A figure stands at the end of the Mantis’s ramp, not even a toe of the edge. He radiates such strong wistfulness, and no small amount of grief, Cere can feel it to the marrow of her bones even without the Force. Still, she keeps her blaster in hand, tucked out of sight, and stares down the stranger, eyebrow raised.

He’s dressed in a garish blue and yellow poncho, hood pulled low over his head against the torrent of rain but makes no other effort to shield himself. She can’t see much of his face other than a glint of eyes on her and a crooked sort of smile. He looks at her with a familiarity she shouldn’t understand – yet she does. The Force stirs in the back of her mind, perking up like a bogling out of its burrow, whispering trust-trust-trust so loudly she wants to cover her ears. It’s bright and shining, like the sun on a cloudless day, and it’s so different than the shadowy darkness that’s been haunting her since Nur she’s….she’s pretty tempted to listen, just this once.

“Can I help you?” she asks curtly.

The figure shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m looking for charter. I’ve got credits.” His voice is low and oddly thick, but Cere can’t say if that’s his natural tone or something else.

Day 2: Old Injury

Art feat. Once again, my swtor trooper.

An event that set her moral compass, turning her into the skilled SpecForce Major she is today.

An old wound that never truly healed.

(Layers separated below)

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

DAY 2: HOLDING BACK TEARS

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: T

Warnings: Emotional distress

Rex knew he had to be focused. Ready to fight, ready for battle.

And still, he couldn’t stop seeing it. How everyone had shot Ahsoka. How he himself had done it. How they hadn’t even doubted, they just fired.

He could have killed her.

“Focus” he remembered himself.

But he couldn’t. The guilt was too much, having to talk to Ahsoka as if nothing had happened, seeing her just fine when she could be dead.

His hands started to shake and he just wanted them to stay still.

His hand should have shaken when he was firing against his friend, but they hadn’t.

He felt an unfamiliar burn in his eyes, and he got even more upset. He didn’t have any right to cry, no after what he had done, no when Ashoka seemed to be just fine with him,no when they should be focused on escaping, surviving, getting ready to fight their way out.

“Focus. You’re a soldier”

-So, what do we do? - he said, wanting to think about something else - Fight our way to the shuttle?

-There are too many- She responded- Besides, I don't want to hurt them.

She looked at him and Rex saw she was being serious. Now he could feel a pain on his chest, and he was growing tired of his body betraying him.

-I hate to tell you this, but they don't care- he said, almost angry. How could she think about not hurting them when they almost… - This ship is going down, and those soldiers, my brothers, are willing to die, and take you and me along with them!!

“My brothers”

He tried to pull himself together, calm his breathing down, but he was a fool if he really thought he could hide it from Ahsoka.

She took his helmet off and he saw the compassionate look on her eyes. He saw her forgiveness and his eyes started burning. He had to look away when the tear ran down his face.

He hated himself even more, ashamed, until she said:

-You're a good soldier, Rex.

At that moment, he knew he would do anything to help her escape alive.

Link to my ao3 work

A/N: He'd witnessed dozens of deaths during his career, but none of them had been Jadzia Dax. Set during 'Tears of the Prophets'.

He watched silently from the doorway.

He'd crossed his arms because his hands couldn't stop shaking.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was glad Sisko and Worf were obscuring her face. He wasn't sure if he could look at her right now.

Any other human wouldn't have heard her final words, but he wasn't an ordinary human. Her voice was as clear as if he were standing by her side:

"Our baby would've been so beautiful."

Your baby.

Julian's diaphragm hitched. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, willing every part of himself to hold it together a little longer. I don't want the last thing she hears to be my sobbing.

Worf's anguished roar rattled the infirmary. He'd moved just enough that Julian caught a glimpse of her lifeless body, now coloured with the sickly familiar shade of death.

A tear finally escaped down his cheek, running under the collar of his scrubs. Deciding he couldn't bear it any longer, he hurriedly turned away and headed for his office, ignoring the stares of his concerned staff. He barely made it through the door and locking it before he let out his own scream.

One that was filled with grief, yes, but more so anger.

Anger at his own inability to save her.

Anger at yet another wasteful death.

Anger at the uncaring universe who had taken his friend.

"If you're really out there," Julian roared at the ceiling, his pointed finger shaking violently, "then why couldn't you stop this?! W-Why didn't one of you…appear and do something!"

He snatched one of the research padds from his desk, hurling it into a glass cabinet with enough force to make it shatter. Fragments rained across the floor of his office, almost sparkling in the dim lighting.

"Some gods you make," He commented bitterly. "She wasn't even a Bajoran, and yet she came to your shrine to give thanks."

His chest was hurting.

"After all this time," Julian's voice was so thin that he barely heard himself. "A-After all this time…"

I still love you, Jadzia.

A strangled sob ripped from his throat. It was hard to see the display through the thick veil in his eyes.

"Computer…" His voice broke, and he swallowed so hard that it hurt. "Computer, record…t-time of death, f-for Jadzia Dax."

"Confirmed. Time of death, nineteen hundred hours." The computer answered emotionlessly.

Oh, how I envy you, computer.

He buried his face in his hands.

“I’ve got you,” Wind gasped.

Four blinked up at him, hazy. Wind’s hand latched painfully tight around his, the only thing keeping Four from falling. But Wind’s grip was slipping, strain stark on his face, and Four’s commands to his body produced nothing.

Wind’s grip failed, and Four fell.

“Four!” Wind’s last shout chased him down as he tumbled, bounced, rolled.

Whumpee acting okay throughout a situation, trying to stay strong for a companion, but its wearing them down until they finally snap and start screaming and crying.

It could be in a healing safe environment but the pain has just been too much, or it could be under the pressure of interrogation.