#Voss Order Outsiders

[peachy-panic]

Put Them On

Fifty-Eight Days

Followup drabble to this little drabble. The end of Elijah's first time upstairs.

WARNINGS: aftermath of noncon, captivity, blood

The end of his first night found Elijah in a king-sized bed, curled on his side, trying to avoid the heat of the body beside him. The man, who he had learned was called “Voss,” had been talking to him for a while, but Elijah was far too out of it to make sense of the words. It wasn’t until he raised his voice, calling to his men outside the door, that Elijah flinched back to awareness. 

Two men entered, and Elijah rolled his face toward the mattress, not wanting to see their faces again. Not wanting to be seen. 

“Take him,” Voss ordered. 

Instantly, there were hands on him again, pulling him out of the bed by his arms. 

“Should I clean him up?” the smaller of the two asked in English—something that seemed to be a rarity among the guards. 

Voss sat up against the headboard, raking over Elijah’s exposed form with his eyes. “No,” he said. “Let his little friend see just what he missed out on.”

There was a keening sound that took Elijah a moment to realize came from him. Voss smiled and leaned forward to push a clump of damp hair from Elijah’s forehead. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll see me again soon.” 

And with a final nod of dismissal, Elijah was dragged from the room. 

He allowed himself to be handled how they saw fit, too exhausted and hurt to even think about resisting. It took the support of both sets of hands to keep him upright as he was led down the hallway and through the carpeted room where the evening began. He closed his eyes against the flecks of red among the white fibers and wondered, distantly, if there would be a new rug in its place the next time he was brought upstairs. 

The next time. 

He stumbled when the man on his left jerked to a stop, momentarily pulling Elijah in two. 

“Put them on,” he ordered. 

Elijah blinked, disoriented, and saw that the guard was pointing at the discarded pair of Elijah’s underwear on the floor. The other guard, the taller one, retorted with something Elijah couldn’t understand. They argued back and forth for only a few seconds before Elijah was dropped gracelessly to the ground. He curled his arms up to protect himself, anticipating a blow that never came. Instead, the hard toe of a boot nudged his leg. 

“Put them on,” the man repeated. 

Elijah scrambled to comply, which was a slow, humiliating process. The guards didn’t offer assistance, but they also didn’t harass him further. Finally, when he had the briefs pulled up to his hips, he was hoisted to his feet once more and ushered toward the basement. 

[the-mic-drop]

Zelink gets Isekaied into BG3 Pt5: Let's Split Up, Gang!

Zelda- High Elf Draconic Lineage Sorcerer

Link- Half Wood Elf Champion Fighter

So far: Karlach has joined the party, Zelda has begun her infernal machinery research, and Karlach asks Link about his relationship with Zelda

When Zelda finally says goodbye to Dammon, she finds Link looking uncomfortable with Karlach and Astarion on either side of him. She asks what's wrong and Link takes the opportunity to escape and ask where they're going next.

Zelda is split between continuing to explore across the bridge and looking into Moonhaven more. Lae'zel suggests they split into two teams of four to explore both. Zelink is shaken by the suggestion, but can't deny the idea.

Team Link (Link, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Gale) will investigate Moonhaven.

Team Zelda (Zelda, Karlach, Lae'zel, and Astarion) will explore The Risen Road.

The teams will meet back up at camp (probably outside The Grove) at [time is a nebulous concept.]

As the group finishes distributing resources, Zelda hugs Link. She gives him a meaningful kiss goodbye before Team Zelda warps to their destination, leaving him stunned.

Link is mercifully left with the group least likely to hound him for information, but is still asked a few questions that he responds to with characteristic brevity before Team Link warps back to Moonhaven.

Karlach and Astarion ask Zelda about her and Link in their own ways as they walk and Zelda is much more open to answering than her boyfriend.

She tells them they've been living together since the end of the Calamity and started dating a year or so after that. Astarion asks about marriage and she gets bashful, saying they're waiting for the kingdom to get back on its feet. Lae'zel is watching the environment to try and distract herself from this inane dribble.

Lae'zel notices some movement up the road from where they dealt with the Gnolls. Evidently, there were even more Gnolls. Lae'zel advises Zelda to have herself and Karlach head straight in and let her and Astarion sneak up the small hill and give them support from the high ground. Zelda gives the thumbs up and Team Zelda makes short work of the Gnolls, though the moment is sullied when they find a pair of corpses in the cave. That Iron Flask they find is spooky.

Team Zelda continues and finds Waukeen's Rest on fire. Zelda immediately orders the party to search & rescue or join these nice knightly-looking people to put out the fires. She asks Karlach just how fireproof she is. Karlach enthusiastically says she can take a quick pop into an inferno if need be.

Astarion takes a bucket and heads into the less-enflamed buildings and does some light looting veiled as looking for survivors.

Lae'zel kicks down the front door and lets Karlach take the lead into the building. Zelda follows, hitting every blaze with Ray of Frost as she goes.

They get Florrick out, but Zelda hears someone yelling for help from a closed room. She recognizes that the room will ignite further if they open the door and she has Karlach bust in, find the guy, and get out before she blasts the room with a real big Ray of Frost (Ice Storm)

While Zelda goes around magically putting out fires, the rest of the team talks to Florrick and the Flaming Fist, getting the plot info (Astarion takes the lead.) Duke Ravengard, Moonrise Towers, etc.

During a short rest, the team fills Zelda in on what they've learned.

After their rest, they continue down the road and see the red dragon flying overhead. Lae'zel jogs ahead of the party to meet her fellow Gith.

The encounter begins as normal with Lae'zel taking the lead, but eventually, Voss' dragon takes an interest in Zelda. Zelda can feel that the dragon means her no harm and gently communes with it. This impresses Voss enough to believe Lae'zel's deception (or gives Lae'zel the confidence to convincingly lie) and the encounter ends without conflict.

With the knowledge that the Gith are searching for Shadowheart's artefact, Team Zelda decides to head back to camp for the time being.

[general-ida-raven]

I Hate You The Least - Chapter 2

Jude Voss has had her life flipped upside down twice in her life. The first time when she was thrust into a galaxy-wide war as a Separatist strategist, and the second when she was taken hostage by Clone Force 99. A prisoner turned unexpected baggage when the war came to a brutal end, she alongside the Bad Batch have to navigate the aftermath that is the Empire as well as navigate everything in between- down to how they feel about each other.

Pairing: eventual Hunter x Jude

Mostly follows canon, SLOW BURN, enemies-to-lovers, angst, eventual fluff (no smut)

“What just happened?”

Jude’s stomach tightened at the tone of worry that Echo couldn’t hide from his voice. Her gaze flickered between the squad surrounding her, hands fisting nervously behind her back as she took a subconscious step away from them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Crosshair, ever wonderful at timing, closed a slim hand over Jude’s shoulder and effectively drew the entire squadron’s attention to her.

“This was your doing.” Echo’s accusation came sharp, his finger jabbing toward her before he looked to Hunter with dark eyes. “I told you we shouldn’t have brought a Separatist here. Look what’s happened. She killed—”

“She killed no one.” Tech’s interruption was clipped, the clone’s attention down on his datapad as he typed at the screen. His eyes, rich pools of honey that caught the sunlight, moved to Hunter. “Every legion is repeating the same instruction, issued by the Chancellor to every clone. Execute Order 66.”

“Order 66?” Hunter repeated, his smoky tone dark with notable confusion. He frowned deeply, five o’clock shadow accentuating his jaw line a little too well. “Find out what that means. You,” he added, gray-brown gaze tracking toward Jude, “are not going anywhere.”

“All following Republic forces have been pulled from their summons to this location,” Tech offered helpfully, eyes never leaving the device in his hands. “We have just received an immediate summons to Kamino.”

“Pulled from their summons?” Hunter repeated slowly, his brows drawing together as he glanced between his squadron before frowning toward Tech. “What does that mean for us?”

“It means,” Tech responded, eyes flicking between his brothers, “that the war is over.”

“Stay.” Echo shoved Jude backward, taking no mind as the woman collided with the Marauder’s wall and thudded to the floor. He frowned down at the officer, dark brows drawn together while curls of his salt-and-pepper mohawk draped out of place. “You move and we’ll have a problem.”

“We don’t want a problem,” Wrecker intoned, one surviving eye glaring toward Jude’s form as the woman pressed herself to the wall.

If you didn’t want a problem, you shouldn’t have kidnapped me. 

Jude opted to look away from them, frown fixing down on the floor. Their armored footsteps trailed into the cockpit, leaving her alone with nothing but her crashing thoughts that filled her head like violent wildfire.

The war is over?

And the Separatists… lost?

“What about the girl?”

“I don’t know. Drop her off at holding.”

Jude lifted her head at the clones’ muffled voices from within the cockpit, blinking drowsily as she ridded her head of its sleep-weighted haze. Her arms had grown numb behind her back, fingers twitching faintly as she shifted against the cuffs that restrained her wrists. 

How long have we been flying? Where are we?

The ramp hissed, folding open slowly just as a crack of thunder carried from somewhere outside. Jude gave herself a shake, hair falling haphazardly out of her had-been-tight bun and framing her face in a way that made her entire face look unkempt.

Her appearance was, at the moment, the least of her worries.

Dark-colored boots stepped into her line of sight, steps taut. She slowly lifted her tired gaze from the floor, looking up until her eyes met Hunter’s. The sergeant frowned down at her with an expression of what looked to be contempt, one of his brows ticking upward as he glanced over her slumped form. “I would think an officer of the war would have better posture.”

“Funny,” Jude mumbled, her tone lacking fire. A grunt escaped her lips as the clone pulled her to her feet by the arm, stumbling and nearly crashing into his armored chest before she managed to right herself. 

“I’ll get funnier.” Hunter shoved her toward the ramp, following after her as she stumbled. She cast him a dark glance over her shoulder, fingers twitching as they buzzed with painful static of half-numbness. Hunter met her glare with one of his own, his jaw set and his face framed with curls that had escaped their bandana imprisonment. 

Jude looked ahead again, shoulders hunching as she moved down the ramp. Her gaze flicked around the surrounding hangar, eyes turning toward the gaping hole in one wall where a sheet of rain and thundering ocean was the only thing beyond.

Oh, Maker. This is Kamino.

“Let’s go.” Hunter’s tone left no room for discussion, his gloved hand grabbing Jude by the wrists where they were crossed. The sergeant pushed her ahead of himself, the rest of the squadron filing after him as they moved into one of the many hallways that led away from the hangar.

“I don’t like it.” Echo’s voice was low, and for once when Jude glanced back at him, he wasn’t glaring in her direction. His eyes watched the armor-clad patrols that passed them, a frown worn on his pale lips as they moved down the corridor. “They’re all acting strange.”

“Allow me to test that theory,” Tech volunteered dryly, attention leaving his datapad. His pace quickened, sidestepping into the path of one of the squadrons coming their way. “Excuse me, trooper—”

“Step aside.” The trooper’s shoulder connected with Tech’s, sending the taller clone stumbling sideways and nearly slamming into Crosshair as the squad continued on. 

Tech frowned after them, expression flat as his honey-brown gaze flicked back to Echo. “They seem the same to me.”

“Maybe they all just hate you in particular,” Crosshair commented, pushing Tech a step away from him as he stalked after Hunter. 

“Enough.” Hunter glanced back to them, giving the squadron a side-eye as he kept a firm hold on Jude’s wrists. His eyes returned ahead when the others fell quiet, passing not a glance down to the woman beside him as they trailed down the winding halls of Kamino.

Their steps halted as they reached a wide room with a high ceiling, the entire space laden with the rancid smell of sanitizer. Jude nearly gagged, stumbling after Hunter as she was dragged over toward one of the clones standing beside a console. 

“Separatist officer Jude Voss.” Hunter’s words were clipped, gray eyes dark as he pushed the woman into the trooper’s hold. “Prisoner of war. Not sure what to do with her now that the war’s over.”

“The Emperor will know.” The clone grabbed her arm in a firm grip, nodding and pushing her toward one of the empty cells. “We’ll keep her in the brig until then.”

“Emperor?” Jude heard Wrecker repeat behind her, though she didn’t get the chance to wonder herself as she was shoved toward the cell indented in the wall. The clone guiding her snapped the cuffs off of her wrists, pushing her into the cell and stepping back as the translucent red barrier came up in a glow of imprisoning light.

“Everyone’s to attend a mandatory summon at 1500.” The trooper turned his helmet toward Hunter, voice matter-of-fact. “For a briefing.” 

“Well then. Let’s not waste any time.” Hunter didn’t pass Jude another glance as he turned, nodding to the rest of his squadron. They moved out to the hall in silence, door closing with a whoosh behind them. 

And Jude was alone.

Tags: @high-ct5555 @bananasugarwarrior @domino-twinss

[margridarnauds]

(From 3.5 "Tyrants of the Nine Hells")

Text: "Regardless of their slippery words and cunning phrases, a devil has no camaraderie in mind when it approaches a mortal. It offers no love and no respect -- just a simple agenda of damnation. To achieve its goals, however, a devil often appears servile and meek. It smiles and capers, bows and scrapes, and does whatever it can to make the mortal character believe he's in charge. But when the mortal lets down his guard, the devil sinks in its talons and wrenches loose his soul."

I know that the lore can be inconsistent re: devils, but it's interesting how thoroughly Raphael *does not follow the playbook for devils as laid out here.* From the beginning, he suggests the possibility of friendship ("Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. But a saviour? That's for certain.") And this strain continues -- his "I've grown rather fond of you, in my way" at the mausoleum, his "we could have been allies, partners, FRIENDS" if you don't make the deal with him earlier and alienate the Emperor/try to free Orpheus, him repeatedly alluding to dining together after the battle. We can argue on whether he's being manipulative or sincere (like with the Emperor, my personal answer is "both", I don't think they're mutually exclusive in his mind), but, regardless of what's going on in that slippery mind of his, he IS offering, at the very least, a certain level of respect and friendship (this doesn't mean that he thinks of them as equals, but his treatment of the contract in the House of Hope if you do take him up on the offer definitely indicates that he isn't entirely lying here, either, as a "most cherished client.") And at no point does he appear meek in order to do it, he always makes it appear like he has the upper hand, always making it seem as if he's in control of the situation (until he isn't). The niceties slip away, sure, ("Down comes the claw"), but the balance of power doesn't.

Is it that Raphael knows the party are in a desperate state and doesn't feel the need to put on a pretense? Is it that he's too proud to do it, even if they weren't? (His response to Kith'rak Voss, when he could have at least made a play for Voss' soul, indicates the latter.) Is it that he refuses to be servile, since he has more to prove, in a way that other devils don't? (His "I AM NO MORTAL", his general focus on emphasizing his infernal nature VS his mortal side?) Either way, even though his end goal is the same, he works outside the usual expected playbook for devils and it's interesting.

[blackjackkent]

I can't find the link now, but there was a post going around at one point stating that Lae'zel has every right to have a category 5 meltdown after the creche. And I have been thinking a lot about that in the context of Rakha's playthrough specifically...

(EDIT for anyone reading this liveblog in order after the fact - I realized later that this drabble reads much more cleanly if placed chronologically after this post with Voss instead.)

------

Rakha sleeps, as always, restlessly. Her body aches from the recent revivification, and her mind is in its usual turmoil. With the return to the material plane from the Astral, the sense of peace has vanished, leaving her once again with the everpresent images of blood and blood and blood and blood...

So she is awake and pacing the camp when she hears it - muffled sobs, quiet, almost too low to hear, coming from Lae'zel's tent.

Rakha hesitates. It is none of her concern, she thinks to herself bluntly. She can no longer trust or rely on Lae’zel, not when the creche proved to be nothing more than a trap. She does not care how Lae'zel feels about Vlaakith’s lies, or about the destruction of the monastery and those within.

She does not care.

She thinks this, and then she goes to the tent anyway and pushes open the flap. "Lae'zel," she says, her voice low.

Lae'zel is hunched in the corner of the tent. The pillow from her bedroll is stuffed in front of her face to muffle any sound, but her shoulders are shaking and she is trembling all over. She jerks, startled, at Rakha's voice; her head lifts involuntarily, revealing her gold cat-like eyes rimmed with red.

"Leave me, t'rac'shka," she snaps weakly. "I have no need of you."

Rakha doesn't move, just watches her silently.

"Go," Lae'zel repeats. Her fingers fist into the pillow and she tosses it aside with a sudden, spasmodic motion. "Go!" She leans forward, grabs Rakha by the collar. "Am I not shamed enough? Leave me!"

Rakha waits, expecting to be pushed backward out of the tent. But Lae'zel doesn't move, just kneels there with her hand on Rakha's collar, her shoulders hitching with strangled breaths. "You do not understand," she mutters hoarsely. "You cannot possibly. You know nothing, remember nothing. You cannot know what it is to lose the whole of one's meaning in an instant - you have never had any!"

Rakha's lips tighten. She can feel the beast urge wake in response to the tightness at her throat, and her anger resonates with it. "I understand enough," she snaps back. "I understand that you failed us."

"I have failed no one," Lae'zel snarls. "I followed the protocol as I was taught. I led you in safety to where I thought was best. I would have cleansed us all!"

"You told me you knew things for certain. I had no other light to follow!" Rakha is dimly surprised to feel her own voice lifting in volume and anger. Her own sense of betrayal and deep fear has been lurking under the surface all day and it rises now hearing its echo in Lae'zel. "I believed you!"

Lae'zel laughs, a harsh bitter sound without humor. "And I called you zhak vo'n'ash duj. We were both of us mistaken. But you will move on without a backward glance, and I must drown in my own shame alone. GO!"

She hurls Rakha suddenly backwards so she hits the ground on her rear outside the tent. "Go to Wyll. Go to Astarion. Go to Karlach and be cooked in your own juice for all I care. Go to who you please, and leave me be!"

The words are pouring out of her now, an avalanche of emotion long repressed. She climbs from the tent and stands over Rakha's prostrate body with an air of inarticulate fury. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides.

"You say I failed you. Do you not understand how you have failed me?" she cries. There is no discretion now; Rakha is sure the whole camp can hear her. "I am hshar'lak because of you!"

"You made your own choices," Rakha rasps out. "I demanded nothing."

"You could have killed her!" Lae'zel snaps. "A blade through the 'guardian's' belly and the matter settled, and my ascension... my ascension..." Her voice falters.

"You would have died," Rakha says flatly. She pushes herself to a sitting position, then onto her feet, looking down now at Lae'zel from her greater height. "There is no ascension. She would have killed you. You know this."

"Easier to die than to be lost as I am!" Lae'zel's eyes narrow, and she suddenly hurls herself forward, both fists lifting to lash out towards Rakha's face.

Instinct takes over. Rakha catches Lae'zel's hands at the wrists and twists; using the smaller woman's momentum, she spins Lae'zel completely around and pulls her to the floor. With one arm she locks Lae'zel's body in place; the other shifts to hold her hand at Lae'zel's jaw.

Kill... roars the beast urge in her head. A flick of the wrist, a snap of the neck...

With an effort that makes her teeth ache, Rakha holds the instinct at bay and goes completely still, holding Lae'zel in her arms. "Is this what you want?" she mutters against Lae'zel's ear. "Do you want me to kill you?"

Lae'zel doesn't answer. For a long moment there is only the sound of her breathing, harsh and tight between her teeth.

"Answer me." Rakha's hand flexes, tugging at Lae'zel's neck.

"No," Lae'zel whispers. "I want them to pay. I want all of them to pay."

Rakha's lips curl in a slight, savage smile, and she releases her grip, letting Lae'zel fall to the stone floor. "They will."

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Lae'zel sat quietly on her bunk, stewing resentfully. What bothered her more than anything else was how that little jumped up parrot had been ordered to inspect her work! As if her work had never been anything but perfect. Chk! It was maddening. There was a quiet tap on the crew's door and voss walked inside without waiting for her to call him in, he had two bowls with him and handed her one. It was the usual fare of fish stew and bread. He sat across from her on the other bunk. He wore a rather amused smile.

'Whole crew has heard it,' he said in gith.

'Heard what?' she replied.

'Captain fucking the little songbird. She screamed loud enough!'

Lae'zel rolled her eyes. 'Might've known and the red tiefling said she had rightfully earned a spot here! Chk! The captain would let anyone on board as long as they pleased him and then what?'

'Well, she's earned it, in a way,' Voss said, taking a bite of his own stew. Lae'zel's mouth curled into a sneer of contempt. Evidently her suspicions had been right. 'Why not mutiny, claim the captainhood yourself?' Voss suggested.

'I will not lie, I would like my own ship, but I'm not so foolish to believe that the captain doesn't have friends amongst his officers and the crew. I am not well liked enough for captaincy, it is not matter of skill, but a matter of popularity.'

Her eyes glanced over to the door as she heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside. 'Speak in common,' she said quickly. 'About anything and nothing, I don't want to be accused of wrong doing or speaking ill of anyone.'

Voss nodded and switched to common, 'Barcus thinks he has created an explosive powder to rival runepowder. He said it could punch a hole through a ship's side and go clean through to the other side.'

Lae'zel smiled. 'He'll have to prove that! And I'm not sure if we wish to experiment on this ship!'

~

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

Day 3 of succ sesh rewatch german edit.

- my mother has now identified half of the cast as having been on Law and Order at some point, including kieran culkin. I think this is one of her mom powers.

- new personal observation: only after gerri and roman's final conversation in tailgate does he pivot to an agressive logan impression with connor and decides to do the eulogy. Like, he just watched his father leave a second time and wants to make him/her proud

- also he keeps touching those dick lamps outside lol

- my mom was very confused about Sophie being attacked because she had simply forgotten who Sophie was. Very Kendall of her

- my mom clocking the Voss water bottles on Connor's table like a brand ambassador

- the GASP she let out when Shiv pretends to call Nate

- Mencken's speech is more unhinged in german, because he uses the german word for "leader" which... i think you can figure that one out + our word for "wisdom" is phonetically very close to "whiteness"

[intheinkpot]

Tagged for a combo of WIP Wednesday or Six Sentence Sunday by @pentacass. Wasn't sure what to put here so I decided to share some snippets I've written for two of my SWTOR OCs that I hope to do something more with one day!

Thorn Graves (Sith Inquisitor)

Thorn peers up at the Sith kneeling over her, struggling to ignore the pounding in her head. Her fellow slaves had cauterized the wound to her head - a deep gash from a shovel blade thrown by an irate slave driver which had taken her by surprise - but the wound has grown infected, and she hasn’t been blind to the hole being solemnly dug on the outskirts of the field all day. 

How ironic the Sith have finally caught on to the Master and the slave drivers hiding her existence when they have finally almost succeeded at killing her.

“What is your name?” the Sith asks coldly.

Thorn laughs. Born into slavery, she’s never had a name but the one she took for herself. Certainly no family name. Still, he clearly expects an answer, and she’s never missed an opportunity to rankle her masters where she can.

She thinks of the thorn bush she hid under as a child, the one that tore the Master's clothes and sliced his skin just the same as it did to her, the protection it offered still, and she thinks of the grave already dug for her and the next one sure to follow. She grins.

“Thorn Graves,”' she sneers at him.

He grunts and slams the hilt of his lightsaber into the side of her head.

Arlan Sinoss (Jedi Knight)

Arlan remembers Voss. Remembers when an ancient being offered her power to defeat the Emperor if only she gave into temptation and betrayed her allies. Remembers turning down the power, remembers trying to offer herself to it as a sacrifice instead to save a woman she barely knew.

“Death is all but certain for your Sith friend. I could save her. I need only a moment of control.”

Staring at the vision of Lana, the woman she loves, with a lightsaber swinging to cut her down, Arlan doesn’t hesitate.

“Take care of it,” she says, and it sounds like take me instead.

*

“I must say...as relieved as I am at your choice to keep the Alliance independent from the Republic...I’m a bit surprised as well. I thought when it came down to it, you would choose to rejoin the Jedi Order.” 

Their room on the Alliance ship is dark, lit only by the light from the stars and the Republic fleet ships surrounding them. Most of the crew is in the cantina, and Theron will probably be dragged back onto the ship by Torian and Shae after they finish draining the pockets of that poor soldier who opened the tab in exchange for good Corellia stories. Ordinarily, Arlan would welcome the chance to relax and enjoy herself in the Republic fleet cantina, like the old days with her crew between missions. 

Lana stands near the foot of their bed, facing her. It would be so easy to push her down onto the mattress, just a step or two before her knees would hit the edge of the bed. Before she would land on top of Lana with Lana’s hands already halfway to tangling in her hair, legs moving to wrap around her waist.

Instead Arlan stands as if rooted to the spot several feet away, a weight in her chest and her limbs. Realizing that Lana is waiting for a response, she says, “It was tempting.”

There’s a beat, where Lana watches her curiously.

“But?”

Arlan swallows. There are many reasons that come to mind: the lack of Republic support during the war with Valkorian, how little she knows about this new Chancellor, the ability to operate and defend people outside of Republic authorization - how would someone like Arcann have fared under a Republic banner? Would they have gotten the information they needed out of Savik if they had turned her over to the Republic? If Arlan had not been in complete control of Alliance fleets, would the civilians of Corellia have been sacrificed in exchange for a few ships?

But most importantly, despite the words of Chancellor Rans and her apparent willingness to give a chance to the former Imperials among the Alliance’s ranks, Arlan had wondered how those people would fare under a Republic banner. They had placed their trust in Arlan, in what she stood for, in what she fought for. They were her responsibility. Perhaps one day the Alliance would merge with the Republic - but not today.

“I have to protect my people,” Arlan says, meeting Lana’s eyes, and finally she takes a step forward. There’s still a weight in her chest, but she brings her arms up to rest her hands on Lana’s arms, just above her elbows. 

Lana’s eyes widen in surprise. “You don’t trust the Republic?”

“It’s... I want to believe the new Chancellor is genuine. It’s not that I don’t trust the Republic,” Arlan says. “And it’s not that I don’t want to help the Jedi or that I think I could do that better by turning down a position on the High Council - ”

“You turned down a position on the Jedi High Council?” 

Arlan nods. “There're so many people from the Empire who joined the Alliance, and while the Chancellor offered them Republic citizenship and clean records if they wanted it... I have to be sure they would thrive in the Republic before I ask them to follow me there.” 

Lana’s eyes move back and forth slightly as she searches Arlan’s face. She looks so close to understanding what Arlan is saying, perhaps hesitant to take that final leap. 

Arlan squeezes Lana’s arms gently. “I have to be sure you will be happy.”

Lana’s lips part in surprise. “You turned down the Jedi Order...because of me?”

Arlan presses her forehead to Lana’s. “I would do all that and more if you asked me,” she murmurs, echoing the words Lana said to her weeks ago. 

Lana kisses Arlan hard, fists her hands in the front of Arlan’s shirt and tugs Arlan against her, holding her there until Arlan's arms finally wrap around her waist. Her hands tangle in Arlan’s hair, nails scratching pleasantly at her scalp.

“I love you, Lana,” Arlan whispers, when they apart for breath.

Lana holds Arlan’s forehead against hers, staring into Arlan’s eyes. Her own nearly glow in the dark.

“I love you too. You mean more to me than I could ever say.” 

Arlan brushes her lips against Lana’s and whispers, “Then show me.” 

Lana smiles and kisses her, soft and lingering, and it warms Arlan’s chest and lifts the weight that had settled there.

// tags for either WIP Wednesday or Six Sentence Sunday, your choice! @galindathegay @naralanis @stargazereyes (no pressure!)

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 28: Goodbye

SWTOR

Time: Sequel to Amber (Day 5)

Words:  ~1200

A/N:  This verges on crack fic.  I just wanted to finish up Fluffy February with a laugh. 

~~

The search for Ramesses had started.  Koth had easily been convinced to assist Arcann, and Talos found him to be an agreeable fellow (though perhaps still disturbingly enamored with ‘the good old days’ of Valkorion ruling Zakuul).  

Their first scheduled investigation was to take them off-world via shuttle, then they’d travel to Begeren, to see if the nominal lord was still there, known to the public or not. People would say their lord was dead, only to find he was leading the resistance on the planet or another nearby world.  

Increasingly, as he accompanied Arcann and Koth, Talos was sure of several things regarding Arcann. First, the man was more a boy in many ways.  He and his brother had barely been 20 when they started their sackings of worlds. Until Voss, Arcann had been heavily influenced, if not utterly corrupted by the Dark Side; at 25, he did not know his own mind without its presence.  

Secondly, Arcann had been isolated.  Anyone and anything outside of his elite social milieu was foreign to him and also absolutely fascinating at the same time.

Talos’s two observations and surrounding hypotheses were proven in practice when they came across an unexpected obstacle, something that had to be overcome lest the mission be derailed and delayed: ordering at a fly-through burger joint on Dromund Kaas.

“Alright,” said Koth, as he shifted the speeder into park to wait.  “Get whatever you want, but let it be said, I’m keeping the viewports open if you get anything stinky.”

Talos had his standard order; it hadn’t strayed much since his days at university, minus when a special flavored shake was on the menu.

Minutes passed.

Arcann, in the backseat, finally asked, right before they pulled up to the order speaker, “…what do they serve at this establishment?”

“Fast food,” Koth answered, as if that was explanatory within itself.

“…it is prepared quickly?”

“Yes….” Talos replied slowly, looking over at Koth, quizzically.

“…what is prepared quickly?”

Both Koth and Talos turned around in their seats to look at Arcann.

He looked back at them, the question still standing.

“…You haven’t done this before.  You haven’t gotten food at a fly through?!” Koth half-asked, half-exclaimed.

Arcann shifted uncomfortably in the backseat. “…no.  Do they have a menu?”

Talos flew into action immediately.  “Let me get my datapad.  They post these things on the Holonet these days, right?”  

Talos started rifling through his duty bag, which had been sitting right at his feet in the front of the speeder.

Someone honked behind them, even as Koth was still staring incredulously at Arcann.  The noise snapped him out of it.  “Alright alright alright, already, I’m moving!”  He turned around and shifted the speeder into gear again. Before the tinny speaker could even start its spiel, Koth said to it, “We’re gonna need a minute.”

Koth checked on Talos, who was trying to get his datapad to turn on.  “I know I charged it.  Why’s it taking so long to come out of hibernation?”  

“Hey, don’t press that too often or –”

The datapad rebooted.

“I hope you weren’t working on anything.”  Koth turned back to look at Arcann again.  He was sitting in the backseat, hands politely folded.  “Ok, your typical options are burgers or --  hey, are the chicken things fried or baked these days?”

Talos made a face. “I don’t know – was it this chain that went on the health campaign a few years ago?” He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for the datapad to finish updating.

“Whatever.” Koth went back to trying to explain this whole thing to Arcann. “Ok, so beef or chicken?”

Arcann tilted his head, considering the question.  “Do they have anything else?”

“Uhhh…. Do they have fish this time of year?” Koth asked Talos.

“Maybe?”

“Or do they have that fake sparerib thing that nobody knows what it’s made of?”

“Oh, don’t order him that. Keep it simple, Koth.”

“Right.”  Koth returned his attention to Arcann.  “Beef or chicken?”

“…where’s the beef from?”

Koth winced.  “You’re better off not knowing.”

“How can I make a culinary decision without –”

“Dude, it’s fast food. You shove it in your mouth, it lights your brain up like a fireworks display, and it clogs your arteries,” Koth rushed through the explanation.  

Arcann wrinkled his nose, put off by the description.  “Can we go somewhere else?”

“No!” Koth and Talos said in unison.  More honking from behind them.  

“I have the menu!” Talos finally proclaimed.  

“A little late!”  Koth said.  “Order a number three for me, extra crispy.  Get whatever the hell you want.  Koth turned back around and leaned over the central divider.  “Arcann, focus.  Beef or chicken?”

Talos cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Can’t hear ya, be louder or lean into the speaker.”

Talos unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over Koth’s back.  “Sorry—”

“Just order. Arcann---?”

“What do they have for sides?  Beverages? Do they have a wine list?”

“What does that --?!”

“It will affect my decision as to beef or chicken, depending upon the accompanying—”

Talos cleared throat loudly and tried again, increasing his volume. “I would like a number three, extra crispy, a number seven with the special pink shake substituted for the soda, and – ” Talos looked between back at Arcann and Koth.

“Beef or chicken, dude?”

“Which comes with sauce?” Arcann gestured at his white clothes.

“Whatever sauce you want to dip your fries in –”

“Are there other options to have the potato prepared?”

Koth turned to look at Talos and got a mouthful of his jacket.  “Uh, is it this place that has the baked potatoes or --?”

Talos yelled out the last of the order.  “AND A MERRY MEAL WITH A TOY.  AND A STRAW.”

“Toy for over-three or under-three?”

“OVER THREE.”

“Boy or girl?”

Talos looked witheringly at the speaker.  “SURPRISE US.”

“Please pull up to the next viewport.”

More honking ensued from behind them as Koth and Talos untangled themselves and got to their respective sides of the speeder.

As Koth paid for the order, Talos looked in the review mirror at Arcann….

Who was gawping at the girl handling the cash register.  “She’s decorated herself with ritualistic markings, facial piercings, and …pink hair?” He paused to marvel at this.  “Fascinating.”

The girl noticed him. “Hey. Your buddy’s kinda cute,” she said as she passed out the food to Koth.  “Lemme get your change and his holo –”

“KEEP THE CHANGE.” Koth was already shifting gears and preparing to floor it.

Arcann managed to figure out how to roll down his viewport, despite the child safety locks.  “GOODBYE!  IT WAS NICE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE!”  he yelled back as the speeder lurched away.

~~

@fluffyfebruary @ermingarden @starlightcleric @ayresis @bluephoenix1347

[gibsonwitch]

as a DM, as a dungeons & dragons player, there is nothing i love more than when characters (PCs or NPCs) become narrative foils for each other, or when they show up as two sides of the same coin. and i think baldur's gate 3 does an amazing job of that

karlach and astarion share a similar journey - my life was stolen from me, and it's not fair. they are both thankful for the tadpole in a way, because it freed them from slavery. neither of them chose their path, both of them would rather die than return to the ones who kept them in bondage. they both want vengeance and feel hollow once they get it.

wyll and gale both felt like they had some sort of choice or free will when it comes to their abusers. wyll, who agreed to a demon's pact in order to save innocent lives. gale, who was groomed by mystra and thinks he had agency in that relationship. they are both such Tragic characters - it could never have worked out any other way. mizora knew wyll would choose to save people. mystra knew gale was desperate to please her. their responses to their abuse is very different; wyll wants to get out of the pact, but more than that he wants to protect people. gale is still desperate to please mystra. (i could talk more about this tbh; wyll grew up with a loving father, gale grew up under mystra's guiding hand something something resiliency factors)

lae'zel and shadowheart despise each other, because they're the same. both raised in cults, both fed lies, both taught to reject anything outside the cult as heresy. they're both so PRICKLY with tav, and they also change their minds the quickest about tav, too. when they are shown evidence of the lies of the cults they grew up in, initially they try to work it into the logic they understand - 'this is a test from vlaakith/shar' etc. when they finally see the light, that vlaakith is a lying lich, that shar manipulated and twisted shadowheart's memories, they immediately jump on board with the opposing force - voss/orpheus, selûne. lae'zel gets angry, shadowheart fears the anger of shar's followers

i just think it's so cleverly written! there are probably more parallels to be found (halsin and jaheira come to mind, arabella and shadowheart even) and i can't wait to keep rotating these blorbos in my mind like rotisserie chickens

[the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond]

Tech chart

Okay so I was motivated to made various exemple of my character sheet, but then, the motivation vanished...

You may have here two exemple of how to use it, but again, it's just a BASIC you can do whatever you want with this!

Dividers made by the awesome @djarrex , thanks you very much!

« Tech » CT-002

First exemple

INTRODUCTION

Tech – male – human (clone)- 13yo (26) - pan sexual & demi - kamino

 GLOBAL x – Ord Mantell – a lot – the Marauder – single – clone special force ed

BACKGROUND + ERA The clone wars & early Empire days – clone force 99, breed to have an exceptional mind: technician, pilot, medic, soldier…

BODY DETAIL lean and tall – 6’4 – brown, short – brown – tan – multiple old blaster scar at various locations on is body – tattoo: 99 and a skull on his right shoulders – thick cheekbones –

DISABILITIES Very bad eyesight, need to wear glasses - overflooded with ideas(?)

RELATIONSHIP clone force 99’, Echo, Omega– the GAR, then Cid, Rex – Separatists, sometimes rude regs, then the Empire – Cut and his family , some Cid’s patrons

ALIGNEMENT lawful good – republic then outsider/bad batch then probably rebels

ACTIVITY member of the special force of the grand army of the republic, then mercenary

GOAL keeping his family safe and alive, upgrading and taking care of the Marauder, sharing his knowledge and educating Omega

----------------------------------------------------------

PROFICIENCIES

STRENGHT in good shape, more stamina than normal people, a trained soldier shape

DEXTERITY good agility (4/5), exceptional pilots (5/5)

INTEL investigation (5/5), perception (2/5), history: all(5/5), quick learner, multiple language speaking fluent, tactical (4/5), adaptation (5/5), cartology (5/5)

WISDOM nature knowledge: fauna/floral specialist – biology mastering: medicine(3/5), chirurgical(2/5), cyber-prosthesis technician(2/5), biochemical (1/5).– teaching – force knowledge: jedi order –astrology (5/5) - geology (4/5) – protocol (4/5)

Second exemple

INTRODUCTION

CT-002 « Tech » - male – clone, human affiliate/ experimental clone – 13 since creation – demisexual, bisexual – Tipoca City, Kamino

GLOBAL Tech – Tipoca City, The Marauder, Cid’s location appartements – Galactic Basic Standard, Mando’a fluent- owner and technician of the modified Marauder, Omicron-class attack shuttle – single – dad of Gonky – graduated from the training of the clone commando Special force, multiple additional training, such as engineering, language translation, medical, decryption, piloting, etc.

[…]

BACKGROUND + ERA Galactic Republic, The Clone Wars, Galactic Empire - enhanced clone with mental capacity and intelligence, previously member of the Grand Army of the Republic squad « clone force 99 », soldier,  eventually mercenary - science and technology nerd, knowledge thirsty.

[…]

…. Mentors: Cuy’Val Dar, 99’, […]

----------------------------------------------------------

PROFICIENCIES

impossible/unable - not at all - not really - a little - basic - above average - very good - master - god

STRENGHT stamina - athletic

DEXTERITY acrobatics - stealth/sneaky - sleight of hand/thievery - insight - piloting

INTEL investigation – perception - history: native/faction/other culture – quick learner – language – tactical (strategy making) – adaptation – cartology

WISDOM nature knowledge: animal handling/taming, fauna/floral specialist, herbalism, surviving, gardening, farming – biology mastering: medicine, chirurgical, cyber-prosthesis technician, alchemy, biochemical etc.– teaching – force knowledge: jedi order, sith order, ancient red sith science and magic, planet mystics (Gungan on Naboo, Voss, Nightsister, etc.), minor cult etc. – astrology – geology – protocol - demolition

CHARISMA deception – intimidation - persuasion – debating – diplomacy – leadership – acting

TECH hacking/coding, engineering, tech maintenance – droid/machine technician –

[…]

[rakghoul-legacy]

Phex’sonad NPC (Good) Character Profile

Name, Race, Class, and Allegiance

Name: Phex’sonad

Race: Chiss

Class: Sniper

Allegiance: Rakghoul Alliance

Family, Friends, and Enemies

Family: Ensign Aubreb Lovoat (Wife)

Friends: Voss Order Outsiders (Main Force), Rakghoul Alliance (Main Allegiance of Main Force), Galactic Republic (Ally Of Main Forces), Sith Empire (Ally Of Main Forces), Sentient Rakghoul Council (The Rakghoul Council Of Sentience) Justicars (From In-Game On Coruscant), and Voss&Gormak (People of Voss)

Enemies: Vitiate the Rakghoul Emperor (Master Of Enemies), Kenjoh Lifshyn (Dark Sided Sniper Servant To Rakghoul Emperor), Brentren Paltur (Dark Sided Jedi Knight Servant to The Rakghoul Emperor), Wamau (Dark Sided Scoundrel Servant to The Rakghoul Emperor), Vuyi (Dark Sided Sniper Servant To Kenjoh Lifshyn And Love of Kenjoh Lifshyn), Cedjess Weigavis (Dark Sided Cyborg SIS Agent [Gunslinger-Based] Servant to Brentren Paltur), Zragrur (Dark Sided Rattataki Mandolorian [Vanguard-Based] Servant to Wamau), Jusuo (Dark Sided Sith Pureblood THORN Specialist [Sage-Based] Servant To Wamau), Ysixo (Dark Sided Rattataki Kilik Ally [Assassin-Based] Servant to Kenjoh Lifshyn), Reejayl Pasktro (Dark Sided Human Constable [Powertech-Based] Servant To Kenjoh Lifshyn), Gehli (Dark Sided Sith Pureblood Ensign [Maurauder-Based] Servant To Kenjoh Lifshyn), Jaycanna (Dark Sided Cyborg Chosen Of Voss [Sorcerer-Based] Servant To Kenjoh Lifshyn), and Ajadar Sabacan (Dark Sided Human High Warlord [Sentinel-Based] Servant To Brentren Paltur)

Starting Server, Current Server, Title In-Fiction and Legacy Title In-Fiction

Starting Server: Star Forge

Current Server: Star Forge

Title In-Fiction #1: Cipher Agent

Title In-Fiction #2: Corsair, the Unruly

Legacy Title In-Fiction: The Chosen Of Voss

Ally To In Class Stories, His/Her Soldiers, and Biography

Ally To In Class Stories: Xicym Sargu

His Soldiers: Fellow Snipers Of Voss Order and Voss Commandos

Biography: I am Phex'sonad the Chiss Sniper. I became the hand of my Jadus but then I saw my star cabal. I am used my black codex to become free from the Empire. I am then sent after Xicym Sargu but then he offered to lead the snipers and other agents of "The Voss Order". This is something I accepted there.

Gallery

Phex’sonad Looks

Phex’sonad’s Story

[rogue-durin-16]

KITCHEN SCRATCHER

Summary: For years, Eddie's go-to scratcher has been his beautiful neighbor. When looking in the mirror becomes unbearable, it's only fair for Y/n to be the one tattooing his scars away.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, needles, scars, slight PTSD, mentions of death, vol2 spoilers (?)

A/N: idk this just came to my mind after seeing this post and I thought. I think it's cute. Maybe it'll cheer @celie-voss up. Enjoy my darlings <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

If God existed, he didn't particularly like me.

That was what I thought while moving the last one of my cartons, containing my tattooing items, into the camper van at the tail end of Hawkins Hills Trailer Park.

A part of me wondered if I had any fault in my father's death. So many times I had wished for him to banish from my life —well, now I had what I wanted, didn't I?

I had also wished for a fresh start.

Certainly, dropping out right before my senior year and moving to the worst neighborhood in Hawkins wasn't what I had envisioned.

Funny how life can turn upsidedown in a matter of days. One morning, you live in your modest yet supposedly lovely ranch style house with your asshole of a father, and the next you're being forced to move out by some guy from the military who's telling you doctor Y/l/n's body can't be retrieved from the Hawkins Lab.

Turns out, life can do yet another 180 in the brief span of a week.

My new neighbors were very nice to me, so it wasn't hard to get them to pass the word about a scratcher working right before the treeline at the trailer park.

Funnily enough, my first client was as illegal as my license to tattoo. Not that anyone cared to stop the sixteen year old when he knocked on my ajar door in plain sight around 4:00pm.

"... Hi?"

"Oh. Hey there." I gave the boy a small smile when he hesitantly pushed the door open. "You're my neighbor, right?"

"Yeah. I..." Clearing his throat, he climbed the couple of steps leading to my new home slash studio and stopped to stand at the doorframe, fidgeting with the pick hanging on a chain around his necklace. "I heard you're, like, a tattoo artist?"

"Well that's an exaggeration." I half joked, leaving aside the items I was moving from one shelf to another atop the kitchen counter in order to pay full attention to my first client. "More like a kitchen scratcher. Gotta earn money somehow y'know."

"I was wondering if I could... Get a tattoo?" He dug into his jeans' pocket and pulled out a couple of scrunched up twenty-dollar bills. "I really like the uh- the bats you have at the door." The boy, pointed his thumb over his shoulder, motioning at the piece of paper I had put outside with some designs and their respective prices.

"Sure thing." I resolved with a nod, walking to one of the compartments in the kitchen to pull out a briefcase containing the items I needed to tattoo, motioning at the couch on my way there. "Sit down, please."

"Have you done this before?" He asked, following me with his chocolate eyes when I came back to him, dragging a chair to place it by the couch.

"Uh yeah, on myself— see?" I rolled up my sleeves to show him the few tattoos I had given myself. My skin tingled under his touch when he reached out to trace the ink lines. "This is your first time?"

"Uhm yeah." He leaned back, digits leaving my forearm to rub his jeans in an anxious manner. "Actually, my uncle doesn't really know I'm doing this so—"

"I won't tell a soul." I assured him with a half smile. "Where do you want it?"

"Forearm?"

I squinted my eyes at him, pensive, resting my chin on my fist. "You wear long sleeves often?"

"Pfft not now." He snorted, referring to Hawkins's late summer weather.

"Piece of advice then," I lazily wiggled my index finger at his forearm. "Not the forearm— not yet anyway. Your uncle would notice."

He pondered for a moment before questioning me. "What about— what about here?" His finger traveled up to tap right under the left end of his clavicle.

"That's a cool place. You sure about it, though?" He hummed affirmatively and I began to pull out the needles, tubes and ink, along with my sketches. "Same design?"

"Nope, I still want the bats on my arm." I nodded and handed him the sketchbook for him too pick. Fast as lightning, he pointed at a black widow on the side of the first page. "This one."

"Copy that." I gestured at him with my head while I used both hands to put my hair back in a bun. "Can you uh... Take off the shirt?" Sheepish, he complied, folding the piece of clothing and leaving it on the cushion besides him. "Lay down, you'll be more comfortable." Taking in his tensed up lanky frame and nervous eyes, I decided it would be for the best to try and distract him. "I'm Y/n, by the way. What's your name?"

"I'm Eddie."

"Eddie, that's a pretty name." I gave him a small smile, setting the ink. "You go to Hawkins High, don't you?"

"Unfortunately." My mouth twisted further up at his sarcastic yet lighthearted tone. "You?"

"Same— well, not anymore. Had to drop out." The confession spilled from my lips before I could stop it, making me freeze briefly.

"Shit, I wish that were me." I breathed out a laugh cleaning the area in his chest that I was about to tattoo. "Hey, uh, this won't hurt right? 'Cause I'm not about to cry in front of you."

"It won't hurt." I soothed him, giving his bicep s light squeeze. "It's more like an itch."

"I can take an itch." He assured himself more than me.

"Atta boy."

That tattoo was done carefully in record time, with no complaints on Eddie's part, a lot of frowning from mine, and some healthy bickering from both sides.

Soon enough, Eddie was sitting back up on the couch with a hand mirror to check the job that had just been done.

"Y/n?" I hummed promptly, focused on putting the things back in the briefcase instead of on Eddie's form. "I hope you know I'll come back to get the bats too."

And he did.

He came back several times —seven to get more tattoos; countless more with a silly excuse to see me. Each time with longer hair, more and more punker clothes, bolder attitude and louder manners; he became less tender and more cynical —he kept the sweet smile and endearing sheepishness, though.

That's why I did not quite process any of the tragic events that took place throughout spring break. I didn't understand.

Eddie was a good, kindhearted person when we had first met, and that never changed, no matter how much shit the world threw at him. Wayne Munson didn't believe Eddie could have done it either, but it was our biased word against every shallow minded Hawkins' inhabitant, so the police ignored it, and we could only sit and watch how they hunted him down.

Then it got... Really weird. I didn't say anything, not because I doubted myself or thought people would take me for a crazy girl; I didn't say anything because when late at night, I spotted four kids in the dark sneaking into the Munson's residence and leave shortly after with four older people, I knew something wasn't right.

I knew weird things happened in Hawkins, I knew it had to do with the Lab, and I knew if I reported anything, I would have a target on my back, so I didn't say anything.

Neither in that moment, nor the next night when, before going to sleep, I caught a glimpse of the same group that had ran out of the trailer not even 24 hours prior. Eddie was in that group.

I didn't notice him when they went in, but I did hear someone crying out his name before some boy and two girls around my age dragged a limp Eddie out of his own house. I wanted to rush out of my camper van and help them, but I wasn't supposed to be seeing anything.

Four days later, Eddie was miraculously ruled out as the prime subject of the murders by Jim Hopper, who had been supposedly dead. Neither he nor his uncle came back to the trailer park right away —luckily so, because a group of jocks showed up in the middle of the night to burn it to the ground.

Wayne Munson moved back in eventually. Some guys in fancy black suits had set up an new house for him and his nephew a little bit closer to the Mayfield's house. It took a while for Eddie to join him, but after a couple of weeks he was being brought in.

It took him three months to approach my camper, and I wasn't even there when it happened. I only came to know about it when I arrived late at night from my shift at Melvald's and saw a note stuck by my designs. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of both his writing and signature.

'Need a favor. My trailer 4pm tomorrow. Bring a lot of ink and sketches. Don't tell anyone. —Eddie'

And so I complied. My wristwatch marked 03:58pm when I first set a foot on the short damp grass of the trailer park and made my way to the Munson's new home.

My palms sweated around my briefcase and backpack when I got to their front door, fist shaking slightly when it went up to knock on it.

He must have been waiting behind the wooden surface, because not even a second passed before it creaked while it was carefully unlatched —such a contrast from the previous times I had dropped by the Munson's trailer, when the door had flung open by a cheeky Eddie who took up all the space left for me to enter.

Now I could barely see him leaning on the wall by the entrance, tired eyes examining my form before actually throwing it wide.

"Hey, I'm uhm—" I whispered my barely coherent words into the crack, shaking my briefcase between us. "Y'know."

Giving me a what I could only read as a wary up-and-down look, Eddie kicked the door open. I took that as a clear cue to walk in, so I did.

After scanning the place, I noticed the new trailer seemed slightly bigger and much more stark, probably due to the recency of their staying.

"It's nice, the new place." I commented, doing a 360 to face Eddie, my voice feeling like scrap paper against the stifling silence. "I'm sorry 'bout what happened to the trailer."

"Yeah, well, Hawkins, am I right?" He finally spoke, attempting what I believed to be a joke while his right hand reached to close the door.

"Right..." With my lips pursed in a tight line, I left both my belongings on the bigger couch. "I didn't buy it, y'know?" I assured him, referring to the blame put on his shoulders a few months ago.

"Yup. Wayne told me." His aloof demeanor battled hard with my need to ease the environment. "I..." His eyes, until then remaining averted from mine, flickered at me. "I changed my mind. I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I... I think it's not— this isn't a good idea. You should go." Eddie cleared his throat, carding through his locks with his fingers. He was muttering something, but my senses cut everything out when I caught on the angry scar starting on his jawline and going down to his Adam's apple.

"Woah— The hell's that?" I stalked to him with concern on my face, suddenly noticing how odd his winter clothes were for Indiana's summertime weather.

"Wait- Don't!" Eddie recoiled when I was mere inches away from brushing his hair away from his face so I could take a better look, confusion switching to panic in his face when it dawned on him what I was questioning him about.

"But-"

"Please. Just— don't." He vehemently shook his head, tears threatening to spill from his widened eyes while he walked back in hopes of putting more distance between us. "Just go. Please."

"Eddie..." His name fell from my lips in a tender mumble, earning a flinch from him. "Whatever this is, it's not gonna faze me." I assured him, deciding it was best to refrain myself from trying to reach him. "And if it's-" I lowered my voice as much as I could. "If it's some kind of... Top secret bullshit, government kinda stuff, my lips are sealed."

"Gov... government stuff?"

"You know, the Lab. I'm not stupid, I know they're still here. I know they're doing something."

"How do you know that?"

"Did they hurt you?" He gulped. "That's why the note said 'don't tell anyone', right? 'Cause they're covering up their bullshit experiments again—"

A lightbulb went off in my head, sinking my heart into my stomach. 'bring a lot of ink and sketches'.

"I'm... Covering up scars, aren't I?" My inquiry had some dread to it. It wouldn't be the first time that I placed ink on top of unwanted physical memories, but this was Eddie. This was different.

"Y/n, leave. Please. I changed my mind." He pleaded me in high pitched tone his shoulders tensing.

"I can't leave you like this." I responded in a sorry tone, taking a sympathetic look at the ghost of what once was Eddie, in that moment reduced to a scared kid in baggy clothes. "I just can't."

"I'm sorry for leaving the note, okay?!" He shouted more than spoke, tears fighting their way down his cheekbones. "But I don't— I don't want you here right now."

"I'm not leaving you in this state." I insisted, taking a step forward; Eddie took a step back, making his back hit the wall. "I'll leave once you're feeling better, but—"

"You don't owe me anything!"

"I don't have to owe you shit, Eddie! I'm worried sick about you and this is not helping!" I yelled, wildly gesticulating at him.

"I'm just a c-client!"

"What the hell Ed?! You're my fucking friend!" I felt myself internally spiraling, too wrapped in my own trauma to notice Eddie's uneven breathing, nor his lower lip trembling. "Last time I saw you, you were getting dragged into a random car! And when you guys left I saw blood, Eddie! A shit ton of blood! And I bet it was all yours! I'm not asking you to tell me what happened that night, but let me fucking help!"

There was an ominous charged silence in which we both stared straight into each other's souls before Eddie slid down the wall to sit on the ground, becoming a silent flood of tears.

I didn't know what to do aside from stare helpless at his fragile, terrified frame that curled up in a ball on his carpet, and that broke my heart.

Gulping, I slowly joined him on the floor, sitting by his right. "I'm sorry. I didn't... Eddie. Hey." I let my left hand tentatively rub his back while my right one went to rest atop his covered forearm. "I'm— I'm here. I wanna help but you- you gotta talk to me."

"I want 'em off." He whimpered, pressing on his eyeballs with the balls of his hands. "I hate— I-I can't even look at myself anymore, Y/n." His teeth gnawed on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "I-I thought tattoos would... Help but you-" Eddie sniffed, shooting me a quick glance before involuntarily bracing his torso. "I don't want you to— fuck, they're so ugly."

"Can I see them?" Eddie stared at me as if I had grown two heads, bloodshot eyes opening wide again. "Eddie, you know I've seen some shit."

"Not like this." Before I could counter with anything, he spoke again, this time quieter, as if he was confessing a dark secret. "I don't want you to think I'm ugly."

"Oh, c'mon." I tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, taking in his self-conscious expression. "I could never. You're the prettiest boy I've seen."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"The prettiest." I corrected him, resting my forehead on his temple. We had kept getting closer and closer without noticing. "Now let me see?"

With an uneven, rueful sigh, Eddie nodded and moved away from my grasp to peel off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a black t-shirt that uncovered both his arms, scarred with healed wounds similar to the one in his jaw.

"Jesus... Hey, wait." I pulled his hand and brought it to my lap when, at my exclamation, he attempted to get up and walk away. "Do they hurt?" Eddie shook his head in the negative slightly relaxing under my feather touch over the minor scar between his thumb and index finger. "Okay."

We both sat in silence while I analyzed his arm, my stomach twisting at the mere thought of whatever might have caused such bad wounds.

"It does sound very metal." He agreed in a soft voice, his head casted down when his hesitant eyes peeked at me through his bangs. "There's... There are more. Bigger."

"Maybe... A Hydra could be cool here." I suggested, passing my thumb over the side of his hand. "See? The heads would cover the scar perfectly, and then... It can go a bit up your forearm with a sick tail." I continued, gently twisting his arm with his curious eyes on me. "I have a Nazgûl design that would look bomb on you, so maybe here" I tapped on the bigger scar adorning his arm. 'or—" I pushed myself off the wall and pivoted to kneel in front of him, reaching for his left bicep. "Here too. You know, I don't do this for anyone but since you're my all time favorite client,"

The lightheartedly joking tone in my voice teared a small smile from him.

"I can sit down and come up with a customized design. Maybe something metal? I'm thinking..." I sat back on my legs, picturing the sketch on my head, completely oblivious at Eddie's loving eyes. "Black Sabbath? A 'War Pigs' tattoo sounds very metal to me, what d'you think?"

"Okay." I reached out to intertwin our fingers before giving them a squeeze. "May I?"

I thanked whatever was out there for having Eddie's eyes adamantly averted from me when he pulled off his shirt, because I had to choke out a cry at the sight.

What the hell happened to him?

"Told you." He muttered, wrapping his arms around the scars on his sides. "They're ugly."

"Hey." I swallowed my grief for his sake, pulling his knees apart so I could get closer to him. "What did I tell you?" My hands went first to his forearms in order to uncover his torso once more, and then to his cheeks. "Prettiest boy I've seen." I repeated, bringing him into a hug before planting a kiss on the side of his head. "Nothing's gonna change that."

Eddie snugged his head on the crook of my neck, bare arms squeezing me tight against him. "Promise?"

"Promise." I waited for him to pull away before letting my fingertips trail down from the pinkish marks on his chest to the bigger wounds on his sides that... Looked eeriely similar to gnawing. "I'm gonna give you the sickest tatties."

"I bet you will." He agreed, letting his left palm travel to my right, which rested on his abdomen. "Thanks, Y/n."

"Don't thank me yet, I might fuck up."

"Yeah sure, you fucking up a tattoo." He scoffed. "Sounds about right."

"There's a first time for everything." I shrugged nonchalantly. "You were my first client, it's just fitting for you to be my first fuckup."

He flicked my shoulder; another half smile twisting up the corner of his lips made my heart swell with pride. It felt odd, yet nice to be the one trying to make the boy smile and not the other way around.

It seemed like that dynamic would stay with us for a while, but I was fine with it as long as I got to be close to him again.

[queen-scribbles]

33. An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

For Ardrali maybe? :)

As you wish, and thank you for the excuse to write my blueberry. :)

----

Endrali jumped when Arcann kissed her temple. Fortunately she managed to catch her datapad before it clattered to the floor.

“I didn’t realize you were so absorbed in your work,” he said with an apologetic smile as he sat next to her on the couch, “or I would have waited until you noticed I was here.”

“It’s alright,” she laughed, idly lacing her fingers between his. “And it’s not...  technically work.” This was supposed to be a day off, after all.

“Ah.” Arcann’s smile shifted fond and he squeezed her hand.  “Technically?”

“It is from an Alliance operation,” Endrali explained, setting the datapad on the low table by the couch, “but I’m reading it because I find the outcome exciting, not because I have to for Commandery reasons or anything.”

“And this would be...?” he prompted, his smile going briefly wider at Commandery.

She couldn’t help a giggle as she nestled in closer to his side. “Oh, the archaeological expedition to Aleen. They found a cache of holocrons.” She paused both for effect and to rein in her excitement. “From grey Force-users. Arcann, do you know how rare that is?! Outside of the Voss and Zakuul, most Force users align with either the Jedi or Sith, who are also the ones with the inclination and resources to make holocrons. And I can only guess how it works for the Sith, but the Jedi holocrons were all made by ‘exemplars of the Order’, I dunno if they would have trusted someone who danced that line between Light and Dark to pass down wisdom. Which means the vast majority of them are from either a very, very Jedi perspective or a very, very Sith one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that was otherwise. We have information and teachings from Grey Force users, but it’s all regular records, not holocrons. Mostly due to variation in codes and teaching; it’s more likely to find small groups adhering to sets of principles that are similar but not identical, so there’s not the larger, over-arching Order like for Jedi and Sith. So to find not just a holocron but a cache of them--I think the team lead said there were five or six?--is- is-” There wasn’t really a word to fully encompass what this would mean, and Endrali was distracted from finding one when she looked up and found Arcann watching her with a smile.   “What?”

“You.” His thumb rubbed back and forth over the heel of her hand.  “It’s rare you don’t sense people’s approach, but if you were reading something that sparks such enthusiasm, it’s more understandable that I caught you off-guard.” He chuckled.  “Especially being holocrons and history.”

“My two greatest weaknesses,” she agreed glibly. “Well, maybe aside from you.”

The flicker of his emotions rolled through the Force and there was something melancholy to his smile. “Endrali...”

“If you’re about to say you don’t deserve me, I might just bop you on the head,” Endrali warned. And she meant it despite her light, teasing tone. She sensed him preparing to protest and let go of his hand, pivoting to straddle his lap so they were face to face and braced her hands on his shoulders. “Arcann. Aside from me getting to decide who 'deserves' me and I picked you, I fell in love with you, maybe it’s not about deserve as much as what we have, and you” --she leaned in and kissed him-- “have me.”

Arcann hummed into the kiss, his left arm circling her waist as the other hand carded into her hair. “A compelling argument.” There was a swirl of emotion in his eyes, the foremost being a glint of mischief.  “Even if,” he murmured with a smirk, “I don’t deserve you.”

She huffed and, as a woman of her word, lightly smacked the back of his head. Then kissed him again, deeper, to cut him off when he laughed.

Arcann’s arm tightened around her waist, and it was Endrali’s turn to smirk at the rumble that rolled through his chest.

“Don’t you,” he mumbled breathlessly, leaning his forehead to hers,  “want to get back to reading?”

“Mm, maybe later,” she murmured playfully, kissing the bridge of his nose and delighting in how it made his breath catch. “Right now I think it’s time for a break.”

From the fervency with which he kissed her back, she knew he’d caught exactly what she meant.

[ospreyeamon]

schrödinger's jedi consular

I have problems with the Jedi Consular – my Jedi Consular to be specific.

Because I’m fascinated by the idea of Act 1 as a Start of Darkness, but not one where they fall to the Dark Side of the Force. Rather, the Consular as someone who grows more distant from and dismissive of the Force-blind as they struggle with a situation people outside the Order don’t have the context to understand, someone who asks for help from the Council is told they can manage by themself and internalises that as a universal truth, someone who clings to the Code more rigidly because it is the only support they have, someone who faces Lord Vivicar severely weakened by holding all of the other shields but casts the ritual one last time knowing it might kill them because the life a Jedi is sacrifice – and has their faith in the Force rewarded when they survive.

Someone who is hardened by their trials even as they pass them. Someone who takes the high standards and expectations placed on them and applies them to everyone else. Because if you are expected to sacrifice yourself for the greater good isn’t that because sacrifice is a virtue that all should practice? Because if the Jedi Council can weigh your single life against the many lives of the possessed Jedi, shouldn’t you apply that utilitarianism in your own decision making?

But I love the Consular who meets Qyzen Fess, so different to anyone they’ve met before, and learns from the teaching holograms on Tython about the strange early period of the Jedi Order they had been left to assume had always been much the same as it had been when they were raised in it. Who leaves the Prologue newly aware of the bubble they grew up in and determined to stab it with as many pins as they can find.

Someone who will try any food including the ones they really shouldn’t, because what were they taught to metabolise poison for if not this? Someone who painstakingly learns the art of making small talk with strangers at spaceports because the departure lounges are filled with people from planets they only know as names on a star map living lives they’ve never dreamed of. Someone honest and earnest who asks the wrong questions at the right times and was the best/worst person the Jedi Council could have picked as a political liaison. Someone who jumps into the teachings of the Voss Mystics face first and drives the Council nuts because instead of denouncing the Sith and the Dark Side to the Mystics they’re incorporating Voss notions of the Force as grey into their own practice.

Obviously the solution is to have two Consulars. They can be foils for each other! It’s divvying up the Class Story which is the trouble.

The second Consular does the Prologue and is Yuon Par’s Padawan, but Yuon being struck down by Terrak Morrhage’s curse plague is the bridge into Act 1. If her old Padawan wasn’t trying to save her by learning the ritual from the Noetikon then going on to use that skill when the crisis spread, where were they? Why were they, rather than the first Consular who proved themself in Act 1 earning the title of Barsen’thor, assigned to the post with the Rift Alliance? Especially since I assume the title of Barsen’thor was part of the reason the Consular was put forward to be the Rift Alliance’s envoy? It makes sense that the first Consular who did Act 1 be called in for the mess with the Children of the Emperor but then how does the second Consular get to Voss? Are both Consulars doing Act 3? It’s like a ball of string I can’t cut through without making a dozen new loose ends.

[tishinada]

100 Days of Writing – Day 20

Building on yesterday's post about the appallingly bad decision to try to make an entire species genetically “evil,” I want to shift the focus to the serious problems with the religious aspects of how the Force is written in SWtOR.

Because, according to the Jedi, there is only one true way and nothing else can be tolerated. Anything and anyone else is evil, particularly the Sith (in the religious definition of Force use this time, not the species.) And that is the very definition of religious fanaticism.

The most obvious example in-game: The Jedi are extraordinarily leery of the Voss, and yet in most ways, the Voss check off the supposedly important boxes to be much more like the Jedi than the Sith – they aren't controlled by their emotions, the Mystics serve the greater good, they don't use the Force for their own benefit, and they’re defending their people. You see tremendous self-sacrifice on their part. They aren't proselytizing or even offering to teach outsiders. And technically, they aren't the rulers. The Three are, and they don't appear to be Mystics themselves. We know from some of the side quests for the Shrine of Healing that Mystics will sacrifice themselves if there is a vision indicating it’s necessary. So they aren't immune from anything they demand from their people.

And honestly? Almost all of the criticism I've heard of the Voss that's supposed to justify the Jedi fearing what they represent can be applied to the Jedi themselves. A Jedi potentially wields a great deal of power simply by existing, and virtually no one outside the Jedi is going to seriously question them. I mean, yeah, the officer on Taris can complain about the plague-infected master in the JC storyline, but it's not like he did anything or even suggested he could or would do anything about your decisions.

And the Jedi policing themselves? The one Zabrak Jedi that you meet on Taris in the Imperial Agent's storyline tells you she's been doing all sorts of horrible things for years, and the Jedi haven't even taken notice. I'm not sure how long it would have taken the Jedi to take notice of the actions of the masters who were infected with the plague if they weren’t consciously trying to stop a plague. In fact it's clear that these masters literally had no oversight and in the case of the masters on Tatooine and Nar Shaddaa were able to go off on their own to do whatever.

As far as the very structured Voss society, I'd wager that there were plenty of Republic planets with similar cultural structures, and those don't seem to be a cause the Jedi feel obligated to campaign against. People have some choices on Voss – we know people volunteer to fight with the Commandos rather than being drafted. In fact, we only meet one Voss who is noticeably dissatisfied and that's in the Smuggler's story (and even he doesn't seem dissatisfied with Voss as a whole, just the restrictions of his own life.)

The major thing the Jedi should object to about the Voss is the treatment of the Gormak (they are also indigenous, technologically advanced, and deserve equal treatment.) But the Jedi are completely silent about them and the Republic only cares about getting the powers of the Mystics arrayed against the Empire.

The Voss Mystics are, simply, different. None of the Jedi's supposed reasons for fearing the Sith apply, and yet, they're still afraid of them and consider them dangerous and imply that they’re a gateway to the Dark side. (Ironically, they also seem to have developed in reaction to being caught in the middle between the Sith and Jedi in the past.) And this is a lot of why I believe, as written in SWtOR (always different from the movies,) that the Jedi as an order are an intolerant, fanatical religion (obviously not every individual.) It’s also why a number of fanfic writers who have escaped abusive religions tend to write stories showing the damage the Jedi’s fanaticism can do. They recognize these problems.

That isn’t to say it isn’t great when fanfic writers rescue it by writing that religion living up to its ideals. I really enjoy those fics---as long as they also “fix” the fanaticism and the blanket condemnation of the Sith (religion) and Sith (species.) If you’re embracing that only one true way point of view, you haven’t fixed the way the Jedi order were written.

(Day 19 here) (Day 21 here)