#excessive aurebesh

[supertaliart]

Thinking about the Coruscant subway system

[leapingbadger]

Tattoo

Read on AO3

***

“Does it hurt” Omega asked, hovering over her brother.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Hunter replied, eyes closed. The buzzing made his brain feel like it was vibrating but there was no pain to speak of. He’d had much worse in battle.

“Like you’d say if it did,” Crosshair said witheringly. “You didn’t even complain when you got that shrapnel in the neck, remember?” He was bent over Hunter’s chest, scraping at the skin with the tattoo gun and aggressively wiping away the blood and excess ink.

Omega gasped, “you got shrapnel in your neck?” she asked Hunter, alarmed.

“Omega doesn’t know that story?” Crosshair said, a toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly.

“We didn’t tell her all of them yet. We were kind of preoccupied,”

“But yeah,” he said, turning to Omega. “I had to leave it in until we could get back to base.” He said, moving his hair with his left hand so she could see the slit-like scar on the back of his neck. Omega shook her head at him, sat back down, cross legged on the floor, elbows on her knees, chin in her hand.

“I remember that. Made me feel sick,” Wrecker said. He was next to Omega, scratching Batcher behind the ear. Her collar jingled and her tongue dangled out of the side of her mouth.

Hunter chuckled. The sun was streaming through the window of the small common room.

“What about Skako Minor?” Crosshair asked.

“Are you kidding,” Wrecker said, “that was her bedtime story for a while. Tech and Echo loved telling her that one,” Omega nodded in agreement.

Hunter was stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head. It had been a while since he’d gotten a new tattoo.

He had paid a professional to get his face tattoo and the skeletal outline on the left side of his body, but the others had been done by his brothers. The skull with a 99 in aurebesh on his right bicep was done by Crosshair on a particularly stormy day on Kamino when the ocean looked like it might come through the window of their room.

Tech had inked the Mando’a for brother, ‘Vod’, while scrolling his datapad. Hunter had watched nervously as he waived the gun around wildly while info dumping to the rest of them.

Wrecker hated needles and had a hard enough time being in the room while the tattoo was being done but he had inked a small aurebesh number four just so Hunter could complete the set.

The most recent one he got, before now, was a small Omega symbol on his wrist. He’d gotten it in a dingy underground parlor during a particularly tricky mission while looking for intel on the Pikes. He told Wrecker it was the only way to get the information they needed but he also needed a reminder of what he was fighting for. It was by far his favorite, although he’d never told anyone else that.

The new one, the one Crosshair was painstakingly scratching into his skin on the right side of his chest, was a familiar skull with lightning bolt behind it. Tech had designed it in their cadet days. He drew it everywhere; it was repeated on the back wall of his bunk on Kamino.  He had scratched it into the side of his data pad and carefully painted it onto his customized helmet for their first mission.

Hunter was sure Tech would call him sentimental, or at least think it. But it was a way for him to keep his fallen brother close. It would be a reminder every time he got dressed in the morning.  A reminder of what this life on Pabu had cost.

“Did you tell her about windsurfing on the Keeradaks on Skako?” Crosshair asked Hunter, throwing an amused look at Omega.

Hunter laughed, “I’d forgotten about that,” he said.

“Tech didn’t, he was cursing the entire trip to retrieve you,”

“Really?” Hunter said, surprised.

Wrecker laughed, “yeah, said you’d dropped your only braincell during that trip.

They all laughed, that kind of laughter that filled a room. It was boisterous, childish laughter, the kind that only siblings could share. Except, there was one missing. The realization seemed to hit them all at once and the joy was sucked out of the air.

Crosshair finished up the last section of the lightning bolt. He pulled back, cocking his head to the side to take in his work. Hunter looked down. The lines weren’t as straight as they could have been. Crosshair was still getting used to his prosthetic hand, but his painting had come such a long way that Hunter thought his brother was ready to get back to his first love. He had loved tattooing so much he’d even help the Regs out on occasion when they were on Kamino. It had taken some convincing but after a few weeks of Hunter’s unwavering confidence in his abilities, it finally seemed to take hold.

As he checked his new ink out in the mirror, Hunter noticed a slight tremor in Crosshair’s prosthetic hand. He narrowed his eyes in concern but said nothing.

“Omega said you went to Kashyyyk,” he said quietly.

Hunter traded looks with Wrecker who was now bench pressing Gonky in the corner. Omega looked at Hunter in concern.

“Ah, yeah. We did. Found a young Wookie. A jedi, actually…we…ah…took him home.”

“I always liked Kashyyyk,” Crosshair said, looking at anywhere but directly at Hunter. “It was our first mission.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said, sitting on the couch closer to his brother and resting his hand on his shoulder. “We’ll go back again, someday.” He added reassuringly. He had expected Crosshair to shrug off his hand like he often did. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, at least, he didn’t used to be. But they sat there for a few moments in silence.

“I missed a lot.” Crosshair said, his voice low and gravely.

Hunter, Wrecker and Omega traded glances again. The warmth and joy that had been on his face earlier had disappeared, replaced with a grimace. The ever-present toothpick in his mouth left an indent in his lip as he pressed his mouth into a thin line.

“But you’re here now,” Omega said reassuringly getting up and giving him a hug.

Crosshair raised his eyes and gave her a halfhearted smile.

“Are you ready for yours?” Hunter asked Crosshair, trying to change the subject.

“That depends, have you gotten any better since the last one?”

Hunter laughed, “probably not. But unless you want Wrecker to have a go, I’m your best bet.”

“I’ll do it,” Omega said hopefully.

“No,” Hunter and Crosshair replied in unison. Omega sighed and rolled her eyes.

Crosshair sighed dramatically and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, “fine.” He sat down on the floor, right forearm stretched out over the coffee table.

Hunter was taken aback. Crosshair wanted the tattoo near the stump where his right hand should be. He gave a questioning look to Wrecker who just shrugged.

“Are you sure that’s where you want it?” He asked in a would-be casual tone.

Crosshairs eyes narrowed, “Yes. I have to look at it every day anyway. Might as well put something there I wanna see.”

The answer satisfied Hunter. He shrugged and set about cleaning and setting up the new equipment. It had been a long time since he had done this.

They spent the afternoon huddled in the common room, regaling Omega with stories of old missions, laughing, teasing each other and sometimes sitting in silence except for the buzzing of the tattoo gun. The vibration in his hand tickled his senses and Hunter had to pause often to flex his fingers. Hunter was satisfied with how the skull and lightning bold looked, given his lack of experience, but Crosshair’s was definitely better.

The sun was starting to set outside. The amber glow of Pabu’s evening light display would spring to life any minute.

“What about it, Wrecker?” Hunter asked.

“Oh, ah…yeah, okay,”

“Really?” Hunter asked, surprised, “you really don’t have to.”

Wrecker had been scared of needles since he was a cadet. No real surprise given the amount of testing he and his brothers had to endure.

“No, I want to. I mean, I don’t, but Tech would do the same for me,”

He and Crosshair shared a look but set about making it happen. Wrecker sat on the couch as Crosshair worked on a small version of Tech’s design on his bicep. Hunter and Omega tried to keep Wrecker distracted. He would occasionally wince, but Omega would hold his hand or offer him a snack and his face would soften.

By the time Wrecker’s was done it was completely dark outside. They set about cleaning up, getting things tidied up and dinner on the go. Wrecker took lead on the latter.

“Hunter?” Omega asked quietly, “can I get that tattoo?”

Hunter had been afraid of this. Omega wanted nothing but to copy her brothers, it was no surprise she wanted a tattoo like them as well.

“Ah, you know kid…” he looked at her big brown eyes, hair flopping over her forehead and cascading down her back. “I think you’re a little young…”

“I’m older than all of you,” she said, hand on her hips, a confident grin on her lips.

Hunter looked over at Crosshair for support. He just shrugged. Hunter knew how much Tech meant to her and how affected she was by his death. He paused for a moment and ran his hands through his hair.

“You know what kid, you’re right. Sure. What were you thinking?”

Omega jumped up and down with glee and Hunter’s heart felt like it was going to burst. He really would do anything for this girl.

The sun had completely set by the time it was done. The skin on her wrist was red except for the heavy black ink. A skull with a lightning bolt behind it. Just like her brothers.

[keztis]

@d4gangera 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 :: without the splendid nature of robes he recognized as a second skin, there is a nagging sensation of vulnerability. sleeve once neatly tucked is crudely tied, the ball of fabric swings uncomfortably, but he says little in regards to it. the nature of trying to remain tucked into the ebb and flow of midday traffic. the sheer number of bodies makes his skin crawl to some regard, and while dagan can sense the bristle of cal's existence like leering sunshine overhead, the (former ? reformed ? the white-crystal'd saber tucked under layers subtracts a certain level of clarity there) jedi opts to lay gloveless hand against the small of cal's back before fingers wrap loose in the fabric of jacket, icy stare set before them as jaw remains clenched. " i do not like this, " dagan's tone is low, his fingers tighten only slightly in fabric, " there are far too many bodies here, too much risk. "

                𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙽𝚃  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳  𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴  𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴  𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃  𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝚃—𝙸𝙵  𝙸𝚃  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳  𝙰𝚃  𝙰𝙻𝙻. the ecumenopolis remained a layered maze of industry and excess, its lower levels smothered beneath the weight of those towering above.  the air was thick with sweat and exhaust, a dense haze of pollution settling into restless streets.  pedestrians hurried along, a faceless tide of movement, while speeders wove through the ordered chaos of the skylanes.  every few moments, a floating holoprojector paddled past, spewing imperial propaganda in stark, impersonal tones—warnings of law and order, of swift consequences for those who defied them.  

a burst of artificial light flared ahead, the garish glow of an oversized holoscreen drowning the street in neon colors.  kestis narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the aurebesh text when a sudden warmth pressed against his lower back.  the touch was firm, unexpected—and not BD-1, who knew to stay tucked inside the knapsack slung over his shoulder.  for a split second, his shoulders tensed, hand already hovering near his saber.

" i do not like this, " dagan's tone is low, his fingers tighten only slightly in fabric, " there are far too many bodies here, too much risk. "

the young knight exhaled, easing the reflexive coil in his limbs as recognition settled in.  turning slightly, he caught the older man’s expression—taut, wary.  there was something unreadable in his eyes, a glint of distress he had yet to voice.  was it the crowd?  the sheer press of bodies in every direction? the subsequent thought almost made cal scoff at himself.  of course, it was the crowd.

dagan gera had spent two centuries in isolation, trapped in bacta, lost to time.  even if coruscant’s skyline had remained unchanged, the experience of civilization—of sound, movement, and overwhelming presence—couldn’t be anything less than unnerving. for a man who had spent entire lifetimes in silence, the noise of the present was no doubt deafening at this point.

cal bit his lip and didn’t stop to analyze the moment.  he acted, guided by an instinct that was as familiar as breath and blood, and slowed his pace enough to ensure dagan wouldn’t have to grip him so tightly, and yield space without leaving the man adrift in the shifting currents of the street.  bodies surged around them, a chaotic undulation, and cal adjusted his position without a word, placing himself between dagan and the densest part of the swarm.  subtle but deliberate.

he cast a glance at the older jedi, tendering a heartening smile.  ❝just focus on me, alright?  we’ll get through this together.❞  an unexpected flutter tugged in his gut—an odd sensation—or a stupid one, really; he wasn’t the one struggling under the mental weight of two centuries of isolation.

                 ❝yeah, i’m not a fan of crowds, either.  too many people, too many chances for something to go wrong. . . ❞  a pause, long enough for the statement to settle.  then, with a teasing lilt, softer now: ❝didn’t think you’d be the one clinging to me, though.❞

[stormkobra-5]

The Heir of Djarin

 Episode 2: The Heir of Djarin

Summary: The Girl Misplaced has been on Yëa for three years training under Din Djarin. Now she’s ready to receive an inheritance wholly unexpected and earn her title as a Mandalorian, but her path, to Din’s disappointment (though maybe relief), does not lead to the path of a bounty hunter, but of something entirely different.

A/N: What’s this what’s this? Bo-Katan? It’s not what you think.

Notes: None

Warnings: This story is rated 14+ for canon-typical violence, action, and language. The main character is recovering from a traumatic backstory for the sake of the plot, so there is mention of distrust, social anxiety, self-doubt, and emotional damage. Later chapters may involve mature themes for drug usage (spice), excessive alcohol consumption, and clubs that imply adult entertainment (the main characters do not take part). Nothing explicit in any chapters.

_______________________________________________________________

   Din grabs me by the back of the neck, takes a step, and flips me clean over him. I land on my back with a grunt, the breath whooshing out of my lungs. Din patiently waits for me to catch my breath. “Your timing is good, but your execution is weak. You have to put more of an effort into shifting my weight.”    “Yeah. Sure. Because you’re not wearing twenty-three hundred pounds of pure beskar.” I’m wheezing as I move onto my elbows. “Where the hell did you learn to fight, again?”    “The--”    “The Children of the Watch, the Fighting Corps, yes Dad, I’ve heard the stories.”    Even after three years, it still feels odd to start calling Din-- who has, essentially, been my father, everything a father should have been that I missed out on-- Dad. It happened on accident, honestly. We’d been practicing stealth. He’d been rattling off things for me to remember for like fifteen minutes straight, and I finally just burst out, “Yes Dad, I know.” Ever since it just kind of... stuck.    At first it was horrible. I shut down for like a week until I came out of my shell, and I stuck with calling him Dad. It felt good. I’d never had a father. I’d never been able to say Dad with any real warmth to anyone until about a year ago. Din didn’t mind at all. In fact, if anything, he acted more Dad-like than ever.    Din reaches down and grabs my outstretched hand, pulling me to my feet. He watches me for a second, then takes the standard number of steps back. From a nearby boulder, Grogu happily gobbles up some frogs I’d caught earlier, watching my training eagerly.     For the last three years, Din has diligently taught me all he knows-- not only to become a Mandalorian, but so that I’m not lost in this world. I’m now fluent in Mando’a of all forms, I can read and write Aurebesh, and have somehow managed to understand the Galactic Standard Calendar. He’s taught me history and given me maps of quadrants and Rims and territories. He’s given me books on races, creatures, and cultures of different worlds. He’s taught me the Mandalorian Creed and Resol’nare, the Six Actions, making me memorize them until I could recite them without thinking. He’s taught me how to fly both ships he owns-- a refurbished silver Naboo starfighter, and the legendary Boba Fett’s Slave I. I fare much easier in the Slave, surprisingly enough.     Somehow, Din has had connections to two of the most important Mandalorians: Lady Bo-Katan Kryze and Boba Fett, who, without heirs, trusted all of his belongings to Din, with whom he had worked with on occasion. Even that pales in comparison to the object he holds secret: he once took me to a little lean-to concealed in the woods which held a lightsaber hilt.     I remember my awe at seeing the Darksaber, that burst of electric sound and hum of energy as the blade came to life. The glow of ultra-black with a sheen of white, and how Din was surprised when my swings were perfectly balanced. I was, too. Since, I haven’t seen the Darksaber, and I’ve never asked to. I’ll see it again when I’m ready for... whatever it is that I need to be ready for to see it again. However badly I want to wield it.     My blasters feel clunky and useless in my hands, though my aim is nothing short of a sharpshooter’s now-- although I do like the sound my twin WESTAR-34 pistols make, I much prefer the way the Darksaber felt. Light, balanced, an extension of my arm, the way it seemed to mold with my hand even when my instinct was to default to a reverse grip.     Nevertheless, Din has taught me all forms of combat. Hand-to-hand, blaster, projectile, rifle, blade; not to mention the physical aspect. After three years of working hard, I’m fit, healthy, fast, and agile. I can run halfway up the trunk of a tree, flip, and come back around in a punch. I think Din’s jealous, but he’d never admit it.     On top of all that, somehow he managed to teach me how to hunt both prey and bounties. How to track and forage and survive with nothing but the clothes on my back and my surroundings. He helped me tune my senses to always be alert and observant. I’m a much different girl from the one that landed here what feels like an eternity ago.     And now I’ve noticed that Din has paused. He hasn’t attacked me yet. I drop out of the fighting stance, knowing him well enough to see that something’s distracting him. “What is it?”     “...I have... nothing left to teach you,” He admits softly, almost regrettably. He heaves a sigh. “Your birthday’s tomorrow. Tomorrow, you’ll get your inheritance. You’ll be able to go off into the galaxy and start your own life.”     I smile, coming over to throw an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll come visit, Dad. It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”    “I know. But the life of a bounty hunter is dangerous. The guilds are tough. Working your way up can be difficult. Maybe, since you’re a Mandalorian, you’ll have an easier go of it, but... What?”     He’s noticed that I’ve stepped back, wringing my hands and avoiding his gaze. “I... I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that.”     “Oh?”     “Yeah.” I take a deep breath. No sense in putting it off. “...I don’t want to be a bounty hunter.” His silence makes me nervous. “I-I mean... I want to be a doctor. I want to heal people. Help them.” I don’t want him to think he’s spent these years training me for nothing. Besides, I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.     I can practically feel Din frowning. “You know that the First Order wants Mandalorians dead, right? Not even bounty hunting is safe, but it gets their dirtiest jobs done so they let them go. But living out in the open is a death sentence. There will be nowhere in the galaxy that a Mandalorian will be able to be a doctor, nowhere but the Resistance.”     When he sees my face, he gets it.     “Oh.”     “I want to join the fight. From the sidelines, as a doctor, but I’ll fight if I have to. I can fly a ship pretty good, even in a dogfight-- I can beat you any day, old man.”     “Hey--”     “I want to help free the galaxy, Dad,” I add, a little plaintively.     Din sighs, watching me for several moments, before nodding. “This is your path, then.” He crosses his arms. “Go pack your things. At first light tomorrow, we leave for Takodana.”     Curiosity pricks at me. “Isn’t that where Maz lives?” I haven’t seen her since she told me I could never go back to Earth, but I know the name of her favorite planet well enough.     “She’s the only one who knows where General Organa is. In order to get into the Resistance, you’ll need the general’s permission.”     My face breaks into a wide, beaming smile. “So you’re coming with me, then?”     “To Takodana,” Din specifies, “No further. I’m too old to join a Resistance.” He walks over to scoop up Grogu, who laughs at suddenly being lifted off of his boulder. “Put your things on the Slave, by the way. I’ll take the Naboo fighter.”     My grin grows, if possible. I love flying the Slave. It’s a highly maneuverable craft that seems to know my every thought before I can actually perform the move. It moves with me, rather than me moving the ship. It’s no wonder that Boba Fett, and before him his father Jango Fett, loved it so much.    I nod and race off. Our hut has changed locations, after a monsoon flooded us out and into the shelter of a nearby pine on a ridge-- now I have my own room. My own little closet and drawer and cot. It’s only big enough for the cot, really, but it has a door so I can change privately. And it’s absolutely covered in art.    I made the paints from scratch, and I use a paintbrush made of a stick and rabbit hair. In yellows, blues, purples, and greens are various depictions of flowers, animals, and even one picture I worked on for weeks of our little family here. I usually pause to figure out where I can add more, but I’m starting to feel like Rapunzel (long hair included), except I’m free whereas she’s trapped.     No more chains. I only wish the rest of my family had been sent here with me. I try to only think of happy memories with them, not the fact that we’ve been separated over so vast a distance. It’s painful, but I’ve come to accept it. Hanging on my neck always is the bear claw.    I launch myself into my room and yank my knapsack out from under my bed, butterflies in my stomach. It’s happening! A doctor in the Resistance! A Mandalorian! I’ll get to see space! Even in three years, Din has never let me fly the Slave or the Naboo fighter anywhere farther than the edge of the atmosphere, where black domes overhead instead of blue, but I can’t see much from there. Flying in space, amongst the stars, without barriers, I’ll be completely, absolutely free. Of everything, in any space and time.    I pack only what I need-- a couple changes of clothes, which is really all I have. Although, I do make it a point to carefully wrap and stuff into the pack a gift from Grogu: a rock he painted especially for me.    I’ve long finished by the time Din and Grogu arrive. I beam at them. “Hey guys! Long time no see!” Grogu reaches for me and Din passes him on. I set the little guy on my lap, bouncing him up and down. He giggles, fiddling with a little tarnished silver knob apparently from the first ship he was on with Din, the fabled Razor Crest.    Din carries something under his arm, a very large burlap sack. Inside, I hear the telltale clank of beskar-against-beskar, and I go alert. “...What’s that?”    Din sits down before he answers me. “Besides my own, I have two other sets of armor. One had belonged to Boba Fett. He came to me to deliver it personally in his final days, and told me to pass it on to a foundling, if I could find one. Grogu’s safety, however, came first, and I found myself remaining on Yëa for his sake. The other set, however...”     He places a hand on the sack beside him. My heart is pounding with excitement. “It was given to me by Maz. The fate of its owner remains unknown to me. But it will suit you, in fact, is all but meant for you.” He opens the sack, reaching in carefully. With both hands, he extracts a helmet. Smaller than his, clearly made for a female, sharp-angled. Its cross-shaped visor is more triangular, with diamond eyes and a sharp staff running down the length of the face. A rangefinder sticks up from the earguard on the right side. It’s old-- very old. Its paint has been scratched and worn away to reveal the beskar beneath, but the white and pastel blue can still be seen, as can the eyes and beak of an owl on the forehead.     Gently, I reach for it, fingers grazing the helmet. “This armor belonged to Bo-Katan Kryze.” My head snaps up to meet where I believe his eyes are in astonishment. “Bo-Katan...” He’d told me stories of Bo-Katan, the last of Clan Kryze, heir the the duchy of Mandalore. If she had had the Darksaber, she would have become the duchess of Mandalore and begun to rebuild, but her fate led her elsewhere before she could wrest it from Din in combat. He knew very little of her otherwise, so her story was mysterious and full of holes for both of us. But to have her armor...    “You, Laylah, will become my heir,” Din continues, “And when the time comes, I will pass unto you the Darksaber. You will rebuild Mandalore to all it once was one day, as she wanted to.” Din had talked about me restoring our ancestral home so many times, I honestly had accepted it long ago as a part of my destiny. Rebuilding on the cursed planet of glass can either be good, to cleanse it, or I can find a new world for our people. But in either case, the First Order has to go. I can help with that. “So therefore, I think it’s only fitting that you be given her armor to carry on her legacy as well as mine.”    I balk, just now understanding. The meaning behind giving me Bo-Katan’s armor is immense, and the gesture itself has me feeling breathless. “...You’re giving me her armor?” My voice is hardly a whisper.    “It’s what she would have wanted,” Din answers, “You may have been born in a time and place far from here, but you are more a Mandalorian than many who have the blood in their veins. You’ve proven this by your dedication to learning the Way, and now you’re on the path to restore Mandalore. Therefore, I gift her legacy to you-- you are to repaint it, call it your own, but with it always remember those who came before you.”    My hands are shaking as he offers me the helmet. The only armor besides Din’s that I’ve seen is Boba’s, but then it was from a distance as he checked on its integrity and I didn’t dare ask to touch it. It wasn’t my place. But now... this armor... With an unsteady grasp I take the helmet of Bo-Katan.    “Before you put it on,” Din says, taking one of my hands in his, “There’s something else: before we leave Yëa, you need to be formally accepted. There are no ceremonies or traditions here, no gai bal manda, not in this place, but my word enough will make you into a Mandalorian.”     I suck in a sharp intake of breath. Oh hell. It’s happening. Right here, on this couch made of wicker and wood, I’m about to become an official Mandalorian. A part of their Way, their people. I’ll no longer be Laylah Evergreen, The Girl Misplaced. I’ll have a real identity in this world.     “Are you ready?”     I nod, and we stand together.     “Laylah Evergreen of Earth, are you ready to swear yourself to the Creed?”    I’m trembling all over, and it’s difficult to keep a smile under control. “I am.” I force my voice to remain unwavering.    “Firstly, your armor is an inheritance. Do you swear by your life to honor those whom bore it before you?”    “I swear it.”    “Do you swear by your life to uphold the virtues of strength, honor, loyalty, and death?”   “I swear it.”   “Do you swear to protect the innocent, to lead with courage, and to answer the call of any Mandalorian?”   “I swear it.”   “And lastly, do you swear to uphold the honor and dignity of Clan Djarin?”   “I do.”   Din nods, letting out a breath of something like relief. “Then in the name of the Mand’alore, I rename you Laylah Vhaene-Besu of Clan Djarin. Vhaene was the name of my mentor, Besu the name of my mother. I know that you will carry these names well. Your last name, Evergreen, must now be forgotten, for you are now my heir and daughter, a Mandalorian. You are not who you were before.”    I can’t stop the beaming grin, or the tears. I think maybe Din might be smiling underneath of his helmet, based on the grip of his hand. He gestures to the helmet. Without hesitation, I lift it up and pull it onto my head.   The fit is perfect. It’s as if the inside of the helmet has been molded to my skull. Visibility through the visor is limited, but after a moment, a system powers up. It’s like Iron Man’s helmet in here, like a VR set. I can see all around as if I weren’t wearing the helmet, and on the left side, in my peripheral, is a panel of atmospheric conditions, an ammo count, flamethrower fuel gauge; on the right are my own vitals. I smile, though I know Din can’t see it.    “Welcome to the Creed, Laylah Vhane-Besu Djarin. You’re one of us now.” He nods slowly. “This is the Way.”   “This is the Way,” I answer.   Din sits down, and I follow suit. My knees feel ready to give out from the surreal event. That’s it. I’m a Mandalorian. Grogu toddles up to sit on my lap, babbling happily away. “Well, Laylah,” Says Din, “I’d get to work painting that. Beskar is special-- any paint will stick to it. That armor needs to have your special touch to it before we leave tomorrow, and we need to fix your leathers.”    I lean over and give him a hug. Our helmets clack together. “Thank you, Dad.”   “You don’t have to thank me.” He waves me off after a second. “Now, hurry up. Fixing up your suit is going to take all night.”

                                                       -  -  -

   He was right, of course; he always is. It take me several hours to paint the beskar, because I intentionally leave scenes of wear, scrapes, dents, and scratches alone. When Din asked why, I’d told him, “Because Bo-Katan worked for these. I’m not going to erase them.” He’d nodded with approval and let me carry on.    Ever since I’d decided to become a Mandalorian, I’ve been dreaming a color scheme for my armor. Jango’s was blue and white. Boba’s was green and rust-orange. Bo-Katan’s was pastel blue and white. Din’s is pure silver, but his black and brown leathers made up for the lack of paint.     I choose ultraviolet. A sheer indigo-purple, accented by black on the helmet and breastplate, and shiny, soft black-dyed leather straps that Din had been making for me ever since he saw me sketching ideas for how I wanted the color scheme to go-- I’d had no idea until now. Bo-Katan’s old jumpsuit-- a singular, one-size-fits all, black outfit that fit like a nice pair of leggings-- fits me well. Din takes my measurements and we spend the next several hours making me a shirt and pants of matte black leather. We switch out and adjust the buckles to the plates of beskar. By the time mid-morning hits of the next day, my suit is finally finished. Din and Grogu patiently wait while I put on the jumpsuit, the leathers, and then spend a good hour strapping on all of the beskar plates. I slip on the gloves, the soft leather boots, the tattered, one-shouldered black cape that was once Din’s and tying it securely beneath my pauldron. I put on the twin-holster belt, the vambraces, one with a flamethrower and one with whistling birds. The numerous knives. The rifle, a different kind from Din’s, goes over my shoulder and across my back.    When I’m finished putting on the body armor, I’m covered from head to toe. Even my neck is guarded by the turtleneck of the bodysuit and then a leather collar. Despite this, it’s breathable. It’s lightweight and maneuverable. I could kick ass in this without breaking a sweat.    Before even thinking of putting on the helmet, I tie a piece of green plaid (all that’s left of the shirt I had on when I first arrived here) around my head to keep stray strands from falling into my eyes. I rebraid my hair into its traditional rope, which stretches all the way down to my knees. I pull it up, and tightly wrap it around my head, behind the makeshift headband, and am able to circle my head almost three full times. I secure it well, then pick up the freshly-painted helmet of Bo-Katan.    My helmet.    I’m adding my legacy to hers, and I wonder what she would think, if Din is right that she would want this and even be proud of it. I wonder.    I flip the helmet around, and put it on for only the second time in my life, but now with the complete set of beskar. I didn’t completely feel it when Din had named me his heir and daughter last night, but now, as I turn to look in the mirror, I realize it fully.    Of course, it’s not a real mirror. It’s a piece of scrap metal polished to serve as one. But what I see makes me stand still with shock, and I unashamedly stare at myself for several minutes in awe.    Laylah Evergreen is gone, replaced by Vhaene-Besu Djarin. Dead? No, not entirely, for I still carry her first name. But standing before me isn’t the loser teenager from Earth, but a Mandalorian woman with two legacies to live up to and a grand fate of restoring a world on her shoulders. I have to sit down. It hits me.    What would they think? My family, if they saw me now, what would they do? I’d gone far beyond my hopeful-hobby of one-day cosplaying. I’m supposed to do something very important. I’m joining in the fight to free a whole galaxy. I wonder what they would think, and then I take a deep breath. I put the mirror back on my bedside table and exit my room.    Din jumps to his feet when he hears me coming, whirling around to face me. In his arms is Grogu, who openly awes with wide eyes and an o mouth. Both are speechless; without saying a word, I incline my head, as I see Din do so often. He lets out a breath he must have been holding. “You’re as much a Mandalorian as one born and bred on Mandalore itself. It’s in your heart, if not your blood, and heart oftentimes matters more.”    The praise has me beaming. “Thanks, Dad.”    He hoists up Grogu. “You ready to go, kids? Maz is expecting us.”    Grogu chirps excitedly, and I snatch my pack. We leave our little hut and follow the path through the woods that leads to the meadow where the ships are.    Din’s is closer to where the path meets the meadow. Smaller, faster, capable of lightspeed and certainly maneuverable, his Naboo starfighter is a relic, specially commissioned by the Queen of Naboo herself. They aren’t built like this anymore, and it’s old enough to be off the radar.    The Slave is bigger, bulkier, but a more satisfying ride. The turrets are louder and more powerful. The whole ship can fly in any direction from any direction. Its faded paint job of green-and-burnt-ochre reveals its silver paneling beneath, and the transparisteel is clouded at the edges with age, but it’s still a beauty and perfectly capable of putting up one hell of a fight.    Even if I do sometimes have to kick the underside of the cockpit to jostle the wiring a bit.    “Alright. Head to your ship, and follow my lead. You’ll be exiting the atmosphere and engaging lightspeed for the first time, so you’ll need to do exactly as I say.”    I’ve stopped short to stare at him. It’s never been my ship. It’s been the ship. The Slave. Never my ship.    He turns, almost smug. “Didn’t I mention that? The Slave is part of your inheritance. Boba wouldn’t want it sitting here uselessly, collecting rust and dust. Even a Resistance doctor will need a ship, I’m sure, and if necessary you’d be one hell of a wingman.”    I’m running to him before he’s even finished his sentence, throwing my arms around him. I’m still not used to his kindness, to the fatherly gestures and caring. A part of me still expects him to abandon me, like everyone else. But something-- the very same something that compelled me to move Grogu’s cradle the night a branch came flying through the window because of a windstorm, that made me warn Din about flooding days before our hut was nearly washed away, that made me switch trajectories last-minute and avoid getting an engine-full of birds-- lets me know that he never will. That he does care for me, maybe even love me, and I know that I would do anything for him or Grogu in a heartbeat.    I’m glad for the mask, because he can’t see my tears. But he might hear them in my voice. “Thank you, Dad.”    “You don’t need to thank me,” It’s what he always says, but his voice is full of warmth. “This is all yours. Except for the jetpack. You can’t have that until I’ve trained you for it.”    I feign disappointment, sagging over dramatically. “Aw.”    Din chuckles, then gives me a shove. “Get to your ship, Mando.”    “Do I have to change the paint job on the Slave?”    “No. Why?”    “Boba worked hard to paint that, and even if he didn’t do it himself, then he probably paid for it. Painting a ship that big has to be a pain in the ass. I wouldn’t want to erase his hard work.”    I feel like Din smiles. “...And you probably wouldn’t want to spend the next few weeks breaking your back painting a ship instead of hurrying up to join the Resistance, would you?”    Huh. That honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind. “...Huh. Well, now that you mention it, no I would not.”    Din chuckles. “Alright then. Get to your ship. And remember, follow my lead.”    “Yessir!” I slur, and bolt for the ramp of the Slave. For the ramp of my ship. I secure my bag and close the ramp, ensuring that it’s airtight and that life support is activated, before going to the cockpit.     It sits kind of like a space shuttle cockpit. I have to lay down on my back, strap myself in, and I’m only right-side-up in flight-- not that it matters in dogfights. I power up the Slave, relishing the purr of the engine whirring to life. The lights flicker on the cockpit-- I deliver a swift kick to the panel’s underside and they blink to full brightness. I flip on the comlink. “Any chance we might be able to pick up a calibrator in Takodana?”     “Finding parts for the Slave will be difficult. We’ll have to either pay for custom-made, scour the junkyards, or upgrade the whole control panel.”    “Yeah, but, say the upgrade doesn’t match the aesthetic...”    Din laughs lightly. “I’m sure we could request that it not be changed. It will be extremely expensive, though, and tough to find somebody willing to work on an unregistered ship. That’s illegal in most parts these days. Guess you’ll have to keep kicking it.”     “Noted.” I see a flash of silver, and over the comlinks I hear Grogu squeal happily as the starfighter picks up speed.     “I’m away. Your turn.”     I grin, gripping the control throttle. Suddenly the buttons and gauges disappear, and the ship and I are just one. Sometimes I feel like the ghost of Boba Fett inhabits this thing, and it makes me feel comforted, like I’ve got a very special co-pilot. My rangefinder comes down, enhancing the specs. Everything looks good so far, so I lift the ship up until its vertical. I see the glint of Din’s starfighter nearby, and pull away from the forest floor to follow.     “Up and away. Now what?”     “This is your first time exiting an atmosphere. You have life support engaged? Inertial dampeners?”     “Yep.”     “Then you’re set, kid. Just follow me in a steep ascent.”     After the initial trembles of an old ship taking flight, the Slave levels to a calming hum of power and energy. I absolutely dwarf Din’s starfighter as I come into position behind him and off to his right a bit. “Lookin’ a little smaller than I remember, Dad.”     “Very funny. Do you have your rangefinder down?”     “Affirmative.” We’ve reached it: the edge of space. The final frontier I’m about to brave for the first time. Butterflies and adrenaline have replaced all of my internal systems, and I feel light as a feather. “Just a question, anybody spontaneously get ripped to shreds when entering lightspeed?”     Din’s silent for a second. “Dank farrik, Laylah, you have to say that? Thanks for the unnecessary worry.”     “Sorry.” I wince. Even now, I don’t like it when I frustrate him. “Guess I should just shut up and do what you say, right?”     “Yes. You should. Alright, ready? Just pull up with me. We’re just gonna glide into space.”    “Got it, Silver Leader.”    “No codenames.”    “Got it, Dad,” I correct, stifling a laugh.    Din’s starfighter pulls up. I start to pull back on the throttle. Without even quite realizing it, we’ve left the atmosphere and are now in the blackness of space. The Slave hovers stationary for a second as I take it all in. The endless velvet of the universe stretches out before us. Countless stars, splattered like rain, twinkle and light even the farthest distances. Vast clouds of pink, orange, and umber are spread across the expanse. So full of such wonders, it’s a miracle that life can’t just be here, a crime that no one would ever see its full glory and wonders. My hands itch to pick up a brush and paint the scene before me. Instinctively, I reach for the glass, letting out a breath I didn’t know that I’d held. “It’s beautiful...”     “That it is. This is only a part of what you’ll be fighting for, kid. See all those stars? Every one of them has a planet where people exist in fear of the First Order. All of their hope rides on the Resistance. Their lives will also be placed in your hands when you join.” He pauses, then, “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”    I hesitate.    Suddenly it all seems like to much. A part of me wants to turn around and exist peacefully with my father and baby alien-Gizmo brother for the rest of my life and wait for the Resistance and the First Order to battle it out.     But the other part squashes that one flat. Mandalore will never be free while the First Order reigns. Will I tell my people that I ate demon-rabbits from hell instead of fighting for them? An easy path is not always the right path. And it sure as hell isn’t mine. There’s something pulling me, calling me, and I swallow my fears. To Din, I say, with enough conviction and determination to convince myself, “Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule. Loyalty is life, for without one’s clan one has no purpose. Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead. Death is life, one should die as they have lived.     “Mandalore will not be rebuilt by hands that sat idle instead of fighting for their freedom. They deserve a leader with strength and honor. I will not betray my loyalty to our people by ignoring their struggles. I will not die without having lived a life that my legacy and inheritance would be proud of. I am a Mandalorian: This is the Way. This is my way.”     For several seconds, Din is silent on the other end. Then I hear him chuckle, and I smile. “Spoken like a true Mandalorian.” His starfighter swerves a little closer. “Maz calls you The Girl Misplaced. I think, maybe, that it doesn’t mean what you think.”     My beaming grin hurts my cheeks. Maybe he’s right-- I’ve fared much better in this strange world than I ever did Earth. Maybe I was meant to be here, but was born on Earth and later, the universe fixed its mistake.     “I’m proud of you, Laylah. I just want you to know that.”     I’m crying again. I can’t say anything in response. The person that was my biological father only called me names and hurt me. Never once did he say that he was proud. “...I’m glad you’re my father, Din Djarin. You’re more than I ever wanted.”      I hear Din chuckle. To me, from here, it looks like he’s reaching under his helmet to wipe at his face. “You crying?”    “Mandalorians don’t cry.” The laughter is clear in his voice, and it spreads to me.    “Au contrare, my shiny friend,” I laugh, “For I, myself, am crying at this very moment. What about you, Grogu? You crying?” I hear him babble a bit, and Din chuckles.    “We’d better get going. Maz is expecting us in a standard hour, and the lightspeed journey is about half that.”    “So what now?”    “See the lightspeed button?”    “The one you told me that I was not to push under any circumstances unless you told me to? Go on.”    “Well, now I’m telling you to. Punch it!” Just like that, Din’s starfighter is sucked into the interplanetary portal of lightspeed, gone before I can blink. My coordinates are already locked on Takodana, and I do what Din said to eagerly.    “Alright baby, let’s see what you’ve got!” For the first time in my life, I hit the lightspeed button. The Slave shudders, lurches, and then the pinprick lighting of the stars begins to scream past as a blue-white blur. I feel my stomach drop and I let out a whoop of adrenaline. “YEAH! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”    The Slave hurtles through lightspeed, and I barely have to touch the controls as it brings me closer and closer to the source of that incessant pull.

_______________________________________________________________

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Thanks for reading! New episodes post every Wednesday. If anybody else wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Taglist:

@simonsbluee​

[puff-hugs]

Random facts about Ophelia because I'm bored on a road trip

( I started this in July😭😭😭😭😭)

Vegetarian

She collects berries and other fruits and vegetables to feed the bad batch

Ate meat at the after party thing after a mission because the locals insisted

They couldn't leave until noon the next day cause it made her sick

Is bewildered that the bad batch has a different meaning for neutral in a war

"I thought you said this planet was neutral?!?"

"It is?"

"Then why are sepristist droids here?"

"Check us."

"Check you?"

"yeah to make sure we don't help you more than we help them"

"that's not neutral!"

"It is"

"neutral means you stay the kriff out!"

"Neutral means you help both sides of a war so that your allies always win"

"it's not"

"this planet, especially this nuck, have been fighting like this for centuries. Which is, if I'm not wrong, so much older than you clones, your war, the ancestors of your donor, I know my way around the neutral side of a war "

Shoots eggs

Her planet has a way of cooking an egg so it's cooked but still liquid (no idea if this is a real thing)

Carves to ease stress

Kila (language) is so different from Aurebesh (Basic) that it took her thirteen years to learn it

Learned Geonosian in that time

She didn't sleep for almost a month because she was learning to spell the bad batches names in basic to carve in a picture frame

Drinks fruit tea with lots of cream

Color blind

Sees in monotone

Looked so similar to her mom that during her yearly check, her mom would go instead so she would pass her test

Red head, (think Weasley)

Grey eyes

Used dropped lightsabers so many times she got really good at sword fight

Like REALLY good

Bugged, begged, and bribed the bad batch into getting her her own swords

Sleeps in a chair most of the time

Is immune to stun blasts

Found that out when Crosshair hit her with one to send her across the rest of the river

The reason she gave was, "when you fall out of a tree, you don't have time to be unconscious, you need to go and get away from whatever gave you the reason to get out of the tree,"

But no one really knows why

She's really good at herbal remedies like using lemon to clear skin and taking care of colds with tea and honey

Can do basic first aid

But anything past that, like excessive amounts of blood, broken/dislocated/sprained/fractured bones, or 'life and death' scenarios, are way out of her comfort zone and area of expertise

She usually goes to the med bay if something bad happens

Or Rashi

If neither of those she goes to Tech

Made Tech teach her how to pilot the Havoc Marauder so if anything happens to them she could get them out

Loves climbing trees

Has a distaste for getting force thrown

Not nearly as bad as Rex however

Biggest fear is probably claustrophobia

Specifically being in cramped spaces with people she doesn't know/doesn't like

[ladykatakuri]

The Bad Batch and their Trees

How would The Batch prefer their trees decorated? I am pretty sure we all have our own thoughts with this and here are mine.

Hunter: Hunter would have a real tree despite having hightened senses. Sure, the man will have trouble with certain smells, but this smell? He loves the woods and this is one living tree he takes very good care of and he loves the smell in the room when he comes down after a good nights rest. He prefers it decorated with some lights and some items that seem more natural like the pinecones though the stars are also a favorite of him.

Wrecker: Wrecker LOVES Christmas. It is the time to spent with his family and loved ones and after reading so many of his favorite books and watching great classic holiday movies? The man breathes classic christmas. Chosing what kind of decorations to hang in his very real and living tree was difficult but he decided on the classic style with many lights, a star on the top and the red,gold and silver colors he always reads about in his books. Loads of presents are stacked under the tree, because, he does not want to spoil his family rotten?

Tech: Tech has done extensive research in everything Christmas. This man knows how to find out everything about anything and the first time he heard about Christmas? He made sure to know all there is to know about it. When the subject of trees came up he realised that there are so many different styles and ways to have fun with the trees and how to decorate them, he has a completely different one each year now. Ranging from real to fake and from minimalistic to excessive (The Batch has agreed to never, ever speak of the mechanical tree on a rotating pad ever again! ). So expect the unexpected when it comes to his tree, you never know what it will this year.

Echo: For a long, long time, Echo had difficulty adjusting to life as it is. On the run for the empire, having (new) family, having people who actually , truly love and care for him. Being part of celebrating christmas was also something completely new and decorating a tree on his own? He wanted it to mean something. Each year he will set up his tree and take extra good care of it,( beside Hunters, his is the tree that will be the most healthy of all after the days ). For the decorations he chose to use blue and red as it`s colors. Blue for the 501st and Red for the Batch. When you really look well at the tree up close you will also find some small ornaments hidden here and there that have llittle symbols on them to remind him of family lost, a small aurebesh 5, a small cog, a small tear, some lines in different patterns, jaig eyes....

e whithCrosshair: He might seem like a real minimalist at many things, the man does know how to decorate for the festivities and without so much as a humble brag, this man will decorate! Where they would always expect him to have some toothpicks hanging in the tree instead of candy and where they would expect him to not go through too much trouble, he surprised the socks off of people when they saw his tree the first time! The white reminds him of the snow that is ever present in many stories and the classic silver and gold fits so well with it that it has become his colorscheme for the holidays. Oh , and don`t be surprised to find out it was him that hung up all the mistletoe and not Wrecker and Omega !

Omega: Omega loves all the trees of her family and has a hard time deciding how her perfect tree would look. She absolutely needs loads of fairlights, because those give that special vibe when the room is darker and the little lights are switched on. Those lights will not only be in the tree though! Oh no, they will be strung up all around the place. And special colors? To honor someone she would most definatly add a certain color or ornament that reminds her of the person, but something specific? No, she would not mind if the tree was decorated in every color of the rainbow. As long as it gives the warm and comfy feeling of the holidays and the fuzzy feelings of togetherness with the people she loves, it is all good for her. Just make sure there are presents for everyone and yummies for all to enjoy and this girl is roaring to go!

[a-lil-perspective]

The Bad Batch Headcanons Part II!

This particular theme has been swimming in my head for awhile, and a unique concept I’ve been wanting to dabble in.

The Bad Batch and Fine Arts

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Hunter- Music & Singing: Definitely has a penchant for music, though too much at one time or at an excessive volume level can predictably overload his senses. Hunter’s inherent heightened senses provides him the ability to decipher tones, notes, and rhythms in musical compositions; effectively labeling Hunter as a play-by-ear guy when strumming some strings. He is very modest and reserved regarding his overall skill- initially refusing when he was younger to sing or play an instrument around others, even his vod’ikas- until the night one crawled into bed beside him, trembling from a nightmare and seeking the comforting hums of their strong ori’vod. Though under usual circumstances, you can catch Hunter often humming to himself, and if you’re lucky, you might hear him belt out a verse or two of whatever song is stuck in his head in that moment. His vocal range favors the most mellifluous Baritone you will ever hear, and Hunter will later confirm from experience that the tone of his voice will soothe even wailing babies to sleep. The man can SING.

Wrecker- Sculpture & Photography: Don’t let those large hands that absolutely demolish droids and overturn stationary ships bare-handed fool you- this gentle giant can produce some of the most intricate pieces of wood carvings and sculptures. Both Wrecker and Hunter actually have a shared predilection for the hobby, gradually expanding into a full detailing of their works courtesy of lots of sanding and paints; earning them some credits off of their completed works. Wrecker also loves nature and often feels compelled to capture unique shots filled with the most breathtaking landscapes that is his favorite planets, and the flora and fauna encompassed within. Or just random framework of his unsuspecting vods. Tech helps Wrecker fully set up and learn the proper equipment each time in order to make the experience completely authentic.

Tech- Digital Media, 3D Graphics, & Dance: For obvious reasons, Tech has a major predilection for all things regarding technical competencies; his overall versatility in softwares and mechanizations allowing for a vast array of options involving the utilization of technology in Fine Arts. His innovative tactics would prove for Interactive Digital Media in particular to be an ideal setting for allowing his creativity to flow through the inception of new and relevant content. On the side- Tech is sequential and deliberate, thus innately making him an amazing dancer- slow, intimate dancing with a lovely partner and soulful music to set the picturesque tone. His impressive coordination and suave rhythm has you absentmindedly wondering where he learned to dance like that. The alluring looks Tech gives you before you find yourself gracefully twirling in his arms makes you want to take him to bed for a different kind of session right after your dance.

Crosshair- Literature, Drawing & Design: With the amount of hand-eye coordination this man possesses, it’s no wonder his demeanor screams “aesthetic”. Cross is much more articulate with his thought process than what actually proceeds out of his mouth, and he prefers the more quietly refined hobbies to coincide his pensiveness. Very much has a proclivity for writing, no matter what kind- poetry, an angst trope, novella- you name it. Absolutely terrible handwriting if a sentient being ever produced such, therefore only Crosshair can read what Crosshair hastily scribbles in Aurebesh, and he’s completely fine with that. He sometimes enjoys sketching- mostly consisting of uniquely designed weapons and various topographies of landscapes. Crosshair intrinsically has an attentiveness for detail and design- being no doubt the tidiest member occupying space within the Havoc Marauder, quarters in pristine condition always, he constantly remains mindful of ways to improve upon the aesthetic of any space- would no doubt make for an impressive interior designer. Cross is also 100% the dapper dresser of the bunch.

I have spoken.

[bitchfacecupid]

Looking for neurodivergent friends in the following areas

• Seattle-Marysville Washington (USA)

• Tadley UK - Anywhere within a half hour drive)

• Basingstoke UK

• Reading UK

This will be a long post with information about myself, what types of friends I'm looking for what what traits in a a friend I don't want (for example a friendship with me won't work if you don't love animals, want to stay indoors all the time and hate charity shops).

Please be sure to tell me PLENTY about yourself in messages or the replies section. I also have Discord and email too.

I was diagnosed with Autism at age 7. I'll be 25 on 20 September. I grew up in North Snohomish County Washington (USA) and lived in one apartment for 15 years before having to move out.

I absolutely adore guinea pigs and have had them for 17 years. I currently have a bonded pair of Himalayan lilac point boars names Tank and Skert. They're brothers, both about 3 years old. They live in a 2x4 C&C cage. Have thousands of photos of my previous pairs of pigs, all adopted (adopt, don't shop!); Flower and Heart, Small Fry/Bean Dip/Nutmeg/Panda (all one herd in a queen size C&C cage) and Harley & Blaster (my only other set of boars).

Below is a list of activities, topics and things in general I love:

• Swimming

• Horses

• Berry picking

• Going to the lake or beach

• Going to parks

• Picking up litter (safely)

• Walking dogs

• Running errands for people who can't do it themselves

• The Young Ones

• Guinea Pigs

• Solid log/wood beds

• IT & IT Chapter 2

• The Lost Boys

• The Goonies

• Robot Chicken

• Sarcasm

• Outside work

• Yautja (Predator)

• Camping

• Cooking/home making meals

• Cleaning and organising

• Thrift store shopping

• Recycling

• Schedules

• Planning ahead

• People who show up

• Garage sales/thrift stores (charity shops)

• Routines

• Mangos

• Home-made fruit smoothies

• Steamed broccoli & Cauliflower

• Mint chocolate chip ice cream

• Chunky PB

• Outdoor activities

• Eating outside

• Long baths and not having to end them by a certain time

• Looking through the clearance sections

• Clear communication

• Bearded dragons

• Opossums

I don't enjoy city life very much and am trying to get away from it via staying on and working on a relative's 5 acre property most of the week.

I used to have very bad regular and social anxiety but went to a social anxiety therapy group for 6+ months to work on it, so it for much better. I am far better at approaching strangers, initiating conversations and having confidence in myself when I speak or in conversation/what in saying because of that group. I developed a literal loud voice in which to talk to others from that group. I welcome with open arms anyone with social anxiety.

I do not understand any of the following:

• Body language

• Social norms

• Social expectations

•Unwritten rules

• Passive aggressiveness

•Not saying what you mean

• Expecting people to pick up on social "hints."

• Hidden social cues

• Mixed signals

• Expecting someone to know what you mean when you say something

• The context of most phrases

• Having intentions assigned to my actions

• People getting upset or thinking someone is weird the moment someone doesn't meet and or follow their expectations/social norms

• Being passive aggressive towards someone when you're mad at or irritated with them

• Not communicating clearly

• Why anyone likes red velvet or pumpkin spice anything.

I am not a "nerd" as most of the masses would refer to, however I am in a long term relationship with a massive one. As a result, I learned to write in the following fandom languages to make him smile;

• Aurebesh-Star Wars

• Unitologist-Deadapace

• Some Mandalorian (this was long before talk of the show even began to surface).

I've only seen Revenge Of The Sith. I'm ironically not a SW fan. Yet dating a mega one.

I travel from Seattle to the Basingstoke/Reading/ RG-265PT UK area a few times a year to see my Boyfriend so anyone in that area I would love to befriend! I have no non American friends aside from his family!

I'm not interested in friends who either have/want any of these qualities or habits;

• Have or want children

• Smokers (this only applies to people in the US. I don't care if you're a smoker in the UK as the culture around it there is completely different than here in the US).

• Drink alcohol excessively

• Party personality

• Don't clean up after themselves

• Don't like or love animals

• Doesn't enjoy cooking or the outdoors

• Wants to stay inside all the time

• Lives off of delivery or takeout

• Works all the time

• Likes anime/manga (seems odd I understand)

• Doesn't want to see each other in person

• Is on their phone constantly (work purposes is fine)

• Won't put in effort to help plan en even or help pitch in for purchasing something needed for a trip.

I'm a planner type person, I like to plan anything I can as far in advance as possible.

I fully support BLM. Every POC life matters, always has, always will. I support sex workers working and women being able to do what they want with their own bodies. I support LGBTQ+ people getting fair and unbiased medical treatment without discrimination based on sexual orientation, gender identity/presentation or sexual history. If these things bother you, you need not respond.

I enjoy caring for sick people and running errands too, so if you ever need someone to help you do things while you're unwell, I'm a call away. I enjoy having things to keep me busy. It makes me feel useful.

[brightephemera]

Correspondences below the cut.

0. The Fool: Ord Mantell

Ord Mantell is a planet of beginnings: you may know nothing of the game going in. The Fool is a beginner, a traveler, a novice, one who may not see the cliff that will plunge him into experience. The Fool’s journey will continue across the cosmos. Reversed: naivete, recklessness, foolishness.

1. The Magician: Korriban

Korriban is a planet of power disciplined (however tenuously) by will. Its ground is saturated with arcane knowledge and its abilities grasp at the sky. Fire and control: Korriban is a powerhouse. Reversed: manipulation, poor planning, wasted talents.

2. The High Priestess: Tython

Tython holds mysteries from the earliest days of the Jedi Order. It is lost and rediscovered. It houses the secrets that will be revealed in training only to the greatest devotees. Its lunar and veil imagery point to hidden mysteries. Reversed: hidden agendas, a need to listen to your inner voice.

3. The Empress - Alderaan

I could have continued with Hutta in game order but it doesn’t fit. Alderaan is a prosperous world, a monarchy, a place of lush vistas and noble generosity. Beauty, nurturing, and growing abundance are the watchwords. Reversed: creative block, dependence.

4. The Emperor: Dromund Kaas

Dromund Kaas is the claim of the Empire, a place of rigid rule and unquestioned power. A patriarchal figure rules over all, and the symbol of his influence is pictured here. Its foundations are ancient, its continued existence inflexible, its authority absolute. Reversed: domination, excessive control, inflexibility, but also self-discipline.

5. The Hierophant: Yavin IV.

Sorry, the Emperor does double duty. The ancient temple of Yavin IV was built by slaves, and is used to gather the power of the Emperor for mysteries they will never be inducted into – their service and their deaths both go through Him. The religion has an inviolate structure: conformity, institutions. Reversed: Personal beliefs, freedom, disrupting the status quo.

6. The Lovers: Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta.

Planets of choices, of two paths (Agent and Bounty Hunter?), and of Hutt-sanctioned passions. Here Balkar smooths problems over. Here Hutts are pacified, with gifts, with coups. Here, any time you look up from Hutta, you see Nar Shaddaa, its companion in space. Relationships, mutual interests, and choices are the rule. Reversed: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment.

7. The Chariot: Balmorra.

Strength under control: Balmorra forms the arsenal of whoever manages to possess it. It is a planet of action: the war rages across it while it stands as a fixed point, and in the end its interests win. The imagery of the dual blaster forms the matched pair of the Chariot.  Reversed: self-discipline, but also opposition and lack of direction.

8. Strength: Corellia.

Corellia stands with battered dignity against the Empire, emblem of strength, courage, and influence. And persuasion, as the Republic forces convince CorSec and other elements of the government to throw off Imperial chains. Here Baras and Thanaton’s agents are knocked out from under them, reclaiming influence for the player. Reversed: Inner strength and raw emotion, but also self-doubt and low energy.

9. The Hermit: Tatooine

Yes, the correspondence of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Tatooine is a place of reflection and guidance, most obviously portrayed in the Sith Warrior vision quest. It is the planet where the Rakata have waited alone with their thoughts for millennia, preparing for their rebirth. It is the planet where the Smuggler earns a sensor computer to guide to a treasure. The light in the pictured skeleton’s eye is guidance for those who would follow it. Reversed: Isolation, loneliness, withdrawal.

10. Wheel of Fortune: Voss.

The turn of fate could be no other. The Voss are a deeply fatalistic people, believing in their Mystics’ visions to guide their lives. The player character can undergo a ritual to glimpse their future, and some get additional warnings - all relevant. The Wheel of Fortune is the turn of the universe, a card not just of good luck but of destiny. Reversed: Bad luck, resistance to change, broken cycles.

11. Justice: Manaan.

The obvious reading is the trial in KOTOR, where you must find the truth to clear a man’s name under the rule of law. The theme of balance underpins this planet: it is where players of each faction meet their opposite-faction ally in the Shadow storyline. Its entire ecosystem hangs in the balance in KOTOR. And the Selkath Force users reject the duality of Light and Dark. Justice is fairness and cause and effect. Reversed: unfairness, dishonesty, lack of accountability.

12. The Hanged Man: Hoth.

Luke’s plight in ESB comes to mind. Hoth is a place of suspension, a frozen moment. To call it merely deadly is to pass over the equally apparent moments of transformation, the improbable alliance of Imp and Pub against the Hailstorm Brotherhood, the return of Temple to the Imperial fold, the escape of Horak-Mul in his new form: you. The Hanged Man is a martyr, but also someone discovering something new. Reversed: delays, resistance, stalling, indecision.

13. Death: Makeb

Makeb is a planet of cataclysmic transformation: a breaking core birthing a totally new resource. The transition breaks alliances and endangers the planet, but it is a change, not an end. Reversed: personal transformation, resistance to change, purging.

14. Temperance: Odessen

Lana said it first: Odessen is balanced in the Force, neither dark nor light, and it is here that your faction-spanning Alliance finds its home. Temperance stands with fellow virtues Strength and Justice, but where Corellia takes sides and Manaan rejects them, Odessen partakes in good measure of both sides of the equation. Reversed: imbalance, re-alignment.

15. The Devil: Belsavis

Belsavis is a prison planet, hard-bitten survival and chains that never break. Sometimes that seems wise, like with Darth Ekkage, and sometimes it’s patently unjust, like with Dagger Wing. The Devil is a card of sensuality (not pictured), addiction, and slavery. It is concerned with the material: the aspects of reality most immediate and easiest to cling to. Reversed: releasing limiting beliefs, exploring dark thoughts, detachment.

16. The Tower: Ziost.

Ziost will always be remembered as a disaster, an act of an enemy beyond defense. Ziost was destroyed in a moment that revealed the Emperor’s true scope. The Tower, too, is a thing of upheaval, chaos, and destruction. Reversed: Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster.

17. The Star: Ilum.

Above the stillness of a frozen lake, a star streaks over heaven’s field. (There’s a little orange one moving from top left toward middle right just upward from the main streak.) Ilum was home to Darth Malgus’s hope for a new Empire. It houses the Adegan crystals that promise new technology for those who persevere with purpose. At the same time, it houses Jedi ruins of peaceful spirituality. Reversed: lack of faith, despair, disconnection, self-trust.

18. The Moon: Quesh.

This was a hard selection, and Rishi almost took it. (Neither one has a visible moon in the sky.) But Quesh is a planet of mystery, uncertainty, and illusion: Republic Admiral Monk’s reveal as an Imperial operative, the Warrior being lured to a mine, the Bounty Hunter being lured to a merchandising deal, the Consular finding the unacknowledged Attis station, Lord Scourge being a cryptic mystery…I could go on. Here a wall hides a significant zone of the picture.  Maneuvering for advantage without tipping into outright war is a matter of sleight of hand for all involved. Reversed: release of fear, repressed emotion, inner confusion.

19. The Sun: Rakata Prime

Damned planet doesn’t have a sun in its skybox. Nevertheless! I like the glowy flowers. What better expression of raw creation than the Star Forge? But that’s old history, and the Force has recovered. Here is revealed the truth of the Revanites in the light of day. The immediate foe is vanquished and the path is clear. Warmth and vitality rule. Reversed: inner child, feeling down, overly optimistic.

20. Judgment: Taris.

Absolution and rebirth – for a battered planet and for a spoiler on the Endar Spire, long ago. Destruction has come and gone, leaving only a new beginning. Reversed: self-doubt, inner critic, ignoring the call.

21. The World: Coruscant.

Is Coruscant the bright center of the universe? It symbolizes completion, integration, accomplishment, synthesis: the culmination of the Trooper and Consular questlines. And Ord Mantell, the Fool, leads directly into it, forming a complete circuit of the Major Arcana.

Images from Star Wars: The Old Republic. Meanings from https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/. Deck by brightephemera. Fonts Exocet and Aurebesh.

[ladyrevanhalin]

TWISTED MORALITY (PART III of ONLY LIGHT CAN CAST SHADOW) CHAPTER THREE: SEEKING SHELTER FROM THE STORM (PREVIEW SECTION 6 OF 16)

[AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a preview section from an incomplete chapter]

><><><><><

As hungry as Gwen was, Carth had insisted they seek medical care prior to seeking food. With how long she had been unconscious combined with what little medical supplies they had, he wanted to be certain there weren’t further undetected injuries in addition to the head injury that he’d been treating since the crash. Gwen had taken part of a ration bar in the meantime to hold her over. She had a lingering headache that she could not tell if it was from her injury or the fact that she had not eaten in the three days she had been unconscious. Either way, it hadn’t put her in the most pleasant of moods.

“Look, I’m fine,” she insisted as they walked. “While I appreciate your concern, I don’t need you mothering me.”

“Don’t you think we’re better off at least checking?” He said. 

“I think I’d feel a lot better if I had something other than ration bars,” she snapped. “I couldn’t eat a single thing on that damned ship it seemed without getting sick afterward!”

“Well sorry fleet cafeteria isn’t good enough for you,” Carth said sarcastically, rolling his eyes in the process. 

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me!”

“Calm down, geesh! It was only a joke. There’s a cantina close to the apartments, we’ll head back that way as soon as we finish here.” Carth added the last part as they stepped inside of a Tarisian Clinic. It was very plain, steryl… as a clinic ought to be. There were two men there who seemed to run the place: a younger one who was polishing a medical droid, and an older one who seemed to be working with chemicals at a lab station of sorts.

Carth approached the one working on the droid. “Excuse me,” the pilot said, “but can you help us--”

“Can't you see I'm busy with my duties?” the younger man snapped as he turned around sharply to face them. “Go talk to Zelka if you need something.”

“Well, nothing quite beats good old Tarisian hospitality,” Gwen muttered sarcastically. It was no sooner that she had than she felt Carth’s elbow nudge her ribs as he gave her a sideways glance. The woman groaned, rolling her eyes at her male companion’s disapproval. 

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Carth said, frantically trying to cover up Gwen’s commentary. “We’ll uh… we’ll go talk to him now.” 

She felt his hand on her back a moment, presumably to encourage her to walk away, and tensed. She quickly shrugged him away in an attempt to quickly end her discomfort. The physical contact felt strange. It had ever since… Well, there was no sense in thinking about that at the moment. Her head hurt enough as it was without additionally lingering on bad memories.

Carth must have understood her discomfort because he retracted his hand just as quickly as she had begun to shrug him away, and Gwen let out a silent sigh in relief. He left her and approached the older man at the other end of the clinic. 

Gwen folded her arms and meandered throughout the little steryl space. There wasn’t much to look at, but it gave her something to do while she waited to head to the cantina. She could hear Carth talking in the background to whom she could only assume was the ‘Zelka’ the first man had referred to. Her eyes skimmed over the walls and shelves… until they fell upon something that caused her to pause.

There was a large locked door on the West wall that read ‘Lab Personnel Only.’ While it was normal for such establishments to have areas off-limits to all but employees, something felt… different. She didn’t know quite how to best describe it. She felt… familiarity? Was that it? Whatever it was, it compelled curiosity from her. Gwen’s haze drifted from the Aurebesh lettering of the door sign to a simple electronic lock pad on the wall next to the door. It was such an easy lock….

“Gwen? Could you come here?”

She spun around at the sound of Carth’s voice to look at him and Zelka “Yeah?” she said. Her hand had quickly drawn away from the lock, she hoped faster than anyone else there could have seen. ‘Dammit, Gwen, you’re supposed to be respectable now!’ she thought to herself. ‘Just let it go….’

“I'll not have it said that Zelka Forn refused to help somebody just because they weren't a citizen of Taris,” the clinician said to Carth, seemingly in response to a part of their previous conversation. He continued, this time addressing her directly and introducing himself. “Miss Dakaal, isn’t it? I’m Zelka Forn. Your friend here tells me you’re in need of healing? I can treat almost any injury or ailment right here at the medical facility, except the rakghoul disease, of course.”

“I’m sorry… rakghoul disease?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow. She folded her arms as she approached them, choosing to remove herself from the bizarre urge to pick open the lab personnel door. “What’s that?”

 “A terrible affliction that has plagued Taris for many generations,” Zelka said, shaking his head. “I was just telling Mr. Polla here about it. It is spread by the rakghouls, horrible monsters that live in the Undercity below Taris' great skyscrapers. Prolonged exposure to the Undercity breeds the disease and those infected will eventually mutate into rakghouls themselves, becoming mindless beasts that feed on the flesh of others. Granted, from what Mr. Polla tells me, that would be impossible since you’ve not been down to the lower levels…”

Gwen had to restrain herself from snorting at the name by which Zelka Forn had referred to Carth. “Oh?” she said, a somewhat amused grin spreading across her face as her gaze shifted from the physician to the Republic pilot. “Now I’m curious. What else were you discussing with Mr. Polla?”

She caught Carth’s expression cracking just a bit at her dig, though it seemed that Zelka hadn’t noticed. That much was probably for the better. She could understand Carth’s choice for giving a false name, given the fact that he was a decorated Republic Lieutenant. After all, someone might recognize the name ‘Carth Onasi’... but Polla!? Surely in the days she was unconscious he should have been able to come up with a name better than that...

“Well, I heard the Republic scientists at the military base here on Taris were close to perfecting a cure for it. But the Sith have since overrun the base and are keeping the serum for the patrols they send into the Undercity.” Zelka sighed. “If I could just get my hands on a sample of that serum the rakghoul disease could be wiped from the face of Taris forever…. But nevermind. I don't see how that's going to happen now, and it’s irrelevant anyway to the situation.” He gestured for her to sit in a chair nearby.

She opened her mouth a moment to voice a protest, but caught sight of a look from Carth that made her stop. She leered back at him as she moved to the seat that Zelka had indicated.

“Well then, Miss Dakaal, I hear you’ve suffered some head trauma?” He took out a small light and shone it in her eyes, causing Gwen to instinctually squint and raise a hand to block out the excess light. “Eyes open, please,” the physician added. “What exactly happened?”

The woman struggled to keep her eyes open for him, choosing to focus her gaze passed him in order to aid her efforts. “My associate could tell you better than I,” Gwen said flatly. “I was unconscious, after all…”

“You know,” she Carth say. He seemed to be ignoring her, but she could not see him at the moment to tell for certain. He seemed to be circling back around to the previous conversation with Zelka. “There’s gotta be some way to get ahold of that cure the Republic military were working on…”

Zelka turned away from Gwen, back to Carth for a moment, and the woman used the opportunity to relax her eyes from the light, blinking slowly as strange colored phantom shapes floated across her vision. 

“ I don't see how anyone could get their hands on the serum,” Zelka said. “The military base is crawling with Sith guards. Breaking in there would be a suicide mission. I suppose the Sith patrols in the Undercity might have a sample of the serum on them, if they hadn't already used it because of a rakghoul infection. But I doubt a patrol would just hand the serum over. And nobody's stupid enough to attack one of the Sith patrols, even in the Undercity.”

“Well, as soon as we’re off, I’m sure we’ll find some way,” Gwen said, wanting very much to end the conversation so they could get out of there and head to the cantina. Most of the reports were of the escape pods crashing in the Undercity anyway, so who knew! Maybe that actually would happen across a sample of the serum… There might even be some sort of reward, and they could always use access to medical services while stranded on an enemy-controlled planet…

“Please don't say that!” Zelka exclaimed as he turned to her, frantically gesturing with his hands to say no more on the matter. “If the Sith hear you they might think I'm suggesting you start sacking their patrols. They could shut me down! I only mentioned the serum because you asked. I don't actually expect anyone to get me the serum.” The man sighed, letting his arms relax. “Tell me what symptoms you’ve had since you regained consciousness.”

“Well,” Gwen said, “I’ve had a lingering headache, but I also haven’t eaten in a couple days--at least not since before the injury.”

“I don’t see any signs of lingering damage from your injury,” he continued. “The headache you described is likely from hunger, not lingering effects of concussion. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nope!” she said, standing promptly. “I think that about wraps things up here….”

“Not so fast,” Carth interjected, catching her arm as she attempted to walk passed him toward the exit. He then spoke again to Zelka. “We heard some rumors about Republic escape pods having crashed in the Undercity from the recent space battle overhead. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Republic escape pods? Uh... no… That’s a strange question,” Zelka laughed. “Why would you ask me that? I don't know. Those pods crashed in the Undercity, I'm not involved in any way!”

Gwen turned back, raising an eyebrow at the man’s reaction to the question. “You seem awfully defensive about this,” she muttered. She’d seen more than enough bad liars in her time to spot it when someone was so obviously hiding something. 

“I'm not defensive! I just don't like being accused of knowing something about those Republic pods.” And then Zelka scoffed. “This is as bad as an interrogation by the Sith!”

Carth winced. It would seem he hadn’t anticipated Gwen commentary, and was disturbed by how Zelka had been suddenly put off. “Don't worry, we’re not with the Sith. We won't betray your secret if you tell us…. Uh… not that you’re hiding anything, that is.” Carth rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Whether or not Zelka would trust them with any further information remained to be seen.

“The Sith were already here,” the clinician huffed, “asking these same questions you are now. I'll tell you what I told them. I don't know anything about those pods. Now, is there something else you need?”

“We need a better answer than that,” Gwen said. If Zelka Forn actually knew anything about the crashed escape pods, then it could prove most useful in their quest to find Bastila and get off of this rock. “If you know something, you should tell us. Like my associate said, we don’t work for the Sith. But if you are hiding something, the Sith will find out eventually, and they will come here again. It’s in your best interest to help us. I think you want to…”

“I…. I want to….” Zelka said slowly. He seemed to be much calmer as he did so. “Well... you don't look like you're with the Sith. I guess… I guess I can tell you my secret. Or rather, I can show you…”

Zelka Forn walked over to the door that Gwen had seen previously and punched a code into the access pad. The large door slid open, revealing a series of kolto tanks, a few of them with familiar-looking men and women floating inside of them. 

“Hey... I recognize these men,” Gwen murmured, approaching one of the tanks. “They're Republic soldiers!...”

“You... you recognize these soldiers?” Zelka asked. “But how? Unless... unless you're friends of the Republic!”

Carth raised his hands. As if to try to prevent Zelka from doing anything rash. “Looks, I have a feeling we’re on the same side here,” Carth said. “We’re friends of the Republic.” He conveniently left out the part about them also having been on the same ship the soldiers in the tanks were from. After all, they were already putting themselves at risk here. There was no point in sharing more information than necessary… “We’re friends of the Republic. You can trust us.”

“Since the space battle overhead,” Zelka explained, “people have been secretly bringing in these Republic soldiers who crash-landed on the planet. I had to take them in. What choice did I have? Their injuries are terrible, most won't survive. But at least I can make their last days more comfortable. And at least here they are hidden away from the Sith.”

Carth let out a sigh of relief. “Well, for that you have my thanks,” he said, clasping the other man’s shoulder briefly. “It's good to know that at least some of these men ended up in compassionate hands.”

“I hate to imagine what the Sith would do if they discovered these soldiers here,” Zelka continued. “But since their initial questioning the Sith have not returned, so it may be my fears are unfounded.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Gwen asked, turning back toward Carth and Zelka. While they were in a hurry to find Bastila and get off, and while it would be easier for them to remain unnoticed if they were in a smaller group, she couldn’t help but to feel a sense of pity wash over her at the sight of her former comrades in such a state.

“I'm afraid there is nothing more anyone can do for these soldiers,” Zelka said. “Now, if you'll excuse me I should return to the front in case anyone comes in needing medical attention.”

The clinician stepped away, closing the door but leaving it unlocked for Gwen and Carth to exit of their own accord. 

“Well,” Gwen said, shrugging with a bit of unease, “at least we know we’re not the only survivors.”

“It’s a good thing,” Carth said somewhat somberly. “It means there’s even more chance that Bastila survived as well.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” There was a twisting in Gwen’s stomach that reminded her current hunger and she winced. “Standing here’s not going to do us any good though. I think we should gather more info--at the cantina! I’m starving.” And she let out an exasperated sigh.

A smile tugged at the corner of one of Carth’s lips as he let out a single laugh. “I guess we can head over now… Wouldn’t want you passing out on me after all!”

Gwen rolled her eyes and moved to the door, beating the switch with the side of her first, causing it to open as she walked out toward the exit of the clinic, the pilot scurrying briskly after her once he say she was leaving. They were stopped, however, by a voice when they reached the door leading out of the clinic.

“Psst. You there! Wait a minute. I need to talk to you about the rakghoul serum. I've got an offer for you you might want to hear.” it was the assistant they had seen working on the droid previously.

“Not interested,” Gwen said dismissively, and she continued to move toward the exit. 

“Oh, don't be an idiot,” the man said, moving to block them from exiting. “Just listen to me for one minute and you won't be sorry. Davik Kang wants the cure, and you'd be smart to give it to him.”

Gwen placed her hands on her hips, regarding the man with a rather unamused expression on her face. “Davik Kang? Who's that?”

“Oh, come on – everybody knows who Davik Kang is! He's the big boss around here. Gambling, smuggling, extortion – he's got a piece of all the action on Taris.”

“You mean Davik's a crime lord?” Carth said, now seemingly rather unamused by the conversation also.

“I prefer to think of him as a role model,” the man continued in a rather grating voice. “He started with nothing, and now he's got it all: credits, power, women. It's the Tarisian dream, right?”

“Why does Davik want the cure so badly?” Gwen asked, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“Davik's interested in anything that can turn a profit. He could make a fortune selling the serum to anyone infected with the disease – not like Zelka, who'll practically give it away.”

“I think we'd rather give the serum to Zelka,” Carth said. “He'll use it to help people.”

“Helping people is all well and good,” the assistant harrumphed, “but you have to help yourself first, right? I'm telling you Davik will pay big credits for the cure. More than Zelka could ever afford.”

Gwen considered a moment. Credits would be a big help if they were going to get off of Taris. After all, they would need a ship… “Where can we find Davik if we want to give him the cure?” she asked, folding her arms.

Carth looked at her a moment in seeming disbelief. She tried as best she could to ignore his gaze of disapproval. 

The assistant smirked. “Davik isn't the kind of guy you can just walk up to, you know? He likes to keep his business at arm's length. The best thing to do is take the rakghoul serum to Zax. He runs the Lower City bounty office, but everybody knows he also works for Davik. He'll make it worth your while.”

“And why do you care who gets the cure?” Gwen asked, narrowing her eyes at him. The man seemed parasitic as a mynock…

“Look, Zelka can't afford to pay me much,” the assistant explained. “If you sell the serum to Davik, I can probably get a nice finder's fee for directing you to him.”

“What if I tell Zelka you're helping Davik get the cure?” Carth interjected. It seemed he was having none of the idea, despite how lucrative it could prove.

“Hmph! I'll just deny it,” the assistant said with a shrug. “Who's Zelka going to believe – me, or some off-world stranger? Now, be smart about this. You'll get a better deal selling to Davik.”

“And then only the rich could afford the cure. Just let the poor suffer, right?” Carth said.

The assistant frowned, glaring at the pilot. “Look, if you find the rakghoul serum, just take it to Zax in the Lower City bounty office. He works for Davik. He'll pay you what that cure is really worth!” And with that, the man stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

Once Gwen and Carth were a bit a ways from the clinic, Gwen spoke first. “That guy gave me the creeps,” she commented.

“Why would you even consider something like selling a cure to a crime lord?” Carth asked her. He still seemed to be in disbelief at what he had heard. “You saw what Zelka was doing in there. He’s a good man…”

“Yeah, but we need the credits, Carth. Last I checked, even if we do find Bastila, we can’t get off Taris without a ship…”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, I just… I think we should consider this carefully before we make any decisions of the sort. I mean, who knows if we’ll even find it while we’re looking…”

“Yeah, well unless you have a better idea for how to get enough funds to get out of here, I think we should consider his offer… but enough of this. Let’s get to the cantina or I really am going to pass out on you.”

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[jhgraham]

Do Han and Leia celebrate birthdays? Sweetheart’s Day? Who’s the bigger sap of the two?

Hello, lovely Anon! Thank you for the ask!

I think that for the first little while after the destruction of Alderaan, birthdays/lifedays (whichever you prefer) would have been rather fraught for Leia. So many memories of happier times, of family traditions and moments spent together that were lost along with her home, and everything she held dear. I touched on this in story I wrote a couple of years back, when I returned to the fandom following TFA...I’ve added that little excerpt here by way of answering your question, but the rest will never see the light of day ‘cuz it’s cringeworthy.

There were many times when the cavernous void left behind by the disappearance of treasured elements from Leia’s lost world stretched wider and darker than usual, and birthdays were one of them. She missed her home and her family, and never more than on occasions such as this. Normally thoughts of Alderaan were a faint hum in the back of her mind, ever present but tucked into the background of everyday life and quiet enough to overlook; but there were other times, like this, that the distant drone escalated to become a thundering chorus capable of drowning out all other thought.

Growing up as a member of the Royal House meant that birthdays were a public affair, and always celebrated in grand style. Each year Leia happily greeted the throngs of citizens who gathered in the palace square to offer the young Princess best wishes and partake in public festivities. But it wasn’t such grand customs that Leia missed most. It was memories of the quiet ways in which her family marked such occasions that made her chest feel tight and her throat ache with unshed tears: her mother, creeping into her room at first light, singing the words of the traditional song as she threw open the curtains to start the day; the customary breakfast of Eilanflower tea, hot, bitter and unpalatable on its own, but the perfect contrast to the excessive sweetness of the Jarnoo cakes it always accompanied; and her father, twirling her around the floor for the first dance of the evening at the grand ball that was the culmination of the day. She remembered feeling deliriously happy, lighthearted, and free.

But recollections of these happier times inevitably led her thoughts to another, darker place, and this year particularly so. This birthday was her first since the startling revelations that had come in the days following the Battle of Endor and, as a result, the day was now was marred not only by bittersweet reminders of Alderaan’s loss, but by the cold reality that her entire world had been wiped from existence by the same black-cloaked monster who was responsible for her existence.

Yeah. Anyhoo…. :D :D

When Han comes into Leia’s life, he is astute enough to pick up on this right away. He makes it his mission (among other things where she’s involved) to change that for her, and help her to look back on the past with fondness, but make new, happy memories as well. Maybe it’s as simple as gritting his teeth and not barking back a snarky comment, at first...but in his laconic, show-don’t-tell way, he does his utmost to make her feel special for a day. And Han...well, that’s a hard one. My headcanon is aligned with Sue Zahn’s Kismet universe, in which Han was not a street urchin at all, but the child of a wealthy family involved in manufacturing of warships for the Empire who broke away in order to follow his heart and his own moral compass. That’s not to say I don’t find the ‘Oliver Twist in space’ Han who has no idea of his date of birth or actual age intriguing...it definitely is, but Sue’s version of events just made so much sense to me that I readily embraced it, and it stands for me to this day.  Anyway, it means that Han has fraught memories of the past as well, but for different reasons. When he first starts working for the Alliance post-ANH, he doesn’t broadcast his birthday, but I think Chewie likely rats him out at Leia’s insistence. There’s no fanfare, though, because she knows he wouldn’t care for that. She just gives it quiet acknowledgement, and moves on.  

In the days following ROtJ, I think they’d mark the occasion by ensuring that they had a quiet evening to themselves—free from the demands of politics, government, and military objectives—just to be together. They’d share a meal, some wine, maybe watch a holo...or try to, because that just never seems to work out for them. As soon as the lights are down somebody steals a kiss, and the next thing you know...well, y’know.

Sweetheart’s Day is not something I ever associated with the GFFA, to be honest. I think every day they are together is sweet, and neither of them needs a specific occasion to show one another how they feel...they do so every day. Some great authors here have written some lovely Sweetheart’s Day fics...I’m sure I can dig some up, if you’re looking for some recs!

Who’s the bigger sap...Han, most definitely. He’s marshmallow fluff on the inside, but the only one who knows is Leia. Every once in a while he says or does the most dorky, romantic thing, which usually takes Leia completely by surprise and that she finds irresistibly adorable. ED and I touched on this in Truth and Consequences, when Han etched the Aurebesh characters for Han loves Leia and the infinity symbol into the rock on Endor. I can totally see him writing little love-notes to stick in her pockets or texting her the GFFA equivalent of a GIF with little animated hearts or something. And you just know that he got totally choked up in front of Luke and Chewie’s family during their private wedding ceremony on Kashyyyk.  :D

Once again, I’ve given my usual overly long response, but I hope you find your answer in there somewhere!

[teagrl]

That Five Fave Endings Navel Gazey meme

Another Friday in which I can’t write. Even though I am SO CLOSE. Anyway let’s procrastinate with some navel gazing on the endings I’ve enjoyed writing.

1. Ch2 Velvet Gloves

He lifted his arm, blocking hers, played it off as scratching at his temple, but shifted slightly away. The Jedi’s eyes fell on the Queen’s consort who smiled indulgently and shrugged.

“House of Lis.” The Jedi said, tugging up his collar. His tone was even, but color had crept up his face. “What do I need to know?”

This is my general style in a nutshell and I saw this so clearly in my head especially after all the smut that came before (ahahaha no pun intended). Here it’s obvious Luke has a massive hickey Mara gave him and Teneniel is being ridiculous about it and Luke is being embarrassed. Isolder is amused. (Mara left because she’s Working as she is wont to do). Where would the fun be in telling you he has a massive hickey? Let’s just see everyone be silly about it.

2. Shadow Holocron

They were Aurebesh letters, clumsily scribbled as if from a child’s hand.

Words in Aurebesh letters carved into Mara’s arm, crusted blood smudging some of them.

I N SHA DO W ST HE RE I S P OWE R

I wrote all of this fic as a way to experiment with the horror genre and while I think it’s a rush job plotwise, I loved getting to the creepy ending and just leaving it at this eeeeee moment. Just imagine how Luke feels. NGH.

3. Washing Blood with Blood

The Lake of Apparitions is deathly silent.

The contrast between this line and all the emotional excess and angst that came before was super fun to write.

4. Ch2 Flying Cage

“The child can’t help you,” she hisses at his ear, twisting the blade. “She can’t help herself.”

Bodies in the fields, seizing, convulsing, dying by the thousands under a cruel, immolating sun.

“This is my world. My will.”

He screams.

Also incredibly fun to write. I live for dramatic excess from this evil command personification to the imagery from Shadows of Mindor to the twist of the previous “rules,” to the violence of the stabbing…this is my id man. Alllllll about my writer id here. This is who I am, man.

5. The Care and Training of an Apprentice

Mara had a dim sense of the space of the cargo hold around them, could feel the vibrating durasteel under her boots, hear the whir of the engines moving them forward to an unknown future, dark clouds gathering in the distance. If she wanted to be more than just an apprentice, there was only one course of action. She curled a hand into a fist beside her.

She would make herself enough.

This is my fave ending of all. It went through several rewrites and I love the whole Mara-going-into-battle vibe here given the questioning nature of the fic

[brightephemera]

The Star Wars: The Old Republic Planetary Tarot

2/7

4. The Emperor: Dromund Kaas

Dromund Kaas is the claim of the Empire, a place of rigid rule and unquestioned power. A patriarchal figure rules over all, and the symbol of his influence is pictured here. Its foundations are ancient, its continued existence inflexible, its authority absolute. Reversed: domination, excessive control, inflexibility, but also self-discipline.

5. The Hierophant: Yavin IV.

Sorry, the Emperor does double duty. The ancient temple of Yavin IV was built by slaves, and is used to gather the power of the Emperor for mysteries they will never be inducted into – their service and their deaths both go through Him. The religion has an inviolate structure: conformity, institutions. Reversed: Personal beliefs, freedom, disrupting the status quo.

6. The Lovers: Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta.

Planets of choices, of two paths (Agent and Bounty Hunter?), and of Hutt-sanctioned passions. Here Balkar smooths problems over. Here Hutts are pacified, with gifts, with coups. Here, any time you look up from Hutta, you see Nar Shaddaa, its companion in space. Relationships, mutual interests, and choices are the rule. Reversed: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment.

Images from Star Wars: The Old Republic. Meanings from https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/. Deck by brightephemera. Fonts Exocet and Aurebesh.

(SWTOR planetary tarot)