#star wars tbt.

[delugenal]

𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 a sky like this. blacker than the grave and more bountiful than the dead, a murder of clouds turned the night into an event horizon. their voluminous bodies, so swollen and opaque, extinguished the ceaseless brilliance of the seven moons, and refused to relinquish its captives to the morning fire that rose without notice behind the dour curtain. it felt like the end had finally come to hapes. a superstition born from an animal brain. still, fear, no matter how misplaced, was contagious. nerves and whispers accompanied the artificial light that flooded the interior to keep the darkness at bay.

      out of curiosity, rain slipped his hand through a paneless window. it was as if the portion of his limb outstretched was severed clean the wall of morning-night was so thick. like all members of his species, lowlight meant a fresh horde bruises or a deadly tumble off something with a ledge. but only because most hapans used only their eyes to see. rain’s senses spoke to him differently. microspheres of moisture in the atmosphere illustrated the world when sightlines could not. so even if the sensation of his extended limb was denied, rain would still see how his wrist waved as he turned it over, his fingers flowing in a gradient of motion. clearer than the sparkling rays of dawn in the vision behind his eyes.

      rain retrieved his arm and tested its movement. translucent scars left behind by downpour glistened in the hungry light. he was about to continue on, following the line of windows to his destination when an invisible current he’d trained himself to recognize any shift in its flow suddenly dammed his attention. rain found her right where he expected. the newly returned heir, still lacking the unique . . . shine of her lineage. hard to call the young woman glittering, but with each day this rey-shaped kira ka was looking more and more like her family. in facial structure alone. the rest remained untamed.

      a trend rain prayed continue. if not for the sake of sindel’s designs than for all the wrinkles ta’a chume’s granddaughter was no doubt carving with her willpower.

      ❝ seems i misjudged you, ❞ watery reflections circled the room as the orb suspended above his staff rotated like a shrunken world, ❝ i expected you take advantage of this. ❞ along with the top of his hood, rain’s brows nodded towards the windows. ❝ or at least attempt to. ❞

a storm swallows the sunrise for @graysistance

[riptile]

𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐌𝐏-𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 of zaterra were to be known for anything in the greater galaxy, it would be for their profound immensity. it monopolized every possible biome on the planet. even the poles were freezing vapors rose from noxious cauldrons of burning cold. trees with winding roots sunk deep into the soup sapped hot-blooded creatures dead, feeding their icy corpses to the virulent microbes that kept the strange waters in a state of ecological limbo. the rest of zaterra was no less surreal. a fathomless fortress of fathomless jungle made terrestrial travel a slow and dangerous process. even waterways bubbled with growth, plumes of ancient rot bursting in deadly clouds that choked.

      the most advanced agricultural technology struggled to tear a foothold in the mire. what great machines cleared in a day was replaced in half the time by the virulent soil. outworld farmers had to treat their soupy plots with dubious poisons to keep the native growth from returning so that their aquatic crops stood something of a chance.

      little surprise that the imperial remnants believed zaterra was an uninhabited world. what. besides frightening bacteria, could evolve in such loathsome conditions? conditions that were not conducive to sentient life, but proved invaluable to feeding a secret army. imperial biologist discovered a plethora of rapid-growing plants in the jungles. easily domesticated and edible for a majority of lifeforms. the imperials spent several agonizing years wrangling the swamps for agricultural supremacy, but the quantity produced at such incomprehensible speed made the blood-soaked effort worthy.

      cycle after cycle, zaterra was the remnant’s hideous gem. a backwater world on the outer rim, far from contemporary trade routes and hyperlanes. it wasn’t until the first order inherited the pungent heirloom, expanding deeper into the verdancy to feed their loyal worlds, that the invaders discovered the locals.

      she was different. syzoth had yet to see her, but tasting the air promised his instincts he was right. the acrid stench of plasteel didn’t cling to her skin like a bad shed. instead the outworlder smelled like an antsy afternoon basking in dappled sunlight. like most of the black-eyed invaders, the different one smelled human. but she moved through swamp without the inhibitions syzoth expected of her species. he followed her from the waterways, half submerged as an incandescent beam sliced through the opaque zaterran night with more ease than his meat-hook claws.

      the different one appeared an unstoppable force. if not for the ambush.

      the carapace commander was armed with a device that created an ear-splitting cry that scrambled the thoughts of naked heads. syzoth was forced to dive deep to mute the shrieks just enough to rescue his senses from a convulsive spike. when it was over, the saurian grappled with the muddy shoreline to discover his quarry was gone. taken away by the man-sized beetles. but he knew where they’d take her. he stalked the soldiers from the murky depths, breaking through the algae only to double check that his assumption was in the same direction as the distant shrill.

      passing through a bulky gate reinforced by a heavy door and a red, humming veil, the soldiers vanished with his quarry into their foul-smelling citadel. peevish bubbles ruptured the miry surface. syzoth dove into the watery undergrowth, his stiff tail propelling him forward in powerful, side-to-side strokes. he knew another way, an awful way. grime-caked sewers ran like a hellish maze underneath the complex, supplying rot rich irrigation while pumping refuse back into the swamp. the first and only time syzoth ever navigated the matrix of filth, he’d nearly succumbed to its uneven flow channels, choking on its soup several times before escaping with only a gasp left of life.

      now he only hope he remembered the way.

      easy enough to climb the stunted waterfall that discarded unwanted waste into the surrounding ecosystem. meathook claws left defiant scars along the stone chute leading into the sewer’s nexus. the water level throughout was uneven. some channels were shallow, some plunged deep into vacuums. the air was too pungent, too stagnant to nurture smells other than the foul. impossible even for a saurian’s keen predatory senses. he followed sounds of the flow instead, its echoes and plummets, against rock and steel. the saurian used his skin too, studying the currents rolling across osteoderms, to decipher the way to where he was certain the first order would hold their captive.

      syzoth’s heart pumped wildly in his chest. the illusion of the passages’ narrow walls collapsing inward urged him closer to reckless impatience. when he thought his skull might explode, the saurian slid on his belly down a chute and dropped into a deep tank. the water was slightly cleaner here, ridding his scales of several layers of odor as he dived. down, down, down till the his sight bred for total darkness was blinded by the pitch. there were openings in the wall, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. syzoth had a single chance to pick the correct one. minutia in the water guided him through an opening that delved further into the earth.

      suddenly, the tunnel slanted at an aggressive angle upwards. a fast moving column shooting from a grate on the bottom shot his body like a blow dart. all his focus, straining behind pounding eyes, went to pushing himself off walls before the geyser-like force splattered him against them. finally, when syzoth thought his lungs would explode, he was spat into a cubical reservoir in a forgotten part of the citadel’s prison.

      build-up scraped under enormous claws as syzoth hoisted himself from the water. pressing his belly to the floor, he stalked through the holding cells. vermin made up the prison’s living occupants. nibbling the molds that grew on the damp, or the carcasses of saurian slaves stacked unceremoniously. syzoth didn’t avert his eyes. instead he counted each brother and sister that melted together in an amalgamation of decay.

      finally he found the only occupied cell. the whole room was flooded with a tiny, constant ringing. for first few seconds, it was hardly noticeable. but the longer syzoth was exposed, the more difficult it became to focus. he hunted the source of the brain-numbing nuisance. he scaled the walls, ripping apart a speaker hidden in the ceiling.

      his gular sac vibrated with an irritated gurgle when he realized there was more than one hidden around the room. syzoth unlatched his claws, dropping back to the floor. he found the camouflaged control panel, tearing off its door to reveal a crisis of multi-colored veins. his scaly head cocked. a bemused urrrrrhrr trickled through his exposed teeth. there was no time to guess what everything meant, and his lean command of basic no doubt would serve him poorly if he attempted to ask the prisoner for help. instead, thick keratinous raked through the veins as if they were the intestines of a k'ek'en. sparks cackled at his brutish attack. the air reeked of singed flesh when the petulant buzz ceased.

      syzoth shook his head, relieved. but the red veil barring the cell still hummed with life. with a snort, the saurian continued, ripping another talon full of electrical viscera. with hiss, the veil was banished, leaving behind only a set of sturdy bars between the captive and freedom.

      cautiously, the saurian crawled towards the cell. he knew nothing of the prisoner’s species, couldn’t even guess how adept his quarry's vision was in such abysmal lightning. mindful steps avoided menacing clacks from his hooked talons. syzoth stopped a snout-length away from the bars, studying the figure on the other side. tilting his great head, syzoth chuffed to the silhouette a watery greeting.

@graysistance

[delugenal]

𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐄. underdogs were bound to attract mange.

      dameron’s attempt at intimidation wicked off rain’s skin like water on wax. unbothered by the presence of a weapon trained, the hapan glided along the perimeter, hood canted over his shoulder with fascinated regard. there was a touch of ridicule in the way his brows bent upward, questioning the other man’s antics and his ability to spot the different between a thumb and a firing stud. even rain’s aqueous gait on the dust-chalked stones rippled with derision.

      ❝ is this how the resistance treats its allies? ❞ the hapan’s venomous laugh never escaped his throat, yet it coiled around the room like a vexis. ❝ little wonder the first order is winning. ❞

@delugenal talks big for a guy about to eat crow...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝doesn’t matter how big the blaster is if you don’t know where to point it.❞ / to poe

ㅤ"Yeah, you say that, but the wookie's on a rig big enough to address it 'To Whom It May Concern', so maybe start getting concerned," he pointed out, and yeah, he was also pointing a blaster of his own at the guy, but this guy gave him weird vibes. He was banking on that back-up to have a better view of the scene than he did if there were any surprises, because he sure as hell wasn't taking his eyes off the potential threat in front of him. "What's your deal? You Empire? Bounty hunter? Opportunist?"

[domhnallgleesonhaven]

Domhnall in George’s Street, Dublin, December 2013 (New in HQ) 🧡

[relicruined]

- i will not die in the NIGHT but in the light of the sun with the ashes of this world in my lungs

indie, selective, && mutually exclusive dual Vs from cd projekt red's cyberpunk 2077. low activity some days; mun has 2 jobs. mun is 30+, uses they/she pronouns, and does not interact with anyone under 21. low activity. crossover && "double" friendly. PERSONALS & MINORS DNI.

- we've been DEAD since our birth .

[goldengirlchrissy]

good girl.

@tapalslegacy sent a meme!

Chrissy’s head whipped around to look at her husband, her cheeks tinged with pink. Placing her book down, she looked at Cal curiously. “What did you call me?” She asked softly, eyes never leaving his face. Biting her lip, she gnawed and pulled it between her teeth. “What was that for?”

[huntershowl-moving]

@nightmarefuele said:

"Did they lock you in here?" (from yk who.) protective starters. ACCEPTING

❝ THEY MAY AS WELL HAVE. ❞ THE WORDS contain no bitterness directed at her employer. only exhaustion — at the circumstance, and at herself for being stupid enough to get caught in her most vulnerable state. ❝ they can get me out any time they want. this is as much a punishment as a direct hand. ❞ somewhere, fletch waits for what they deem an adequate moment to make the call, the blackmail, the infiltration. usually a few days. sometimes weeks.

despite the hound's complete inability to fight back, the imperial military soldiers sent in lieu of bluecoats still clapped full-block shackles over the creature's ankles and hands. this time, they didn't make the mistake of processing her; they simply used the immortal emperor's warrant to bypass fair trial and threw her in solitary.

it was a smart move, they have to admit. the last time they tried to lock her down, she killed fifteen inmates because their de facto leader tried to lay a hand on her. sometimes she wonders if fletch keeps her here just to see what she will do.

the voice reverberates through persephone's skull, fingerlike, as disconcerting and familiar as the singing rush of blood through muscle & vein. they cannot see him in the pitch-dark, but there is no need to. he is not here — he cannot be. the prison would have sounded the alarm if he were.

if persephone were any less exhausted she would have reacted defensively. aggressively. but the kill they committed today, and the world-eater tide of rage that fueled it, leaves her shaking and spent. in truth, they aren't even positive this interaction is real — it would not be the first time they hallucinated after a kill.

❝ what do you care? how did you know? ❞

[mariahjade2]

TBT: excerpt from an old Luke and Mara fan fic story. by Ash Darklighter.

From Spirit of the Shifting Sands.

The lone landspeeder traveled swiftly over the desert's sandy and rocky terrain. The suns had completely set and the darkness was only relieved by moonlight. Like its twin suns, Tatooine had two moons. Crescent shaped, they shed silvery light over curved dunes and carved rock. The golden land had turned to silver. Little pinpricks of light dotted over the heavens. The stars seemed more vivid here where they could be seen without interference.

Silver light kissed the two silent individuals in the speeder. Shadows revealed bone structure, the curve of a cheekbone, the determined point of a chin, like carved stone. Both busy with their own difficult thoughts. The silence wasn't comfortable - exactly.

Mara roused herself finally to break the silence. The desert around them emitted strange unearthly sounds, but between the man and the woman there was nothing. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Where are we going?"

[delugenal]

𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐂’𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐎 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 -𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 super freighters were a sniveling wail from what their name suggested. by design, the ship was no succulent queen fit to rule systems with a doonium fist. nor was the construction fit to brush against the hull of the word “super”, even as a darkly dressed joke. little more than a scrap heap cobbled together to capitalise on cheap niches in the galactic marketplace, ghtroc industries sold what little soul they had when they decided to not only release their deathtrap, but pollute the market when the false empress failed to earn back their investment.

      with no weapons and only flimsy shields to her name, ghtroc’s infamy was meant to transport fifty-thousand metric tons of mercantile. and, at best, eight passengers. only eight. yet twisted remains of a mediocre fleet of these damnable freighters were scattered across the beach and well into the shallows. each had been overstuffed with tarsunt refugees in the place of replaceable cargo. as per the resistance's last contact with the captain, the freighters were successful in bypassing a first order blockade.

      but those pretty smuggler tricks that could outwit tyrants proved paltry against nature’s wrath.

      wreathed in beads of blood and sweat, rain stood transfixed by a small arm protruding from beneath a smoldering slab of wreckage. the fingers looked so small, curled into an ochre palm. the hapan had never seen a tarsunt in the flesh before, but he imagined that a hand that size belonged to . . .

      a sigh shuddered from the damp cloth shielding his lungs from the smoke. his breath tasted of metal.

      the small retinue of rebels rain had accompanied to meet the refugees were already at work searching for survivors. rain doubted they’d find any. not on the shoreline. escaping the morbid pull of the scene before him, rain’s attention turned to the demarcation of deep water. if there were any still alive, the sea would not tell him. she had no intention of sharing her catch.

      even more heroes arrived, summoned by the unanswered prayer of a distress signal. uniforms bled together as the rescue team broke around him. only one stood out among them. rain never looked, focus returned to the fingers growing paler by the second. he identified the man by the attitude in his boot-falls alone.

      ❝ i did what i could. ❞

a sprawling grave in the wake of a storm for @sparkflight

[vipier-a]

GODS, IF HE ISN'T SICK AND TIRED OF THE MID RIM SYSTEMS. he far prefers the anonymity - and wilderness - of the outer rim systems. this job, for tristan, has not only lasted far too long, but already sent him to some of his less favored locations in this area of the galaxy. he has other things to do, people to return to - or, at the very least, a rebellion to mildly terrorize while walking the line just far enough on the side of an ally to remain relatively safe. ( as a matter of fact, this particularly job is for his rebel contacts in the first place, so he feels he deserves gratefulness that he knows he won't receive and has already decided he'll settle for tolerance. ) his contacts have led him to this man who, upon immediate inspection, he's already not certain he likes.

" must be nice to be able to trade solely on information and no credits. " although honestly, tris can't even be bothered to sound like he actually cares. some people are just born lucky, and as long as he can actually feed himself, it's not like he's wanting for much of anything. with a shrug and a dismissive wave of his hand, he moves the conversation along quickly. " I guess it depends on what you're looking for. I suppose it's possible we could help each other out. "

@proditeur gets a star wars starter !!

[thekielbasanova]

TBT August 2012

❤️ kielbasanova

[domhnallgleesonhaven]

Throwback to “London for Guatemala” benefit concert, August 2018

[pohlepen]

       ❝    see it on your face, you won’t ever change in your ways.    ❞

spotify top 100 meme / 66 / knuckle velvet - ethel cain / @thirdsght

[storywolf]

@notpr3y asked: This is a place built on lies where nothing is authentic or genuine. 

"oh shit, really?" he gives a cautious glance around before his serious expression breaks out into a grin. "just like papa used to make! i feel at home already!" ignoring the fact he didn't have a papa- "lies, nonauthenticity, nothing genuine, it's the BEST EVER! means you can be anything you want to be. like a shady mysterious smuggler-" he offers her a wink. "-of which I ABSOLUTELY AM, of course." the verse information says it and everything! "just using it as an example."

[rietveild]

@vicioushope — ❛ sorry, did you want to be alone? ❜

kaz taps a gloved finger atop the rim of his glass and glares over at jyn as she makes herself comfortable in the seat across from him. ❝ i believe i made that clear when i had the last rebel dragged out of my club by his throat. ❞ the words slip out like a snarl. the rebellion couldn't afford him and he refused to help them as some act of charity. quite frankly, he didn't care if it would help dismantle the empire's grip on the galaxy. he'd done plenty fine for himself without fighting some pitiful war.

❝ if you're here to convince me to give you the plans, you already know i won't unless you have a compelling offer. ❞ he narrows his eyes and sits forward, ❝ so... let's skip the small talk, why don't we ? what can you offer me, miss erso ? ❞

[yunharlaquin]

just popping in to say hi... i'm still over on cinderella trying to get her off the ground but i shall return here sooner than later. pls feel free to plot/discuss things with me for jaina in the meantime; i'm just very much enjoying a change of pace with a character much more like myself personality wise with everything going on.