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the battle of du-khang
late 2509

it’s dangerous. he knows this. he knows the area is riddled with independents, that they’re almost overrun and that the battle is as good as lost. they are retreating, he knows this too. that doesn’t mean he’s about to give up a fellow soldier, a friend, no matter what the others are yelling at him. no matter that he hears someone yell about a message having been passed on through the radio. just a month ago he patched lillieth up and got her back on her feet, he’s not about to let her life slip through his fingers when all it will take to rescue her is just run back a few steps and help her up from the ground.

and so he turns around and runs back, back into danger, back into the fray. he reaches her easily, they’re not in the middle of battle, after all, there are no bullets flying in all directions, this is not a crazy risk to take. “come on,” he tells her, taking hold of her arm and putting it around his shoulders, picking her up from the floor, helping her up on her feet, turning the both of them towards the others, towards the way to safety.

and then disaster hits.

the trembles reach them first, the entire ground shaking. lillieth loses her footing again and nearly drags him down with her as she falls. he stays upright somehow, her arm slipping from around his shoulders again, her weight taken from him once more. the noise reaches them at the same time as the wind does, the dust, the debris, the heat of the explosion, the reality of their doom.

he lifts his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself, but it’s too late already. the pain of a million cuts sears into him, through him. he gasps in surprise but his throat feels like it’s on fire and the last thought on his mind is how he doesn’t want to die like this, alone, unable to tell salathiel the most important thing on his mind that has yet to be voiced aloud.

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aboard the warhammer
early 2498

“you can’t catch us!”

he’s running. ever running. not away from anyone or anything, but towards something.

the ship’s hallways are endless and yet he’s never gotten lost before in his life. perhaps his inner compass is that true, or maybe he’s just always made sure to be in the right company to find his way back to where he needs to be.

there’s several other children’s voices audible in the hallway, giggles and other sounds of delight intermingling as their feet drum on the hallway floors, racing through the open space in an effort to get away from or closer towards each other. he’s not just one of the many, this he’s realised over time. the other kids look up to him, award him a sort of reverence that he recognises from how they look at the only other child to be rewarded this same reverence - even more so than him. it is the dark eyed starchild, son of the ship’s captain, the one who always calls all the shots, and his best friend.

salathiel is a whole different category on his own, always has been. he knows this, accepts this without resentment, for it takes only one look at the boy to know, to know. sal is at the top somewhere, high up in the stars. adrien is at the top as well, but he’s only at the top of the little rabble of children that they play with. he’s the boss of them only insofar as sal allows him to be. he knows this. he doesn’t mind. he would do near anything for the purple-eyed boy at his side anyway. or maybe not just near anything, maybe it’s really just anything.

they round a corner, feet thudding on the floorboards in sync, as he always ever falls into step with the older boy, always ever seems to gravitate towards him and then adapt to fit beside him properly. it’s not a conscious thing, but it happens over and over again. suddenly the rhythm of his steps gets interrupted, his friend’s hand closing around his arm and yanking him through an open door on the side. the door panel closes behind them almost instantly, as if it already responds to the thoughts of the boy who is set to own it some day, and then they’re piling behind a series of stacked boxes, collapsing on the floor while breathing heavily, wide grins on their faces.

his cheeks are pleasantly flushed, his heartbeat racing from the exertion in all the best ways, and when he tilts his head to look up at his friend, he looks straight at the dark purple glow of his eyes, outlined by the shape of his face. he pauses as he always does when they lock gazes like this, doesn’t think twice of the way his heartbeat always speeds up rather than calms down when it happens, nor of the way he’s always grinning when they’re together.

sal shoves his face away and he laughs at it, at the familiarity of the motion. rather than accept this, though, he rolls over, puts his head on the older boy’s stomach and tilts it so he can look up at him again, taking his friend in from this upside-down viewpoint he’s achieved now.

“you almost tripped,” he says, grins widely though he doesn’t in the slightest say this as something he might make fun of his friend for. sal doesn’t consider it worth a reply, which is expected, so he simply reaches up to touch his friend’s face, his breathing having settled a bit at this point. “shall we go out and chase them instead?” he offers next, and this is something that does get the older boy’s approval.

in no time they’re up on their feet again. the door panel slides open to let them out, and with loud war cries they throw themselves back into the fray, instantly scattering the other children as they go scampering away from the duo.

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☮, ★, ♤

☮: Favourite thing about your muse

“How’re your eyes so damn… gold? I wish mine were like that,” he said. Joules might have been a little drunk, but he didn’t find his blue eyes to be anything special. Growing up, he’d wished he had red eyes, like the Chiss. But gold eyes would be fantastic, too.

★: First thing that changes when they realize they care about your muse

Joules had always treated Sal from arm’s length. The pilot trusted no one in a position of command, especially not on a pirate ship, or someone with such a sour disposition. Above all, he didn’t trust someone he felt didn’t trust him.

But things change when you realize you’re the outsider, and yet the lives of everyone else are put in your capable, risky hands. One foot wasn’t out of the door anymore as both feet grounded themselves on that cockpit. This was a gamble for them, too. A symbiotic relationship. When Sal didn’t leave him behind or turn him in to the Hutt cartel, Joules breathed a sigh of relief, and a silent thanks. Maybe he’d start lightening up a little and telling the captain some of Dandoran’s finest jokes.

♤: Way they apologize to your muse

"I’m sorry that you LET me hurt your feelings, CAP! But your idea SUCKS, mate.” Joules hissed, throwing up an expletive hand gesture as he stormed out of the cockpit. Maybe this would come bite him in the ass later, but he didn’t feel bad telling Sal his plan was godawful.

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☯, ♥, ☆

☯: First impression of your muse

“That was ages ago, wow. i think… if I search deep enough, I thought you were a little arrogant punk. I mean, still do, but now more like a taller respectable punk.”

♥: Small way to show your muse they care

Terry is incredible conscious of not catching Sal in a bad mood, or trying to make being the Captain, and being his little punk self, as easy for him as possible. He doesn’t go straight to Sal when he’s back, because he doesn’t want to annoy the other with all his questions and requests, instead he takes care of things behind the curtains, and has Sal fill in the blanks. It leaves more space for them to talk normally. Aside from that, Terry really doesn’t mind it when others come to him instead of the Captain, and will say only good things about him, to a point where he will stand up to others if he hears them talk shit about Sal. 

☆: What they miss about your muse when they’re apart

The empty space there is to have a conversation, the silence and resilience. The friendship mostly.

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☯,

☯ First impression of your muse

Do you absolutely really want to know?

image

I guess my first impression of you was a lot more kinder than it is now. I figured you would be one of those normal captains, who just wanted to fly their ship and earn some credits. A little brash towards the crew, but aren’t authority figures always. I figured I had nothing to worry about serving on this ship under you. How wrong I was, wasn’t I? 

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my nightmares are usually about losing you

continued from here
with @salgodkiller

(…) “i’m…” he wants to say that he’s here, no matter what, he wants to say that he’s not a stone to be cast across a lakeside surface, only to sink beneath the depths; he is a lighthouse in a storm, a sun burning in the vacuum of space, always shining, always reaching, always waiting. come to me. there are exactly three steps between him and doc’s body, three steps between cold loneliness and tasting which flavor of liquor is on doc’s lips, and all he can do is stare at it, blazing.

but no matter how brightly he flares, doc can’t see that.

“your nightmares are ridiculous. let’s get you back to your room.”

salathiel is right there, right there across from him, he knows even if he can’t see the man, and he aches to be closer to him, to cross the distance there is left between them and to make sure that it’s all fine. his whole body is trembling, a tremor seemingly permanently in his legs, but he knows that’s just the exhaustion. he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in what feels like forever, though he’s lost track of the days. how long since the captain got shot? how long since he had to wash the man’s lifeblood off his hands, his arms, his clothes, his very soul? how long since he lost his footing and didn’t find it back yet?

there is an absolute quiet in the air once the words have found their way out of his throat, exhaustion and inebriation easing the way for them, for there is no other situation in which he would have allowed them to leave the confines of his mind and move into the open air. there is no way he would have spoken them aloud had he been fully aware of what he was saying. the response he gets is typical, such a very salathiel thing to say, and he wishes that just for a moment he could pull the boy back to the forefront of the man and be given a reassurance, a sign of warmth, anything to know he’s not talking to an absolute stranger. but of course that is just his own hopes and dreams, and the reality is that this is all there is for him now.

which sounds like he hates it, but he doesn’t. he loves even this man with his sharp edges and rock hard inside. he loves everything about this man, even the parts he doesn’t yet know, even the parts he can’t stand. he loves, he loves, he loves, and he’s so terrified of losing it all that not even the normalcy of the captain’s answer soothes that fear this time.

he stumbles, seemingly falling forward but really he’s just putting himself in motion, crossing the distance until his hands are on salathiel’s chest, fingers brushing the coarse fabric of his shirt, tracing the line of his collar, reaching, grabbing, releasing and then moving until he’s touching skin. he follows the line of salathiel’s jaw upwards, until his fingers brush over the man’s cheek, his other hand following a similar path only these fingers trace over lips ever so gently, then up over the nose. of all the regular crew on the ship, his hands are perhaps the least calloused, the least worn from grasping blasters or tools, and his touches are soft, barely there, the ghost of an actual touch. still, his fingers move until he’s mapped out almost the entirety of salathiel’s face and he slowly lowers his hands again, lets them come to a rest on the captain’s chest.

the only sound in the room is their breathing, uneven and laboured on both sides, and he vaguely figures the captain must be angry beyond belief at this point, ready to beat him to a pulp or something like that for crossing so many boundaries all at once. he wonders why he hasn’t been pushed away yet like he now thinks he should have been, wonders why he has not yet been thrown across the room. perhaps the captain is still considering between taking out his blaster and shooting him in the face or just throwing him off the ship right here in the middle of space. perhaps the captain is too shocked, too outraged to have given a reaction just yet. he makes use of the moment to curl his fingers in the coarse linnen of the man’s shirt a little better, anchors himself to the captain as if to make sure he won’t be taken from him again, nor the other way around. if he’s going to die anyway, he thinks, then…

and that very same train of thought makes him lean in even closer then, lowering his forehead onto salathiel’s shoulder and closing his useless eyes as he breathes in slowly, listens to the man’s heartbeat as it pumps the blood through the veins in the man’s neck, lets that proof of life and health soothe him until he feels his own breathing ease up slowly, some of that boundless anxiety in his chest finally giving way at least a little.

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malachite

Malachite: Has someone ever been poisonous/toxic to your life?

“Yes, but I have long since forgiven them. I don’t forget, but I don’t wish to carry that toxicity throughout my life to weigh me down and bog my mind. The Force teaches us to be compassionate, but also strong. I find strength within myself to let go of those things that changed my life and see the good that came of it. I can confidently say I am a survivor, and a strong person, despite not needing to make a show of it, Captain,” she replied, meeting his gold gaze with her hazel hues, and smoothing her vest. She stood just a little straighter, and despite not having a smile to show for it, her tone conveyed that she held no ill will to her wrongdoers.

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they will taste their own blood before we go down

nearly a decade ago probably
with @salgodkiller

there are several million places he’d rather be than the one he’s in just then, but life would not be so kind to him as to let him choose. and so there he is. there he is with four vicious looking men surrounding him, in the middle of the underground tunnels on the fontaine planet. tunnels that hold even more vermin than its surface usually does; and that’s saying a lot with the high number of inmates this prison holds.

he knows no fear, no reluctance to do what must be done. right now they are the enemy and they’re out for his blood - and he’ll take two down at least before he’ll let them have that satisfaction. the thing is; they’re not alone. on this shithole of a planet, they’re never alone. people say iridonia is bad, but it’s paradise compared with the dumpster fire that is fontaine.

he can perfectly imagine his father’s judging gaze should word of this ever reach the man, so it’s probably a good thing no one ever gets off this planet alive - or dead, from what he’s seen so far. but even if the truth will never reach his father’s ears, that doesn’t mean he won’t make the man proud, won’t give these men his worst, just so they know never to mess with a zabrak again if they survive long enough to improve their judgement.

he sees them coming, the shift in stance, the slightest widening of their pupils, the quick inhale of breath before they lunge. he’s ready for their movements, turns his head to one of them and smashes his solid, horned skull into the man’s hands, meanwhile kicking out towards another one’s knee and using it as a leverage to quite literally jump at a third attacker. the fourth entirely misses him because of it, and it’s not long before he’s rolling through sand and dirt to get back up on his feet, the fourth attacker incapacitated on the floor with a crushed windpipe.

he knows the rest will think twice before allowing to let him close enough to get his hands around their necks this time around, but that’s alright with him. he doesn’t need the close proximity to do harm, he just enjoys looking them dead in the eye when he squeezes the life out of them. that being said; the victim of his horned skull is bleeding from what looks like a broken finger, some of the bone sticking out through the skin and blood dripping onto the floor at a steady pace. all three of them are looking at him with equally murderous gazes and he throws up a little smug grin just to antagonise them further.

“less easy than you thought, huh guys?” he chimes, shifts his feet to have better footing and then he’s in the middle of a fist fight he never asked for but that he’s definitely going to be winning if you ask him.

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17

17. What is your typical walking like? Do you speed-walk everywhere, do you take quick short steps or long paces? On your tiptoe, the sides or heels of your feet? How loud are your footsteps?

That’s a curious question. I guess I kind of swagger, unintentionally. And currently I favor my right leg, other than that, I’ve got no reason to walk faster than a regular human being. 

image
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ofpomonasAnswer
dream

[ 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 ] 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈:

Pom was comfortable in the captain’s chair, her legs crossed as she munches on some type of beef jerky she had stolen from the kitchens. For the first time in her life, she was in pants, never knowing how comfortable it would be with the leg space and no fabric being in the way as you walked. Everything had changed so quickly after the few weeks after the attack on her ship. Being stuck on another ship with species and people she had never seen in her life, hearing languages and learning all types of behaviors people seem to have outside of Vena.

The first time Pom had seen Salathiel, she had been hiding behind Xeune, tugging at her suit as they talked about the passage on the ship. Pom had been suspicious, narrowed eyes as she studied the male that never seemed to smile a moment in his life. Now weeks later, she had sneaked into the cockpit a few times, watching the controls and the machinery of the ship being used, heard stories and adventures that she never knew could happen. Pom was both amazed and scared, these rugged males and females were nothing like the people she knew from her planet. “Who are you? — As a person?” She stared deeply into yellow eyes, pure curiosity, and a hint of laziness as she showers him with questions. While she was often in the control rooms, it didn’t mean that he liked her being there. “Like your hopes and wishes? Do you have them? I feel like you don’t have anything you wish for, or maybe you already do?”

image
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Sirius, Rigel, Deneb

*・゚☆゚*・  Sirius: Have you ever failed someone?

Some nights, Joules awoke in a cold sweat, the breath caught in his throat and a cold fear that shook him to his core, leaving only sobs in their wake. The delivery had gone wrong. Kran was shot, and Joules wasn’t there to protect him. He couldn’t find him, and when cartel thugs came to drag Joules out of the ship, he took off unable to look back. He knew Kran had to be alive. That man could survive anything. But why hadn’t he come looking for Joules or the Ganymede yet?

On those nights, Joules couldn’t help but feel heavily disappointed in himself, wishing there was something more he could’ve done three years ago, instead of hightailing it out of the planet like a damn coward.

*・゚☆゚*・ Rigel: Have you ever been arrested?

Joules was arrested when he was twenty one, a few weeks before Kran Roscoe’s death disappearance. He was caught with a small shipment of unregistered spice, and had his small ship confiscated. He was incarcerated for weeks before he was let go. After calling in desperate favors with the Pux Cartel, he was finally released, although his ship and it’s contents were still forfeit.

*・゚☆゚*・ Deneb: When was your first kiss?

The first kiss Joules gave someone with real heat behind it was just before his first time when he was eighteen. A soft peck turned into a full make out session with an guy two years older, but who had never kissed another man before.

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location: engine room
counterpart: @salgodkiller

it always fucking happens the same way.

first comes a clank, an unsteady noise from somewhere in the ship just loud enough to hear, the jangling of something falling out of place that’s incessant and noticeable, but low enough to ignore. so they do, pausing first to listen before shrugging, continuing their way down the halls, forgetting the moment they disappear into a different room. definitely not stopping by to tell their ship’s engineer, the thought not crossing the mind. of course, not until the clanking then becomes a screeching, the horrible sound of metal scraping against metal, which then becomes something far more sinister, something noticeable in the way the ship moves, the sounds it makes, or the way the air feels in it’s passengers lungs and only then; only when it becomes a pain in the ass to fix – does the news finally get back to leon.

his first response came in a look that was carefully blank, face straight and serious but eyes instantly tired, persistently annoyed. he lived on the last straw; a sigh, a slight nod, and a quick return to the engine room coming up short of the one part he needs to do the repair. 

wash, rinse, repeat.

every fucking time. 

the ship should be kissing his feet, a true saint at work.

he notes the sound of the heavy door opening and suspects who it might be; a thunder storm with the clouds heavy, the air thick. he feels the aura come off in waves. a pissed off 5′11″, gun-slinger with a bad attitude on a good day. kinda hot, kinda scary, really fucking annoying when he comes bearing bad news. yeah, leon doesn’t need force sensitivity to know when it’s salathiel, an upheld energy that is all his own. 

he doesn’t turn immediately, neck craning in a stretch, the soft sound of bone popping as he does. “let me guess, we don’t have it and can’t find it?” he says, the deep grovel of his voice assisted with a sigh. “you know everyone on this ship’s lungs might collapse, but i’m sure the intergalactic duct tape will have to do again.”

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