#osik

[ominouspuff]

Remembrances

Companion-piece to this Cody piece

[vseahn]

[nocturius8015ficore]

Clone Force 99, ARC trooper and lovely vod, Echo.

That reg' trooper as been through hell and came back as a cyborg. His pure heart has never been other thing than loyalty to his brothers.

Traditional Ink on paper + colorization and texture in Krita

[frogfrogfrogfrogoose]

Fox: How did you get into my office???

Quinlan, shrugging: You left the window open

Fox: WE’RE ON THE SEVENTEENTH FLOOR!!!

[wanderingmirror]

It happened all of a sudden.

Where millions of GAR troops were at different points of the galaxy, they were suddenly in a grey void like space.

Their faces pitch black except for scars or differences in appearance. Eyes pure white and armor their original phase one set and color. From the oldest to the youngest still alive they all stood there. It was strangely silent despite them all talking at once.

What was even more strange was the black crack splitting the ground and separating them from what looked like the Guard.

Similar to them, they had pitch black faces, and the differences shown in white with their eyes. Despite how many GAR troops there were, everyone could see as if they were standing in front. Almost like a Holo live recording on a Helmet comm.

The GAR was horrified to see scars or missing limbs marking their brothers on the other side of the crack.

It looked like one of the shiny Guards was holding on desperately to a batcher's hand, but the batcher just began to walk towards them. Pulling until the shiny Guard was forced to let go.

The shiny's eyes filled with red tears, the same as the color marking them. They cradled their hand to their chest and the tears spilled over. One of the other guardsmen stepped out of the flood of red and white. Pulling the shiny's attention to them, they lifted their arms in silent comfort. The shiny rushed to the other and was embraced into a tight hug. Armor creaking as the older Guard smoothed their hand into the shiny's short regulation hair.

The other GAR shiny turned to look and froze, seeing how hurt the other was. They tried to reach out to the other. Suddenly, another Guardsman surged to the front and rammed a riot shield into the shiny. This trooper a shiny themselves. The GAR shiny fell to the ground and the other GAR members stepped forward.

The Riot Shiny flinched at so many other GAR soldiers approaching. And that caused a chain reaction in the rest of the Guard. More Riot Troopers rushed out in defense of their shiny member, slamming their shield on the ground. Lining up on either side of the first Riot trooper as a show of support and comradeship.

This caused the heavy artillery Guards to follow, guarding the edges of the shield formation. Suddenly the ground rumbled and high vantage points appeared, allowing the Guard Sniper units to take aim. The rare Guard Enhanced all took positions behind the Riot Troopers with their own weapons in hand. The Guards with normal blasters each took a shoulder behind a Riot Trooper and aimed their weapons.

The massiff units all pushed the medics and soft shells behind them, aiming their blasters at those they could safely aim at. Medics had their makeshift packs at the ready for any who might get injured on their side. And soft shells aimed pistols around the Massiff Units to do the same as them.

And suddenly, everything was quiet again.

The GAR didn't know how to react to their Guard brother's sudden defensive formation. Not one Guard shook or looked hesitant to fire.

It was like time froze, as the bigger side tried to figure out what to do. Until Cody stepped forward. The Marshall Commander stepped as close to the group in red as they allowed. Freezing when one of the troopers aiming over another's shoulder took aim at him. He raised his hand to signal a halt when his own men stepped forward to defend him.

From behind the line of Riot shields came the Guard's own Marshall Commander. The scars of sith lightning scattered across the left side of the oldest Guardsman's face had Cody flinching. The eye was no where to be seen either, meaning he was blind in that eye.

Fox crossed his arms in front of his chest, feet spread to parade rest length, and tilted his head. Not a word left the Guard Commander as he stood in front of the GAR Commander. No one spoke really. One side waiting for their Commander's orders, the other too in shock to speak.

The other Commanders of the GAR stepped forward. And soon after the other leaders in the Guard did the same. One Guard had blonde hair. One had a severely damaged jaw and throat. One had stitches lining their whole body old wounds healed over. One had a missing leg, the air in its place matching the void around them. One had over regulation hair. One had a scar along their head and over an absent right eye. And One with no hair, with a massive burn scar on the left side of his face.

The GAR only knew of Thorn, the one with long hair, Stone, the one with the burn, and Thire, the one with the missing right eye and scar on the same side. The other four where unknown. Until Rex stepped forward.

"Ritz?" He asked, and his voice was almost too loud in the eery quiet of the void. The blonde Guard officer, a Captain, crossed their arms in a silent show of defiance. The other six officers all stood on either side of Fox in a show of support. Not one looked ready to back down. Neither did the rest of the Guard despite their smaller size.

"Vod'ika. Why are you all doing this?" Cody finally asked the question the rest of the GAR had been thinking.

"You abandoned me and my men. So we're just doing what's necessary to defend what we have left. Who we have left. And I'm not your Vod'ika. The only Ori'vod'e I have is Chemi and Stitches. You aren't either of them." The Guard Commander snarled and the mentioned 'Ori'vod'e' both stepped forward on either side of Fox. Chemi was the one with the mangled jaw and throat, while Stitches was the one with a stitched up appearance.

The 212th and 501st CMOs rushed forward suddenly.

"JACOB!" "STITCHES!"

Helix shouted a different name than Kix, yet it was a name the 212th recognized almost immediately. Jacob had been the second in command of the 212th medical bay near the start of the war. But once General Skywalker was made a General, he was sent back to Kamino and was never seen again.

Stitches had been the new and first CMO of the 501st's name. And the man had been sent in once again to Kamino, he was also never again seen.

Only this time he wasn't reconditioned.

Said CMO of the Guard didn't even flinch when his name was shouted, though he was secretly confused by the first name. Both blue and gold CMOs froze when the Captain, Ritz, shot forward and shielded the red CMO. A snarl of a protective riduur marking his scratched up face.

The void rumbled again and Stitches had someone peeking out from behind him. This clone was inverted to the medic. Black eyes and stitches with a white appearance. A malicious smile was marking this clones face, but it wasn't towards the Guard. No it was towards the GAR. The Guard knew who this clone was. Freakshow. The Guard CMO's darker personality.

Helix hissed at the inverted clone and the other just giggled darkly.

"You bastard! I thought you finally left him alone!" Helix roared and the inverted clone's smile faded away.

"Because I was too Independent at the time, here I remain. I'm the one who's kept him alive ever since. With some help of course." Freakshow said as he patted Ritz on the shoulder from behind Stitches. The medic didn't seem bothered by the other presence.

With Freakshow's arrival, it heralded the coming of other similar inverted clones over many other Guard clone's shoulders. And even some GAR clone shoulders as well.

One of the Kamino bound clones looked heartbroken as he stood in front. "So he got reconditioned for nothing? He had hoped it would ease his suffering." All eyes framed by gold and red looked at the man and he flinched. Helix and Freakshow both looked at him and the clone stepped forward. "Joyce, Sirs. I....I was the one who saw him go to recon. He asked me not to say anything, just in case it didn't work. He didn't want me getting hurt."

The clone, Joyce, wrapped his arms around himself in self comfort as the anger in Helix's gaze ignited towards him. Freakshow just smiled soothingly. "It worked a little. It allowed me to explain my presence and give him time to really understand how I got there. It did heal him, even if my darling other half doesn't remember." The inverted clone giggled as he laid himself across the medic's shoulders. The other clone just grumbled in annoyance. Joyce smiled sorrowfully, nodding in acceptance.

Only to be punched in the face and fall to the ground. Everyone looked at Helix as he panted. Joyce cupped his jaw and tears filled his eyes. Pale teal tears that spilled over at the rage aimed at him. "You could have saved him! Now Jacob is dead because of you! I'll never have my Vod'ika back thanks to your silence!" Helix roared and Joyce flinched with a whimper. Freakshow growled.

"It wasn't your fucking choice to make. It was Jacob's. Nothing else was working to save his psyche from shattering and causing him to go AWOL. So don't blame him for something he had no control over." Freakshow hissed as he crossed the crack and helped the Kamino Bound clone to stand. The inverted clone grabbed his wrist and dragged Joyce over the crack to the Guard side. Joyce's armor changed colors to red. Much like Freakshow's had changed to gold and blue when he stepped over to the GAR side.

Fox jerked his head towards the riot barrier and Joyce melted into the Guard ranks. Disappearing from sight. No one really argued the Guard literally stealing one of their men. If it made the Guard feel like the man was safer than so be it. "Helix." Cody mumbled and Helix sighed with golden tears in his eyes. Captain Ritz moved to stand in his original place next to the one unnamed Guard officer, while Stitches stood with Freakshow at his back. No malicious smile to creep the GAR out.

Fox cleared his throat and attention was on him. "I'm glad this has happened. Because now I can say this with full confidence. Let it be known that the Guard will no longer treat the GAR with anything but professional politeness and business. It was agreed upon by all members of the Guard. The only expectation to that had been Bonsai. Who still had a batcher outside the Guard who still contacted her." The shiny who had been comforted at the beginning of all this flinched when their name was mentioned.

The shiny, Bonsai, shook as she became the center of attention. Said shiny stopped shaking when one of the bigger enhanced, one with patchy skin and white lined hair, stepped up behind her. Making their massive presence known. The Bad Batch, also part of the GAR despite their commando and black ops status, all looked shocked to see another of Wrecker's enhancement still alive.

"To answer any questions on the enhanced, the one behind Bonsai is Caboose. One of three of the Heavy classed enhanced among the Guard. The other two are Chalk and Titan." Fox said in monotone. The named enhanced nodded once to signal name and face. "They have a similar grouping system to the GAR's Bad Batch, though they don't strictly form up in their original unit unless necessary. Chalk frequents the medical bay, while Titan acts as the heavy artillery for the crew of the Victorian. Caboose acts as a free agent among the Guard, pulling those being reconditioned or decommissioned into our ranks to keep them safe."

Fox explained and Caboose grinned. Cody mumbled to himself in awe while the other GAR Commanders just stared. The Riot Troopers and those behind them had still not eased up. Neither had the other Guardsmen despite the calm atmosphere. "What can we do to regain your trust?" A clone in Wolfpack grey asked and Chemi was the one to answer. Though his voice was hoarse thanks to the damage in that area.

"That is a question best answered by the individual you want to regain the trust of. I'd say we all have different answers to that. Me personally? There really isn't anyway but through time and effort on both sides." The clone said, he sounded almost like he was mimicking someone. Another guard near the back with the Massiff members snorted sarcastically. "Don't get too hopeful though. Not sure I wanna give my trust back after it was shattered the first time." Some members of the Guard nodded in agreement.

It grew quiet after that. Both sides at a stand still. A member of the 49th stepped forward. "Who hurt you? It was supposed to be safe! None of you should have those kinds of injuries!" He shouted and many other GAR members murmured in agreement. The nameless Captain answered. "The Senate. Coruscant. Only ones who really left us alone was the Jetii. Well except for that Vos guy. He visited with food from time to time after we pulled him from the sewers or a dumpster." The answer seemed to echo in the once again silent space. The Guard seemed to act like it was normal. Like having these injuries was a daily thing to them.

Thinking about it now, Cody felt like it probably was.

"And you are?" Wolffe asked. The Captain grinned ferally. "ARC Captain Gatz of the Coruscant Guard. If you got a fucking problem with it we can fight right here and now." The ARC replied, not an ounce of fear in his face or voice. Wolffe raised his hands in surrender. "Just wanted your name! No fighting necessary!" The Wolfpack Commander reassured. That seemed to deflate the ARC as he pouted with a whispered 'Damn it.' that only Ritz seemed to hear. The blonde Captain patting the other on the shoulder in sympathy. Stitches snorted and crossed his arms. "As much as this little reunion has been informative, I have patients I need to tend to. So how about we figure out how to get out of here?"

Fox nodded in agreement. The Guard Riot formation eased just a little, allowing the troops to shake themselves out of their stiffness and reset their bodies.

"We'll deal with those bastards later then." Bacara muttered and several other GAR members whispering a faint 'oya' amongst each other.

The vantage points all lowered and the sniper units melted into the crowd of Guardsmen. Leaving only the black crack as the single deviation to the grey void.

Not that anyone really paid it any mind. The Guard wasn't trusting of the GAR right yet, and they were willing to work to gain that trust back.

No matter how hard it was or how long it took.

[amberskyyking]

Dying Isn't Very Regulation: Chapter 12

It's not over when you die, it's over when you say it is. And it's not over. Not yet.

(Or, a self-indulgent 5 9 16?? chapter fic inspired by Snapback by @toomanyteefs with Fives and Ninety-Nine, because I have emotions about this, they deserves the world, and the narrative has officially run away with me!)

Five men remained standing at Commander Thorn’s side. Five men dug in their heels and gritted their teeth along with him, back to back in the onslaught as the metal bastards closed in, giving them hell as they made their final stand.

And they fell. Lowkey was the first and Thorn let out an enraged roar as he filled the droid who did it full of holes! He fought with fury and purpose as the rest of his brothers dropped until only he remained, but still, he wasn’t done. Not yet. He snarled and leaned back against the weight of his Hammer, firing off a huge spray of blaster bolts into the attackers and-

“AGH!” A blast tore through his armor and threw him back. A commando droid pounced but Thorn was faster, stronger, angrier. He growled in retaliation, taking advantage of the momentum to heave Hammer at the clanker and it went down! It wasn’t over. He wasn’t done. He swung it at another, and another, until five more droids had been downed by the Hammer and he fired it back up.

“FOR THE REPUBLIC!” Thorn roared, aiming his beloved rotary blaster cannon at the rest as they closed in. As long as he was breathing he could take out just one more, as long as he was standing it wasn’t over. He slammed Hammer into another and fired a series of shots but a second blast tore thru his chest-

Not yet. He was still standing dammit, he made a feeble attempt to lift Hammer just one more time as red rimmed his vision but another shot ripped through his shoulder and a fourth brought him to his knees. 

Thorn tasted blood. He stared livid up at the commando droid and found he couldn’t breathe, his vision was fading, but it wasn’t over, he wasn’t down. Thorn fought to stay upright in pure malicious defiance if it was the last thing he did.

And it was. 

The droid fired one more time and the fifth shot did what the first four couldn’t. Thorn fell backwards. He hardly felt his body hit the ground as a strange grey smoke enveloped everything, obscuring the ugly karking droids that loomed over him, so the last thing he saw was the darkness of Scipio’s sky…

But he wasn’t ready. He drifted, but some part of him writhed against this outcome. There was still a war to fight, still clankers to kill, it wasn’t over, it couldn’t be! He tried to let out a scream but he couldn’t, he was nothing, nowhere, paralyzed in the smoke! He wanted to claw himself back somehow, pick up his Hammer again and fight on! Vague pains still burned across his shoulders and chest from blaster shots, the only thing he could still feel as the smoke began to take on a dim glow…

… “There you are, vod,” A voice echoed sadly from somewhere nearby. “Took you long enough. Show off.” 

Full Chapter (And Story!): I'll Keep Fighting Till I Run Out Of Life Or Ammo (And Then Some)

[constellation-skirmishes]

thinking about beru and anakin

what we couldve gotten

we couldve gotten something so special. but noooo.

this loser is such a girl guy. he just needed some sisters and a daughter and he wouldve been fine. if he also wasnt maliciously manipulated from a young age.

but shh

just let him and beru be Siblings under the desert :(((( i need them to be family :(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

[jacensolodjo]

I'm fucking crying. Y'all. I'm in a fucking chair and I cross my legs all the fucking time. WE CAN CROSS OUR LEGS!!! We can pick our legs up with our hands and cross them!! Some of us can move our legs enough to cross them!! If you're in a chair that doesn't mean you're fully paralyzed.

abled people shut the fuck up have you never met an actual wheelchair user in your life

[psyzook]

my fav trope in clone wars fanfic? the clones being done with all the jedi osik going on.

it’s like- *something completely crazy happening, and the clones are all baffled* then a jedi comes over and says something like “oh, that? yeah that’s totally normal and nothing to be worried about. it’s a jedi thing.”

so the clones just have to accept it as something that’s apparently regular. which leads to more jedi osik causing the clones to get used to this behavior, and so resigned.

oh we just saw our jedi jump out of our ship, high in the air, and somehow land on the ground unharmed? *sighs* jedi osik.

[sunshinekryze]

Din: *approaches in his ship* Bo(depressed in her castle in her pj's eating crisps out of a family-sized packet): osik. 😂 i was inspired by @flilisskywalker to make this btw i just imagine that bo heard his ship coming and quickly got changed and into that position

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~~Chapter 7: Welcome to Dathomir~~

Read live one chapter ahead on Ao3! Link at the bottom. This is the sequel to Desertification, so read that first if you're new to the series. Updates Tuesdays! Comment to be added to tag list. :3

Maul sits hunched over a tome from Mother Talzin’s library, breathing the scent of dust and old leather as words swim in front of his eyes. On the opposite page, a painting of two witches blurs as an oil-slick fractal blooms across his tired vision. The witches dance beneath inconsistent, wriggling lines that morph slowly into the impression of a many-legged arthropod.

The sith presses the heels of his hands to his failing eyes, growling faintly as he demands they continue to work.

For over a month he has not slept more than two hours at a stretch. His legs tingle, ache, and go numb in turns. Full supply crates stand empty, depleted as he burns through calories double-time. Regardless, hunger claws at his belly as he reads. As ever, he turns to the force, fueling himself with rage as he searches for some record of what could be hunting him. A clue, a tale, a rumor, a scrap.

The comm on his desk chirps with a new message. He ignores it. Attending meetings on holocall is a waste of time and risks embarrassing collapses, so Vos is contacting him at random hours with reports he barely retains. Planning his next move, planning anything, is an exercise in wrangling concentration for long enough to come to a point. Meals and habits are interrupted. Thoughts are interrupted. Everything is interrupted.

Clinging threads hunt him through the force, day and night.

Still, progress has been made, inch by miserable inch. The nature of his enemy continues to elude him, but his research has not been entirely fruitless. The nightsisters’ unique mastery of the force yet survives in their writings, and Maul has found himself improving very quickly at two things: the obfuscation of his force presence, and the use of a nightmagick cantrip which makes the user harder to perceive. Neither work as well as the sanctum’s wards, but together they have stymied his enemies’ attempts to hook their spell into his bones.

With two other practitioners, he would have been able to perform the same mistwalking ritual the sisters once used for assassinations. If only securing the help of other witches was not unfeasible in the wake of Sidious' massacre. If only the temple’s library held some tale of this strange affliction. If only its ghosts responded to his presence as though to a witch rather than a mere nightbrother.

If only, if only, if only.

Maul digs claws further between his horns and growls in disgust at his own thoughts. Pointless, pathetic speculation in the face of his failure to find answers.

Or more accurately, his failure to go get answers. The knowledge he seeks is somewhere out there, away from Dathomir.

His ability to withstand the attacks without sheltering in the sanctum is growing, but it remains an inevitability that without the wards’ aid he will, eventually, be overcome. Weeks, a month… perhaps two.

The hunters will persist— chasing him from sleep, interrupting his plans, dogging his every step. He can draw on the dark side to sustain his body beyond exhaustion, will do so without hesitation, but resisting the threads’ pull requires concentration. Closing his teeth on the power of the dark side is to be bitten and held in turn, to lose himself in its churning depths. Eventually his mind will unravel, drawn out on a riptide. In that one moment he would lapse, and the threads would have him.

He cannot risk leaving Dathomir without direction.

With no other options immediately available to him, Maul is left waiting on the mercy of Dryden Vos, stewing in the certainty that the wretched man is going to savor each and every moment of this miserable showcase like another one of his priceless Nubian wines.

Vos at least arrives swiftly after being summoned, sauntering down the ramp from First Light wearing incongruous white silk belted at the waist and a large silver pendant cut into the unmistakable crest of the Crimson Dawn. An AL-T model astromech trundles behind him, bearing a case upon the serving tray installed in place of its dome.

The near-human looks around as he descends, pale eyes greedily eating up his first look at the temple’s facade. But even his obsession with force nexus -of which Dathomir is a unique example- and ancient history -which the entire complex is a monument to- do not distract the man from giving Maul an unwelcome and thorough once over.

He knows how he looks. The inspection is unnecessary.

“My lord.”

White teeth flash in a honeyed smile and Vos bows smoothly at the waist, hand-to-heart with the other arm swept out to the side. It shows off a half cape lined in shimmering ivory, and the custom petar knives sheathed at his hip.

Maul gives him a narrow look.

The crime lord’s expression turns toward affected concern as he straightens.

“My, what circumstances the galaxy brings us.” The man’s outstretched hand comes to rest on Maul’s upper arm, steel blue eyes flickering down and up a second time.

Irritation burns in the sith’s chest.

“You look…“ Vos dithers long enough to bite a knuckle, then shrugs expansively, frowning. “Well, terrible, honestly. Are you eating?”

Fingers alight on Maul’s collarbone, then catch under his jaw, daring to tilt his chin up as Vos makes a show of examining his face with light, doting touches, his gaze far too sharp. “... Sleeping?”

Snarling, Maul grabs the man’s wrist and squeezes until he feels bones grind.

The scrutiny ends. Vos’ face goes flat as he meets the sith’s glare, exaggerated expressions and loose movements exchanged for focused stillness in a second. Good. Maul has little interest in playing at the moment.

Dryden’s markings flush a shade darker as he leans closer, brows lifting. His voice drops into a murmur despite their lack of an audience. Unless one counted the droid. “Tell me there’s been some good news since last we spoke?”

There is none, of course. Maul closes half the distance to Vos’ darkening face and lets his voice lower to a tense drawl.

“What have you brought me?” he asks slowly.

A muscle in Dryden’s cheek tics at the question, irritation and impatience swirling in his weak force presence. A blink, and it is all shuffled from view as the man disengages, showing his teeth in a smile. Maul does not so much as blink, but he does release fragile wristbones from his crushing grip.

Vos turns without a word to the gleaming white and gold astromech droid, finally letting go of Maul’s arm, and keys open the case it is holding. The seal breaks with a hiss, and he withdraws two books, flimsiplast and bound. One is simple and blue, the other is covered in what looks like nautolan skin.

"My lord, I am afraid that these are the only relevant texts in my immediate collection… but as promised I have assets hunting through a more robust selection for further options."

Maul accepts the meager offering and gives the books a cursory examination, ready to investigate any line of inquiry -no matter how thin- that might get him some fucking sleep.

Vos lingers at his side, but physically leans toward the carved redstone of the temple behind him. Manicured fingers idly trace the jagged markings at his throat. The lines begin to flush again, from pale pink to darker mauve.

It makes the desired compensation for this man’s help -hand delivered- abundantly clear.

"A start," Maul comments about the books, turning for the entrance. "Follow. We shall discuss these, and what else you might offer me, over tea."

"I would kill for some tea. Honestly, what a day," says the blonde, moving to walk with him, astromech in tow. A historian’s gaze explores the fallen remains of titanic Paecian architecture, the broken artistry laying scattered on either side of the entry it once guarded.

"Mnh," the sith replies. They both know it is not about tea.

Maul leads them through the central cavern and into a series of winding corridors cut into the stone beyond, all the way to the northern edge of the mountain.

The cramped tunnels open to a series of gouges in the cliff side. It looks like something unreasonably large had taken a swipe out of the rock, or that the mountain had withstood a glancing volley from a ship’s laser cannons long ago. It is here, in a bid to escape the reek of tibanna soot and decaying battle droids, that Maul has made his home. For however many years it had been just a peculiar set of overlooks. Now, the view of the northern swamp across the horizon remains, but the elements are held back by transparisteel.

He takes Vos directly into the open cavern that is his living room, a broad circular depression in its middle. The walls here are a work in progress, only partially smoothed. What was once a scattering of boulders are now various pieces of furniture arranged around a magnificent, man-sized hearth where burns a woodless green ichor fire. These were his idle projects, his distractions, carved when Maul wanted to think while his hands were kept busy.

The other man does not hide his curiosity any longer, although his face is a study in polite, inscrutable interest. His eyes linger most on Maul's decor. Cloth hangings and useful pottery he had recovered from the abandoned nightbrother village. Tapestries of fine weave from the nightsister's dwellings. A growing collection of trinkets gathered during his travels, and gifts from various sources, mostly given in tribute to Crimson Dawn and diverted his way by Vos.

Or perhaps it was Vos’ secretary who thought of him, given how the man in question pauses to examine a verne spine, coiled and bejeweled, like he had never seen it before. Some things are his own additions, lifted from sith temples or taken as trophies after an assassination.

The result is art both fine and rustic. Treasures and trinkets that range from sentimental to priceless. Hints of his tastes from living on Coruscant for so long, set right alongside banners for dead Night Clan bloodlines.

Seeing the figurehead of the Dawn in the middle of it -all bespoke white shimmersilk and silver accents- is odd in a way he cannot begin to define.

Maul shakes off the useless feeling and gestures Vos toward the sitting area. The man heads down into it with a nod, gracefully taking a seat."Wait here," he orders evenly, "I will return."

He can feel it, again. The build up before the threads come.

Dryden collects a datapad from the droid and gets comfortable, looking entirely too agreeable. “As you wish, my lord.”

Maul withdraws to the kitchen, setting the books down on the rock that is going to, eventually, be a dinner table. The sith takes a moment to cross the room and add water to his battered kettle, flipping it on to heat. It fails to start. He flips the switch twice more before the mechanism hums to life. Then, he goes to sit down while it boils, hands clasped on the rough stone slab before him.

There, he waits for it…

The whisper of claws and gossamer string come searching, winding, looking for him-

w,

h,

e,

r,

e

?

?

?

Maul uses the little twist of will he had worked out which empowers the cantrip. The edges of his hands grow blurry, fingers becoming like claws of smoke. He reels in his energy, his self, his senses, until the average force user would tell you that he simply does not exist. Not a gap in the world -like a droid- nor a living thing.

Nothing there.

Still the threads wind around him, this cloying sensation of being petted and cherished and-

The kettle begins to scream.

The sith hisses. Hiding, hiding, hiding-

Finally it goes.

There is a shake to his limbs as the smokiness fades, but Maul regains his feet without pause. A meager flush of victory runs through him. The war wages on, but this latest battle has been won, and won more skillfully than before. Every centimeter of progress gives him the will to carve out another.

The afflicted nightbrother inhales deeply once upright, refocusing as the tremors settle.

Maul finishes making tea, then returns to the social call with a tray. He brings two steaming cups and a bowl of nuts, none of which should be harmful to a near-human. Probably.

"My lord, I have a question."

Maul sets his burden on the roughly cut caf table, and offers Vos a glazed black mug, detailed with poisonous flowers.

The man takes it delicately, blue gaze intent on Maul’s face. The sith meets that look, recognizing hunger in any form it takes.

"What is it?" he asks, getting his own drink and drifting away to take a seat on a distant section of couch.

With a slow, delighted grin beginning to stretch his features, Dryden points at a wall hanging made of embossed metallic slats that sits by the door. "That, unless I am entirely mistaken, is over seventeen thousand years old. At minimum. A mirialan poem, from their third 'iron renaissance'?"

A glimmer of collector's lust sparkles in Vos' eyes. Hungry indeed, for history it seems. "An accurate assessment. It is."

The other man rises, drink in hand as he approaches the metal scroll, beginning to recite its words in their original language.

"As an imperfect actor on this stage,

Who with fear is put beside their part

Or some fierce thing replete with rage,

Whose strength's abundance outdoes them

So I, in my fear, forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love's rite

And in this way my own strength decays"

Vos holds himself like he is trying desperately not to touch the thing. "What a little treasure you have here. The speaker… overcome by their own depth of emotion… they fail to express themselves to their love, and their confidence is then lost? Perhaps their position as a suitor entirely?"

Maul hums, "I would argue it is their self control, not the depth of their passion, that leads to their failure, whichever it might be."

The crime lord sighs, and takes a drink of his tea, lingering there. "Wonderful. If you have other such pieces I would be so interested in seeing them."

Maul considers it a moment. Letting Vos loose among his collection of artifacts has its drawbacks, but it would serve as plentiful distraction. The sith stands, takes a long pull on his own drink, then abandons the rest in favor of a handful of nuts. "Follow."

"Don’t mind if I do," Vos smiles, joining Maul as he leads the way down a set of stairs to the level below.

He brings them down to his treasury amid the unfinished stone walls, and gestures at the clutter. At the sea of clutter.

Vos’ takes an audible breath, lets it out in a little sigh and a barely-there huff of… something unclear. His faint force signature roils with many emotions at once, all of them intent.

Those jagged markings are going off again, flushing bloody as he starts forward into the room.

Maul puts up a hand to stop him, and the man walks right into it. Blue eyes- their whites gone pink in a pale mirror of a sith’s stare- snap sharply to his face, openly hostile for the barest moment before a veneer of affected warmth slides back into place.

It is Maul’s turn to lean in.

"Be wary,” he lilts. Glaring down people a head taller than him is an art and he has perfected it. “A third of these items might kill you at a touch, and no few are… seductive in their draw."

Vos grins at him and dares to take Maul’s hand off his chest, bowing to kiss the knuckles. "You spoil me, my lord."

Maul thinks putting up with him is the greater benevolence, but keeps that to himself. "Mnh."

The blonde starts exploring with the caution of a man who specializes in the forgotten and forbidden. Maul is content to munch on nuts and leave him to it, watching only to ensure that Vos is not ensnared by something desperate to escape its prison; or a bauble meant to test a fully realized sith and not someone with a mere iota of force training.

It is almost peaceful until the threads come cresting back in a rush, syrupy strings and insubstantial claws. New. The syrupy quality is new. Maul folds under the onslaught, stumbling back into the doorframe with teeth bared.

It sticks, it clings, it wants -

s

s

s

e

e

e

k

i

n

g

«

«

Maul roars at the searching threads, shoving them all away, away! They peel off and slither back, trying to find their way in to bind him. There is no time for the cantrip, he holds these at bay with rage alone.

He comes back out of his internal world damp with sweat and panting, hunched down on his knees. Green mist leaks from his mouth and nose, and the air smells of burnt things.

Vos is standing before him, very still. "My lord, are you… well?” the other man asks, eyes bright and lips slightly parted as though witnessing something riveting.

Maul rises, chest vibrating as a growl of frustration pours out of him, at the threads and the softly-spoken question alike.

A blonde head tilts, birdlike. "Perhaps… you should rest? I could not feel that as you do, merely a faint, mm… vertigo? But it did look…” the man finally inhales and blinks, body language relaxing out of a predator’s stillness into something almost normal, “…rather exhausting to overcome."

Another lingering once-over and pale brows turn up in an expression that does not match any aspect of how Dryden Vos feels in the living force.

Maul grinds his teeth and stands to his full height, forcing his voice steady, "I will go review the texts you have brought. Do as you will."

He turns to go, and hears Vos follow at his back.

taglist: @savageopressbignaturals

[nocturius8015ficore]

Sergeant for Clone Force 99: Hunter!

Traditional Ink on paper + colorization and texture in Krita

Nocturius: In that series of ''The Bad Batch Season 1'' I decide to add the red dots of a squad leader like we saw on other republic commando. Because they are.

I had lot of fun working on Hunter. Doing a dynamic but simple pose. I used some cool reference about him and the commando concept art. That was nice to compare.

Hunter is thiner, smaller and more flexible than other commando AND reg. It show well in the ref. His armor are modified to accommodate him nicely. Showing us that delightful''slut waist'' for the greater good. Look at this. 👇

Of course my style tend to put a little more meat on those bois, making them a bit thicker than in the cartoon, but still, his belly armor/belt is just some sort of Katarn-class armor panty... Now folks you know that's why he is so cunty. Mystery solved. 👍

[void-tiger]

…okay but. How the heck is Bo-Katan so young?! Don’t get me wrong, they found the perfect actress to portray her but…she’s human? Older than Ahsoka? Roughly of similar age as Obi-wan Kenobi? This is a few years give or take After the empire fell??

Did the Living Waters grant her with immortality? Legit Space!Fountain of Youth? (Implications being that’s how Din raises an alien child who would otherwise long outlive him well before the kid’ll ever reach his teen years developmentally?)

…I’m just saying. Aside from the Continuity Convenience and yet another hilarious christianity reference, there’s gotta be a potential reason for why they’re the Living Waters versus idk Beskar Waters. (Part of me is still a bit disappointed that the “waters” didn’t turn out to be a planetary lava or leftover refinery runoff acid with the “proof” being 3rd degree burns since it was set up to be an impossible task, and not because “sooo is Mandalore even breathable anymore or…”)

[ct3107]

The General is now flirting with a rock.

...

The rock just blushed.

[jacensolodjo]

hisses at every facial mod for the female companions in starfield that inevitably make them more 'conventionally attractive' and in some cases whitewashes which is to say more palatable to the cishet white male

I wanna murder the person responsible for this (also what does that even MEAN less like an ice queen)

For reference THIS is Andreja

therefore not only has she been made more conventionally attractive but whitewashed lmao God forbid we have a woman with darker features and be wider in the face.

[tensline]

The Kaminiise genetically making us obstinante against the act of committing suicide: wouldn't it be funny to make these fuckers survive?

Kriff this. The long necked bastards say they did it to make Prime and the Jetii hardy super soldiers impossible to kill or be felled. In reality I think it's cause they wanted to kark with me in particular. Probably spat in my tube and kicked it around before I was decanted. Said "Kriff this CC in particular." Siths kriffing ka'ra, I'm going to end up on the news if I act on my anger.