Angel With A Shotgun: A Doctor Who Song Fic

Tags

completed stories, doctor who, fanfiction, short stories, song-related fiction, songs i hate, sorry-not-sorry

My train of thought whenever I dislike a song tends to be “Wow, bad theology… stuff I don’t agree with… I hate this song… who is this applicable to? Hum. HEY, LET’S MAKE EVERYONE ELSE HATE THIS SONG TOO!”

So today I’m delivering you some feels with a song that is happy and upbeat but which has surprisingly dark lyrics. So… does this even need a trigger warning? Well, trigger warning for–um, self-hate and stuff I guess.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

(No, I’m not. I’m just ferociously glad to have corrupted this song for you all. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.)

Angel with a Shotgun

I’m an angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun,

An angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun

“Charley, Lucy, C’rizz, Tamsin, Molly. Friends, companions all, I salute you.”

Get out your guns, battle’s begun.

Are you a saint or a sinner?

If love’s a fight then I shall die

With my heart on a trigger.

He could not turn back now. The sky was going dark as all the stars went out. Daleks and Time Lords alike—fighting each other—committed to the destruction of the galaxy. Their war raged through a separate time and through all of time and space, bitter, relentless, furious, leaving weeping scars in its wake and shattering reality into splinters. And when they were not fighting each other, they were planning worse.

He had been trying to help. But to help was no good any more. He had to fight in the war, to fight it to the bitter end—to the inevitable loss that waited there. Lose his own people or lose all of history? He hated to concede to a lesser evil, but innocents were his first concern.

They say before you start a war,

You better know what you’re fighting for.

Well, baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

He did not look back as he stepped into his TARDIS—the ship damaged but still operational. He flew away from the carnage, into the heat of the storm.

He was the storm. And now was the time for the storm.

He did not look back, but he felt. Their hands over his, guiding. A tear squeezed from under one eyelid. He was shocked that he could cry any more, but he knew despite his hope that it would not save him now.

He was damned along with the rest of the universe. Sink or swim. Die… or kill.

The choice that would unmake the Doctor.

I’m an angel with a shotgun,

Fighting ‘til the war’s won,

I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back.

Sometimes, in awe of the distant might of the Time Lords, they would call him an angel. Perhaps they even saw him as one—descended from on high, a savior, a deliverer.

They could not be more wrong.

He was not particularly angelic, and death accompanied him everywhere. He could not save everyone. Every week, every month, a few more deaths around him would remind him, and Death would whisper in his ear that she was biding her time, waiting at the end of time, for him. She called him “beloved.” He did not know what that meant.

He used to joke, once, about being a Time Lord—having all the time in the world. But it was all a lie. He was just snatching them away from death for a few moments more in their short lives, the weight of all of Time rolling on ahead of them, their single hearts ticking down the days they had left and Death laughing in the corner with her hourglass.

Death had all the time in the world.

He was just a wanderer, doing what little he could, so little in the grand scheme of things—his hands stained with the memories he could not wash away.

I’ll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don’t you know you’re everything I have

And I wanna live, not just survive tonight

Still, there was no one else left to stand and fight now. And someone had to stand.

Sometimes to live meant to die. He’d accepted that long ago.

He was no longer innocent. He didn’t know what to believe in. But one thing he did knew—neither the Time Lords nor the Daleks could be allowed to succeed, or to fight on much longer.

He might die. He might lose faith. The concept—the legend—of the Doctor might be proven false.

But he would take the stand.

There was simply no one else left.

No. There were others. They’d gone home, they’d died, they’d forgotten him. Memento mori. Small, butterfly lives, here an instant and then gone in the wind. But he himself was not the stone of the mountain. Even oak trees fall when the rot gets into their hearts. And he was decaying. He was losing himself—no, not himself. Himself, he still had to live with.

He was losing the Doctor.

But he would fight for them. He would drag one last victory from the jaws of defeat, and then go willing to Death. For their sake.

Sometimes to win, you’ve got to sin

Don’t mean I’m not a believer

And Major Tom will sing along

Yeah, they still say I’m a dreamer

The combatants were still under the illusion of the Doctor—that comfortable, pleasant lie he’d told the universe for so long. They were still under his spell—deceived by the pretty lights and aery silks he’d drawn around himself. Underlying the Doctor, within, hidden by lights, within the shadows, there was the Storm. The Endless Storm, the Beginning—soon to be the Ending. The Relentless Storm. The Inexorable Storm. Irresistible, unstoppable.

The Daleks, perhaps, had seen it before anyone else. But that was their reward for their crimes—they saw the Storm, and they learned fear.

They called him the Oncoming Storm.

The only way to win this war was for all sides to lose. He could destroy them all. He knew he could. And he would, without hesitation, without mercy.

He left them one last warning—one last concession to the Doctor. No More. And Arcadia fell.

He came before the dawn and took the Moment from the vaults. None saw him to stop him—they only saw where he had passed.

Doctor No More.

He had to be. He would be their executioner.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you’re fighting for

Well, baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

He allowed himself one last moment of hesitation, true to that pretty lie. To ask one last time if it was really worth it. The answer was always the same. No it’s not. I don’t have a choice. He would not allow himself to feel regret. Not until the deed was done.

He was doing it for the trillions of lives that would be saved—for the Gallifreyan might-have-been children, who now would never exist in this timeline—who now could not be ruined by the corruption in the hearts of their elders. All two point forty-seven billion of them.

If he was an angel, he was the Angel of Death—the angel that smites the wicked in merciless justice.

But he knew that he really was no angel.

He was only a man.

An angel might have saved them.

No… only God could save a soul. Angels didn’t have second thoughts.

I’m an angel with a shotgun,

Fighting ‘til the war’s won

I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back

I’ll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don’t you know you’re everything I have

And I wanna live, not just survive tonight

Oh, oh whoa whoa oh whoa

He knew already that he had doomed himself. Doctor no more. It was all too true, wasn’t it.

He was the Doctor no more. All that was left was the Storm.

And the universe would not have to contain the Storm for very much longer.

I’m an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘til the war’s won

I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back

Good men don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.

Am I a good man?

Heaven was for the righteous. Heaven would never accept him.

Maybe he could accept that.

He would fall, happy, if once the war ended. To save all those lives seemed too much to hope.

I’m an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘til the war’s won

I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back

I’ll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don’t you know you’re everything I have?

I’m an angel with a shotgun

And I want to live, not just survive

Live, not just survive

And I’m gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight

He hacked off the long, loose curls that had framed his face before. It felt as if he was hacking off those imaginary wings humans had so often framed him with.

All that was left was the soldier. The Warrior.

He didn’t care if Gallifrey was lost, if Gallifrey would not accept him again. It didn’t matter any more.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you’re fighting for

Well, baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

“Charley, Lucy, C’rizz, Tamsin, Molly. Friends, companions all, I salute you. And Cas… I apologize…”

Don’t forgive me for what I am about to do. I don’t deserve forgiveness. But I am sorry.

“Physician, heal thyself.”

The Doctor was dead.

Put Down Roots

Tags

because i really really have no social life, captain america, fanfiction, marvel, song-related fiction, the avengers

Because there’s a song and I’m trying to find it but I don’t think anyone has made a fan video for it yet. (Actually, it’s two songs, both called “I’m Still Here” and both might work. But one is my favorite. Anyway… any video editors out there, please take notice: I want one for the Captain America fandom.)

And also because Steve Rogers believes in hope, above all else.

I have nothing more to say.

Put Down Roots

                I’m here.

Perhaps the most often-asked question is “How are you coping?”

I don’t know the answer.

But my feet are on the ground, and the sky is the same. It’s a lie that smog was not so bad in the past. It was just fueled by different things. If anything, it’s gotten better rather than worse.

There are still problems, problems we’re working past.

There is still right and wrong. Things are complex, but then, they’ve always been.

Some roots do not wither and rot away with time. They simply go far too deep.

And the wise tree puts down new roots all the time. Never mind that it hurts when heartstrings are cut. Never mind that time tests us all.

Time is for growth. The future is for hope. We still have a chance about the might-have-been that still should be.

And because of that, I’m still here.

Mechanical Heart

Tags

captain america: the winter soldier, fanfiction, hot cocoa and candy canes, lindsey stirling, song-related fiction

Okay, I was planning on posting something entirely different today, but then… The Winter Soldier barged in. And there were snowballs, and hot tea, and candy canes. The candy canes came in first. (Yes, I attacked the Winter Soldier with a candy cane. *glares at audience*) But then, I kind of had a “I need a Lindsey Stirling fix” moment and went on YouTube, which led to a thought of hey, this could be Bucky, so here you are!

Partially inspired by steampunk genre, partly inspired by the various marvelous “Ready Aim Fire” Captain America: The Winter Soldier tributes, and partly because “Shatter Me” would make such a perfect tribute for Bucky.

Enjoy!

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Mechanical Heart

                It’s all clockwork, really.

Cogs and springs and soft, soft ticking that never goes away.

It’s there when he gets up, when he trains, in exact rhythm with his pounding heart, breathless with exhilaration.

And then he lies down again, and his heart is silent, and his breath is gone, and there is nothing but the slow, soft ticking. Click-click, click-click, sometimes a squeak as the motion hitches momentarily, and then moves on.

Over time, he comes to rely on it. And then, he can hear other people ticking. Hearts and breaths are slowly silenced, fading out of his world as it turns all into clockwork.

Until one day.

There’s a man on the bridge, and there’s a sudden pounding that is not mechanical, a rush of chilly air that he should not be able to feel.

They’re flung forward, at each other, as if they must fight, star-crossed, fated from the beginning of the world, leaping into battle. The heartbeat flies faster, faster—until his own heart—he’d forgotten he even had one—is chiming in perfect time with the stranger’s.

They take him away, they take the stranger away. The man on the bridge. I knew him. I knew him!

There is no more clockwork after that. At last the heartbeat bursts free, ripping toward the surface, gripping something unknown; the man he used to be.

He fights. It’s all he knows. But then, when it’s over, he runs.

It’s all too much.

Something else is breaking free. He’s not sure if he likes it. He’s afraid. The clockwork is all he knows. It’s all he knows. But then, he knew the stranger too.

It was all clockwork, but now something else is free for the first time.

He was a machine.

Maybe he doesn’t have to be a machine forever.

---

Siúil A Rún

Tags

captain america: the first avenger, completed stories, fanfiction, ireland, irish culture, irish music, james joyce, marvel, short stories, song-related fiction, the dead

This is purely because Steve Rogers is of Irish descent (which I share), and the song is about star-crossed lovers. I would love an opinion on it. Also, if anyone knows if it’s official which county in Ireland the Rogers family is originally from, I’d greatly appreciate it. Writing a quasi-Christmasy story in honor of Joyce’s “The Dead.”

On to the story!

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Siúil A Rún

                He was humming, singing something hesitatingly, very softly to himself, as she walked up to him, her boots crunching slightly on the new-fallen snow. She stopped and listened for a moment. It was a haunting, lilting melody, with a rising-and-falling pattern and an almost-abrupt end to each line. Peggy cocked her head. “What’s that?” Steve started and blushed, probably embarrassed at being caught.

“Oh, um… it’s an old Irish melody,” he stammered. “I was trying to remember the words.” Peggy smiled a little at his flustered expression.

“No, it’s all right,” she said. “What’s it about?”

“Lovers, separated by war. Mother used to sing it…” He looked down. “It doesn’t really suit. It’s a bit more dramatic than realistic… This time, all the women back home are fighting too. I’m sorry, Peggy, it’s just that… well, the way the wind is rattling the roof… It brought Ma back so vividly…”

“No, don’t apologize,” Peggy said. “What’s the rest like?” Steve blushed.

“I’m sorry. I really can’t—can’t sing.” She grabbed the lapel of his jacket.

“That’s what you think. Sing for me, soldier. That’s an order.” Blushing, Steve complied.

Siúil, siúil, siúil a rún

Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin

Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom

                Peggy listened quietly. Steve swallowed before going on to the next verse.

I wish I was on yonder hill

And there I’d sit and cry my fill,

And every tear would turn a mill

                “Strange…” Peggy said.

“I think that the words aim more to frame a picture than to make concrete sense.”

I’ll sell my rod, I’ll sell my reel,

I’ll sell my only spinning wheel,

To buy my love a sword of steel

                “I think the rod and reel represent her means of respectably feeding herself, and the spinning wheel means she’s giving up her only hopes for any sort of domestic peace,” Steve said thoughtfully. “These people are very poor, and they prefer concrete allusions in their poetry, rather than high, distant vague ones.” Peggy inclined her head to one side.

“I suppose it makes sense.”

I’ll dye my petticoats, I‘ll dye them red

And ‘round the world I‘ll beg my bread

Until my parents shall wish me dead

                “Does that mean she’ll be a camp follower?”

“I think she’s speaking of what will happen after her lover dies, which she fears is certain.”

Siúil, siúil, siúil a rún

Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin

Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

                “I was wrong. This is the perfect song for now,” Peggy said.

“It doesn’t quite apply,” Steve said, inclining his head to cover his blush.

“Not to us, but there will always be tragedies in a war.” Peggy smiled. “You can sing, Captain Rogers. Don’t let anyone else ever tell you otherwise.”

---

Okay, still not sure about it, hopefully it’s acceptable.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

 

When Can I See You Again? (Song fic, multi-fandom)

Tags

bbc sherlock, completed stories, completely random posts, rise of the guardians, sherlock holmes, song-related fiction, star wars

Here it is, darling readers, my first multi-fandom song fic!

I’ve done enough depressing stuff recently, so I thought I’d do something happy and fun and upbeat for a change. And I used “When Can I see You Again” by Owl City (from Wreck-it Ralph) because I liked it better than “Here’s To Never Growing Up” and I LIKE IT OKAY. 😛 Just one thing: This isn’t intended to be romantic (though I do have John and Mary and Obi-Wan and Siri in it…) It’s mostly just for fun.

So, why Jack Frost and Jamie, Obi-Wan and Siri, and Sherlock and John? Well… this song fits Jack Frost, and I thought it would be fun to have Obi-Wan and Siri just be teenagers for once, and I’m STILL dealing with the Season Three mood swings from Sherlock. Please, don’t ask me what and why and when. It’s artistic license. 😛 Also, I love these adorable kids. Do I really need a better reason…?

Anyway, enjoy the song fic! 😀

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When Can I See You Again?

When can we do this again?

When can I see you again?

                Jack leaped to the sky, waving goodbye to Jamie. There were other places he had to visit, other children to protect, but Jamie would always have a special place in his heart.

When can we do this again?

When can I see you again?

                Obi-Wan dashed down the alleyway, laughing so hard he could scarcely stand upright. Garen dashed after him. “Come back here, you villain!” he shouted dramatically.

“Not on your life!” Obi-Wan shouted back, still laughing. He leaped sideways and ducked under the edge of a building, flattening himself against the wall and trying his hardest to stifle his chuckles before Garen caught him. A hand grasped his shoulder, and he looked sharply over. Siri was standing right next to him, trying with equal fervor to silence her own amusement.

When can we do this again?

When can I see you again?

                Sherlock and John dashed down an alleyway, and their pursuers rushed by. “If you girls are done playing, the case is waiting,” Lestrade shouted them. John almost laughed around.

“This was fun,” he said. Sherlock seemed surprised to find himself nodding.

Switch on the sky and the stars glow for you

Go see the world ‘cause it’s all so brand new

Don’t close your eyes ‘cause your future’s ready to shine

It’s just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly

Welcome to the rhythm of the night

There’s something in the air you can’t deny

                Jack chased the wind, with Sandy beside him. “I’d forgotten how much fun this is!” he shouted over the wind. Sandy grinned widely. Suddenly, the Sandman’s eyes widened and he pointed down.

Jack stared down, shouting aloud in joy and wonder at the sight of the majestic waterfall below them. They raced over the peaks of mountains, flying as fast as a heartbeat.

They chased the northern lights, toward the sunset, watching as the sky turned to night, sprinkled with countless stars.

It’s been fun but now I’ve got to go

Life is way too short to take it slow

But before I go and hit the road

I gotta know, ‘til then,

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

I gotta know, when can I see you again?

                “We should do this again sometime,” John smiled. Sherlock smiled back. It felt surprisingly good to see a smile on the former army doctor’s face. He hadn’t even been aware that it had been missing, but it felt so right, now.

Donovan might frown and shake her head behind their backs, but Lestrade shut her up. Who cared what Mycroft thought?

Caring might be a disadvantage, but it was one that he would be glad to assume.

When can I see you again?

                Jack gripped Jamie by the hand. “Come on, you have to see this!”

Scraping the sky, Jamie laughed with exhilaration. He wasn’t afraid at all; he trusted Jack. “Wow!”

Joined at the hip, yeah your sidekick needs you

Life is a trip down the road that leads you

Look all around at all the mountains you haven’t climbed

It’s just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly

Welcome to the rhythm of the night

There’s something in the air you can’t deny

                Obi-Wan smiled up at Qui-Gon. “I was wrong. This was a great idea.” Qui-Gon gave him a silly smirk.

“I told you so, my young apprentice. I am never wrong.” They fell around the hotel room, laughing. It just felt so good to relax like this after so long. “What shall we do next, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan smiled.

“Let’s go find out where Master Adi and Siri are staying and… I don’t know. Maybe just go visit the Old Market?” Qui-Gon grinned.

“That sounds like a good idea, Padawan mine.”

It’s been fun but now I’ve got to go

Life is way too short to take it slow

But before I go and hit the road

I gotta know, ‘til then,

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

I gotta know,

When can I see you again?

                Sherlock gripped John by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Listen to me, John. I’m back now. I won’t leave again. I promise you.” John took a deep breath.

“Mary, what do you think?” Mary Morstan smiled.

“I think you have incredible friends,” she said. At last, John smiled back. Mary slung her arms around their shoulders. “We should do this again.” To John’s incredulous snort and Sherlock’s “What!”, she replied, “No, not the whole faking deaths thing. I mean, just going out and solving a mystery together, the three of us.”

“You’re right,” said Sherlock.

“We should do this again,” John finished for him.

Don’t close your eyes ‘cause your future’s ready to shine

It’s just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly

Welcome to the rhythm of the night

There’s something in the air you can’t deny

So let me know before I wave goodbye

                “Come on, Kenobi!” Siri gripped Obi-Wan’s arm and dragged him out onto the dance floor.

“Siri, no—”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud!” Siri laughed, her hair flying in time to the music. Obi-Wan made one last, abortive attempt to escape. Siri recaptured him easily. Obi-Wan glanced pleadingly at the two masters, who were standing by the edge of the square. Qui-Gon made a shooing motion at him, grinning from ear to ear. Obi-Wan made a face at him. Master Gallia was laughing. A moment later, Qui-Gon turned to look at her. Offering her his arm, gallantly, he led her out onto the floor. Shrugging in resignation, Obi-Wan turned back to Siri. She grinned with exhilaration. “You ready, Obi-Wan?”

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

                Jack perched on the spire, Jamie on his shoulder. Sandy hovered nearby, sending out the soft golden tendrils of dreamsand. Jamie sat open-mouthed, watching. Jack smiled. It wasn’t that surprising. Jamie had only seen this in waking life once before.

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

                “Just one more song!” Siri whispered as Obi-Wan was about to lead her off the dance floor. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

                Mary fell asleep in the cab on the way home, her head on John’s shoulder. John glanced over and smiled at Sherlock, and the detective smiled back.

All was well with their world at long last.

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

                Siri and Obi-Wan slipped out the back way, sneaking away from Garen and back to the Temple. It might be only a game, but they figured that, at least for now, they had a right to play it.

Yeah, it’s been fun but now I’ve got to go

Life is way too short to take it slow

But before I go and hit the road

Tell me when

When can I see you again?

When can I see you again?

Tell me when

When can I see you again?

                As Jack was carrying Jamie back to bed, Jamie sleepily murmured, “Do this again?” Jack grinned at Sandy.

“Of course.”

“Let’s do this again sometime,” Adi said as the four Jedi were heading back to their hotel. Obi-Wan gaped at her for a moment, then Siri poked him in the arm.

“As long as it gets you off your high horse,” she teased.

“Are we doing this again?” Sherlock asked. John smiled, helping Mary out of the cab.

“Definitely.”

Come Little Children (Sidious’ Lullaby)

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, fanfiction, song-related fiction, star wars

Hello, my dear readers!

It’s been a while since I turned out a song fic, so I think this one isn’t overdue, by any means. This one is to Erutan’s cover of “Come Little Children.” (Yes, I know the video is a BBC Merlin fan video, but the original video was disturbing. Certainly much, much more disturbing than this one. Remind me to never watch Pan’s Labyrinth. *shudders*)

Anyway, if this doesn’t turn out self-explanatory, please tell me in the comments and I’ll see what I can do to fix it. I’ve been working on it so long I certainly need a second opinion.

Content Warning: Very dark in places, though there’s a shine of hope at the end (I had to give you that much, right?! 😉 ) Slight language warning. Death. That’s it.

Come Little Children (Sidious’ Lullaby)

                Sidious smiled at the limp form of the Jedi growing cold on the ground by his foot, arms still wound around his dead apprentice, even in death. He turned his back on the dead apprentice and dying Jedi, laughing inwardly as he thought how it had come to this. The ultimate revenge, even if it did mean that he lost his potential apprentice.

A sound behind him disturbed his delightful musings. Sidious whirled around to see the Jedi rising to his feet. It seemed that Kenobi was not quite dead yet, and his eyes were hard, cold, empty, bereft of anything save purpose. Before Sidious could react, he had taken the dying Jedi’s lightsaber through the body. The last thing Sidious heard before departing from the world he had only ruled for mere hours was Kenobi’s cold, merciless voice whispering, “That was for Padme, and for Anakin.”

Damn you, Sith. Damn you to hell.

Come little children

I’ll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment

Come little children

The time’s come to play

Here in my garden of shadow

                Dark gray eyes glistened with tears as the Jedi Master cradled his one-time apprentice. He sobbed into Anakin’s hair, unwilling to let go, even though Anakin had long since gone still, was beginning to go cold.

There were no words to this grief, only tears. There was no peace, only pain. There was no comfort. Only guilt.

I did this. I did this. I killed him!

Sidious stood over the Jedi, gloating. “You finally found a battle you could not win, didn’t you, Master Kenobi?” Slowly, Obi-Wan moved to rise, still holding Anakin’s still form. Sidious ignited his lightsaber through the Jedi Master’s defenseless body, and Obi-Wan slid back to the ground, without a cry or a gasp.

Follow sweet children

I’ll show thee the way

Through all the pain and the sorrows

Weep not poor children

For life is this way

Murdering beauty and passion

                Lightsabers clashed, blue on blue, the edges of one blade a dirty, smoky color, the other almost pure white to its core. Sidious watched and smiled sardonically. It had been easy, all too easy, to twist the apprentice’s mind, to deceive the master. And now, they were locked in mortal combat. The Sith Lord cackled in glee, relishing the mental torment and the conflict.

It ended all too quickly. Kenobi did not see the opening that Skywalker had left, or perhaps he had, and did not capitalize on it. That was the irony. A second later, Skywalker’s enraged attack forced him forward, impaling him on his mentor’s blade. The lightsabers fell from nerveless hands, in unison, clattering and growing still in a terrible syncopation. Kenobi slid to the floor, catching Skywalker, his face a broken mask of concentration with pain and horror showing through the cracks. “Anakin? Anakin!” The cry was a howl of grief and loss in the Force.

“You’ve caught me again, Master,” Skywalker coughed. Sidious frowned. He thought the boy had actually turned on his mentor. Kenobi held him close as the death rattle proclaimed Skywalker’s last exhalation.

“I won’t ever let you go again,” he promised, his voice breaking. Hardening, ice-scoured eyes turned toward Sidious. “You. You did this. You did this!”

Hush now dear children

It must be this way

To weary of life and deceptions

Rest now my children

For soon we’ll away

Into the calm and the quiet

                Sidious smiled down at the half-open, confused, cloudy green-blue eyes of the new knight. Kenobi blinked, unseeing. Sidious’ hand hovered over the oblivious Jedi’s face, the black heart within him urging him to put those eyes out forever, but he stayed it. No. It would be far sweeter to force the Jedi to watch as the world around him fell to pieces.

 

Obi-Wan groaned. The smell in the air around him reminded him of the perfume of death: sickly sweet. Horrid decay mingled with the half-remembered echoes of something… something… He struggled, surging upward, but he seemed to be pinned down. In the murk, there was something lurking, hiding just beyond his reach. A cold melody, alluring but with a heart of stone, echoed through his mind. He shuddered instinctively away from it. He was alone… why was he alone? Shouldn’t there be someone with him?

Above him, somewhere, a voice, as cold and harsh as stone, shot with the fires of some damnation beyond imagination’s span, as ancient as the bones of the earth but with none of earth’s lasting strength and stability and kindness to support life, dry and rattling as some desiccated, dead thing, spoke. “Sleep, Jedi. Sleep, and do not forget how your master fell. Yes, he left you. His failure will become yours in time. Soon, very soon, the Jedi will fall.”

Resolve hardened in him like steel leaping from the flames of the forge. He fought; he strove against the will, and it was not his loss that pressed him down into the empty inky blackness of oblivion, into deeper, swoon-like sleep.

Come little children

I’ll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment

Come little children

The time’s come to play

Here in my garden of shadow

                Obi-Wan held his apprentice’s body, redeemed in death, and prayed that his tears would be enough. For himself, he did not fear. He had never been afraid of death; he had always been more concerned with hurting people. Death had a tendency to follow him around, but it never got easier. It was growing cold already, and Obi-Wan wondered for a moment how long it would take for him to follow Anakin in death.

It was strange. There had been pain at first, but now there was none. It didn’t hurt any more, and though he could feel his heart stutter, his mind was no less clear. He drew in a breath, the tell-tale rattle already in his lungs.

In the last moments, the confines of space and time opened to him, and he saw a vision in which their heroes—Padmé and Yoda, and Ahsoka—continued on, renewed the Jedi Order, which rose from the ashes, wiser and stronger. The Republic returned, to democracy, and reforms began. Anakin’s unborn children grew, and Ahsoka and Ben guided them to adulthood, as Jedi, in peace.

Sidious was dead. The shadows had departed from the Force.

He and Anakin had triumphed. They had given rise to a new era.

Then, peaceful, Obi-Wan slipped the bonds of matter and awoke to a wider world.

Listerine

Tags

completed stories, humor, listerine, short stories, song-related fiction, star wars

Hello, everyone! For a change, a smattering of the ridiculous. Featuring an incompetent Emperor, two snarky Jedi, a smart Senator, and a new use for mouthwash.

Listerine

                “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for… our benevolent Emperor!” shouted Mas Amedda. Everyone groaned and clapped hands over their ears. Palpatine came out, looking short and dumpy in his fancy robes, grinning from ear to ear and looking, quite frankly, ridiculous. Obi-Wan wondered momentarily if the grin wrapped all the way around the back of the self-avowed Sith Lord’s head, shuddered at the mental image, and hastily shoved it away.

“My dear people!” Palpatine shouted. “From your most beloved leader…”

“BOO!” Orn Fre Taa shouted.

“Your most humble, modest, kind, generous…”

“…narcissistic, brainless, incompetent, blue in the face from ostentatious self-praise…” Obi-Wan added in an aside to Bail Organa in the next Senate pod over, who found it hilarious.

“Blah blah blah blah blah EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” Anakin shouted, making the yappy-mouth sign with his mechanical hand.

Padme, who had her earbuds in (she’s better prepared than all of us put together! Obi-Wan thought), popped one out and handed it to Anakin. They began to dance around the pod, singing “Mean.”

You, with your words like knives

And swords and weapons that you use against me

You have knocked me off my feet again

Got me feeling like I’m nothing

You, with your voice like nails on a chalkboard

Calling me out when I’m wounded

You, picking on the weaker man

 

You can take me down with just one single blow

But you don’t know what you don’t know

Then, the whole Senate burst out singing.

Someday I’ll be living in a big ol’ city

And all you’re ever gonna be is mean

Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me

And all you’re ever gonna be is mean

Why you gotta be so mean?

Palpatine didn’t even notice. At least that way, Obi-Wan reflected, the speech was much more bearable.

Even if he didn’t know the lyrics to any Taylor Swift songs (which Siri would probably remedy as rapidly as she could, if she ever found out, which Obi-Wan was determined she wouldn’t.)

As the meeting broke up and the Senators rushed out like kids released from school at the final bell, laughing and chatting, Obi-Wan walked out with Bail, Anakin, and Padme.

“Next time let’s bring a big ol’ boombox with us!” Anakin was saying. Obi-Wan decided that he would leave the plotting in his former Padawan’s more than competent hands and bowed to Padme.

“My lady, I hope you will excuse me. I have to go home and gargle with Listerine.”

“BURNED!” Anakin shouted.

The Minstrel Boy

Tags

completed stories, short stories, song-related fiction, star wars, star wars week

Hello, everyone!

Welcome to the conclusion of Star Wars Week! I hope you enjoy today’s piece.

Ever since I heard this song for the first time, I’ve always wanted to do something for it. It’s just so beautiful and so sad. Besides, it’s traditional Irish–and that has me pretty much sold in the first place. And when I heard the lyrics, it just screamed Obi-Wan. Think about it. The line about “his father’s sword,” the part where the minstrel says he will never abandon his country… there were a thousand associations with Obi-Wan.

And then, there’s the way he walks. Except for Qui-Gon, he’s the only character in the prequels who ever seems to move with both purpose and grace. Anakin might be graceful, but not with the same understated elegance, and he sometimes vacillates aimlessly, unlike Obi-Wan, who chooses a spot and stays put, and if he moves, makes a statement with it. In The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan moves with a sort of lethal, dangerous, almost tight-coiled, tightly controlled energy, but it almost looks as if he’s dancing to a strain of music that no one else (except, perhaps, Qui-Gon) can hear. In Attack of the Clones, the high-strung energy has dissipated somewhat, and with things smoothed out, it’s even more apparent. In my opinion, the coolest warriors are the ones who (like Legolas) look like they’re dancing in the middle of the fight. (Yes, Anakin fans and Obi-Wan bashers, the prissy-talking, annoying, sanctimonious plot device in the corner is actually a character and a warrior in his own right.)

For the record, I do not own this song. I did not write the original; I only added a few extra verses.

On with the show!

 

The Minstrel Boy

Prologue

                Jedi Master Dooku paced slowly along the Temple halls, each step a measured beat. Light suffused and overflowed in the hallowed precincts.

There was a soft murmur and chatter of voices ahead and behind, all around; it was a festival day for the Jedi, the celebration of the healing of the Vonlauren Schism, but despite the fete, even the young ones knew better than to break decorum in the Temple halls.

One clear voice suddenly rose above all the rest, distant, but pure, ringing, a boy’s voice, still high and sweet, not yet the man’s tenor it might become. There was a resonant lilt to it that startled Dooku almost as much as the realization that a Youngling, or perhaps a junior Padawan, was singing in the Temple.

“The minstrel boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you’ll find him;

His father’s sword he hath girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.”

                Dooku almost hurried on, curiosity piqued about the singer. Few boys that he knew of ever sang in public, deeming it below their dignity, or even degrading, to do so.

The singer’s voice was entrancing, enchanting, speaking of something that somehow, Dooku knew he had lost. He wasn’t even sure what it was. The voice was full of promise, potential. It was as if, with every breath, it was changing the future.

He rounded a corner and beheld a group of Younglings and Padawans, with a scattering of Knights and even a few Masters thrown in, gathered around a Padawan perhaps fourteen years old. The Padawan was singing, unaware of the greater crowd around him, to the audience in front, which was entirely Younglings. He was of medium height, not especially tall but with a sturdy build, coppery-gold hair crowning a youthful but mature face. Blue-gray eyes shone with fervor.

“’Land of Song!’ cried the warrior bard,

‘Though all the world betrays thee,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!’”

                The singer’s eyes sparkled and his cheeks flushed, the very picture of youthful enthusiasm. He raised his right hand in the air, as if rallying an invisible host. He was thoroughly caught-up in the song. Yet, his Force-signature blossomed with a hard-edged luminance, burned with a radiant pure-white fire. Dooku’s lip curled slightly in a faint smile. So, this was Qui-Gon’s Padawan? Poor lad, he probably hero-worshipped the great Master Jinn. Dooku had seen it before. The boy probably thought Qui-Gon could do no wrong.

                The sentiments of the song, though… Dooku’s brow furrowed. The boy would go down on a burning ship. He had seen such fierce loyalty before, and it would sooner or later destroy the child…

Dooku walked slowly away. He had business to attend to, and the bright vignette was soon forgotten.

 

Act I

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you’ll find him;

His father’s sword he hath girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.

                Side by side, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn fought the monster before them. A kick knocked Obi-Wan off the catwalk; he fell several stories and was forced to leap back up and run to catch up to the battle ahead.

A laser gate slammed shut, hissing to existence before him. Obi-Wan watched, trapped, unable to interfere, as the red lightsaber ran his mentor through. “No!” he screamed, the sound torn from him. As Qui-Gon toppled to the ground, the monster whirled around to face the bereft Padawan.

The moment the gates retracted, he was attacking the Sith with a fierce vigor, but his anger and pain made him reckless. The Sith hurled him off the precipice with a blasting, unrefined Force-push; Obi-Wan could not help but fleetingly think that if he had wanted the Sith dead, he could have returned it, only with a little more precision, and broken the Zabrack’s neck. But he did want the Sith dead… didn’t he?

The battle was lost. But not the war, perhaps…

Obi-Wan focused on the unconscious memory of the past few minutes. That was it! Qui-Gon’s lightsaber! That was what he had forgotten!

He focused, re-centering himself, then leaped into the air. The lightsaber leaped to his hand. He struck down the ancient enemy. He hesitated for a moment, then ran to Qui-Gon’s side. He already knew the truth, though to see it was to send a cold weight slamming into his stomach.

Qui-Gon was dying.

 

At the funeral, though his face was warmed by the flames, his heart was cold, colder than it had ever been in his life. Then a boy whispered, “What will happen to me now?” And though Obi-Wan knew that things would never be the same, a tiny thread of music started, welling up from deep within, and somehow he knew things would be right again.

 

Act II

The battle hard rent brothers apart

And the nightmare long sware a harsh fire,

Yet still the faithful singer’s heart

Endured past its failing, weak attire.

                The Clone Wars had begun. The great game that Sidious had planned for years was finally in motion. Dooku felt as though his own place, though still hollow, was not quite so meaningless.

And it gave the former Padawan of his former Padawan a chance to shine. It seemed that it was in Kenobi’s nature to bring hope, to continue no matter the circumstances.

For though the war was cold and long

Each battle blow had fallen

Fated in the dawn of song

The Minstrel fought on, song calling.

                It seemed that each victory only led to another battle, but Obi-Wan went on. He had little choice, but even if he had, he would have gone on all the same. He brought hope where he could, healed those who would be healed and closed the eyes of those who could not.

Not even despair would chill his blood

And not even fear ever stayed him;

But in the end, it was not the foe

But his own side betrayed him.

                Not even despair could stop Kenobi, Dooku mused. The younger man was startlingly stubborn, though he should have only expected that from any student of Qui-Gon’s.

Dooku wished that he could lead the boy away from his own destruction.

At Kenobi’s side, Skywalker was always there. Dooku could already see the potential star-cross of the pair. Skywalker was bright, talented, but too quick and wild. The boy was going to break Kenobi’s heart one day.

And on shores of fire at last the flood

Of flame and dark descended

Yet still he stood and against the tide

He ne’er let the song be ended.

                “You were my brother, Anakin! It was said that you would… destroy the Sith… not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”

Disbelief. Pain. Confusion. Denial. Horror.

“I hate you!”

“You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t watch any more. But then… Padme! he remembered, and stumbled back up the hill.

And the golden thread of music went on, unnoticed.

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman’s steel

Could not bring that proud soul under;

The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,

For he rent its chords asunder

                The melody was loud and strong when Obi-Wan confronted Vader again.

And said “No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and brav’ry!

Thy songs were made for the pure and free

They shall never sound in slavery!”

                He smiled at Vader, laughing in the Force. The joke was on Anakin. After all, Anakin didn’t understand that death was not the end.

Though the Minstrel fell and the cause was lost

Yet others rose to fight it;

And in his wake the storm uptossed

The vic’try claimed, requited.

                “No!” Luke cried. The first moments after Obi-Wan’s passing, there was outward silence. But inwardly, Luke became aware of a golden strain of music. Then Obi-Wan spoke up. “Run, Luke!” And Luke obeyed.

On Hoth, they were hard-pressed, but they did not despair. On Bespin and Dagobah, they were sidetracked for a while, but soon found their way again; direction, and purpose. On Tatooine, they fought for one of their own. And on Endor, they conquered.

Called by the silent chords of hope

And brought to life by sacrifice

The ranks of those who bore on that torch

The harp’s unspoken song reprise.

                As they celebrated that night on Endor and the news that Palpatine was dead and the Empire finished rocked the galaxy, Luke felt the melody that he had known all his life but had only become aware of recently deepen into harmony as his father, Obi-Wan, and Yoda appeared. They were there. They were not gone, and they never would be.

The Minstrel Boy will return we pray

When we hear the news we all will cheer it,

The minstrel boy will return one day,

Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit.

                As long as those who remained true would remember.

Then may he play on his harp in peace,

In a world such as heaven intended,

For all the bitterness of man must cease,

And ev’ry battle must be ended.

                There was peace, and the melody was true and strong.

And all was right.

Minor Blooper of the Day: Anyone notice how, in The Two Towers movie, when Pippin is about to get stomped on by the horse his hands seem to be free, but a moment later he has to cut his bonds? Weird. Oh, and Bonus Blooper! As Eomer mounts his horse saying, “Seek your friends, but do not trust to hope; it has forsaken these lands,” his sword is actually sliding out of its scabbard, which can be clearly seen in the movie!

Hero

Tags

boromir, completed stories, heather dale, short stories, song-related fiction, star wars, star wars week

Okay, today is not the finale of Star Wars week yet, but I have something hopefully as awesome planned for the true finale. Hopefully you like the finale, but apparently I’d need either a YouTube account or to buy a VideoPress upgrade to do a cover of the song that I wrote for it… which just sucks, since I can’t afford the upgrade and I don’t know what I’d do with a YouTube account. But just imagine me singing it when it’s published. I sound like a cross between Heather Dale, Loreena McKennit, and an opera singer.

In other news, I have been listening to way too many PianoGuys songs, I should really just buy the albums and have done with it. The sad thing is, they deleted their cover of “O Fortuna” which is one of my absolute favorite songs EVER!!! But I did find these gems: their instrumental and vocal accompanied versions of “Rolling in the Deep.” Now, I’m probably not going to be very popular with all these pop fans out there after this, but it has to be said. I am not a big fan of Adele, but this version of the song is awesome.

Oh, and Professor V.J. Duke: I have your meme right here. Take it and reblog it or mess with it as you will. ;-P

Great advice, Boromir. 😛

Now, about this post. This is not my favorite of my song-fics, but I hope it’s satisfactory. And the song just fits Obi-Wan so well! I wanted to scream and cry and wail on the floor the first time I heard it… *cough*

Anyway, it’s defiant, and so great. The song is “Hero,” by Heather Dale. (I’m a massive fan of her work, notice much? ;-P) Just a warning, though: This song and song fic are rather violent, at least in the emotions they portray.

Enjoy!

Hero
“Master Kenobi. Only you could be so bold.” the Senator snapped. Obi-Wan Kenobi’s only response was a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. “I could have you arrested!” Madia Kagine exclaimed. “Spy!”
The former Jedi Master bowed slightly, his face inscrutable. In fact, if it hadn’t been for that inscrutability, Madia thought he might have looked… young. His eyes had the vaguely hollow, too-old look of one who had to grow up too fast, out of necessity; it was familiar to Madia, very familiar. After all, she saw it in the mirror every day of her life.
You think if you set the price they’ll turn me in
You think that when I’m up upon the pike you’ll win
They’ll say that I was fighting
For the spirit of the law
What will they say about you
When I’m gone
Obi-Wan slid on the unfamiliar shirt. It was soft—too soft. Thick leather jacket over it. Belt worn high on the waist; his years as a Jedi had made it uncomfortable to wear it any lower. A tiny detail, but perhaps telling to the right eyes.
But no one would notice.
After all, the Jedi were dead, and lest he by some accident ran into a Sith, no one else would attach any meaning to the way he wore the belt.
Obi-Wan slid the blaster into its holster, looked at himself in the mirror, and sighed. The perfect picture of an outlaw. But at least he had a cause—clearer than that of the Clone Wars, more centered. He was not fighting for a dead cause, but one that was living, one whose spark he could coax back into brilliant flame.
Palpatine had made a mistake in ordering his death, rather than trying to kill him himself.
Kenobis, accurately to the legend, inspired loyalty. Their followers would not willingly sell them out.
And they did not die easy.
You murdered and you stole; you mocked the hope I gave
Though I’d prefer a happy end, no man can cheat the grave
I know what they’ll remember
In the words of every song
What will they say about you
When I’m gone
“Is everything ready?” Obi-Wan asked, walking out to where Annika looked at him, with hero-worship in her eyes. He had rescued her from the Service Corps after Palpatine’s coup, and now she was his second in command and Padawan learner. Sometimes, it hurt just how much she was like Anakin. Even her name.
“Yes,” she said, watching him, her jade-colored eyes questioning.
“Then we’ll go.” he said. He did not need to give them a speech to gain their loyalty. It was a hereditary gift.
Madia stared blankly at the vignette before her. Obi-Wan could tell already that she wanted to die. It didn’t bode well—for her, at least.
Across the hangar, Padme gazed at him. She looked right through him, just as she always had; it was vaguely unsettling, and heartbreaking. It had always been. He wondered how he had ever forgotten it; the shadow of tragedy in the young queen’s eyes.
They’ll say
We stared into the wind that tore away our breath
We left behind a message that can not be claimed by death
A hero lives forever
For the ones that carry on
What will they say about you
When I’m gone
He would lead them for her sake, for her children, for Anakin. Anakin needed him more than ever, even on the other side. They would never truly be enemies. One can hate oneself, but not one’s spirit-kin. If anyone, the enemy was Palpatine. Palpatine, who had stolen their good name and their light, murdering them at last, leaving them with nothing. Palpatine, who had stolen his brother from his side. Obi-Wan had screamed his heart out to the wind too many nights in the darkness where no one could hear him. Perhaps there was peace somewhere in the galaxy. Perhaps he would help to restore it. But within him the Code was broken. There was no peace for him. There was pain.
Obi-Wan would not submit. He would fight to the death, if need be, and become a martyr or a traitor, depending on who told the story. He didn’t care any more than he ever had about the name he bore, the reputation that went along with it. But he would do his best, all the same.
They needed a hero, in these dark times.
The least he could do for all these other brave souls fighting the shadow would be to be one.

Gollum’s Song (Barriss)

Tags

completed stories, song-related fiction, star wars, star wars week

Hello!

Now, for all the fans (and not-so-much fans *glares at Iris*) of Barriss Offee, I have a special offering. I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone under 12, though; it’s very dark, though not particularly violent (unless you count insane villain-ish scheming violent.)

In my opinion, Barriss wasn’t actually evil. I think she was insane, even misled. Perhaps it was Sidious whispering in her ear, just the same as Anakin. But Barriss fell, and I’m sad and angry that they never even gave us a reason.

Just as Gollum’s song fits Anakin and Obi-Wan (frighteningly well; it was almost like they were two halves of the same person!), and Anakin’s fall, it fits Barriss’s.

I hope you enjoy… I will not be held responsible for any depression/negative emotions resulting from this. Blame Mr. Filoni. 😛

Gollum’s Song (Barriss)
Where once was light
Now darkness falls
Where once was love
Love is no more
The Republic was falling. She could feel it; she could see it.
Why couldn’t anyone else?
Don’t say “goodbye”
Don’t say “I didn’t try”
The once happy halls of the Jedi Temple were growing still and cold. What had become of joy, of laughter, of delight in duty?
Barriss didn’t know.
These tears we cry
Are falling rain
For all the lies
You told us,
The hurt, the blame!
And we will weep
To be so alone
We are lost
We can never go home
She approached her master, quietly, with her concerns. But Master Luminara couldn’t answer her. She spoke with Master Kenobi, but he was too tired to understand her.
Nothing is wrong, everything seemed to say. Everything looked so perfect.
A perfect untruth.
So in the end
I’ll be… what I will be
No loyal friend
Was ever there for me
Ahsoka could not help her. No one could.
No longer the savior. She could no longer be a Jedi. The Jedi no longer existed. Everything was cold, and dark, and the galaxy had gone mad.
There was no hope of reform. Only revenge.
There was no light. Only darkness.
So darkness she became.
Now we say, “Goodbye”
We say, “You didn’t try”
Deep within herself she trapped the little girl who cried, who wondered what had happened. No more the passive watcher. Hers was action, the moment, the strike… the blow…
These tears you cry
Have come too late
Take back the lies,
The hurt, the blame!
And you will weep
When you face the end alone
You are lost
You can never go home
She didn’t realize until her blow had been struck what she had lost—what the galaxy had lost. Not only a good healer, but an order of peacekeepers, the last light in a darkening world.
You are lost
You can never go home
Darkness fell.