#cinnamonandfeathers

[onelightpoint-blog]

Podfic: We Pretend That the Voices in Our Heads Are Our Own

1. Ok, since it looks like podfic is going to be A Thing with me now, I’m compiling all of them in Podfic Master Post on AO3. There will be MediaFire download links, and embedded Youtube vids for the Worksafe stuff. 

2. I’ve already posted about the 1st entry in there, but I haven’t mentioned chapter 2 yet...

I did Narration for the first 2 chapters of   We Pretend That the Voices in Our Heads Are Our Own, by Cinnamon_Girl aka @cinnamonandfeathers

It’s Sithly poetry, and it’s beautiful...I just couldn’t resist xD

ANYWAY, go read it first: HERE

The podfic downloads and 2 Youtube vids for Chapters 1 and 2 are HERE on AO3

Chapter 1: Poetry featuring Palpatine, Count Dooku, Darth Maul, Savage Opress, and Asajj Ventress

Chapter 2: A Sith manifesto, of sorts... I used a slight vocal distortion filter, to be extra disconcerting...

[editoress]

because I always make poor life decisions : f i g h t m e m a n d o k h a t

YES.  You are strong, and fast, and I believe that it would be a challenging and delightful time had by all.  Is it not my duty to spar with my ad’ika?

[editoress]

[comes in hours late with Starbucks] ...... hey ?

1. First impression: Look at this incredibly skilled artist and writer!!2. Truth is: LOOK AT MY SMALL AND BEAUTIFUL CHILD3. How old do you look: Your age4. Have you ever made me laugh: Absolutely, all the time.  All we do is crack up about things~.  Or cry, but then immediately laugh.5. Have you ever made me mad: Nope!6. Best feature: ???  Your eyes?  That face shape?  Your height?  Yes.7. Have I ever had a crush on you: Nope.8. You’re my: Ad’ika!

[soartfullydone]

@editoress asked: Cannelle and the Inquisitor.

So okay, here I go. You’re welcome, @cinnamonandfeathers~

"The Felucia system has officially been purged of Jedi," Darth Krave said, peering at the Grand Inquisitor over her interlaced fingers. "Well done." 

The Inquisitor did not rise from his kneeling position on the floor nor did he raise his head to look the Sith Lord in the eye. Still, his voice was crisp and clear. "It was no great task, and one I was all too happy to complete, my lady."

"Yes," she said, tapping her nails upon her desk, gazing out at nothing in particular. The Inquisitor stayed perfectly still and silent. It was clear that, despite this news, she was displeased. Finally, she stopped and came to a stand. "Rise, Inquisitor. I want to ask you something."

He did so without preamble, his lithe body unfurling and straightening in a smooth glide. Folding his hands behind his back, he said nothing, his face betraying nothing, no fear, no anger. Only his golden eyes followed her as she rounded the desk and came to stand before him, as precise as a viper waiting to strike. Though she was shorter than the Pau'an, it was clear who held the power in the room. He stood there at her bidding, waiting upon her every word. 

At last, Darth Krave spoke. "Did I not also command you to bring at least one Jedi back to me alive so we could find the others?"

The Inquisitor responded with the barest hesitation. "You did, my lady."

"Then," she spoke lowly, precisely, dangerously soft, taking one step closer to him. "Why have you failed me?"

He didn't go for his weapon, and his eyes didn't leave hers. "Because the night of the attack I received further orders from Lord Vader: kill everyone on sight. Forgive me. I wrongly assumed you had concurred with him."

"I see," Darth Krave said in that same alarmingly soft tone, her eyes like the sparks struck between flint and steel. Her gaze drifted again and her displeasure settled heavily upon the room. But it had a different target now. The Inquisitor allowed himself to slowly---slowly---relax. He barely moved, but his shoulders weren’t quite locked in such a hard line.  

When Darth Krave spoke again, it was calm and matter-of-fact. Dismissing. 

"Training will be postponed today. I must have a talk with Lord Vader about interference, dealing out conflicting orders, and failing to follow procedure." She laughed softly to herself, mirthless. "I wonder how well this is going to go."

[editoress]

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Nelle!  I didn’t mean to leave you hanging!

You’re awesome because you are so much brilliant, incredible person wrapped up into one adorable young woman.  What dreams!  What vision!  You put your heart and head both into everything, and it shows in your creative works and in how much people love talking to you.  I hope you see and accomplish everything you want and more, because you deserve it.

[editoress]

did I hear ficlet prompt ???? Im curious as to how me finding Maul again (or is it the other way around!!!) would go after I became an imperial

One day, she woke up and she knew.

The Inquisitor was gone.  (Not gone---when she reached out to the Force there was something of him.  Whether he had truly found the way to immortality or it was her own wishful thinking, she never knew.)  The only remaining Sith were Sidious’, those he had molded and sharpened---not to strengthen, but to use as tools.  Cannelle was a forgotten relic from an age before his power.

So one day she woke up and knew that she did not belong here.  It was possible that she once had.  After all, she was a different woman than the one who had come here after the fall of the Jedi.  She had changed with time.  And now it was time to be somewhere else.

When she reached out to the Force and found old lessons coming easily (like they hadn’t in decades, like she was eighteen and learning through the bloodshed of a war again), she got some idea where that might be.

The Force guided her.  But all the same, when she found him, she almost didn’t recognize him.  He had always stood still, tight as a coiled spring, eyes like wildfire even at the calmest times.  She had always been able to feel rage burning over a harrowing uncertainty.  There was always something missing.

Now when Maul turned to her (not when he heard her approach but when their presences met in the Force, in the air between them), he stood straight and tall---yet not like a blade, but like a man.  A man who deserved the ground he was standing on, had earned it.  His eyes glowed gold.  He was older.  He looked whole.

His smile, though---that was the same.

So was his kiss.

[editoress]

you/Thrawn "So, this is it." ; me/Ultron "It's not you I don't trust, it's me." ; you/Hanzo "Nice shot." ; me/Gabriel "I missed you." (*blow kisses*)

“So, this is it.”  Beth’s face was hidden behind the fierce helmet, but her voice and posture were almost charmingly easy to read.  “No one knows a thing about either your people or your home system, and I assume you mean for it to stay that way.”  At Thrawn’s nod, she said, “So you came to say goodbye?”

Thrawn tilted his head as he considered her.  “Actually, I was wondering whether you would consider an unusual posting—alongside one Admiral Voss Parck.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s me.  And I don’t understand….  I can calculate the exact amount of pressure I can use without hurting you.  (See?  You’re not even flinching.)  But somehow, I… I still…

“You’re all so skittish.  Like little animals.  Every time I say something that makes you think—

“No, that’s not right, is it?  Every time I say something out of line.  It’s so hard to keep those two things straight.

“See what I mean?”

“Nice shot,” the woman commented with perfect sincerity.

Hanzo tracked his target, who was quickly limping into cover.  His expression darkened.  “He still lives.”

And despite having just been attacked by the man in question, she replied, “I know!  Good job.”

Hanzo could have spent several days reflecting on that reply, but he most certainly would not allow himself to.

“I missed you,” Cannelle murmured, over and over.  She had to make sure Gabriel knew her feelings as surely as she knew his.  He didn’t say anything, but his cheek (unmasked, incredibly warm) was pressed against hers and he held her tight against him.  Even the shadows that followed him everywhere (also oddly warm) curled around her in misty tendrils.  She wondered if he even knew he was doing it.  She just wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and whispered, “I missed you.”

[soartfullydone]

you/Ultron "/Unbelievable.../" ; me/Maul "I'm part Nautolan. Technically, I swim faster than you." ; Dooku/Palpatine Jedi au "Can I drive ?" (WE'RE IN THIS TOGETHER NOW) ; you/Maul "You're driving me crazy."

“Unbelievable…” Melody paced restlessly back and forth in the neat little prison Ultron had prepared for her, her eyes like ice shards on his back. “You still don’t think you sound anything like him.”

He finally turned around to face her then, his tone friendly. “Like who?” But the grip he had on the cables was a clenched fist. He knew.

She said it anyway. “Like Stark.”

The explosion of fury was immediate, his denials echoing throughout the cavern. She backed away from the bars just in time.

“I’m part Nautolan,” Cannelle responded smartly. “Technically, I swim faster than you.”

“‘Technically,’” Maul repeated with an impatient puff of air, “is nowhere near a certainty, my apprentice. If you’re going to make boasts, you should always be certain.”

Cannelle was already taking off her shoes. “Fine, then let’s settle this right now, Master.”

“Can I drive?”

The words were barely out of Palpatine’s mouth when Dooku said, “No.”

Palpatine scowled and said, “And why not?”

Dooku scowled back, a not so subtle reminder to Palpatine that he was veering dangerously towards disrespect. “You are not of age, and you lack the proper permits.”

“That didn’t seem to matter when I borrowed that Rodian’s speeder and caught you outside the Senate building, Master.”

Dooku blew a puff of air through his nose. “The speeder you stole, you mean?” It was only because Palpatine looked genuinely upset that Dooku continued, “I believe, Padawan, that I thanked you for that already—and commended you on your quick thinking.” 

A beat passed and the irreverent smile was back again. “So… Can I—”

“No.”

"You're drivingme crazy." The hushed confession was wrenched from her as Maul's warmfingers continued to trace her skin, his current focus on her waist andstomach.

"Patience,"he hummed against her throat, and she felt the vibrations of it against herback, pressed against his chest as she was. "Besides, I recall having toendure similar treatment from you, without nearly this much fuss."

"I didn't takenearly this much time," she argued, "and your tattoos are infinitelymore fascinating."

He seemed to becataloging every bit of smoothness, every inch of perfection, until he foundthe scar on her ribcage. His thumb stroked across it in approval and murmured,"I find you very fascinating, apprentice, especially with how you wear thescars I've given you."