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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?


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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Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Whenever the derelict landed somewhere and they had time, though Violet and most of the crew suspected he made time, the captain would take the most fragile of his passengers with him on a walk around the native area. 

The outing today was basked in humid, sticky heat that Violet blossomed under. Not bothering to wipe the sweat gathering along her hairline, and instead letting it cool her face with every merciful breeze that came their way. While Sal, unmoved by every weather pattern kept his same dark attire as he guided her past some housing where a group of children ran by. Violet watched them go, slowing her pace as the group giggled and played. She missed those days of youth, the girl she was who played in the sun was not the girl she is now. 

She turned her head forward, half-expecting Sal to have gone on without her moving at the pace he was earlier. But to her suprise, he was still at her side. His long legs moving in small increments as she grumbled something about her small stature as she took a hold of his arms as they continued their trek. “Weren’t those children adorable, Cappy? I used to play like that too, I suppose I still play like that.” A giggle comes from her but the captain does not respond so she digresses. “Not a care in the world with those little ones, they must be so at peace and-” they halt suddenly as she barely stops herself from tripping, “Cappy..” 

“Did you see what they are playing with?” He inquires as she shakes her head before looking over, it’s a small orb with gray panels and red lens. “That’s the head of a class four droid.” A pause before continuing, “used for killing it seems…and children are using it to play. Completely desensitized to it, despite the fact that this region is known for the parentless child population. Meaning some of their parents may have been murdered by that very head and yet…” He trailed off as Violet watches them once more, not having to slow down as Sal guided her forward. “They are children of war and pain, just like you. But they have a story that began before yours did.”  

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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: 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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continued from here
with @salgodkiller

(…) but then doc makes his final point, a blade in the centerfold of their conversation, and now salathiel does look up at him through his eyelashes, his chin still tilted downwards, gold eyes sharp and razored, angry and sunscorched, his teeth on display. “are you giving me an ultimatum, doc? for a fucking jedi?

he doesn’t care about the anger in the captain’s voice when the reply to his last words comes, doesn’t care about the way those amber-hued eyes fix on him with palpable intensity, because he can’t see it anyway, is only witness to the captain’s displease by the sound and feel of it, never by the look, and the look is the most menacing part of the captain’s threats. the look does not cower the doc in the slightest, because if the blow follows it follows and he has long made peace with the fact that he’ll never be able to react fast enough to stop it. that, and if salathiel would grab his blaster and shoot him through the head, would he really stop him?

“not for a jedi,” he replies, his own frustration and displease still audible in his voice, making it clear that nothing of what the captain just said has soothed him in any way. “i’m hired to keep the people aboard this ship alive and healthy. this is not the first time your droid caused unnecessary problems that took me a lot of time and effort to fix. i don’t care if you want to keep a malfunctioning piece of scrap metal around, but i don’t need it making my job harder than it already is. there is a line to what i’m willing to accept and i drew it. do with it as you please.”

he doesn’t even wait for a response to those words, turning away and striding right back out of the navigation room, thinks he should probably go and get a proper shower so he can stop feeling so dirty. or maybe he should go lie down and get the first proper eight full hours of sleep he’ll be able to catch ever since they high-tailed it off the space station.

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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. 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. 

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[ 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?”

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Footsteps echo through the corridors as people are beginning to prepare for landing, the festival, and most of all the heist. With each step, those in the way scurry in the opposite direction for the captain is a man on a mission and Violet is a girl with something to prove. Shadowing behind him, her smaller strides barely keeping up with his longer ones as they make their way through the entirety of the ship as Sal goes on his last round before they open the doors. 

“Cappy, please~~” Though she isn’t singing, her voice hits a natural rhythm as she speaks to the tune only she can hear. “I will only do what you say, and I will report everything through comms and and…I won’t wander off!” The last compromise seemed a bit far off, even for her. It was in her nature to wander but she would restrain herself if only to help the mission. 

“I know I am only a passenger and of no use here, and though I pay well…I cannot help but think I am not earning my keep as it were.” Almost five years being aboard and she can only pay her dues, and every time they do anything to earn money she has stayed back. Every single time. The first few times out of fear, then lack of experience followed by Sal’s direct command and now it seemed she had so many excuses not to go it made going seem to be the only option. She could not stay in her quarters forever and if she wanted to stay by Sal’s side as she desired to, she would need to prove herself as pirate-y as any of the crew. With something as light and easy going as a simple heist with little direct combat needed, it could be of great use to her to practice. Besides, she knew so little of the gems they were retrieving it could be fun to see what the Jedi’s use for such a powerful weapon. 

As she caught his stride, she noticed a wall coming up, and switches sides to flank. “Besides, I believe I can be a valuable asset. I’m not well known species wise and many are not aware of the abilities of my people and better yet me individually.” Though she will admit her dormant state leaves much to be desired but she does not add this for it will only go against her case. Stepping in front of him, she holds thin arms out in an attempt to block his passage. “Cappy, I’m ready. Please.” She looks up at him, her eyes big as she tries to get through to him. She knows he only does anything for her good, and the good of the ship but she wished he would rely on her more. It felt so one-sided how she took and took from him and depended so much on his kindness and never the other way around. “Let me make you proud.” She stated defiantly, raising her chin up. These words however leave a few members blushing at her cute honesty, looking at Captain Sal expectantly that he would never allow his daughter to do such a thing. It seemed everyone was holding their breath for his answer, not just Violet. 

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Shooting Star

Send a space thing for questions

Shooting Star: If you could bring back one thing, what would it be?

A flush rises from her cheeks as she glances at Haru speaking plainly but she can’t wrap her mind around the words he’s saying. She’s sitting outside of Sal’s quarters like a good little girl and here comes the most handsome person aboard to her eyeline. She tries not to stutter through her words, “one thing?” She inquires again but pauses while biting her lip. It’s a great power to bestow on her, even in hypothetical, and she did not take it lightly. “I guess bringing back does limit things doesn’t it? Like I can’t ask for peace in the galaxy or balance in the force because who’s to say there ever was really peace or balance to begin with or ever during the entirety of existence.” She’s talking too much so she quiets down to consider this more earnestly and to hide her bright red nose away from the reason for it. “One thing means I can’t bring back every person who may have died from the attack on my planet right?” She inquired before her voice softening, not wanting to think about who may not have made it out alive while she did. Tapping her head against the wall, she paused at the thought of losing someone. Looking up at the sign to indicate the captain’s quarters, before a look of quiet consideration comes up. Thinking of the person who made her feel like she had found a home, a family, and love where she thought maybe she had lost it all. Her most cherished person in this world, “I would bring the person Captain Sal loves most back,” though she had no clue who they were or what happen to them but she knows one thing for certain. “I would like to use my wish to bring Cappy happiness.”

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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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