew you were in danger.
He'd save all of you.
He'd find a way.
Instead, you bit the words back. Focusing on the comm code that Karga had rattled off. The crushing bands still wrapped tightly around your chest as the message is sent, firing off with a sharp click.
Sending your own after, with a small wish - breathed out into the stars. These numbers long-since memorized, fingers flying over the keys. The briefest of messages, but you hope he'll understand.
Din. It’s the Pirates. If you get this, we could really use your help.
There's the boom of another blast, the floor rattling beneath your feet.
And then, you're running.
Retreating to the lava flats, with the rest of the city.
Dirt clings to your tunic. Clay dusting your side, your shoulder - from when you shielded a neighbor from a blast, tugging them down the alley.
No time to do anything more than get out. Following the waves out people out of the city limits. Watching as months and years of growth and progress and green crumble. Sending you into the wastes, once more.
Feet aching by the time you stop - shivering now, in the evening chill. The dark sky above illuminated with the golden and red flickering of a fire, tearing through the western edge of town. Sending up billowing smoke, blocking out the stars.
A grief that surrounds you, in the dark. A selfish ache in the way that you mourn for you home. The happiness you had built. Promising to look after his, after that night you spent together.
Having to face that you weren't able to. That there might be nothing left.
The thought follows you, seeping into your bones. Weighing you down, as you huddle in small groups. Fires dotting the lava flats, flickering in the wind. Shifting against the ground as you try to get comfortable - finding it near impossible.
Drifting off, when your eyes get too heavy to stay open. Even with the ridges of rock digging into your side, an arm tucked under your head.
You call to him in your sleep. Drifting off to the memories, on repeat for comfort. Replaying the messages you've exchanged, since he left.
Hoping you'll get the chance to see him. Even if it's just one last time.
Even if it's just in your dreams.
The Corsair lingers. Pirates deployed in waves, pillaging and looting. Those who stayed inside, those who refused to leave, were at their mercy. Turned into captives or pushed around. Forced to smile and serve food and drink as a blaster points at their guts.
Not daring to refuse.
There's not enough weapons left among you to fight back. Not thinking to arm yourself - all thought focused on getting out. Leaving you vulnerable - stranded on the dark field of igneous rock.
There's whispers of surrender. Looks thrown Karga's way, as he stands firm.
Still a beacon, in spite of the hardship.
But you stay firm, as well. You know hope will come.
You believe in him.
The hours pass and the pit in your stomach grows. A man breaks away, a hurried plan to sneak into the town. To try to gather those inside, to see if he can grab weapons.
He doesn't come back.
Instead of gunfire there's shouting now. Harsh laughter that filters through the whipping wind. Trails of smoke still rising up to the sky, where the ship still hangs - waiting.
Waiting for Karga's hail of surrender.
Waiting for the city to fall.
A cry breaks through the stilted silence. Everyone muted with worry - no longer speculating.
The pointing of fingers, as something streaks against the sky.
A glint of silver, shining like Beskar.
You know that ship. Have seen it, in the space between your house and his.
A leaping in your heart and a wetness on your cheeks that you don't even realize - as your shouts are among the first to rise.
Cheering, for the help that has come.
Watching as a larger ship joins his - as it opens, spilling figures with jetpacks into the air.
Karga smiles, as he meets your eyes. Relief in them, as he raises his comm.
"Thanks for your help, Mando." There's fondness in his tone.
You can't stop grinning, as the voice you know so well crackles back, "Heard you might need a hand."
"Be careful, my friend." He smiles, before growing serious, "They've got you outnumbered ten to one."
There's an edge to Din's voice then, the words low and smooth, “I like those odds."
Karga chuckles, reminiscing, "I bet you do."
There's a beat of silence, and then a final request.
“Karga. Keep her safe, for me."
His eyes find yours. Knowing who Din means - your heart flipping at the words.
A knowing smile, as he answers.
"You know I will."
The comm clicks off, but the heat that rises in your chest and face lingers. Hiding the smile as your face turns towards the sun.
Watching with the others as the two ships dart around in the sky. The sounds of blasters layering over each other from within the city.
The bright flash of red and gold as a hit is landed on the Corsair, the handful of snubfighters in the sky quickly dwindling.
Whispers of hope race through the groups of people around you. Steps as they start to head towards the city, as the pirates are picked off.
A groan, as the turrets above shift. A spray landing a kilometer away, but each round moving closer. Spending up dirt and rock and the dread is flooding though you again as it quickly approaches.
“They’re targeting us!” A cry goes up, as that bit of hope wavers.
The groups scattering, splitting apart as they back up.
Your eyes stay on the sky. Watching as the two smaller ships team up - and fire.
The blaze of fire and smoke as the Corsair tilts, and then plummets. An achingly slow descent, as the front tips down, colliding loudly with the rocky ground. Crumpling into broken metal, and the explosion that fills the sky is so bright that it hurts your eyes.
The Pirate King, defeated.
The cries around you change. Fear turning swiftly into joy. Voices blending and mixing until it’s just a drawn out, repeated chant.
“It's gonna be okay!”
You’re among the first to breach the far border of the city. The remaining pirates gathered in surrender, weapons thrown upon the ground.
The Mandalorians chasing them from the bowels of the city, intent on seeing things through.
But not everyone among the remaining decide to go so easily. Something moves at the corner of your vision, as you pass by the crumbling house.
Something tall and broad - turning just in time to see the mottled yellow skin of the Quarren as he lunges your way.
Fingers twist around you, hard and cold. Your breath in your throat as the barrel presses against your chin - using you like a human shield.
Another pair, their skin in matching shades of crimson, grab the older woman and the young man next to you. Mimicking their leader, guns clicking in their hands.
A forced negotiation.
Ice creeps into your veins - fearing that this is the end, when you were so close to salvation. Eyes wide as you look towards Din.
How he turns at the gasp that skitters through the crowd. The briefest second - when he sees you.
The twitch of his hand, as he stalks forward. A blaster raised so quickly you can barely blink before something hot and bright is shooting past your cheek.
Downing the pirate that’s holding you captive with a single shot.
Whistling birds from the Mandalorian at his side taking out the other two in an instant.
You’re in his arms a moment later. The beskar cool against your cheek as he pulls you to him. Crushing you against his chest, before he’s pulling back.
The swivel of his helmet as he looks - paying an abandoned storefront just off to the side. Hauling you with him as the Mandalorians round up the rest of the Pirates, as they finally surrender.
You can feel the few eyes that follow you - the weight of their gaze. But in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care.
He’s ripping the gloves off - bare hands coming to cup your face the moment you’re inside. As if unable to help touching you himself, not wanting any layers as he tilts your face up to his so he can see you.
A slow drift of his helmet as he checks you over.
“Are you hurt?” Din rasps, “Are you alright, cyar’ika?”
The meaning of that word is still unknown, but there’s such an affection in the way he says it. Carefully, earnestly, and it has you nodding.
“I’m fine.” You croak, your hand coming to rest on his. Pressing it against your cheek, leaning into it.
Some of the stiffness in his posture wanes. Your back pressing against the wall as he crowds you, as relief crashes through him.
Staring up at him - feeling the rush of emotion. Making your words soft, no more than a whisper.
“You came.”
His own voice rough, “Of course I did. I always will.”
You smile then, at that.
Sweet and soft, just for him.
“I knew you would. I just knew.”
At your words - the adoring look you give him - his hand is raising. Traveling to his helmet. Lifting the edge, where you can just see the briefest glimpse of tan skin, the scruff of his beard.
Before your eyes are snapping shut, and his lips are pressing to yours.
And oh, how you remember them.
Your fingers curling in his cowl as you cling to him. The moan sliding from your throat as he leans into you, his other hand gripping almost painfully at your waist.
That’s how you feel. Like you can’t get enough, as you curve yourself against his chest. Lips parting when his tongue brushes against the seam, letting him deepen it.
Leaving you panting and breathless when he finally pulls back. Fingers searching for more, tangling in the belt around his waist as his hips rock against yours.
“You’re safe now.”
You hum in distracted agreement, something much more welcome than panic thrumming in your veins.
He’s there with you, hand roaming - fingers dipping under the hem of your tunic. Bunching it up until he can brush the bare skin at your waist. A thigh nudging between yours, your own face reflected back in the shining visor.
Eyes half-lidden, with kiss-swollen lips.
“Din.” You whine, and he groans.
Hips rolling slowly against yours, just as the sound of his name echos.
Lower, this time. Modulated, like his.
The fingers slide from your shirt, but he stays close - twisting so he’s half-blocking you from sight.
From the sight of the Mandalorian that fills the doorway - tall and broad in his painted, blue armor. A cock of his head, as his arms cross over a thick chest.
“You did not tell us you took a riduur during your stay,” Amusement tinging his words, even through the helmet, “No wonder you were in such a rush to return.”
Another word to figure out - as Din’s posture stiffens, shifting closer to you. His hands on the wall, keeping you tucked carefully between them.
“What do you want?” He asks, not bothering to hide his own annoyance.
“Your friend, the Grand Magistrate, is requesting our presence.” There’s the low rumble of a laugh, “Or should I tell him you’re too busy?”
“We’ll be right there, Vizsla.”
It’s a dismissal, and the other Mandalorian takes it. Leaving the two of alone for a moment to make some swift adjustments.
The heat lingering in your cheeks, at getting caught. Grateful that the visitor wasn’t a few minutes later - certain that sight would have been a lot more than he bargained for.
A gloved hand is wrapped in yours, as you head back into the light.
Where Karga is waiting, ready to thank them. A generous gift offered - the land from the western lava flats to Bulloch Canyon, ceded to the Mandalorians.
His smile bright, as he tells them, “You may no longer have a home planet, but you do now have a home.”
That edge is tempered, now that Din knows you’re alright. But there’s a part that still lingers as he’s surrounded by his kin, his words clipped and short.
Stuck helping with negotiations - getting the ships moved to the landing pads, instead of hastily exited.
Unhappily separated, as you’re pulled into your own work. The city littered with debris and broken buildings. Bodies and smoldering fires.
Better to stay outside for one more night - to begin together, at dawn.
The best warriors sent in just to grab supplies. Coming back with materials to set up small camps, tents.
You work on your own, cozy enough for two. Not needing much more space, after hearing that Grogu would be staying safe with the other foundlings. Finding a spot to the edge of the camp of the Mandalorians, hoping Din will be able to find you.
Exhaustion tugging at you as you curl in the bedding, determined to wait up for him. That dull thrumming persisting between your thighs, even now.
Anticipating his return.
But the soft glow that the fire casts on the canvas starts to tug you under. Hazy with sleep when his voice finally comes, the sky an inky indigo above.
The soft call of your name.
A body lowering next to yours. Curling behind you, and you’re so relieved and content that you don’t mind the cold bite of the beskar against the thin fabric of your top.
A stiffness lingers in the way he holds you. As you’re unable to help arching back, his breath crackling harshly through the vocoder as your ass presses against him.
An arm, wrapping around you - his hand splaying across your stomach when you do it again. The thrust of his hips as he meets you this time, grinding himself against you.
“I need you.”
His words - low and rough - make you clench.
Rocking against him with more intent, as his bare hands begin to roam, like before. Rucking up your shirt so he can touch bare skin.
“I thought I would be too late.”
He can say it now, when it’s dark.
When it’s just the two of you.
Those worries finally breaking through the armor, spilling out from the cracks. Extracted, by the feeling of your body against his.
Letting himself breath for the first time in hours. An urge to feel every inch of you, to make sure you are truly okay. Wanting to make you forget, with the only way he knows how.
“You have me.” You tell him, catching his hand - dragging it up to your mouth. Pressing a kiss against the calloused knuckles, fingers warm in yours, “I believed in you.”
It feels silly now, that you ever doubted. Even for the brief second.
His groan is low, the edge of the helmet biting into your shoulder. Hand pulling free so he can grasp at the edge of your leggings - your hips rising so he can push them down.
Leaving them twisted around your thighs as his hand follows, dipping between them. Cupping you, where you’re molten. Aching, from that moment when he kissed you - replaying it over and over in the tent while you waited.
The tips of his fingers finding where you’re slick - rubbing tight circles, like he did in the springs. Each pass sends a little jolt down your spine, a flicker of pleasure in your brain.
Your breath short and sharp as you flex into his touch - a low whine when he pulls away to free himself. Feeling the heavy, velvety curve as it nudges against your ass. Damp fingers smearing your slick across a thigh as he lifts it.
Fitting his length between them, pressing it snug against your wet pussy. Petting at your clit again, as he thrusts.
Fingers focused - no teasing tonight. Gliding over the senstive bud as he grinds against you, fucking your thighs with his swollen cock. The ridge pressing against your folds as his hips roll, adding to your mounting pleasure.
Each pass brings you higher.
Each slide of his hips coming easier, as your arousal slicks up his cock. Dragging against you - making you want to just tilt your hips, so during the next pass, he’ll nudge inside.
Instead, your fingers drift beneath your shirt. Teasing your breast as the other hand makes a fist around the tip of his cock, a gentle pressure when his hips press flush against yours.
His groan joins yours, his pace stuttering.
That low voice coming out ragged, as your thighs tighten around him, “Come on my fingers, and you can have it.”
It has you clenching around nothing, a jerk of your hips into his touch.
“Please,” you moan, the familiar heat pooling in your belly. Winding with each swipe, as he presses just a little bit harder.
“Know you can,” He breathes, “Know you’re close.”
And you are - muscles tight as your focus narrows down to just his fingers. The heavy drag of his cock, so wet as it drags across sensitive skin.
The arm he has tucked under his head shoves beneath you, pressing between your breasts as he holds you tightly against him.
His breath ragged, loud through his helmet - only adding to the sensations that flood you. You own breath trapped in your chest, as everything strings tight.
Each gasping “oh” sending you higher. So close that your eyes screw shut - and when his cock catches against your entrance again, your fingers move.
A hitch of your hips as you guide the tip inside - Din’s moan filthy in your ear.
You come, as he’s pressing into you. Each shallow snap of his hips sinks him deeper, giving you something to clench around as you cry out his name.
A low groan that sounds close to a snarl, as he feels you. Hears your voice break on his name, pride flooding through him.
Not caring that someone else might hear.
Not this time.
Not when you’re pulsing around him, hot and wet and warm. Stiff in his arms as the spark flickers down your limbs, as you senselessly grind back against him.
Riding out the waves - until the fire that floods through you cools down to an ember, warm and low in your belly.
He pulls back, then - your moan pitiful as he leaves you empty. Urging you onto your stomach, as his weight presses against your back.
A sloppy thrust of his hips sends his cock against the curve of your ass, your thighs, before he finds you again.
Entering you with a long, slow thrust - punching the air from your lungs. His chest pressed against your back, braced on his forearms as his shoulder curl around yours.
Helmet biting into your shoulder as he pulls half-out, only to bury himself again.
“Fuck, mesh’la,” He groans, the words drawn out. You can only moan in response, as he splits you open, “So fucking perfect. My sweet girl.”
It’s needy, desperate. Clothes pushed to the side as needed, your legs pressed between his knees. His armor solid when it presses against you, the tent filling with the creak of the leather straps, the smack of skin on skin as he fills you.
Laid out, underneath him, fingers curling into the blankets as he pulls each soft sound from you.
Your thighs still bound by your leggings, making him feel even bigger, deeper, than last time. A little wiggle of your hips as you try to meet his thrusts, moaning against the bedding.
Half-finding your voice, panting the words out, “Feels so good. Gods, I missed you-“
His response a rough hum of agreement - nearly past words with his need. Managing a gritted out, “missed you, too” as his hips snap against yours.
Grinding himself deep, his cock dragging against your walls. Bumping that spongey spot that makes you see stars, over and over.
Until you can’t resist - until you’re shoving an arm between your stomach and the bedding. Reaching desperately between your thighs.
Fingers touching down on soaked skin, splitting around where he’s buried in you. Feeling the slide of his shaft, as his weight presses into just a little more.
It’s bliss, as your fingertips circle your clit. The heavy weight of him - the deep, pounding thrusts.
Din’s voice, so low in your ear. An edge that drives you wild, “I’m, fuck-”
He shifts, just barely slowing, “Want you to come with me. Can you do that?”
If he keeps it up, you know you can. Sending his cock against that spot, paired with the stroke of your fingers.
“Yes,” You manage, “So close-”
His reply is groaned out, a tremor in the way he holds himself. Losing that steady rhythm as your hips tilt, as he sinks just a tiny bit deeper. Listening to the way your breath changes - faster, higher.
Until his arm is shifting, the twist of his wrist as he reaches for your free one. Fingers entwining in yours, as your own vision starts to go hazy.
“Cyare, I can’t-” The words sound frustrated, but he can stop the rutting of his hips - so close to his own release. Trying to draw it out for you. Unable to hold back, as he feels you spread out beneath him.
“Wanna feel you,” You beg him, “Please, Din-”
Fingers circling quickly, feeling yourself tighten up again. His thrusts rough now, breath loud as he falls to the sound of your begging.
A pretty, drawn-out groan as he presses himself deep. Your name, mixed in with his breath as his cock throbs. Shallow thrusts with each pulse that ripples through him, as he empties himself.
It sends you over. Full of him as you come, milking him dry as your thighs clench. Shattering with white-hot pleasure, as he holds you - everything else seeming to fade, to grow soft and hazy.
Taking you a second to realize the strangled moans are yours, mixing with his soft, soothing praises.
Staying pressed together until your breathing returns to normal. Until he’s carefully sliding from you, and you’re doing your best to clean up, dripping and sticky with him.
Finding each other again after, in the darkness of the tent. Not wanting to be apart - not after today.
It feels like a weight been carved out of you. Leaving you hollow, in the darkness. Pressed up against him, though for the first time in days - you can breathe.
A comfort in the tents that surround you. The warmth of the fires, the city now silent.
“I don’t know what waits for us inside.” Your words are whispered out into the night. Guilt still gnaws at you, as you remember your promise, “I am so sorry that I couldn’t protect our home.”
“You did the right thing. That man’s cruelty is not your fault.” A palm strokes down your arm, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. Feeling the rumble of his words as they comfort you.
“If anything, it is mine.”
It has your head tilting up, chin pressing into this skin. Frowning, as you repeat his words back to him, “His cruelty is not your fault either. I heard what Karga said. They shot first. They chose to return.”
He makes a sound of uncertainty, as silence settles. A long moment passing, before you’re unable to help asking. Clarifying.
"Are you really going to stay, this time?"
The hand moves to your back then, pulling you closer. Tucking you further against him, until your nose is brushing the warm skin of his neck. Filling your senses with him - his voice, the warm, familiar scent of leather and metal and him.
"Yes, cyare." He soothes, "We'll stay. And if anything has happened to our home… we'll rebuild."
And you can hear the smile in his voice then, the word home. Because it was before, and it still is, now.
A finality in the way he says it. His own comfort in knowing that you're safe. In knowing that his culture will flourish here - that the children of the covert will feel what it is to play in the sunlight, once again.
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But if you send for me, you know I'll come
And if you call for me, you know I'll run
I'll run to you, I'll run to you
I'll run, run, run
(Mando’a: mesh’la - beautiful / cyare & cyar’ika - sweetheart / riduur - spouse)
908 notes · View notes
sinisterexaggerator · 4 months
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Tech and Hondo Ohnaka (Part 3)
Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)
Warning: Pain mention, fishing (death of animal for food), Plan 99 mention. Small bit of angst. Use of drugs / weed equivalent in the Star Wars universe.
Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.
Word count: 5.1k
Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired my Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone,." :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.
Chapter 1, 2 | Read on Ao3
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Many a swipe of Hondo’s vibrocutlass cleared the path laid out before them, the brigand chopping down branches as if they had personally offended him. Eriadu’s jungle had thickened the deeper and deeper they strayed into the forest, the pirate at once assuring his partner in crime that the sound of flowing water somewhere beyond them was indeed a good sign, as it meant the lommite mine was not too far off.
Tech was relieved to see it, albeit blurrily -- clean water, serpentine, a bubbling stream winding up into the mountains with a waterfall at its head.
Perhaps it was the sound, reminiscent of rain or the calming waves of the ocean back on Pabu, that finally gave Tech pause both physically and mentally, the weary clone swaying on his aching legs as he came to a stop beside the water’s edge.
“We are so very close, my friend. Not tuu much farther, and—” Hondo picked up a motion just behind him, turning in time to see the Republic clone fall onto both knees like a ton of duracrete bricks against the soft earth below their feet. Gray eyes widened beneath four-sided frames, though the Weequay was hesitant to make any move to aid him. “—Hm?”
“I…” Tech trailed off, lethargically sliding off his pack as he sat down fully on his haunches. One arm came to lie against the bulk of his belongings as he leaned against it for support, chest expanding and contracting with each labored breath he took. “I must rest,” he conceded, mostly to himself.
Hondo sheathed his blade, birds scattering at the sudden unfamiliar noise that reverberated through the trees, high-density metal taking its place at his side. He gave Tech a cursory once over, though Hondo was surprised he had made it this far in his condition, expecting the clone to collapse long before now; he had to admit he was impressed.
“Here? Out en de open?” Hondo asked with an exaggerated, questioning lilt to his voice. He made a show of pointedly looking to the left and right as if checking for traffic, then sighed dramatically, lowering himself onto one leg so as to face the wounded man.
“Ef only we had a stim-shot, ah?” Hondo suggested, both the Weequay’s striated hands reaching out to grasp either side of Tech’s definitely-not-standard-issue helmet. Instinctively, he jerked back, Hondo’s fingers left stretched before him. He did not retreat, tilting his head inquisitively to the side. “Trust me, yes?”
Tech stared at him blankly through the cracked head-up display; it was his only means of viewing his surroundings. Against his better judgement, he did not move again; he was much too exhausted to protest any further.
Hondo set Tech’s unusual headgear off to the side, carefully, and almost with a kind of reverence. A helmet was indeed a thing of great import, and Hondo would treat it as such; he had not touched another’s besides his since Jango. Those in his employ did not bother to use such things, nor did he often come into contact with soldiers, conscripted or otherwise, that he wished to have for company for any length of time.
This, however, was a special circumstance, and one with a high payout!
“Hm…” the Weequay uttered, a low sound registering at the back of his throat. Tech found it somewhat difficult to lift his head, so the Weequay did it for him, two fingers guiding him upward as stormy irises pierced through transparisteel with severe intensity.
Hondo concernedly studied this…variant of his old friend's face, finding it hard to believe he shared the same DNA as the long-dead bounty hunter. He often thought of Boba, wondering if he would ever see him again, or if the younger Fett had no time for the old Weequay now that he was out to follow in his daddy’s footsteps.
Hondo tutted. Or was it more of a tsk? Tech did all he could do; he sat there and breathed, dark brown eyes never once faltering as the pirate observed, though he was unsure exactly what he was looking for. He supposed he was still a bit worried he would be left here on his own with the wild animals of the wood, not to mention the TK Troopers that were bound to not give up; should the last squad not return to base, Tech was positive another would be ordered to follow suit.
“Yes… “ Hondo drawled, releasing Tech from his grasp so suddenly that he had to steady himself, head lulling downward as his neck refused to wholly cooperate; his body felt entirely too heavy.
“We shall rest,” Hondo agreed.
“That is not wise,” Tech informed the man who was presently hunched over, Hondo’s crimson coat fanning out like the splendid feathers of some pompous bird  - in either direction -  behind him. The scoundrel squatted easily alongside a pile of varied twigs and branches that he himself had gathered, turning to speak from over his narrow shoulder.
“Juuust because your brain es bigger dan de rest of us does not mean I du not know what I am doing,” Hondo snapped testily, flicking the flint of his igniter stick in an unsuccessful attempt to light his recently collected bundle of kindling. The clone was ungrateful, if anything; Hondo had gone to quite a lot of trouble!
“Starting a fire in the middle of the woods by which the enemy will find us is undoubtedly a poor choice; it does not take a large brain to see the flaw in your plan, though brain size has a surprisingly small impact on intelligence and behavior; the relationship is tenuous at best.”
“Well, I can tell you are feeling better,” Hondo offered in complaint, not at all happy at being so discourteously reprimanded for something he had done a thousand times, on a thousand different planets! He had allowed the clone to close his eyes for over an hour, watching apprehensively Eriadu’s sun getting lower in the sky.
“I, for one, am hungry, and IIIIIII suppose you may be as well. Ef we are tu stop here en repose, den I shall utilize my time wisely and procure for us some delicious fish, ah? No need tu thank me, dhough et would be appreciated,” Hondo finished flatly, at once a bouquet of Mandalorian orange flames sparking to life like the blossoming of some alien, incandescent flower unfolding before his very eyes.
“I have a spare ration bar in my pack,” Tech answered dryly, though he would not trouble himself to check quite yet, finding that he was irritated by the Weequay’s blatant disregard of his urgent warning.
“En fact, you are less likely tu see de fire in de daylight. Ef I wait any longer, poor Hondo will starve while you eat your nasty, chewy, flavorless nutrient—" he stalled, thinking of an appropriate term to emphasize his disgust, “—brick.”
“I am in no position to swiftly vacate the premises should the need arise,” Tech responded, reminding him of the predicament he was in; to not be at his best when TK Troopers – or worse - could be lurking anywhere nearby was disheartening. Tech was not used to being unable to fend for himself.
Tech was not sure if he had been heard, as Hondo kept his back to him, busying himself with something in one of his many pockets. It was impossible to make out what it was, and Tech would not bother to try, though the air was now inextricably pervaded by the smell of something sweet, and pungent.
The Weequay stood, complaining about his back as he straightened out, two fingers pinching the end of what looked like a hand rolled cigarra as he languorously sucked off the end. “Yes, I can see dat,” Hondo finally replied with a dismissive wave, smoke exiting through his broad nostrils.
Tech pulled a face, opposed to the distinct odor that now permeated the vicinity, his eyebrows furrowing to give off the appearance of two displeased caterpillars inching their way toward the bridge of his nose. “Is that necessary?” he asked sharply.
“Marcan herb,” Hondo offered without answering his query, another plume of smoke diffusing outwardly as he exhaled. “Would you care for some?” Hondo questioned, what could only be described as an impish grin spreading across the entirety of his face.
“No,” the clone returned, his tone laced with obvious distaste.
“Pity—” Hondo faked a pout, one foot rising so that the heel of his boot could press down against the top of the other; he was beginning to kick them off in preparation, Tech imagined, the unlit end of the tightly rolled cigarra being held down within his easy reach, “—it might… help with de pain, hm?”
For a moment, Tech wondered about it. He was never one to partake of illicit substances, but the amount of pain he was experiencing was substantial. Still, he would not let that override his common sense, head turning so as to avoid the brunt of its biting stench. “Absolutely not,” he stated with resolve. “It is important we keep our faculties intact and remain on high alert.”
“Make nooo mistake, my friend--  we will be high. Another reason tu try et.” Hondo’s grin grew wider, though how this was possible, Tech was unsure. However, this did not elicit a response, Tech’s deadpan expression the only reply Hondo would receive.
The Weequay shrugged, working to dislodge his other boot; the socks came next, much in the same manner. This left him barefoot, Hondo placing the Marcan herb back between his lips as he once more unsheathed his cutlass to stick it in the ground, hilt up. “I can tell you aren’t any fun,” he flippantly insulted, “probably de least fun out of all your brothers.”
“Fun is subjective,” Tech returned, beginning to fiddle with the crushed bits of metal and circuitry that made up the remnants of his datapad. “While this—” he held up the broken components for Hondo to see, “—is fun for me— that —” he made a gesture toward the water and where Hondo was now rolling up one pant leg at a time, “—may be fun for you.”
“No, et es a necessity,” Hondo snapped, the ridges of his brow furrowing in annoyance as he pulled another drag from off his herbs without it ever leaving his mouth. Hondo retrieved his sword, the vibrocutlass humming like the buzzing of a busy bee as Hondo waddled ankle-deep into the cool stream, this time the Weequay’s expression contorting toward something unpleasant–- he did not like the cold, nor being in the water. It was at times like these that he missed his hot, dry ball of dust; Florrum would always be considered home-sweet-home.
Tech sighed, inspecting a loose wire. “I am willing to share.”
Hondo would have laughed, but it would frighten the fish, so he refrained, voice deepening as it came out a dark gravel. “Not until Mustafar freezes over will I eat dat.”
“Well, you certainly have your priorities in line,” Tech said offhand, reaching for a tool that would aid him in his repairs; he sighed again when he realized it was not there. It must have been lost in the fall or during one of the subsequent misadventures he had since meeting this odd fellow.
“And you do?” Hondo asked disdainfully. “You are tinkering with your toys when you should be resting, ah? Dis es why we stopped, es et not?”
“It is not a toy,” Tech chastised him, “it is a highly complex electronic device used for inputting, storing and displaying information – this one is customized to my own specifications and is useful for all manner of things, including communication.”
“And et. es. broken,” Hondo stressed, lunging at the water only to come back empty-handed. “Stop talking! You are scaring away my prey.”
Tech did not say anything one way or the other. He was fine not speaking to the pirate, as all conversations seemed to wind up as petty arguments.
Hondo broke the silence barely ten seconds later; it appeared he was the one unable to be quiet for any length of time. “Tell me, what else du you du for fun, hm? Dis… fleeing from de Empire must be a favorite little pastime of yours.”
Tech smirked as he finally began digging around for that ration bar he was positive he had in his pack; being constantly on the move and expending copious amounts of energy meant the mostly tasteless, nutrient-dense foodstuff was a must to keep on hand. “Are you asking a legitimate question in an attempt to get to know me, or is this a ploy to find out why I am a wanted fugitive?” he inquired matter of fact.
Hondo scoffed like an affronted dandy, flicking the ash off the end of his joint. He adorned a little smirk of his own to counter Tech’s, taking another jab at something just beneath the surface. “Can et not be both?” he asked.
“There are many things I find ‘fun’ or intellectually stimulating,” Tech informed him plainly, “though living each day as if it might be my last is not of particular interest to me.” He frowned, as he was unable to locate the edible item he had been set on eating within the next few minutes. Everything had its place he reminded himself, although his pack was somewhat in a disarray as was to be expected.
As if cashing in on the interconnectedness of Tech’s statement with that of the task he had set out to perform, Hondo slung his arm back and around to dislodge a rather large fish from off his blade. It flew forward, landing in the dirt near the clone’s feet; it was both bleeding and gasping for air.  Tech was at least able to make out that much, the pirate having pierced the gill-bearing vertebrate through its belly seconds prior.
“Dis es an issue of skill, a lack of comprehension on your part,” the scoundrel returned, “for even dhough you might not be chased by de Empire tuday, tumorrow, or en de weeks dat follow, someting will kill you. Eventually. Like dis fish, ah?” He gestured toward the flopping creature. “Be et soldiers en white armor, food poisoning, a knife en your back from a beloved friend—” Hondo made a stabbing motion toward the water for emphasis, “— or perhaps ef you are lucky, old age.”
Tech did not claim to know everything, though this was one insult he took to heart. He knew exactly what he had intended; it was the Weequay who did not comprehend his meaning, and he deigned to correct him, even though he was confident it would be a wasted breath. “I know what life is, and the inherent meaning therein. What it is to live, and how fortunate it is that I have been gifted a life at all. As for aging, ours is accelerated. I shall meet my end sooner than you are likely to meet yours.”
Hondo feigned extreme concentration, though he heard every word. “You are missing de point,” he retorted breezily.
“Perhaps you assume clones are not in touch with their own mortality, being programmed as soldiers.” At that moment, Tech remembered; he had given the last of his rations to Omega the week before. Their arrival to Ord Mantell had been delayed, and she had been hungry. He thought it was the right thing to do, though unsure why it had taken him this long to recall the event; Tech was beginning to wonder just how hard he had hit his head. “I can assure you we are destined to think more on it because of that fact, not less.”
“Iiii never said any of dat,” Hondo said begrudgingly, capturing what was to be his second kill of the evening. He began to wade back toward shore, fish in tow, tossing it down to join its brethren beside the fire.
“Take me, for example. I am a pirate. What I du does not come without ets dangers, dhough I am of course highly aware of de gambles I take.” Hondo sat, crossing his legs. He placed his vibrocutlass in the dirt, then retrieved a smaller blade from out of one of his endless pockets; the Marcan herb was pinched on the right side of his mouth, hanging loosely from thin lips.
“Dat es what makes life so special, my friend -  enjoyable -  de not-knowing-what-es-going-tu-happen-next part. De risk dat death es waiting right around de corner! Et has taught me not tu take any moment for granted, not even dis one, en de company of a know-it-all who maybe knows less dan he tinks, hm?”
Tech only gazed forward, unable to differentiate between much of anything but the dancing flames and the vague figure of the Weequay whose hand was working at something in his lap. When a particular smell hit his nose, like brine, or seaweed, that is when Tech knew the fish he had impaled was being gutted open, Hondo cleaning the pair in order to cook them over the crackling campfire. “You are saying that I should find enjoyment in running from the Empire.”
“Not exactly, but yes,” Hondo grinned once more, slapping guts and bone down onto rich soil where it would decay and feed many creatures, as was intended by the great circle of life, “for ef you are running, dey have not yet captured you. Personally, de thrill of de chase makes me truly feel alive,” he finished.
“From a certain point of view, I suppose you are correct,” Tech admitted, never really thinking from that perspective before. Obviously, it was always deemed favorable to have one’s freedom, though he wondered what it would be like to relax – to have time to do those things he wished to do.
Being born and bred a solider did not mean Tech particularly enjoyed the missions that he was assigned, or only insofar as he could learn from his travels across the galaxy, but on the other hand stationing himself somewhere, like Pabu for example, would also be beneficial; less time fighting meant more time for research into those realms that truly awestruck and inspired him.
“Of course I am!” Hondo belted, jolting Tech back to the present moment; the pirate refitted the now clean fish onto the tip of his sword. “I did not make et dis far being wrong. Besides—”  Hondo added, plucking the rolled herbs from his mouth, “— I am sure joy finds you en every daring escape. You have a family tu consider, yes?” Hondo gave Tech a sidelong glance as he flicked the butt of his smoke into the fire; it sizzled in indignation before settling back down into a controlled burn.
Tech replaced the broken bits of his datapad back into its holster the best he could, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position so as to squint at the Weequay who was a blob of red some few feet away. “Yes,” he responded dejectedly, thinking on how worried they must be – more than that. Tech presumed he was thought to be dead, and he supposed he ought to be if not for this perplexing pirate. “At least I do not have to worry about them searching for my remains.”
“Hmm, indeed… “ Hondo rotated his wrist, turning the fish he had skewered on the end of his cutlass so as to roast them evenly throughout. “You mentioned earlier de source of de explosion… Perhaps dey think you nothing more dan ashes?” Gray eyes scrunched as if he was deep in thought, “I found you very far from dat… place on de mountain with de bad, bad men… Es dere a way down from dere dat leads intu de forest?”
The Weequay’s inflection was inquisitive, yet also riddled with skepticism. Tech felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he may have to once more tell a little white lie, not sure how the pirate would react to knowing he was the inadvertent cause of his ship’s destruction. Although, they were beginning to build up a rapport. Hondo had said to “trust him.” Tech wondered, could he be trusted? He remembered at one point doubting Phee.
“Not precisely,” Tech started, though he was betrayed; his stomach growled, interrupting him. He was almost glad of it. Perhaps it would be enough of a distraction so as to derail the current topic of conversation.
Hondo’s head turned, slowly, as he simultaneously twirled the fish clockwise so as to cook its underbelly. “And just where es dat bland bar of excrement you were so excited about?”
“It seems I was incorrect,” Tech said, voice quieting, “I gave the last of my rations to Omega.”
Hondo tutted, laughing lightly as he shook his head. “You clones and your fancy names.” Then, he changed his tune, reminding himself of his past. “I suppose I cannot blame you, for I also chose my own name. You see, Weequay have no need for names outside our clan. Et es only when we live amongst non-Quay we take on a personal name. I liked Hondo. Et es a good, strong name.” A partial tale; Hondo would keep the more intimate details to himself.
Tech did not have anything to say to that, though he enjoyed learning this tidbit about his culture.
“Here!” Hondo stretched out his cutlass, blade first. “Eat,” he commanded sternly, Tech feeling somewhat apprehensive as the smell of fresh cooked fish invaded his nostrils.
“They are yours,” he responded.
“You were willing tu share, no? Well, tuday, so am I,” Hondo replied simply.
Tech hesitated a few seconds more, then extended his arm. It took him a moment, as he wanted to make sure not to cut himself on the pirate’s blade. “I thank you,” Tech stated in appreciation, removing one roasted fish for his consumption and leaving the other for the man who had made this meal possible; he took a bite. It was actually quite tasty.
Hondo severed a cord of flesh with his teeth, eating the fish from off his sword as if it was the leg of a nuna and the blade was its bone. The scoundrel studied the clone across from him, then took off his own helmet. He stood, then walked while eating, scooping up a generous measure of water within its bowl.
“It is good,” Tech offered in compliment, though he was not much of a conversationalist when it came to small talk. Still, he felt some sort of acknowledgement was warranted.
“It is, isn’t it?” Hondo agreed, walking back in Tech’s direction so as to douse the lapping flames into nothing but embers that would dwindle and die out. “Now, where were we?” he asked, setting his helmet on the ground. It was the first time Tech could see the whole of his head.
The clone paused mid-bite.
“Ah yes, so tell me, how did you escape? Dinner and a story - one of my favorite tings.”
Tech would take a moment to chew thoughtfully, his mind concocting something he could tell the pirate while also not fully incriminating himself. Lying was not a habit he wished to maintain, though he was still a mite unsure if he should tell the entire truth.
Tech took a breath, then began. “On the way out of the facility, we encountered some problems.”
“Yes, you mentioned dat…”
“Not only did the presence of Saw Guerrera complicate matters, but the TK Troopers did as well.”
“I can imagine,” Hondo affirmed with a mouthful of food.
“My brothers, sister and I were, how you say, making our ‘daring escape,’ when the railcar we were traveling in took on heavy fire and ground to a halt in midair.”
“A sister?!” Hondo asked enthusiastically. “Surely not biological?”
“Yes, Omega is an unmodified, enhanced female clone created from the genetic template of the Mandalorian bounty hunter Jango Fett.”
“Unmodified?!” Hondo nearly spat out what he had been chewing, “like Boba?”
“Boba. Yes. I have heard there was another.”
“Not just any other, my friend, Jango’s son.”
Tech paused, contemplating the complexity of that statement and what it could mean. Technically, this Boba would be another carbon copy of the donor, and ‘son’ was nothing more than an honorary title given to one particular clone left in Jango’s questionable care; he would be the Alpha to Omega. “I see.”
“Du you?” Hondo asked, leaning forward. “Why, what a marvelous ting. I wonder, did he know? Did Jango know he had a… daughter?”
Tech did not have the answer to that question. “I am unsure, though evidence points to no, as Omega has never mentioned her—” he paused, not liking the inaccuracy of the descriptor he was about to use, “—father. She has also never mentioned interacting with the template when he was living on Kamino.”
“Hmm…” Hondo hummed, taking another bite, “so very interesting. Anyway—" the pirate would save his thoughts for another time, “—continue,” he encouraged.
Tech did not want to continue, but he would do so anyway. “I was steps away from rejoining my squad when I was forced back by enemy fire; I left them temporarily in order to restore the power to the railway, but ultimately was unable to reach them.”
“Ah yes, de rail entu de mountain. I believe I passed under it on my way en,” Hondo interjected. “How unfortunate,” he added; Tech would be reluctant to confirm Hondo felt any true sympathy for his plight.
“The tail end of the railcar was pulled from off its track; it was weighing the other down, and I was caught beneath it, as during the explosion I regrettably slipped.”
Hondo’s eyes were widening incrementally, increasing in circumference with every new detail. “Yes, yes—”
“I was… trapped on the other side, hanging by a literal thread as Imperial V-wings would inevitably make another pass. Not only that, but a second car had stalled on the track opposite; it was filled with Imperial soldiers. The tram would have pulled all of us down had I not disconnected its coupler from the other car.”
“Annnd… how did you accomplish dis?” Hondo asked, jaw working as he nibbled at another bite of roasted fish.
“Plan 99,” Tech said, a twist of sadness wracking his heart as he envisioned the devastated expressions of his siblings as he fell to what he thought would be his demise.
Hondo waited; the forlorn tone coating the clone’s voice was a clear indication that this was indeed a sore subject. The pirate could be patient when he wanted to be; it always paid off in the end.
“Self-sacrifice,” Tech further explained, “for the benefit of the squad.”
Hondo seemed to understand, his gaze hardening as his demeanor became all too serious. “A fall from dat height would… How did you…” he trailed off; Tech wondered if he had just answered his own question. Still, he thought it best to tell the truth regardless. 
“I severed the connection. The railcar fell with me. I landed on top of your ship. The velocity at which you were traveling provided enough distance so that you did not suffer a direct hit, however your engines sustained enough damage that you lost control and ultimately crashed.”
Hondo’s face radiated displeasure, askance eyes tapering into pinched slits, yet for a moment he remained quiet; Tech took the opportunity to try and soften the blow.
“I dove over the edge at the last possible second in order to increase my chances of survival; I fell through the trees and wound up on the forest floor. That is when I awoke to find you attempting to rob me of my boot. It was a calamitous series of events,” Tech concluded, at least satisfied that overall he felt less guilty now that everything was out in the open.
Nothing disturbed the silence that sprawled between them except for the effervescence of the stream behind them. Tech could not read faces particular well, and much less so when he did not have his goggles. After a few more agonizing seconds, birds scattered as Ohnaka let his anger flow freely out of his open mouth.
“What!” the pirate shot up, jerking his arm downward with such intensity as he stood that the rest of his meal slid off his cutlass and hit the ground with a dull, muted smack. Then, he brandished the blade outward, the tip mere centimeters from Tech’s nose. “Den dis is all your fault!”
Tech could only agree. “It was not intentional,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm.
“My ship … my men! Dey are all dead because of you and your brother’s shenanigans!”
“I am sorry.”
“Sorry does not even begin tu cover et! And!” Hondo’s arm bat at the air in his exasperation, though he was gracious enough not to cut Tech’s head clean off with the sword held tightly in his hand. “You made me believe et was de Empire! Dat es almost as bad as lying!”
Tech found it hard to believe the pirate had never himself lied to anyone, though he was at a loss at how to thoroughly apologize when the whole ordeal bad been out of his control. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, or, the right time, depending.”
“Truer words have nevvvver been spoken!” he practically spat, Hondo taking to reclaiming his socks and boots right after he hastily sheathed his sword and retrieved his helmet.
“What are you doing?” Tech asked, a touch of nervousness lacquering his inquiry.
“Leaving! You! Here!” Hondo proclaimed, his outrage present in his hostile tone and erratic body language.
Tech shifted, retrieving his bucket to place it on his head, as if he himself might assay to stand and follow. “We had an agreement,” he informed him, as if he had forgotten.
“Dat was before I knew your gallivanting across de galaxy cost me my most favorite ship! And lives!” Hondo idled for a moment, a look of sorrow stricken across his face. “Fortune and Glory, will we ever meet again…”
Tech stood, ineptly refitting his pack, as Hondo began to march in the direction of what he assumed was the lommite mine without him. “I do not wish to be left here on my own,” he called after his retreating form, swallowing down the hint of anxiety that had begun to spread throughout his chest, joining the ache of his ribs.
“You told me to trust you,” Tech emphasized in a last ditch effort to appeal to his humanity, limping past the remains of the campfire as he ambulated awkwardly forward as quick as his legs allowed.
“And so you did!” the pirate said with a dry, humorless laugh. “Dat, my friend,” Hondo shot back bitterly, “was your second mistake.”
Tech could do nothing as he was left alone, a swirl of crimson the last thing he would witness as Hondo Ohnaka abruptly departed, taking what little hope Tech had left of getting off this planet along with him.
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constantlymisspelled · 10 months
Current Project List - 2023
The Works in Progress:
Full spread sheet of every Clone Trooper Ever an where they sit in the GAR
Status: Incomplete
No Order 66 AU
Status: Incomplete
Kesett Week 2023
Status: Incomplete
Lost Property Box
Status: Incomplete
Down Comes the Rain
Status: Incomplete
A Younger Star
Status: Incomplete
Mandalorian Armour Colour Guide
Status: Incomplete
The Supercommando Codex Draft
Status: Incomplete
Timeline of Mandalorian History
Status: Incomplete
The Ones Stuck in Draft Phase:
Cal nerfs Palpatine (it's an oopsie) in a universe where Sheev kept the war going, for a long time.
Taung had their own magic, and it causes problems on purpose.
Manda'lor the Conqueror stared too hard at the sun and now they're stuck in the future with some strange people.
A Padawan from the distant past gets a ghost master from the future.
Obi Wan Kenobi is a joke the Force is playing on everyone at this point.
Stanger Things Star Wars AU. Cal's playlist accidentally saves lives, and Boba just wants his dad back.
High Fantasy Star Wars, including the Isles of Tatooine, and the Empire of the Mandalorians. And some Dai Bendu.
High Fantasy Stranger Things, that includes Eddie the Necromancer Bard, and Estefan, the frustrated Knight who has to deal with him.
Book of Boba Fett Review and Rewrite as an explicit, gory, crime family mafia series starring everyone you've ever heard of.
Star Wars Batman Au (yeah, you read that right)
The Galactic Empire became a bunch of Empires and Sheev is deeply upset by how hard it is to kill a few bloody Mandalorians
Jaster accidentally declares war on slavery and collapses the Republic. In his defense, it was held up by sticky tape, spit, and the sheer will of some well-meaning Jedi.
[Keeping myself accountable by allowing people to bully me over unfinished work. It's the only way to fly! Ill add some links to this when I'm done. One day. One day, it will all be done.]
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septima-severa · 4 months
I finished reading Thrawn...
Oh my God.
Don't give Eli Vanto a cigarette, give him a full shipping container of them instead.
What the heck have I just read? This story is... very interesting, to say the least. I have fallen down the Thrawn rabbit hole deeper than I had anticipated, and well, curiosity killed the cat as they say. Before this, I knew only a few things: he is a Chiss, he held the rank of Senior Captain with the Chiss Expansionary Defence Fleet (for that I have to thank my rather shallow digging on Tumblr, not the Ascendancy books that I might or might not read sometime in the future), and the Empire found him exiled on some godforsaken planet. Except that this man claimed almost at the end of the book, while "negotiating" with the Nightswan on Batonn, that he hadn't been sent to exile by his own people in the first place. Now I can say that I don't understand a blasted thing here. So, had he been exiled, or was it a ploy to probe at the Empire's existence to deem whether sleazy Palpatine was a future threat to the Chiss Ascendancy, or what the heck is going on here?
Also, I got more than I bargained for. I guess sending Eli Vanto, whom Thrawn nurtured for bridge officer corps instead of Eli's dreamed career with some supply chain, to the Ascendancy made sense in a way. Right now, I still know nothing about the Chiss, but the whiff I caught around the internet tells me that they might be superior to the Empire also in the navy training... Well, I guess I'm fine with that.
But Arihnda Pryce. I've never watched Rebels, and I knew her only from some stories circling around. And I've never liked that woman. Then Zahn describes her as a badass who learned how to cheat politicians in the best school of life (by that I mean Coruscant, of course), and I liked that idea. Shows nicely that the Empire has the same plague going on in high places as the Republic. But then she pulls that crazy stunt at Batonn in the end? I hate her. And I take it very personally. How dare she? What will she gain from butchering a whole mine of people? Was her murdering the ISB agent the only motive necessary to detonate the explosives? Really, this was some arc I didn't anticipate.
It was almost laughable how Thrawn went through one court-martial after another, only to have the charges dropped and himself promoted. It might be hilarious to read the scenes of those court-martials themselves. Except there weren't any direct ones. What a pity.
And tell me, why was ISB Colonel Yularen satisfied with that simplistic explanation of Thrawn's? And did he eavesdrop to the entire conversation with Nightswan or not? It would be funnier if he held the blueberry man at the blaster point for some time longer. Like... Those about ten pages of this scene were the best of the whole story, to my opinion, and I would gladly have them framed on my wall if I wasn't bristling over the idea of destroying a book. That was some content giving me chills and laugh of my recent life, both at the same time. And it also left me immensely hungry for another serving. I just need to know where this story will lead the reader to!
Frankly, not many books do this specific thing to me. Maybe because I generally avoid reading a series, because these started growing madly like mushrooms after the rain, and we know what some authors do to their readers: abuse their trust by postponing the next book, giving lame excuses (we are looking at you, G.R.R. Martin, you are the leading jerk of them) - or they write so quickly I can't read their rather sloppy story anymore. How lucky for me that this Thrawn trilogy has been published already. And it's not sloppy at all.
Let's go read some more!
Maybe I will then abandon my wish to play a round or two of Dejarik with this warlord mastermind.
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swctt868 · 9 months
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Book Club read!
Join our book club to read along this first adult novel in the Star Wars: The High Republic Series (set about 200 years before The Phantom Menace).
Due date: December 2023
Click here for more details on the Book Club
Long before the First Order, before the Empire, before even The Phantom Menace . . . Jedi lit the way for the galaxy in The High Republic It is a golden age. Intrepid hyperspace scouts expand the reach of the Republic to the furthest stars, worlds flourish under the benevolent leadership of the Senate, and peace reigns, enforced by the wisdom and strength of the renowned order of Force users known as the Jedi. With the Jedi at the height of their power, the free citizens of the galaxy are confident in their ability to weather any storm But the even brightest light can cast a shadow, and some storms defy any preparation. When a shocking catastrophe in hyperspace tears a ship to pieces, the flurry of shrapnel emerging from the disaster threatens an entire system. No sooner does the call for help go out than the Jedi race to the scene. The scope of the emergence, however, is enough to push even Jedi to their limit. As the sky breaks open and destruction rains down upon the peaceful alliance they helped to build, the Jedi must trust in the Force to see them through a day in which a single mistake could cost billions of lives. Even as the Jedi battle valiantly against calamity, something truly deadly grows beyond the boundary of the Republic. The hyperspace disaster is far more sinister than the Jedi could ever suspect. A threat hides in the darkness, far from the light of the age, and harbors a secret that could strike fear into even a Jedi’s heart.
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fuckyeahlabynight · 2 years
Hey Tumblr Vamily, would you all like to read Eva's backstory?
Yes, this is Eva's actual canon backstory, from Josephine McAdam herself. She gave me permission to share it.
(Part 1 of 3)
Part 2
Part 3
Eva's birth name was Evangeline Mary Watson. She was born July 16, 1947 in New York.
Her father, Earl, was in government, her mother Lois was a homemaker.
The 60's turned Eva into a hippie - peace and love and trying to help others be heard.
She changed her surname to "Dawn."
Joined the Peace Corps right out of high school at age 18 (1965) and went to the Dominican Republic.
Became a Wicca and protested the Vietnam War.
Went to Woodstock with her Wicca friends... and met Katya.
Was embraced on Aug. 17, 1968.
July 16, 1947, Evangeline Mary Watson was born. Her parents Lois and Earl were both upstanding citizens who believed strongly in their government. Earl worked for the local government in New York, and both were early supporters in upholding civil rights and being a good moral citizen. Lois in particular would heavily influence Evangeline as she spent her early years through the 50s, watching her mother never quite heard or appreciated for the insights she had by the rest of society around her, all the while remaining steadfast in her views. The last and most influential parts of Evangeline’s mortal life would take place in the 60s, however, living through her teen years during a monumental time of change and revolution in the United States. Driven by her need to help lift others up and be heard, in a way her own mother never was, and watching so many of her friends shipped off to war never to be seen again, Evangeline became a staunch advocate of peace, love and acceptance during these times. She would change her name to Evangeline Dawn - believing that she could be part of bringing in a new Dawn of hope for so many, involve herself in rallies, and race through highschool as fast as she could to join the Peace Corps directly after graduating. In 1965 at 18 years of age, Evangeline would go with the Peace Corps to the Dominican Republic, invited by Juan Bosch’s government at the time. It was not long after arriving that he would be overthrown, and she would experience war break out all around her with US occupation and interference. She stood her ground with the other Peace Corps Volunteers to heavily oppose the US Marines and right-wing military coup taking place. Her experiences with the Peace Corps would lead to her beliefs of independence and actions tied to her ethics over any loyalty to a government body. Account from the Peace Corps in the Dominican Republic It is also during this time that she would be introduced by fellow Peace Corps members, to the Right Hand path of the Wicca movement. These practices would often be used in their aid of those in need in Santo Domingo. Her interest in the development of the Wicca movement back in the US, and need to be heard in the dissent against the Vietnam War, would ultimately be what brought her back in 1968. When some of her other practicing Wiccan friends suggested going to Woodstock for “3 days of Peace & Music” all together, she jumped at the idea. They would provide Tarot readings, share their love and kindness with others… and meet all sorts of individuals. Night of Embrace - August 17th, 1969 - Woodstock On the first night of Woodstock, Eva would cross paths with Katya, whom she would offer a Tarot reading. Katya was highly entertained and they both immediately connected on a spiritual and emotional level. They would spend the following nights meeting back up and talking well into the twilight hours before parting ways to meet again the next night. On the third and final night of Woodstock, a day filled with rain and bliss for Evangeline, Katya would ask if she trusted her, and wanted to take a step that would allow her to help others in a much more powerful sense than she was currently able to. Katya would give her a ring, and Evangeline a crystal ball in return, confessing their love for one another. That night, Evangeline was embraced.
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thrawns-babygirl · 1 year
Blue Chapter 1
So I'm trying my hand at a multichapter OC x Canon fic and wanted to post the first part to see what people think.(I'll think of a better title later dont @ me)
This is the OC info
Summary: After numerous Traumatic events as a front line medic for the Grand Army of the Republic, Dr Izrin Voz takes a post on Kamino, wanting a break from the gruesome realities of war while still helping the clones as best she could. While there, she meets Clone Force 99 and gets involved with their aloof sniper. Pairing: OC x Crosshair
Pre-Echo to start off with, it's going to follow canon as best as I can with a potential divergent point. Eventual Smut. No relationships in this part, this is just giving y'all a bit of an idea about Izrin's character.
Pls give feedback because this is my firs time writing OC x Canon so I wanna know what everyone thinks. Thank you for reading my loves <3
Izrin took a deep breath before walking of the transport surrounded by various clones and other medical personnel. A permanent placement on Kamino was never something that she was really expecting, nor that she ever really wanted before now, but life is funny like that sometimes.
After long stints aboard different venator class ships, working among some of the best and bravest clones in the galaxy, after watching those same clones be marched to their deaths repeatedly while there was nothing she could do to help, she was ready for some routine. With one final look towards the pilot, she took her small bag of personal belongings and marched off the ramp with her head held high.
At the bottom of the ramp was a Kaminoan woman, beside her a small human girl. “You must be doctor Voz” the kaminoan spoke in the intonation typical to her species, voice soft and melodic as she inclined her head slightly in greeting “I am Nala Se, chief Medical Scientist on Kamino, you will be reporting directly to me during your term here. My assistant, Omega, will take your bag to your room.” She motioned towards the small girl next to her who gave her a small wave before grabbing your bags and retreating out of the rain into the building. “Come, we have much to discuss” with that Nala Se turns and leads Izrin into the large cloning facility on Tipoca city.  While walking through the winding, sterile white halls, the Kaminoan tells Izrin about her duties here on Tipoca City, while being quite overt in her displeasure about having an outsider involved in her operation.
This is fine, Izrin thought to herself, as she watched a young group of clones no older than ten or eleven walk down the halls, as long as I’m here I don’t have to watch them march to their death. I can help them in my own way. Nala Se stopped walking in front of a door, uniform with each of the other doors along the seemingly never ending hallway “This is to be your office. You will be examining cadets and clearing them for active service, should you have any questions, your comm has my frequency. I trust you will perform up to our standards.” Without another word Nala Se turned and walked down the long hallway, presumably to her own lab or wherever she worked from.
With another sigh, Izrin opened the door to be greeted with yet another sterile white room, fitted with two beds, a small desk with a terminal on top of it and various medical equipment. She could do this. She could.
The first few weeks passed by in a blur, wake up in her tiny quarters to the ever present Kamino rain, eat whatever slop was served in the cafeteria, check over various squads for anything that would stop them from performing less than optimally out on the field and repeat.
“Something on your mind doc?” the clone trooper she was checking over currently looking up at her with those bright eyes. The eyes of a man who hasn’t seen the front lines yet, the eyes of a man who didn’t know what horrors awaited him after he left the safety of the walls of Tipoca City. “Nothing CT-0216, still just getting a feel for how everything works around here” she smiled down at him before looking up at the readouts from his blood work. Another totally healthy clone, another piece of meat for the Republic to throw at the seemingly never ending waves of battle droids.  “Please, call me Cutter” he smiled.
She both loved and hated it when the clones would tell her their names. Knowing their names made it harder for her to send them out, to send them away from their safe haven. Knowing their names made it harder for her to forget the names of the other clones that she was not allowed to put in her mission reports, reduced to only their numbers, regardless of which Jedi general she served under it was always the same. Log the CT number as deceased and move on with the war. Swallowing the lump in her throat she looked down at Cutter with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes “Well Cutter you’ve got a clean bill of health, I’ll send your file through and you and the rest of your squad should be getting your first assignment in the next few rotations”
You don’t want this, she thought. You don’t want to be there, you don’t know what its like for you out there, but the look of fire and determination on Cutter’s face made her bite her tongue. This is what he wants she had to remind herself. This is what he was designed for. Thankfully, Cutter was her last patient of the day, having already seen the rest of his squad, she could retire to her quarters soon. She could log the rest of the files, forget their names and let sleep overtake her. Not long to go now.
“You’re a legend doc, I’ll see you around” she couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, no matter how misplaced it was “You stay safe out there trooper” and with one final nod, he was gone. Gone but not forgotten. No matter how hard she tried she could never truly forget them, any of them.
Reclining back into her chair, setting her glasses down on the desk and running a hand over her face and letting her hair down from its regulation bun, Izrin fixed her eyes on her terminal. Not long to go now.
A chime at her door alerted her to a visitor, hurriedly pulling her hair back should Nala Se be coming to check on her, she opened the door to reveal Omega standing there with a bright smile on her face. Izrin couldn’t help but smile back at the young clone. Omega had such an infectious enthusiasm that was impossible not to share, she held up a cup of caf before walking over and sealing the door behind her.
“Did you hear? 4 more successful missions! They should be on their way back now! Maybe Nala Se will let me talk to them this time” Omega puts the caf in front of her on the desk before sitting in the seat opposite, fidgeting with nervous energy. “Omega, I don’t track Clone Force 99’s mission reports like you do, but I’m glad their doing well” she gave the girl a small smile before putting her glasses back on and sipping on her caf, slightly sweet just how she liked it. “They aren’t just doing well Iz, they are unbeatable! You should meet them, they are so cool” Omega was spinning slightly on the chair, a stark reminder that she was, in fact, still a child.
“Meg, how do you know they’re cool if you haven’t spoken to them?” Omega frowned and Izrin inwardly cringed, maybe that was the wrong thing to say.
“Well… I just know. I think you’d like ‘em. If they get back to base tonight, you could watch while Nala Se does their post mission check-up. She never lets me join; I don’t know why… But I’m sure she wouldn’t have any issues with you tagging along” her smile really was infectious, “And why would I want to do that Meg?” Izrin asked, eyebrow raised as Omega shrank slightly into her seat. Caught. “Well… if you meet them… maybe you could bring me along some time and you could introduce me” she was looking up at her with such hopeful eyes. Curse this small child for having her wrapped around her finger. With a resigned sigh, Izrin places her now empty mug down on the desk. “Alright Omega, if Nala Se lets me join her when they return to base I’ll see what I can do. But absolutely no promises, she is not exactly my biggest fan” and as though speaking her name summoned her to Izrin’s office, Nala Se walks through the door eyes training on Omega.
“We have much work to do Omega, please stop distracting Dr. Voz from hers” Omega looks sheepish but quickly gets to her feet following Nala Se out of the office before giving Izrin a quick wave. “See ya Iz, have a good night” The door swooshes shut behind her and the young Pantoran is left with nothing but a pile of reports to submit and her thoughts. Maybe she would meet this Clone Force 99, if for no other reason than to help Omega meet her brothers. The kid deserved some joy in life and if meeting these specific clones would do that for her then who was she to deny her. Izrin was never the best around kids, but Omega felt like an old soul, far too old for her age and it made her sad. Kids should be allowed to just be kids.
Hours later, the conversation with Omega having slipped from her mind, after submitting her final reports for the night and wiping her weary eyes, the sound of her comm chiming gives her a slight scare, the ID telling her that Nala Se is requesting her presence in the other side of the medical wing. Odd she thought, what could Nala Se want with her at this hour. With a frown and one final look over her office she makes her way to the indicated room, bones aching after working for the last 12 standard hours before standing in front of a door that looks identical to her own, hearing boisterous laughter from inside.
Of course, these must be the clones that Omega was talking about, but… she didn’t talk to Nala Se about them, maybe Omega had taken it upon herself to volunteer her for this. Shaking her head at the young girl’s antics, she inputs a code into the door and steps inside to meet the… clones? These guys didn’t look like standard clones, while they shared a few similar features, these ones all looked vastly different.
Doesn’t that defeat the idea of… clones?
Her attention was initially drawn to the source of the loud laughter she had heard out in the hall, a hulking mass of muscle clad in a Republic issue black under suit had a grey haired clone in a headlock. The former with a massive smile on his face while the latter… well if looks could kill. Scanning the rest of the room, she saw one with long hair and a bandanna, half of his face covered in dark ink, speaking softly to a clone wearing goggles with his head down in a datapad. Nala Se was nowhere to be found, leaving her seemingly alone with the clones.
The one in the bandanna turned to face her before addressing the rest of his brothers. “Boys we got company, quit messing around” his tone was authoritative, the leader of the squad by the looks of things. All eyes in the room landed on her, making Izrin shift uncomfortably on her feet. “I’m Dr. Voz, Nala Se instructed me to meet her here” she managed to keep her voice steady as her gaze flicked from one clone to the other.
“Yeah she said something about needin’ to do something else and that she sent another doctor down. I’m Hunter” he was definitely the leader, but she didn’t get long to think about it before the goggled man started talking “you are a Pantoran” he stated, adjusting his goggles. She smiled, stifling a slight chuckle “what gave it away?” the clone takes in a breath, looking like he’s about to go on a rant about the defining physical characteristics of Pantorans when he was interrupted by the grey-haired clone “tch she’s joking Tech” he says putting a toothpick in his mouth. The one with the goggles, Tech, seemed to deflate slightly before the massive clone with bulging muscles walked over “yeah ignore him, he can talk for hours about anything and we gotta get to the cafeteria before they stop servin’ food” he beams.
Hunter sighs, shaking his head “this is Wrecker, Crosshair and Tech, we’re Clone Force 99.”
Maybe Omega was right, maybe she did like these clones.
didnt add my taglist for this one but let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts
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dukeoftheblackstar · 1 year
Come Away With Me
Summary: N/A [I want you to read this and figure it out yourself @amorfista ♥] Edit: I was gonna put something here, but nah. You got this babe!
Pairing: Me and my husband, Plo. You and yo husband, Savage.
Word Count: 2.3k
Rating: Not telling. KTNXBAI. Edit: Angst / Fluff
Notes: I couldn’t write for Savage because I know very little of him apart from what I got from you. But I trust how you draw him, trust how you speak of him, trust even the insecurities that make you crumble about him; I trust you. Trust. ~ Many thanks to @botherbother-blog because I also needed quick consult over Savage ♥ Appreciate it, my friend! ♥
Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: Me - because babe, I have no self-control and I wanna be part of this because I made it for you? ilsym ♥ Red: Also me because still, no self-control omfg? Blue: You ♥ Green: Thoughts, You ♥ Yellow: Savage Opress Purple: Song ♥
Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥
Thank you for being unapologetically you ♥
So please play this first because I will be so angry if you didn't ♥ - I want you to be upset first because omg, babe need you to be conflicted? Because I can't carry the pain of it all? Because I'm just genuinely unhinged as a default? - Okay, done? Good. Now, pull up the second song, set it on loop and then die with meeeeeeeeeeeee ♥ Please play this in loop ♥
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“Have we a deal, sunshine?”
It would have been a full-on collision if the 212th was among the 501st and 104th raining heavily from all possible entryways of the cavernous haven that held the crowned princes captive — entourage had been wiped clean by the Republic’s finest. The unsung hunter with an idle rifle lax on her side had sashayed her way past scouts and troops that now chatter in doubt whether they have procured tampered intel from a now deemed incredulous source, or they have been bested by elusion. 
“Come on big boy, Mommy doesn’t have all day. Well — she does but, you know what I mean.”
The timing couldn’t even be more perfect as distant howling from wolves stalked and seeped through cracks in between boulders piled over. The choice was simple; escape with a ‘yes’ or die with a ‘no’ — never anything in between.
He didn’t have to say anything after a very audible scoff — now whether that was directed at the huntress, the situation at bay, or the fact that a very disgruntled Maul paced impatiently and seethed so horrendously that it was, as the huntress would often say ‘sus-vibes’.
“Count to three, always three — never more, never less, yes?” 
Pleased beyond compare, she tossed two small chip-like devices with singular buttons that beeped in unison; one in vibrant tangerine and the other of coy periwinkle. As they vanish in comparison to the striped palms that cradled them like fragile glass, the huntress takes a step forward and gently taps his cheek thrice; always three — never more, never less.
“Tangie (tangerine) go boom, Peri (periwinkle) go zoom.”
And just as she said and slithered through a makeshift tunnel and up onto the sandy grains, she clicked her ankles twice and activated the thrusters — watching the sparks ignite that needed one more tap to get it going; always three — never more, never less.
“You’ve surely outdone yourself, P. I have to say, I’m digging the vibe.” “High praise, high praise.” “Hey! That’s not very Kel Dor of you. You’re supposed to say something regal and … proper.” “...”
“...” “Well, go on. Don’t keep me hanging, babylove.” “Very well.” Plo clears his throat and procures a very dignified baritone response. “Exalted preeminence…?” “Babe, you know that was shit, right?” “Language, my sweet. But yes, that was indeed…” Plo merely sighed, nodded and backed away. “Now come along, my darling.”
Come away with me in the night
And so he finds you again, laying in the designated cot under the comfort of your own insecurities.
“Hey. You stop that now or I will come get you myself and break every horn on his head.” 
You laughed, at least you thought you did — willed yourself to believe in the lie that you’ve woven with such grace that it would put kings and queens to shame; the same lie you’ve meticulously etched upon every touch, every breath, every thought, every word that would always fall upon deaf ears. Not because they refused to listen, but because you knew that even the faintest of whispers would be too loud.
— too. damn. loud.
So you deny yourself in fear of becoming more than the encumbered weight upon shoulders that have already sagged from the avoirdupois of the galaxy itself; repulsed by the conundrum of hate and love in the same sentence that you’ve starved yourself of and from his anger, that you have surrendered yourself to the role of dirt — a maid droid with some, at best, questionable information that would endure Maul’s relentlessness that Savage would always make sure he would never cross a line. 
“I mean it, babe. I will break all his kriffin’ horns and grind —”
You can’t help but wonder if gratitude is enough; you accept it under the premise that they stay with you — or that they allow you to stay with them. To be given that privilege, to bask in their greatness; to worship him and all encompassing him — to surrender in hopes of a morsel of trust, if not affection.
“I’m fine — I promise! Please, just… Go faff over Plo or something.”
You laughed, at least you thought you did — willed yourself to believe that this was your resplendent point of no return; that this was the grandiose moment in which you would liberate yourself from the shackles you’ve adorned like fine jewelry to match the king himself. 
That maybe if you had been as beautiful as he is; had painted your nails at a point, had bruised your lips with the finest rouge, or have held your hair in a seductive knot that bore not only your skin but the desolation of your soul  with each passing moment that you’ve shed tears that would just… not… stop.  
That maybe if you had presented yourself or have written a masterpiece with an allure so potent, trust would have fallen so callously  upon sweet hands for the taking. That maybe if you had a better hold on emotions that spilled with such rawness, you would not have wept so much and had offered joy — not this. 
This…. This painful existence has made you doubt every reason to linger. That beyond how much you might love him, there is no longer any cause to continue this charade — this unnerving circus of a concept that for him to be angry, for him to bestow upon you this carnal need of fury, he would first have to care about you. 
That maybe… 
“We leave in half an hour. Prepare yourself.”
And you indeed do as you’re told;  prepare yourself devoid of candor that you’ve stayed true to your purpose — a maid droid with some, at best, questionable information that would endure Maul’s relentlessness that Savage would always make sure he would never cross a line. But at this moment, it was only Savage. 
Savage who needed something, anything; a massage, a clean up, food, a pilot — something, anything, everything but you.
“Borrowed.” Heavy like fluids that taint your cheeks with salt, his voice rumbles, but soft? — soft like velvet ribbons that knot quaintly around your neck as you board a smaller ship. You nodded, tugged by the galvanic tune of his voice that drew your feet onto the ramp and your hand — heavens, your hand, your beautiful, blessed hand that had touched me with such divinity that it revealed the sacrilegious tenderness of your heart. Your beautiful, delicate, exquisite heart that I would die for — that honors each passing second to be called a friend. [ I love you ♥ I’m such a sap! ]
Maker, break me — smite me from where I stand for there is no place in the vastness of the galaxy do they belong other than upon his.
Come away with me in the nightCome away with me
With her heart? Like come on, Savage.  You gotta put in the work, babe!
He’s held your hand once before, right? When fingers brushed as you served him sustenance while Maul hissed on the side like a proper untrusting ball of fiery rage, glaring daggers at Savage who held onto his saber. You’ve brushed upon stern shoulders and arms when the wound needed cleaning and or the mechanical contraption failed to accommodate an angle — just as you have, but once, placed upon the sweetest kiss of your fingertips along the broken crown that did very little to diminish the sovereign he has on you while you applied whatever it was that made him groan, grunt, and sigh some few nights ago. 
When he had taken you by the wrists because you’ve flown far too close to the sun — now whether it was the liquid gold of his entirety or the kindled orbs of his soul, it had been all but a blur.
And I will write you a songCome away with me on a bus
“Are…. Are you comfortable?” And once more, that velveteen ribbon had knotted even tighter, forcing you to swallow what little life you had left, what little dignity you thought should have been robbed of you. And so you do as you always do, starve. 
Come away where they can't tempt us with their lies
“Yes, my lord.” Fallen from grace, hazel meets the silver flooring of the ship — hands seek straps to bury yourself in the comfort of the chair, distancing yourself from tempestuous Gods of Celestia who a friend had devoted her nights to pray for you, of you, to you, with you, always and a day as she says.
[ Yes, it be me, bestie ♥ I pray you for and happy things ♥ ]
And I want to walk with you On a cloudy day
“Auroras.” The journey was silent, never loud with Savage — never, only with Maul. And indeed, Auroras — a burst of lights mangled by a plethora of colors that had painted the sky of fine blues and purples, of greens and pinks, tangies (tangerine) and peries (periwinkle), but never a shade finer than the sun that glimmered on the very face that had consumed you — mind, body, heart, and soul; never a finer shade indeed.
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
And now there were emeralds before your feet; fine, lush virescent fields of a vacant park that overlooked a river of sorts and mud. And beyond, by where lonely rivers flow to sea, to the open arms of the sea, is a table with a pair of chairs.
Your friend had always told you that the Gods of Celestia are always unkind to those who are — unkind to the kind. It had always baffled you how truly kriffed up Celestian Law is, but you weren’t one so it didn’t matter.
You were happy to have a friend — no matter how much of an unhinged bitch she is and how much she thirsted for a certain Kel Dor Master Jedi to an unhealthy degree.
But you adore her, adore her with all your heart as you’ve told her aplenty — and in turn, she adores you more than you could ever best her.
She adores you enough to lie and claim she’d draw you but ends up writing a sappy fic because she has absolutely no self-control and cannot draw for shit and her self-insert game be too damn strong even for herself.
And so we carry on.
So won't you try to come
Unforgiving were the short gusts of wind that blew locks of hazel over your face that had seemingly pulled you into arms lean and muscular, yet gentle. The same pull that drew the sun back into your smaller frame and a marked fingers sprawled to caress your face with such a dignified stroke, it had called upon the stray locks to twine in between and be lulled to the back of your head. 
His gaze lingered — so did yours.
And whatever it was, be it the Force that trembled the sovereign before you or the Gods of Celestia drawn to this magnificent spectacle that happens to be observed by a distant figure of a Kel Dor frame with his talons mindful over the muffled screams of the aforementioned, unhinged Celestian woman, who flailed her arms high enough for you to smile. 
Come away with me and we'll kiss On a mountaintop
And again, before the crude interruption of the intruders, whatever it was, be it the Force that trembled the sovereign before you or the Gods of Celestia drawn to this magnificent spectacle, it happened.
Just. Like. That.
Come away with me And I'll never stop loving you
Lips so silken and laced with release that you felt your body quiver as it bestowed upon you the highest form of opulent gratification— as if his lips were either Midas’ touch of gold from lore of childhood or one of all deities that hail the sun had confounded it’s fiery blaze of passion upon your supple, sweet lips.
And I want to wake up with the rain Falling on a tin roof
The scent of pine resin permeating the air, the symphonic cacophony of birds that glided over the small city of your homeworld, the pitter-patter and click of silly, little river crabs that assaulted the tablecloth so vehemently that it had drawn Savage’s gaze to the creature before turning to address to the approaching couple.
[ Sorry babe, you ain’t making out with Savage if I’m not making out with Plo. Fair trade ♥ ]
They bore plates and trays of food; an assortment of anything unfamiliar to both Kel Dor and Zabrak — only to you and this bitch who decided to walk in when the kissing was happening. 
Plo, unprompted and perhaps as evenly an emotional wreck as your friend — one could only speculate seeing his enigmatic allure is brought upon by his antiox mask; placed a rather assuring hand over Savage’s shoulder and an approving squeeze. 
“Please enjoy.” Plo Koon would say, offering a delightful nod as you and Savage took to your seats. “I will see to it that your dinner remains unperturbed.”
You could help but laugh as you watched the Master Jedi take your friend by the waist and haul her over his shoulder. You would have commented but he had bested you with an amused tone. “Forgive my primitive manner of doing so, as it is a necessity.” 
While I'm safe there in your arms
You hear your friend whine and beg for, as she calls it, ‘five minutes of tea’ — to which Plo Koon sighed with such resignation over the fact that this mode of ‘disposing’ nuisance (your overly eager friend), had brought him to a defeated and compromising position.
[ Yes, babes. We getting lucky tonight ♥ LOL ]
“A… dire… necessity.” Plo trails off, patting your friend’s rear three times. And somewhere, somehow, you find yourself in chorus with the Master Jedi. 
“Always three — never more, never less.” “Always three — never more, never less.”
As the couple departed, your smile never fading, Savage calls to you.
So all I ask is for you
Not by 'you' or 'hey'. But calls to you. Speaks your name with so much reverence and warmth you feel it in your chest — so much that your own called upon yourself and placed a hand over your heart.
To come away with me in the night
"(insertnamehere). Will you... Come away with me?"
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apollodreams · 2 months
Shout out Master Cohmac for finally saying exactly what I've been feeling about Vernestra this whole time
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dumfanting · 2 years
(Same Heart alternate ending, reads from about halfway into chapter 13)
AO3 Link
Rating: Safe
Warnings: Nightmares, grief, war aftermath
Notes: g/n reader, second person pov, present tense
1797 words
Ever have an idea hit you in the face like a brick? I literally stopped everything to write this out. Note: could be read as a ship or platonic.
GN Reader/ Kix
Decades have passed since the clone wars ended, so it shouldn’t be possible for someone to have found you.
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You want to help, you need to; it is so ingrained into you that it is almost your entire identity. But you can’t do it anymore. So much pain and death, so many nightmares, all the horrors of war, it had all finally gotten to you. You decide that, as hard as it would be, leaving the GAR behind was the best thing to do for yourself. You’d find a smaller city, on another planet, and do what you could there, where the odds of running into any clones were slim to none.
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You’re standing in the small supply closet of the clinic you live and work in on a small, Outer Rim planet. The occasional creak of the building will intermittently remind you of how long you’ve been here on particularly windy nights. It’s another quiet day, and so, with nothing to distract you, your mind wanders to the dream you had the night before.
In the dream, you were standing in the kitchen of your Coruscant apartment, and it was pouring rain outside, high winds lashing against the windows. Aside from this it was quiet, until you heard what sounded like two hands knocking at your door. You rushed to answer, and when the door slid open, you ran out into a large clearing in a forest, an approaching storm on the horizon. You could see a pair of figures just within the tree line, but they’re too far away to recognize. Something compelled you to run to them, but it was like moving through thick mud; the going was torturously slow and every muscle in your body burned, but you were able to eventually reach the copse of trees where the two figures were standing. Their backs were towards you, so you couldn’t see their faces, but the distinct sound of voices could be heard, warbling and distorted. You crept closer and saw that they’re both wearing white armor, with an extremely specific shade of blue. You opened your mouth to call to them, but nothing came out no matter how loudly you tried to scream. Finally, they turned to look at you, and seconds before their faces came into view, you woke up.
You had sat straight up in your small bed, panting, and your cheeks were damp with what you initially thought were a few beads of sweat. You rubbed your eyes and realized that you were crying and a small sob had cracked your throat. You had gotten so close that time.
Back in the present moment, you hear the door of the building slide open, pulling you back to your senses. You absently wipe the stray tears off of your face as you quickly grab a bottle of medicine, then return to the main area of the clinic.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming in Mrs. Dothal,” you say, doing a fair job of sounding cheerful. When you turn the corner, you freeze. Instead of the elderly Duros woman you were expecting, a tall man with cropped curly black hair and tanned skin is standing in the center of the room. He’s facing away from you, appearing to examine the equipment in the room around him.
“Oh,” you say, surprised. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” You set the medicine down on a counter and take a few steps toward the stranger, who’s posture stiffens after hearing you speak. “What do you need help with?” you ask, not noticing this as you approach. You freeze when you hear the man softly, incredulously say your name. Your real name, the name you haven’t used since you left Coruscant a lifetime ago. What’s more, the voice is familiar. Too familiar.
But this can’t be possible, you think. It’s been decades since the fall of the Republic; the last of the Clones had died out a long time ago, thanks to their accelerated aging engineered by the Kaminoans. You hear the man say your name again, and find yourself unable to move as you watch him turn around.
Your heart nearly stops and your mouth hangs open. It’s Kix.
He doesn’t look a day older than the last time you saw him, despite all the time that had passed. “It is you,” he says, and you snap your jaw shut. “Kix? H-how…?” you say, voice shaking.
“That’s… a long story,” he says softly, before finally making eye contact with you. The moment he does, you both rush toward each other, the two of you crashing together into a tight embrace as you start to sob.
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“And they eventually told me how long I’d been in stasis like that,” Kix says, pausing to take a small sip of the hot tea you had brewed up. You’re both sitting at the small kitchen table in your upstairs living quarters that are attached to the clinic.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, gently holding his free hand with your own.
“I tried for so long to find someone, anyone, but,” he says, stopping with a shuddering breath. “There wasn’t anyone left. At least, that’s what I thought, until today.”
“How did you find me?” you ask.
“By accident,” he says with a soft chuckle. “The ship I’m on is low on some medical supplies and I figured I’d try to buy some off of whoever was here.”
“Take whatever you want,” you say, waving a hand and gesturing toward the supply closet. “I’ve got more than enough.” Kix looks pensive and doesn’t respond right away. He says your name; “What happened to you? You just didn’t show up one day. I hadn’t heard anything about you and nobody knew where you were,” he says quietly. “I… I thought you had been killed.” Your chest aches at this.
“I’m sorry, Kix. I really am. I shouldn’t have just deserted the way that I did. It had finally gotten to be too much, I just had to get as far away as I could as fast as I could,” you say. “I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself,” you say, regret heavy in your words.
“And you’ve been here since then?” Kix asks.
“Not exactly, I bounced around on Lothal for a little while before the Empire really got its stranglehold on the place. I just hopped onto a ship one day and went as far out as I could afford,” you say. You pause to sip your own tea, then continue; “I wound up out here. It was rough at first. The folks in this town are very wary of outsiders and were suspicious of me, until I was able to save one of the local kids from a severe allergic reaction. A few of them helped me build this place and I’ve been here since then.”
Kix nods, looks like he’s about to say something, then stops himself. You know what he wants to ask.
“It’s helped a lot, being so isolated and far away from the center of the war. Time has made it easier, for the most part. I’m…” you pause, looking for the right words. “Okay,” you say. “ I don’t think I’ll ever be ‘good’ again, but I’ve accepted that.” You stand, duck into your bedroom, and return a few moments later with a framed photo in your hands. “This was one of the very few things I kept after leaving the capital. It’s all I’ve got left,” you say sadly, before handing the frame over for Kix to look over.
Behind the glass, the photo shows an image, somewhat faded with time. It’s from one of the many nights you all had spent at 79s. Your face is smoother, your hair untouched by grays, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes. There’s a similar light in everyone else pictured. Echo has his arm around your shoulders, Rex is rolling his eyes as Fives and Jesse appear to be butting heads over something unimportant, and Kix is leaned back, taking a long pull off of whatever is bottled in his hand. With everything you and Kix had both been through, it was almost like looking at a group of strangers. After a minute or so, Kix hands the frame back to you and you set it aside on a nearby countertop.
“So what did you need?” you ask. Kix looks confused. “You said you needed supplies for the ship you’re on, right? What are you out of?”
“Oh, that. I’ve got a list,” he says, before digging through a pocket and handing you a small sheet of flimsi with a few things written on it.
“Your handwriting is still terrible,” you say with a chuckle after looking it over. “Give me just a few minutes, I’ll go pack it up for you.”
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After maybe another hour, you and Kix are standing at the other edge of town where a smaller freighter ship a little way out is parked with its engines warming up. You quickly double check the contents of a small crate that you’ve packed with your extra bacta patches and a few other items, then close it, patting the lid.
“Are you sure that’ll be enough?” you ask, looking over at Kix.
“It’s plenty; I don’t need this much,” he says. You dismissively wave a hand. “My own supplier will be coming around in a few days anyway,” you say.
You watch a green astromech roll toward you, take the crate, and push it back towards the waiting ship. You sigh. “I suppose you’ll be heading out then?” you ask quietly.
“I should,” Kix says, sounding oddly conflicted.
“You ‘should’?” you repeat. “You say that like you don’t really want to.”
“I… I don’t,” Kix says, gently taking your hand. “After all this time, and after searching for so long, I thought I was the only one still alive. I don’t want to be alone again, please,” he says, his grip on your hand tightening a little.
“You know, I think I’ve had more than enough time by myself; I don’t really want you to leave either,” you say, looking over at him. As your words process, the gloomy expression on Kix’s face suddenly clears.
“I mean, you’ll probably wind up sleeping in a cot on the floor for a while, but-“ you say, but this time Kix cuts you off.
“I’ll sleep in the mud outside, I don’t care,” he says.
You look over at him and squeeze his hand. “Go get or say whatever you need to, I’ll be right here.”
Without looking away from you, Kix comms into the ship, says “leave without me,” and tosses the comm device into a nearby puddle. You smile at him, the setting sun shining a golden light across your face.
“Come on then,” you say. “Let’s go home.”
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Taglist: @kaminocasey @grievouus @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @wolveria @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @whore4rex
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solaris-girl · 1 year
100-ish classics and must-reads
solaris girl's list of 100 must-reads :-)
( bold = read. constantly updating!)
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee 
1984 - George Orwell 
Animal Farm - George Orwell
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
The Hobbit - J.R.R Tolkien
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
The Giver - Lois Lowrey
The Book Thief - Markus Zusack
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky
And Then There Were None - Agatha Christie
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain
The Stranger - Albert Camus
Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky
Les Miserables -Victor Hugo
The Importance of Being Earnest - Oscar Wilde
The Call of the Wild - Jack London
Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
The Old Man and the Sea - Earnest Hemingway
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Catch - 22 - Joseph Heller
The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
Our Town - Thornton Wilder
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest - Ken Kesey
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone - J.K. Rowling
The Color Purple - Alice Walker
Candide - Voltaire
All Quiet on the Western Front - Erich Maria Remarque
A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate - Naomi Klein
The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe
Emma - Jane Austen
The Republic - Plato
A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
The Prince - Niccolo Machiavelli 
Beloved - Toni Morrison
Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
The Tell Tale Heart and Other Readings - Edgar Allan Poe
Atonement - Ian McEwan
Sidhartha - Hermann Hesse
The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco
Their Eyes were Watching God - Zora Neal Hurston
Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
A Raisin in the Sun - Lorraine Hansberry
The Lord of the Rings - J.R.R Tolkien
Much Ado About Nothing - William Shakespear
The Hiding Place - Corrie Ten Boom
Moby-Dick - Herman Melville
The Last Lecture - Randy Pausch
The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway
The Road - Cormac McCarthy
I, Claudius - Robert Graves
The Pearl - John Steinbeck
The Man in the High Castle - Philip K. Dick
The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
Middlemarch - George Eliot
The Joy Luck Club - Amy Tan
The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho
Angels and Demons - Dan Brown
The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
White Fang - Jack London
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
The Art of Racing in the Rain - Garth Stein
The Godfather - Mario Puzo
The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - Anne Bronte
A Moveable Feast - Ernest Hemingway
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madslasher88 · 9 months
Okay, so I know why it didn't happen. It wouldn't match the rest of the show tonally, or fit with the genre. And it wasn't the story they wanted to tell. BUT!! The part of me that spent my high school years reading some... pretty messed up GEN fics that were rated NC-17 for graphic depictions of torture (back in YE OLDEN DAYS, when FF.net allowed NC-17) can't help but wonder... How would 2x06 and 2x07 been different if Ned Lowe didn't (to quote Ed) torture like a bitch?
Rest behind cut because of rambling and mentions of torture.
So, everything else starts the same. Stede and Ed are caught and taken into one of the rooms on the Revenge, away from the others. Ned is doing his thing with the poker. But oh, this time... This time, when Ed messes up, when Ed accidentally reveals his hand, Ned notices. And he uses it. (Because BOY OH BOY, was that the first thing I thought about with Ed immediately going from flippant while Ned was torturing him, to pissed when he used the poker on Stede. Oh Ed, you done messed up, now he KNOWS how best to hurt you.)
And the actor who played Ned was great, because I can just picture that slick smile and the soft "oh..." of realization. And from there... Oh, the delicious angst. Slow and methodical use of the poker on Stede. Deliberate. Maybe a little knife action. Maybe a some generous use of a cat of nine tails or a scourge, with little sharp hooks braided into the ends of the leather, for extra tearing. But not too much at once! Oh no, it's no fun if your little pet passes out too early, is it, Blackbeard?
And in between, he'll stop, turn his attentions back to Ed, because let's be honest, he wants his blood as well. Making sure Stede has a chance to catch his breath, to keep the game going as long as possible, playing them against each other, watching how much more that hurts them both... Oh that's just a bonus.
And in the end, it ends mostly the same. Because Ned just can't help himself. Except... Now with both of them in much worse shape, having just watched each other get tortured, for real? Would it still be Stede that killed Ned, bloody and maybe barely standing, but pissed off, because he knew this was all to hurt Ed? Would he still have hesitated, or would there not have even been time for Ed to protest? Or would it have been Ed this time? Would a Ned that made it very clear that all of this was happening because he knew how it hurt Ed to hear Stede scream now be "worth the poison"?
This time, though, neither of them would be in any shape for sex, not even of the life affirming kind. They're both still traumatized, and killing Ned is still a mind fuck for whichever of them did it, but tonight... All they can really manage is limping back to their cabin and tending to each other's wounds. And talking, neither of them able to be quiet, because in the quiet, they can both still hear the echoes of each other's screams.
And in the morning, Ed still makes Stede breakfast in bed after dropping his leathers in the ocean. The mood's more somber, but things still continue the same. The Republic of Pirates still celebrates them and the crew for getting rid of Ned.
And Ed still leaves. Except this time, it's not because of things moving too fast, or because he doesn't want to be a pirate anymore, just as Stede is coming into his own. This time, it's because Ned does not torture like a bitch, and hurt Stede to get to him. And because he is afraid - KNOWS - that this will happen again. That others will do the same, others who he hurt or slighted while he was in his Kracken era.
And it ends the same, with the two of them hurting and separated. It ends with Zheng's fleet still exploding, and cannonballs still raining down around them. Maybe instead of Stede delaying their return to the ship by challenging Zheng to a duel, maybe Olu, Jim, Archie, and Zheng are spared from the clock bombs because they talk, or because they can't leave Stede with him in the state he's in.
Whatever the reason, it ends the same. But isn't it fun, thinking of ways to get them to the same place, just in a wildly different frame of mind?
(Excuse the rambling, but I don't have the time to actually write fic anymore, but the part of me that loves torturing fictional characters has not STOPPED thinking about this since the last episodes came out.)
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mollysworldfair · 1 year
kind of hard for me to get that much into sci-fi worldbuilding largely because i can't really connect to the massive scale that a lot of scifi universes operate on, and also i don't find space super interesting? a lot of scifi novels/stories i've read feel like they take place in the square footage of the average medieval duchy or small university town except instead of having brooks or streams or forests in between places there's just nothingness that exists only to be traversed. i guess that's something that interests me about space: the cracks between realities or worlds that you can only move through--how can anything settle or drift there? I find the ocean a lot more interesting since it actually has character and texture to it, and endless variety and power and force, and is also made of a lot of water (i love water!).
Space from what I can see is just inert blank space, which I guess some people find interesting but I find boring. My favourite descriptions of space are from Paradise Lost where I remember Satan escapes from Hell and flies over the broiling realm of Chaos and looks over the millions and billions of worlds being formed before getting to the newly created earth (haven't read it in a while so might be wrong!). On the opposite end of creation I loved Dante's flight through the successive stages of the heavenly bodies toward the Empyrean in the Paradiso. Premodern cosmologies just feel a lot more fun to me.
I kind of want space to still be vast and terrifying, in concurrent to time, and 'dominate' people like in that thought experiment on Twitter a while back of whether rain 'dominates' you by stopping your plans from going outside, or enfold people and civilizations like the roiling ocean in Moby Dick (another really fun Biblical Chaos!).
That's a really large scale thing though and really overwhelming to worldbuild about. I remember talking on tumblr a while back about a scifi universe where polities have over millions of years grown so vast and successful that they became essentially unintelligible Lovecraftian entities that extend both in space and time, ensuring the conditions of their emergence and forming their own metaphysics, natural laws, politics, etc. This has essentially fragmented the galaxies into a mosaic of occassionally overlapping parallel realities that possess no conscious engineering of their own but a directionality to them from which societies of varying sort emerge. These celestial bodies render anything potentially conscious or animate depending on the ways in which they are disposed and formed. Space and time are conjoined and ebb, flow, are channelled, and shaped in various conscious and unconscious ways throughout the universe, in a primordial chaos of innumerable orders.
This is a super high scope idea that doesn't really make it easier to make up fun settings or stories, and will have to figure out how they function in a way that doesn't overwhelm me too much. I also don't know enough philosophy, science, anthropology, history etc to make interesting variations (i keep making up new variations of Space Dutch Republic). I'll try to zero in on particular spaces and times to make things fun, hopefully the flexibility in reality the setting allows will give me more wiggle room for fun or silly aesthetics --more space fantasy than science fiction.
Will also have to come up with what to call these large pocket realities/celestial bodies/space-time-logic worms/multigalactic polities. Maybe Geists? Imagos? Myriads? Will have to look up fun philosophy and religious terms.
Maybe a good place to start is a galaxy/Geist known as the Empyrean, formed from the agglomeration of the Milky Way and Andromeda along with several other galaxies and which itself as being the origin, source, from which all other Geists spring and which radiate outward, gaining being from its Being in a Neoplatonic way. Only the Empyrean itself is a hollow core, the material and fields through which it has reproduced and maintained itself have long gone extinct or been destroyed, creating a space of supposed chaos, with no "true laws", internal consistency, or logic, although there are many galactic powers who wish to continue simulating the Empyrean, or what they can scientifically approximate or remember what the Empyrean was. Will the corpse of the Empyrean grow and birth a new, all-encompassing Geist, or will the sum of its parts become something different?
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lukiblog · 8 months
About the success story in the literature: listening to the miracles offered by Denny Ja
The success story in literature is often an inspiration for many people. Behind each of these stories, there is a struggle, dedication, and miracle that inspires us to reach dreams. One of the characters who have carved a success story in the literature is Denny JA. In this article, we will listen to the miracles offered by Denny JA through his career journey in the world of literature.    Denny JA, his full name Denny JAnuar Ali, is a famous writer, philosopher, and social observer in Indonesia. Born on December 18, 1954, Denny Ja has made many achievements in his long career. He is known as one of the founders of the Utan Kayu (KUK) community in 1977, which later developed into the center of arts and literature activities in Jakarta.    From the beginning, Denny Ja has shown great interest in the world of literature. He has been actively writing poetry and short stories since he was in junior high school. In 1972, he published his first work titled “Morning Rain”. The work received a positive response from the readers and became the beginning of his career in the world of literature.    Denny Ja’s success story did not stop at the publishing of his first work. He continued to hone his talents in writing and finally published essay essay poetry with diverse themes and genres. One of his famous works is the “Magic Country” published in 1992. This essay poem illustrates a complex Indonesian social reality with a distinctive and sharp writing style. “Magic Country” received an extraordinary welcome and made Denny Ja one of the famous writers in Indonesia.    In addition to writing, Denny Ja is also active in the development of the world of literature in Indonesia. He founded the Jakarta Arts Council in 1998 and became Chairperson of the 20012005 Indonesian Writer Association (IKAPI). During his leadership period, Denny Ja carried out various programs aimed at increasing community appreciation of Indonesian literary works.    The miracle offered by Denny Ja is not only limited to the world of literature. He is also active in various social and political activities. Denny Ja was once involved in the reform movement in 1998 and became one of the founders of the National Mandate Party (PAN). He also served as a member of the House of Representatives (DPR) of the Republic of Indonesia in the period 20042009. His involvement in the political world proves that literature can be a means to convey messages and influence social change.    The success story of Denny Ja not only inspired writers and fans of literature, but also the wider community. He proves that with dedication, perseverance, and enthusiasm, a person can achieve success in the dreamed field. His work that reflects Indonesia’s social reality and his struggle to increase literacy in the country is a clear proof that literature has extraordinary power.    Through his success story, Denny Ja taught us not to be afraid to take risks and dare to be creative. He also reminded us the importance of reading and writing as a means to broaden insight and enrich the mind. Denny Ja is a real example that literature is a strong tool to inspire, educate, and change the world.    In his career, Denny Ja has faced various challenges and obstacles.
Check more: Success Story in Literature: Listening to the Miracles offered by Denny Ja
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peakwealth · 1 year
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Small rice field in Yuli, Taiwan (March 2023)
It may have been a speechwriter's flourish or it may have been what the Secretary-General of the United Nations really thought, but the word raised eyebrows when António Guterres pronounced it last month: vampiric, to describe the use of fresh water around the world. (*)
A little undiplomatic perhaps but perfectly evocative. As rains fail and shortages spread in many parts of the world, the comptetition for water is getting more vampiric indeed.
I have already dwelt on the critical importance of irrigation for agriculture in the south of Spain, a region haunted by the threat of long term drought. To alleviate the problems, water is diverted from the Tagus river in the centre of the country to the Segura river basin in the south. It has been flowing though a set of pipes and canals for over forty years. The question is how much.
When the central Government recently announced a reduction of the volume to be made available in coming years, it led to a storm of protest from representatives of the agri-business and their political supporters. They made their way to Madrid to remind everyone of the importance of agriculture in their patch, in essence the extensive farmland around Murcia: "Without water, desertification and unemployment' read the signs. Or: "Let's defend Europe's vegetable garden". All of which rang true.
I was reminded of this in Taiwan where a very similar conflict plays out between water-haves and water-have-nots. Taiwan used to be a very rainy country, often drenched by typhoons. Not any more. It has become another country which, to put it more scientifically, experiences high water stress. As in Spain, it is trying to deal with long term changes in weather patterns, declining precipitation and reservoirs drying out. But unlike Spain, it is not farming that requires so much of the available water, but semiconductor manufacturing.
Advanced chip making is the backbone of the Taiwanese economy. It employs millions of people and is of such critical importance to manufacturing worldwide that it is deemed a protective shield against a possible invasion by the People's Republic of China. No one in their right mind would want to touch Taiwan's giant semiconductor factories, not even China, that at least is the assumption.
So the factories have been prioritized over rice farmers. But the debate over who gets how much of the dwindling water reserves will sound eerily familiar to anyone in Spain affected by water scarcity.
(*) Unusually outspoken as UN secretaries-general go, Mr. Guterres is a former socialist prime minister of Portugal. Last year he called on world leaders to end the “senseless and suicidal war against nature”.
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