girl culture is turning around every few feet when you’re walking alone to see if someone’s following u
Learn to peep through the corner of your eye so you’re not quite so obvious when you turn.
Putting in your earphones so hopefully no random men try to talk to/harass you but not actually playing music so you can listen for footsteps/other suspicious noises behind you.
feeling like someone is following you and subtly shifting whatever object you’re holding into a better grip so you can use it as a bludgeon if the person behind you tries anything
Being fucking terrified when street lamps give you more than one shadow
Walking with your keys between your fingers even when you are not even remotely close to your place
Listen. Cut your own hair. Dye it blue, then shave it off when you’re bored of it. Wear that outfit with those shoes. Paint your nails with all the colors of the rainbow. Get that tattoo. Go to the movies alone. Get coffee, then drink it at that special place you like. Mouth the words of the song you’re listening to on public transport. Put that thing on your wall. Bake. Draw. Dance in your underwear. Life is so much better when you don’t give a fuck
this isn’t 100% punk but dude down to it this is the essence of punk
grievous is dead. dooku is dead. the cold air of utapau rattles through his helmet filters, burning his lungs and throat for the chill of it. around him, there are blaster bolts, cries of pain, the cliffs shaking underneath their boots, caked in red dust.
he has a lightsaber in his hand.
( not for the first time. it almost hit him in the head, dropping from above, this time ‘round, and he eyes the edge contemplatively, considering just tossing it over into the rock pools of water below. watching it fall. )
he looks out over the battlefield.
there are broken bodies, his brothers bright casts of white across the red landscape. kenobi had come charging through some of them earlier, on his dragonmount, and the mount had sent troops flying off the edge as it ran through them.
one of them hadn’t made it. obi-wan didn’t even mention their passing.
cody is a strategist, and sees the bigger picture, sees that they’re pushing the enemy back, another gunship dropping in, the lasers working to take out some of the spider droids they’re dealing with.
something tells him now is the time. he is marshall commander, the highest ranking clone in the gar, and it was agreed that he was the only one who could organize something like this. he gives one look more to the battlefield, and presses a code into his wrist comm.
‘ this is commander cody, ‘ he says, and in every active clone’s helmet, his voice echoes. ‘ it’s time. it’s time. ke narir haar’ke’gyce rol’eta resol. ‘
his comm clicks off, just in time, obi-wan’s dragonmount skittering up to cody, obi-wan looking weary, but forcing a grin, calling down to the commander, and cody pulls off his helmet, approaching him.
‘ commander! send your men to the higher … ‘ it doesn’t matter what he’s saying, and cody revels, almost, in just … not listening. it’s not important that he listens. ‘ cody? are you alright? ‘
he takes another step forwards, obi-wan’s lightsaber concealed in his hand, and presses it, unignited, to the dragonmount’s ribs, under the crook of its shoulder, and activates it. it dies without ceremony, crumpling under kenobi, who looks at cody as if he’s gone mad.
‘ hands in the air, sir, ‘ cody says calmly, and does what he had wanted earlier, and just tosses kenobi’s lightsaber over the edge. ‘ we don’t want to hurt you if we don’t have to. ‘
around them, there’s a cli-click-click-ck, of several guns being cocked, a circle of troopers surrounding obi-wan, who slides off the side of the mount, eyes darting back and forth, like he had added two and two and five had come out. ‘ commander, what is this? ‘
‘ you killed grievous. ‘
‘ yes, ‘ kenobi says, slowly.
‘ the war will be over in – weeks at most. days, at least. tell me, kenobi, ‘ cody says, and lifts his chin, an expression of almost serenity shining through jango fett’s face. ‘ what do you think happens to us, when the war ends? ‘
there were protests, of course. had been, since the beginning of the war. anti-clone protesters, who argued that if the clones and droids were both disposed of, the two sides could come to a peace so much more easily.
‘ i don’t know, commander, ‘ kenobi says. ‘ lower your gun. that’s an order. ‘
cody grins.
‘ we have our own, now. order sixty-six. if the war ends, the senate will do their best to forget us. if we want to be free, this is the only chance we get. we don’t want to kill you, but if we have to? we would. ‘ upon seeing kenobi’s betrayed look, he adds: ‘ how many of us might as well have died at your hands, sir? ‘
‘ very well, commander, ‘ obi-wan says, slowly, eyes not leaving cody’s face. ‘ i surrender. are you going to cuff me? ‘
‘ no, ‘ cody says. he knows kenobi too well. in a cell or tied up, he’ll be out in the blink of an eye, and a wave of blue stun blasts ripples through the circle of troopers, obi-wan’s body crumpling to the ground, unceremoniously. like a clone.
cody looks down at his general.
‘ get him in one of the gunships. move the tanks to the higher levels. we’ll finish this fight and then begin the negotiations. ‘
please spread the word, and get in contactvia this websiteit is so easy to send a pre-worded email over and get things rolling. help us out!! we made it through the july vote, but it’s come back round super fast.
AO3 just posted an update on how it could be affected after the recent vote. basically it is definitely bad for the environment of creativity, but it’s not the end right now – and it’s important as much as we can now we channel concerns intoaction because in the run up to the final vote and we can influence the outcome for the future of creative works and for our fandom experiences!!!
the post AO3 made is a really good outline for people to read and catch up on what’s going on, and see how they can help.
“You’ve been promoted, sergeant. You’re this battalion’s commander now, and I’ll give you a briefing on the development of our situation.”
Former sergeant Drop has many pressing questions, but the first to leave his lips unprompted is:
“W-what happened with commander Kite, General?”
General Pong Krell turns his yellow eyes down to the clone standing in front of him, taking a menacing step closer and leaning down to be at his eye level.
“Follow me.”
A bit farther ahead from their camp, the expectation that made Drop’s stomach churn is confirmed: their former commander lies crumpled down on the dirt, legs split from his torso with a clean, cauterized cut of what could only have been a lightsaber.
Krell flips the clone’s upper body on his back with a kick, showing Kite’s face caked in dirt and his eyes wide open and glassy. The general let a slow smile spread over his face as he turned to the clone that did his best to seem collected.
“He refused to comply to my orders, so I terminated him. I suppose you do not wish to share his fate.”
Drop swallows down as his knees feel surprisingly weak for a man so used to facing death more often than not. It wasn’t entirely unexpected though – most men from Krell’s battalion feared their own general more than an entire platoon of commando droids.
“I don’t, sir. Tell me your orders, and I’ll carry them out.”
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
“Good. I want you to gather that platoon of younger clones and have them advance to the capital undetected while the men provide them with a distraction to the enemy.”
Stealth mission. Sounds easy enough.
“So they might take those blaster turrets off from the inside? Sir, “ he hesitated, only hoping he wasn’t one insubordination away from being cut in half as well “for that I would recommend sending one of our more experienced men, they’ll know how to assess the situation better then those shinies. I know a couple of our men that are specialized in—“
“That is unnecessary, clone. We can afford to lose a few younger ones and it’s less risky than sending in our very best. You will arm them with as many thermal detonators as you can, and they’ll explode the main buildings from the inside.”
Drop tries to follow the idea. No way Krell is suggesting that…?
“As in, they should plant the explosives and return to cover, sir?”
And that… that is when Krell kriffing grins.
“No. They must detonate them manually so there are no failures, no risk of the explosives being disarmed by the enemy.”
Drop has never felt outrage so raw in his guts. And he has to fight to keep it from showing in his face, or in his shaking voice:
“Sir, with all -all – due respect, am certain that there are other solutions to this assault, solutions that will decrease the body count of what you are proposing right now.”
Krell is still smiling, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise at Drop’s words:
“Oh, I’m sure there are. But I don’t care.” And his voice becomes soft, like he is just asking him a small favor “don’t overthink it, now. After all, you’re all just clones, meat droids with human faces. It doesn’t matter. None of you do.”
Drop can feel the sweat beading on his forehead, trailing down over his eyebrows. The sheer anger in his heart that races, pulse pounding in his eardrums. He looked at his former commander’s face, dirt on his cheeks and a terrified look still lingering in his eyes. He had been trained to fight and die for the republic, and he would gladly do so, but he had never been prepared for sending nine-year old shinies to be blown to bits to aid an unnecessary, purposely cruel plan of attack.
Drop’s hand slowly goes up to his holster, casually resting over his blaster. Krell gives him a feral grin.
“Yes, he thought about that too. He had the same raw, untamed anger you’re oozing out of your whole being now. You are really just like droids. Always the same thing. It’s even…boring.” he crosses two of his four arms over his chest, stil grinning “see, now you have two choices: try to make a grab for that blaster and end up like your former commander… or you can obey my orders and send those men to do their job.”
Drop’s jaw is tensed so tight he can feel his teeth grinding in his skull, his breath shallow, his legs shaky. He hesitates, once, twice, and then bites his lip so hard it bleeds, his hand slowly letting go off his blaster.
“Good.” Krell praises with velvet in his voice as Drop salutes and turns his back on the General “now head back to the camp, issue my orders. And don’t look so upset, now. Isn’t this all you clones want, to die gloriously in battle? Isn’t this your heritage, your culture?”
Drop doesn’t turn back to face Krell. He can’t stand to. Their culture is about protecting their family. Is about fighting and dying so the younger can thrive.
“Y-yessir. Excuse me, sir.”
Tonight, Drop will fill up a backpack with as many detonators as he can manage to, and he will sneak into the capital alone. A platoon of shinies will never understand why one of their best men sacrificed his life to destroy the enemy’s stronghold. Krell will laugh about the whole deal, and wait for a new opportunity to hurt the men in his charge.
Raf's rants 