#tyr deckard the man that you are

[tiredassmage]

I can’t NOT send in ❛ you’re a weapon, and weapons don’t weep. ❜ for agent feels perhaps 👀

FINALLY. I FINISH IT! Perhaps a day late for Star Wars day(s) celebrations, but you know how Alucren is about talking about his feelings. Once again, them having issues actually talking about anything didn't end up using this word for word, but the shape of it's there. And... frankly a lot of indulgent intimacy, hehe. :3

Shoutout to the namedrop of my friend's blorbo, Taizi. Let's get these agents the idea of therapy and some supportive poly relationships, amiright?

[hit 'em where it hurts // sentence starts]

Deckard sighs soft and warm as Alucren presses his lips against his throat, dragging fingertips through the short hair of his nape.

Here, Nine is at a special, intoxicating kind of ease - one hand formed against Ellery’s hip and the other cradling the back of his head, encouraging Alucren’s introduction of teeth and rewarding the move by tilting his head back into nails digging gently into skin. By now, he knows Nine’s smiling without looking for it.

He smooths his hand along Nine’s spine, fingertips following the curve of skin down towards subtle implants. Nine sighs into the gentle pressure, content enough, it seems, to remain placated by Eleven’s lips over his pulse.

Ellery frowns as his fingers splay carefully over the implants, tracing the faint hints of scars he knows remains, no matter how masterful the work of droids in removing them. The texture’s rougher than the tanned skin around it, than the brush of Nine’s hand against his over his waist where he’s anchored his fellow Cipher back against his chest.

Dark emerald eyes fall away from the steady rise and fall of Nine’s chest to the murky, soft shadows cast in the cloak of Odessen’s night across the room. In this, he’s come to see that the skeletal fingers of Imperial Intelligence still whisper around their throats - the common tattered, lace thread tying them together that Deckard tugs on between the half-familiar dance of briefings and deployments, in the half-held breath of hallways and half-clouded eyes meeting silently over a desk.

He was an idealistic bastard at the best of times, their Nine… Always so concerned with not letting another choke on the decaying dust and rot that he prefers to line his own throat with it than remain idle.

Alucren swallows and tucks his chin into the crook of Tyr’s neck, tracing the outlines of those implants. It’s not the first time he’s seen them. Nine has bared plenty more than flesh to him, dragging him this far out into unknown and - to them - unmapped regions of the galaxy.

Sometimes, what Nine never wrapped words around said more than that which he did. Alucren wonders almost idly if it’s one of the reasons he was a better agent. Even a latecomer transfer as the war had reignited like himself had heard some of the whispers, the stories… Even a stubborn bastard like him had at least once seen the few extra lines across Keeper’s fair features.

And yet all the younger man had for him tonight was patience. Surely, some days it was shorter than others, but…

“Deckard…”

Tyr hums softly in acknowledgement. Alucren closes his eyes as Nine tilts his head slightly, just enough to brush his chin against his temple.

“What was it like?”

The draw of Tyr’s fingers against his knuckles slows to a stop. “Mm. ‘Fraid you’re gonna have to specify a bit more, darling.”

Alucren’s hand stills against his back as he turns to brush his lips briefly along Nine’s jaw. A moment later, he’s passing under Nine’s steady, watchful eyes. The urge to flinch nearly rushes up his spine.

Nine’s good at that - seeing all of him. Tracing fully down from the furrow of his brow, the aging lines Taizi tells him to stop fussing about, and not missing a single note in the depths of his eyes. It’s been damned infuriating at times. Alucren has yet to figure out how to swallow being so utterly disarmed.

Tyr’s eyes fall after only a few moments. It could’ve been hours, for all he takes from it. “You know I live with it,” he says quietly.

“Part of the job description,” Ellery supplies.

“Sure,” he says.

“Sure.”

Alucren’s chin settles against his shoulder again. Tyr pulls the hand from his hip away, draws it in front of him so he can watch as he traces over their fingers.

Living. It isn’t so simple as that. Taizi had told him… on Marr’s fleet to abandon his side, to go, flee, to live. Too much smoke had been in his lungs to discern the sting in his throat from the mauling of his chest.

In five long, lonely years that were as restless as the tempests over Dromund Kaas, Alucren Ellery had learned he’d never quite learned what living really was.

“Hell of a thing to live with…”

Tyr nods slowly as a frown begins to pull quietly across his lips. He turns Alucren’s hand over carefully in his and traces fingertips carefully along his palm, then up along each finger in slow succession. Alucren’s gaze falls to watch.

“They don’t talk about that much in Academy.”

“Did they send you?” Tyr asks.

Alucren’s head shakes faintly against his shoulder. “Not really. No time for it, with the war and all. Just some… accelerated program.” He weaves his fingers with Deckard’s and squeezes carefully. Nine lets him. “Suppose you gave them a run for their credits.”

A faint whisper of a sharper exhale clears Nine’s lungs. One corner of his lips barely flickers up for a fraction of a second - so slim Alucren’s half-content to believe it the blink of his own eyes at the edge of his vision.

“I think you’re skilled enough at that yourself, Eleven.”

He doesn’t imagine much, if anything, in that training explored the intricacies of the political fallout when an agent has to stand against the very head of their sphere, the very entity supposedly in control of their orders. There’s plenty in the handbooks for Minders about internal security. There’s regulations for these things between agents. From the most wet-eared recruits to the Minister of Intelligence, they all shared a duty to report security risks.

There was a time, Ellery imagines… There was a time he might’ve held a blaster to this man’s temple.

There was a time he might have - would have, likely - pulled the trigger himself on their infamous Cipher Nine.

He closes his eyes and tightens his arm around Nine. One hand against skin and metal and their linked ones over that heart of his.

Tyr’s chin nestles against the top of his head. He can feel the unspoken inquiry in the draw of Nine’s thumb once more against his knuckles.

Nine could talk a lot about Imperial Intelligence. Eleven usually balks on the matter.

He’s not sure he could’ve done what Nine did. He’s fairly certain he can’t do what Nine does now.

“How?” It’s hot and muffled against Deckard’s skin. It’s easier to hide than find the words for the hollowness in his chest, for the shape of the tremble in his arms, racing through his blood. “How did you..?”

Tyr inhales slow and carefully and releases the breath as a weary exhale. Their hands tighten around one another again. He’s not looking, but he’s sure his knuckles must be paling, constricting around Nine’s calloused, warm hands.

“Ellery…” Softer.

He turns away, not yet willing to cede the stinging in his eyes even if dodging it won’t obscure it.

“All I had were orders, Nine. A weapon, preferably in both hands.” His next breath shudders through him. “And no use for tears for what's given in the line of duty.”

“So they tell us, hm?” Tyr murmurs.

Quiet falls between them again for a few moments before Tyr presses his thumb a bit further into his skin. “Think I can have my hand back, love?”

Alucren inhales sharply, eyes turning from hiding behind his shoulder back to him only to find a soft, gently amused smile draping easily across his lips. Alucren’s knuckles are indeed pale around Tyr’s hand still in his grasp. He clears his throat and flexes out his hand.

Only for Tyr to reach out and take his chin before he can turn away again, pressing his lips carefully to Eleven’s temple.

“You’re here now, Ellery,” he says. “It’s alright. I promise.”

Alucren ducks under the arm he opens, pressing into the crook of Nine’s neck as he turns to face him. Now it’s Nine’s fingers at the nape of his neck, gently drawing lines up and down through short hair.

Living was very different from surviving, he’s learning. And even Ciphers have plenty of uses for tears.

[tiredassmage]

something something, back to the beginning with 7.5, something something spend nearly half your life doing something, something memories, something totally probably not at all actually related to the plot of the patch, but something something excuse for me to write cheesy flirt lines-- self-indulgent as hell little brainworm of an exchange that may or may not actually happen but i sure as hell had fun putting tyr through it xD loosely inspired by the premise of returning to hutta for 7.5 and name-dropping one of the new characters, so technically some kind of spoilers but. obvs we don't know much and this is just. deeply, deeply self-indulgent fun on my part for now, lol. [but that kind of stuff is under the cut, if that is important to your reading choices <3]

“We have been to Hutta before,” Vector recalls. They step up to the agent’s shoulder as Tyr leans into the doorway, cocking one foot over the other.

Tyr grunts, “Somehow.., I’m inclined to doubt much has changed in…” A grimace starts to pull the agent’s features tighter around his eyes, as if counting the years might make the aches settle deeper. “Oh, twenty years, almost.., isn’t it?”

Vector hums thoughtfully. “Much has changed, agent,” they remind gently, “But… not so much, all the same, we concur.” They watch the agent’s eyes scan the distant swamp for a moment, noting the restless toy of his hands along the fit sleeves of the overcoat he wears.

They recall a saying on the ways of old habits…

“We suppose not all things can improve with age.”

A sharp, loud huff leaves their companion. Vector begins to smile. It’s enough to still Tyr’s hands - they instead fold together across his waist, supporting the agent’s lean. Out of the corner of their eyes, Tyr’s own narrow as they turn on him, mockingly accusatory.

“Vector Hyllus… I’m going to assume good faith.”

“Of course, agent,” they reply. Their smile widens under the mounting suspicion. “We have known plenty to admire a fine vintage.”

Tyr doesn’t quite manage to choke back a bark of laughter beneath a hand flying up to his mouth, nor does it entirely conceal his smile and the brush of color that enters his cheeks. Vector mercifully turns their eyes back out to the smog-hugged buildings awaiting them. Shortly, Tyr clears his throat. “You know I prefer Kaasi brandy myself.”

“Of course. You’ve always had a most enlightening taste, agent.”

Tyr coughs lightly and shakes his head. “Ah… right. So.”

“So,” Vector allows. “We… are not familiar with this… ‘Yusinduu,’ agent. It will be our first time in the district.”

“Right.” And just like that, a familiar lighting bolt clarity clears Tyr’s eyes. He pushes off from the doorway and waves Vector down the ramp with him, sweeping his jacket over the holsters at his hips. “Stay close, for now. If Hutts are reliable for anything, it’s an eye for profitable motives-”

Even that brief smile was well worth the diversion. They follow after the Commander, tucking their hands into their pockets.

“Do you think there is any relation, agent?”

Tyr begins to frown - a familiar brush of durasteel and the first gasp of rain-heavy air from the horizon. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” he says.

His eyes skim the edges of the streets over Vector’s shoulders. “You know, I think you owe me a drink-” A cover for the agent’s sentiment to find a place to observe the local hum.

He claps a hand to Vector’s shoulder with a grin, eyes clear of the aged rhythms thrumming in battle-tested veins, no doubt. His fingers squeeze carefully around their shoulder and his voice drops for only a moment, “If I know anything about Hutta, it’s that we’re all good for someone… for the right price.” Stay close. Stay vigilant.

Tyr’s eyes face forward again, easily slipping through unfamiliar streets - enough heaviness in forward steps to keep their path clear and draw only the barest of curious glances. New faces on Hutt-controlled streets aren't uncommon. Nine wants them just under the radar. For now.

“Let’s see who we should be today, hm?”

[tiredassmage]

actually have i ever told all of y'all i sort of panic-buttoned when i realized tyr didn't have a middle name and i wanted one for that piece i wrote about his old man having to recruit him into intelligence?

so anyway. tyr's middle name is vaiken. yes. yes after that. do of this what you will.

he rarely ever uses it and i think at this point its probably one of lana's secret blackmail points that she knows it and i think you'd see tyr deckard nearly pass away if she ever used it on him in public.

[tiredassmage]

Okay, I love my shitpost introductions to actually serious thoughts, headcanons, 'verses, what have you, but also... big, pretty post with (some semblance of) context (primarily in one spot instead of scattered in asks). That might be cool.

Okay! So! I made a shitpost about Tyr and his... growing list of aus and other shit I've made him do. So now because there's a lot of lore in my goldfish bowl of a brain about it sometimes and so hopefully anyone who is like, "Dot, what the Fuck are you smoking?" can find some semblance of an answer to that, I have made a slightly less shitpost (maybe...), more written guide to The Bullshit I Am On.

This brought to you by uh... there are several of you that are enablers. You know who you are. Blows you a kiss through the screen.

The rest of you? Welcome to my shitposting. I am only partially sorry. But get comfortable because I'm not about to stop. : D

Imperial Agent, moniker: "Cipher Nine"

The man, the myth, the legend, the og. Tyr Deckard, formerly Cipher Nine of Imperial Intelligence, double agent for the Republic Strategic Information Service answering to code name Legate.

Eventually turns Commander of the Eternal Alliance.

Primarily, if I'm talking about this bad bitch, it's as his og agent self. This is the foundation upon which all of my following nonsense came off of, which is why "ch: tyr" still talks about mostly this bad bitch, and all these other bad bitches that are and aren't him at the exact same time have other weird tags I have banged into existence with, like, a frying pan.

I love him and he needs to retire.

His character page is about this. I promise.

related tags; ch: tyr

Actually he has a pinterest board i haven't been obnoxious about in public yet either. merry crisis!

Smuggler; known alias: "Oliver Daxton"

A companion au as much as a Tyr in the smuggler campaign in general-au. Reimagines Tyr as an ex-Imperial agent that defected out of Imperial Intelligence to the SIS, former Cipher Ten turned SIS Agent Oliver Daxton.

Started as an ask from @captainderyn that I just decided to be a little insane about, I guess.

Joins the titular Smuggler on Hoth as their contact point for the White Maw job and can potentially act as their right-hand. For fic writing purposes, I pair him with one of my other smugglers, Cee, and I primarily discuss Oli in that lens.

If Risha is Cee's right hand woman, Oliver is her left-hand man. In the smoke and dust after Corellia, Oliver and Master Sumalee pull a few strings with the SIS and have him reassigned with the new Voidhound more long-term, to protect the Republic's latest investment in underworld logistics.

In a potential edition of KOTXX events, when Cee goes missing in the wake of Marr's destroyed fleet, Oliver takes over her contact network and assumes her moniker as Voidhound, attempting to run supplies through Eternal Empire blockades initially in tandem with SIS efforts, before the straining relations between the Republic, Sith Empire, and the Eternal Empire of Zakuul break Oliver's overall faith in the Republic's true goals, and he takes the Voidhound's fleet to act independently until he is later contacted by Theron Shan to come home to the Alliance and reunite with Cee.

related tags; vs: king and lionheart [smuggler!tyr]

Oli does not have a pinterest board. Yet. Sorry to set a trend and expectations and then immediately throw a wrench in it.

Bounty Hunter; known alias: "Kyranthe Rayne"

Shared au verse with @hyrohkaah; primarily focused in on the five year gap preceding KOTFE and following. A "Valkorian hot potato" role swap to shared verse events with Tyr & their Jedi Knight, Hyroh Kaah.

Involves a bit of timeline fuckery because timelines are a playground and this is already an au.

The short & sweet; Tyr adopts the alias "Kyranthe Rayne" and becomes a bounty hunter and assassin primarily for-hire following Hyroh's disappearance with Marr's fleet. Struck hard by the loss of a best friend, confidant, and lover, as Ky, he has already cut ties with Sith Intelligence earlier following the events on Ziost and now employs his former skills as a Cipher agent for his benefit first. And also to seek a little vengeance on the corrupt systems and parties that put him through hell as Cipher Nine.

Runs into Mako on the course of one of his hunts and basically adopts her. They are friends and partners now. They, in turn, also eventually adopt a stray former Jedi padawan named Ezekiel (also @hyrohkaah).

Ezekiel and Tyr got that sad, neglected, bonded, do not separate shelter dog rizz together. Eze essentially becomes his daughter. Bc it turns out Eze was also once a Sith Acolyte, so they share Imperial Abandonment Trauma (TM) and probably much to the stress of both of his now-adopted daughters, Tyr will kill people for them without so much as blinking.

In short, a Tyr who very nearly managed to get out and have a life beyond being an agent with Hyroh, lost that in the Wild Space expedition, spent approximately five years beaten down by the galaxy's assumption Hyroh had been killed, and who thus became a bit harder and a lot more stubborn about his boundaries in the aftermath of it all.

Eventually turns covert operative for the Eternal Alliance and is Hyroh's very fiercely protective guard dog of a boyfriend and personal advisor as Hyroh is thrust to become Commander of the Alliance.

relevant tags; vs: my mind is a place i can't escape your ghost [bh!tyr]

woe! pinterest board be upon ye!

Sith Warrior; known alias: "Tyr Kyrane"

I'm blaming this one mostly on @hyrohkaah because this is a take I said I'd never do for Tyr and now look what we're doing.

Full, actual, proper hot potato between Hyroh and Tyr, aka actual role swap where Tyr's the Force-sensitive one and Hyroh is the Imperial Agent. Crunchy Sith and Imperial power dynamics. Just as much devotion in blood. Just as much stupid displays of affection (eventually).

Partially reimagines Tyr's origin, of course, as adopted into the Sith Kyrane family following his parents' reported deaths (I'll neither confirm nor deny if this incarnation is still related to Keeper. Let's all suffer with the uncertainty. >:3), but not shown to be Force-sensitive until his early teens.

Thus struggles with alternating pressures of never being good enough for the family because he wasn't Sith, then because he wasn't of their own blood, and then especially because he's not of their blood, so any failures will be his own weakness, but could absolutely disgrace the house. Rigorous dance training eventually translates into dual training in dance and the demand to master the art of wielding a dual-bladed saber.

Connections with Overseer Tremel through the family bring him to Korriban slightly ahead of schedule, but Tremel takes over his training personally and paces it... far more evenly than his family. So you can imagine what Baras's later request for him to strike against the one man who perhaps gave half a damn about his well-being is like.

But, long story short, will attempt to use his eventual position as Wrath to curb some of the Dark Council's infighting and will take a particular interest in the remains of the Empire's Intelligence operations, thus adopted former Cipher Nine Hyroh Kaah as a personal agent in weeding out the remaining security risks of Baras's network of intelligence assets and informants.

Power couple shit, to be honest.

The babies of the aus because Joel and I had to make me bargain with myself to fucking finish his bounty hunter playthrough first and also maybe my Consular I've been neglecting on Satele Shan for fucking months, good god someone stop me.

relevant tags; vs: no stranger would it be [sith!tyr]

and bc i'm insane, perceive my madness about them: pinterest

Republic Trooper, Commanding Officer - Havoc Squad

An edition of Tyr that grew up in Republic space under the care of his single mother. They bounced around a fair bit between her work, sometimes moving planets entirely.

In his mid-teens, Tyr picked up work at a mechanic's shop - the latest in a series of odd jobs to help his mother make ends meet. As a side to that, he also got into racing swoopbikes. And accidentally ended up sort of in the middle of an SIS op that ultimately concluded in a staged accident in one of his races when he was sixteen. Tyr still has the scars on his chin and left shoulder.

Officially recruited into the Republic Strategic Information Service at 18, when he promptly moved out. His relationship with his mother had always been a bit strained and a touch distanced, so Tyr rarely saw much of her after the move. He did, however, continue to send her parts of his paychecks back to help her stay above board.

Ends up in SpecForce as an SIS plant with the goal of investigating rumored SpecForce unrest, desertions, and other unusual activity. Was never meant to stay assigned to Havoc Squad, but then... the whole squad turned to the Imps in front of him and... the rest is kinda history.

Has a tight, but somewhat up and down relationship with fellow Havoc recruit turned pilot in Hyroh. In short, Tyr isn't always the greatest fit as Havoc's CO, nor do him and Hyroh always see eye to eye based on differences in experiences with Republic loyalty.

Ultimately, however, Hyroh, Aric Jorgan, Elara Dorne, and Tyr are pretty ride or die. Despite the rocky lows and through the highs, they are consistently the people left around, the ones looking after each other. Tyr learns a lot about what he values and what truly matters: the people right beside you.

relevant tags: vs: kiss with a fist / self-control in locker room showers [trooper!tyr]

also has an edition where I made him suffer as the Outlander in KOTXX, which. exacerbates his issues developed as a Republic soldier in the thick of the war. that gets its own tag: vs: all their words for glory / they all sound so empty [outlander trooper!tyr]

pinterest!

[tiredassmage]

tragic greek figures + your ocs

Thank you for reminding me I wanted to do this one, @captainderyn​! Uquiz, my beloved, diagnose my ocs, lmaoooo.

I have... honestly lost track of who has and hasn’t done this, so if you haven’t, I’m tagging you. I’m tagging you, I’m tagging you, I’m taggi-

(Dot, it’d help if you’d link the quiz)

Tyr Deckard - Patroclus

clever patroclus, beloved patroclus, poor patroclus: you do fall into madness, nor vanity, nor hubris. not, that is, for your own sake. love for that golden-haired man, sorrow for your countrymen; it is for his name that you don his armor, and for the dying greeks that you ride into battle. every piece of you is willingly given away, even if after you are gone there are wicked things done in your name.

Savosta - Icarus

what is there to be said of icarus? you were warned, yet you persisted, imprudently. but what of your first taste of liberation? the exhilaration that follows the first ray of the sun to touch you as you are, as a free man, makes you drunk on joy. we all know the foolish things that drunken people are capable of. was the fall as thrilling as the flight?

Lensan Ryaldar - Arachne

adept arachne, the things which you craft are born from years of careful practice, focused effort, and a drop of divine inspiration. your finished product shows the skills which you have honed over your lifetime, so take pride in that, but don’t proclaim yourself a peerless artisan, and, by the gods, show humility when you’ve been beaten.

Rhystyl Delavast - Achilles

best of the greeks, eager for honor, and quick to rage: you could easily live in content and easy until you're gray-haired, but glory and fame call for you just beyond the horizon. you are not prone to self-reflection and trip into the same pits of wrath at bruised pride over and over. are you truly ready to sacrifice everything so that your name will be immortalized? is your fury what you want to be remembered for?

[tiredassmage]

❝  so,  what would you be?  if you had to power to change all the things making you unhappy,  what would your life look like?  ❞ from the yearning prompts 👀👀

"I don't have time to write, its finals week" vs "the ONLY way I'll cope with this is writing for ME" fIGHT.

I stuck with it, I stuck with the established premise. The prompt didn't make it word for word into here, but it's more or less all there in what came naturally for Tyr being so damn stubborn about it. (F)

x-x-x-x-x

“Legate.” Ardun’s voice carried the half-smile quirked across the older man’s face.

Something about it washed over him like a balm - maybe the familiarity, maybe the honesty in it… He wasn’t sure. Tyr propped a foot up on the lower bar of the railing as he leaned against it beside Ardun and followed his gaze back out to the docked Phantom. “Wasn’t sure I was ever going to hear that again,” he admitted.

“C’mon, kid.” Ardun grunted as he elbowed Tyr’s arm. “I haven’t turned into a ghost yet.”

A chuckle slipped out of the former Cipher. “Yet,” he said, “And don’t you start getting any ideas about it, either.”

“Ohh, I think I’ve got a few more years in me yet,” Ardun said. “I just got here, after all. I can’t leave you scrambling against this new Eternal Empire now, can I?”

Tyr smiled. “I hope not, old man. It was too damn good to see you, sir.”

Ardun huffed. “Careful, kid. I might accuse you of going soft.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Tyr turned to put his back against the railing, leaning on arms propped against the top with one foot still cocked against the bottom rail. Ardun let his silence settle as he stared back towards the Alliance base.

They’d done well to turn this place into something functional on such a short time table. He’d caught enough whiffs of dissent in the ranks to know few had been pleased by the last five years, but dissatisfaction did not a rebellion itself make.

It was one hell of a mountain to overcome complacency and the way of things. They ought to know.

The Cipher’s gaze dropped, half-unfocused. “Never would’ve guessed this one all those years ago, huh?” Tyr mused.

“No.” Adrun pushed up stiffly. Damn age wasn’t making half of this shit any easier. “Would you believe me if I said it suits you?”

Tyr almost snorted. “Now who’s getting soft, Ardun?” He shook his head. “I’m not what they’re looking for,” he said. “But I can’t leave them.” Not that he’d been given a choice, he suspected. Lana would throw a fit if he admitted to half of his doubts, and that was to say nothing of Valkorian’s elusive motivations.

“Good leaders are rarely the ones jumping at the front of the line, Deckard.”

Tyr shook his head. “You know what I am, Ardun,” he said. “I’m a spy - a Cipher. I can get by on the battlefield, but being a leader? No. Lana’s put so much into this, so much into… me…” He frowned as his arms folded across his chest.

It didn’t make an ounce of sense.

“What about you, kid?” Ardun shifted, leaning back against one arm still propped on the railing to watch him.

“Sir?” Tyr’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Deckard.” His voice dropped in a way that made Tyr avert his gaze. Ardun sighed. “Do yourself a favor and take a step back from the big picture. Nobody’s just going to wake up and take on the Eternal Empire. The Republic and the Sith Empire have been tryin’ for five years and haven’t done it. But you…”

Tyr puffed out a winded breath. “Hell, I don’t even know where to start…”

“Right here,” Ardun said with a shrug of one shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot, Tyr. It’s quiet here, for now. Take advantage of that.”

He shook his head again. “Ardun, no… I wouldn’t even know where to start. I dedicated my entire life to what I was in Intelligence and now-”

“Everything’s changed.” Ardun blinked and nodded slowly. “Trust me, kid. I know.”

“You already know I trust you,” Tyr muttered. He shifted to his feet and wrapped his arms across his chest.

“And how about yourself, Legate?”

Tyr chewed on his lip, eyes fixed on the ground.

“I wouldn’t have asked you for what you did if I didn’t believe you were at least a good spy, Deckard. But, more importantly, I still believe there’s a good man in there somewhere. Despite what you’ve gone through.”

“That man’s never been a constant, Ardun. You should know that.”

“And I’m sure he’ll change again,” he said. “It’s the nature of things, kid. Not just spies. But I’m not the one to ask for the poetic meaning of life. I’m just talking about you. What are you going to change if the whole damn galaxy’s already changing around you? You’ve got a whole world of opportunity here, Tyr. Make of it what you think is best - what you want.”

In theory, it was simple. Change was the nature of a Cipher - as much a chameleon as a viper in the grass.

Staying on that game had kept him alive. Against the fall of Imperial Intelligence, Marr’s metaphorical olive branch of directives had offered him a purpose in the churning, changing Imperial landscape as the wounds of war had still bled and festered. It’d kept him from being a dangerously untied end, though failure would have been no less tolerated.

Then Lana Beniko had entered his life and found perfect use for his skills. The weeks they had spent hunting, tracking, and manipulating on Rishi were perhaps some of the happiest - or at least most fulfilling - he’d had in…

He’d never bothered to keep count. He’d been too occupied trying to deal with the fallout of Intelligence dismantled around him, extracting revenge on Hunter for the way the galaxy swung on a nauseating pendulum and for dragging him around by the nose, and figuring out where it left him when the dust and smoke from blasters had all settled into the uneasy aftermath.

He’d never planned to stand against Darth Jadus, let alone the Immortal Sith Emperor himself.

‘Tyr Deckard’ was a convenience - as fleshed out as ‘the Red Blade’ had been on Hutta, or the scourge who had rallied a bunch of the Republic’s most dangerous criminals to a siege on Belsavis.

He shook his head again. “None of it’s really going to matter if we don’t deal with the Eternal Empire,” he said. “Whatever else I am or was, right now? This Alliance needs a rallying point. That’s going to have to be enough.”

Ardun frowned - face full of thoughtful, weary, worried lines and ridges. “I know, kid. Just… think about it, alright? Anybody can die for a cause, Legate. Greater and lesser men than us have. That never changed it’s nature. It was still just bloodshed.”

“I know.” More words minted more by a Cipher’s mask - instinct - than… whatever new truth had yet to come for them on the other side of this war. “Enough of this brooding nonsense though. I owe you a drink, you old bastard.”

[tiredassmage]

what's at your core?

Saw this from @commander-krios and I am nothing if not weak for taking uquizzes for characters. Quiz here! SWTOR blorbo time bc they are my drive lately. <3

This one came out SO accurate argh, my feelings ;_;

tyr deckard - silent admission

in tarot, the fool is numbered 0 – the number of unlimited potential. as the protagonist, he is ever present and therefore needs no number as well as no introduction. the world revolves around you in ways that i can't begin to describe, though you'd shrug it off if i were to begin to explain. i need you to know that time is running out. if you want to get this done, you need to start now. sloth is your greatest enemy in this world, and you can only run so far from the opposition when you start with such a disadvantage. keep your head high, yeah? the kid you were is still in there somewhere. you need to show him that it was worth it.

savosta & lensan ryaldar - fractured glass

no amount of orchestrated class is ever going to hide the fact that you’re doomed to be alone. you’re a puppet, you’re a weapon, but most importantly? you’re a fraud. your facade isn’t malicious, but that doesn’t change a thing. everything in your life is in your control now, and you chose to let yourself become stiff and distant. you’re guilty of everything you blame yourself for, and your misfortune is the fault of nobody but yourself. your selfish nature forges you into a man-made monster, so quick to blame and so desperate to escape consequence. i hope that you can become someone you’re proud of soon.

rhystyl delavast - flightless bird

the thought of your found family is what motivates you in your own little world. you touch the clouds, and the soil gives way under your footprints… this is utopia. if you were to erase one thing, it would be your memory. experience is important, but ignorance is bliss. identity, in heaven, should give way to happiness. you'd give anything just to sit by the swings and eat ice cream, but this isn't that kind of world. you have to get up and wash the dirt off of your scraped knees. i think you have an escapism problem.