#arcann x outlander | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleeting-sanity · 7 months

Text

[ Previous Entry ] 🌿 [ Read @ Ao3 ] 🌿 [ Chapters Index ]

Perhaps it was not about attachments but the simple act of helping one another. That's what being a Jedi was all about, wasn't it? Vyria has always banked on the idea that she was never much of a Jedi, allowing herself a few of the inhibitions but still believing in the teachings and principles of the Order. Besides, her brother was such a key player in this war that they could not afford to lose.

But she knew well that Riornivo had had enough of it, making their decision on his life seemingly selfish.

She felt an arm around her shoulders. Sitting next to her was her eldest brother, but his action was so out of character according to her. Still, she showed her appreciation by hugging him in return while remaining silent. Her mind however, recalled the days of the Dread War, where their lives were changed in a chain of misfortunes and losses. It was the most abandoned she felt in her entire life. Parents passing in short succession between themselves, the one she could depend on joined the enemy, the enemy revealed to be her blood wanted nothing to do with her, and lastly, albeit a controversial fact, was how she resented the Order for achieving heights partly contributed by her family, yet she felt shunned in her moment of grief.

"How do you think we'd deal with him after he's awake?" Vyria muttered.

"We don't know what's happening in there. But if it comes to that… I think… I think we can pull that off again. It's been done before. We know his true nature…"

One of the strike teams storming the Dread Palace was led by Rionnic. Vyria was part of the other. There were numerous defeats suffered from both teams, and when they managed to reach the throne room, only a few remained. Riornivo sat on the throne previously owned by Brontes, completely unrecognizable behind his Dread Master crest and apparel. They were overwhelmed by the might of the Dread Masters, but the two siblings' attempts on reasoning and reaching inside their fallen brother’s heart paid off.

Riornivo ultimately betrayed the Dread Council, which resulted in their defeat.

It was the second fallout, and their father wasn’t around anymore to gaslight the Order against punishing Riornivo. They didn’t even have to though, as the fallen Jedi was ready to cut himself off from the Force and be an exile somewhere unknown. Satele talked him down and provided both of her students the help they needed. But the siblings practically considered themselves exiles as most of the Order were intimidated and weary of them. The few who were accepting and kind were not enough.

Her reminiscence however, was interrupted by a commotion in the next room. It sounded like Arcann debating with the guards outside, but there should be no reason for him to do that.

"This is it, this is your chance to turn around and keep your anonymity...”

In front of the Zakuulan siblings; about a good distance away were three guardians composed of two Jedi and a Sith. Arcann was a regular visitor but what galvanized them was the Knight accompanying him. At first, the former Emperor tried to bluff his way inside, but the guardians wouldn't budge on the Knight's identity. Then he tried to proposition his sister into canceling the visit for another day, which was a futile effort.

"I want to see him!"

But the moment Rionnic and Vyria appeared, she became tense. The siblings dismissed the guardians despite their reservations. Rionnic had a look on his face that could tell who the Knight really was.

"I know it's you."

As soon as Vaylin removed her helmet, blades of blue and red were drawn, followed promptly by a golden one. Arcann was in such a tight spot, but he noticed a crimson smoke dispersing from the slab door's crevice. "Please, let's not escalate. This is not what he would have wanted…"

"Then leave," As Rionnic entered an offensive stance with a reverse grip, while his left hand hovered above his offhand lightsaber. "I'm not opposed to ending both of your existence."

Vaylin was not about to be murdered a second time by the evil twin. But before she could launch an attack, a booming voice coming from inside the chamber stopped them. "Be quiet. Do not disturb my concentration."

The crimson smoke increased its amount, but what truly startled everyone there was how Rionnic suddenly dropped his lightsaber as his body collapsed to his knees, grunting in pain. His sister immediately caught him, restlessly panicking. It instilled a wicked satisfaction in Vaylin seeing him that way. Arcann moved to help, seemingly recognizing the pain Rionnic was feeling. “Hmm… you’ve been hiding this, aren’t you?”

“What?” Vyria asked.

“Twin bond. Thexan used to say that he felt the pain of losing my… arm, but he powered through it. The way of the eldest brother.” Arcann teased while pointing out to Rionnic.

Vyria escorted Rionnic out to hand him over to the guardians for his own treatment, which he refused. He’d rather be left nursing his pain with the traditional Sith way. Not a healthy coping mechanism by ordinary means, but perfectly so in the Sith Empire. Once again, Arcann coaxed his sister to delay the visit, which succeeded only because Vyria told them that Riornivo was off-limits due to his current treatment, but she was open for future visits. It was honestly surprising for Vaylin, since she thought that his sister was adamantly against her friendship with her brother. She put on the helmet again before leaving the underground chambers.

“I think I’m going to stay here,” as Vaylin put brakes on her footsteps.

“But that’s-”

“Going back and forth is a hassle. I’ll be fine–I’ll stay out of sight and out of trouble. You should go back home and help your wife.”

It was with great hesitation that Arcann departed Dantooine without Vaylin. Seeing how desperate Vyria was planted a seed of dread in her, but she chose to mitigate it by entertaining her curiosity of exploring Dantooine for the second time. She has not been in this part of the planet before, and something different happened recently by the looks of it. After briefly exploring the ruined Jedi Temple, she headed towards a nearby settlement and browsed the vendors.

She was carrying a bag full of necessities when she realized that she should have scouted for a camping spot first before shopping. It took a few hours of sneaking around, but she finally found a secluded spot near some big trees, enough for shade and concealment. When she attempted to contact Serrus, the signal was choppy but she informed him of her situation and his tasks. She threw in a promise of getting him something when she returned, in which Serrus laughed off but thanked her for her generosity.

There were adorable juvenile kath hounds to pet but her heart still couldn’t shake off the worry about Riornivo.

Perhaps it was predictable, but Riornivo escaped death yet again. His eyes slowly opened to a crimson surrounding, causing quite the strain to the newly adjusting cornea. What was more painful was his chest, as he groaned trying to stand but ended up falling instead because he was floating. His Architect Wings retracted, then he looked up to a Dread Master shaking his head.

“Congratulations. You are now two weeks younger.”

“W-what? Master Cal…?”

Calphayus rubbed on his temple, regardless of the crest he was wearing. He wanted to lecture this young Jedi so much, but refrained from it after seeing his condition. Gently, he helped Rio to sit on the bed, receiving a whimpery smile and gratitude. “I haven’t seen you in a while… how are you doing?” asked lightheaded Rio.

“A little lonely. Our focus now is you. How do you feel?”

The Barsen’thor was quiet. His arms crossed around his chest, feeling so weak and disoriented. He sighed, then his eyes flitted upwards to the Dread Master.

“I’m supposed to be dead, aren’t I?”

“Why? Would you prefer otherwise?”

His gaze downturned, gulping a metaphorical nerve to reflect on whether he should let it all out, or keep it to himself. He chose the former. “Why can’t they just… let me go?”

“Exactly. They are trying so hard to keep you, when you are jaded. But you do not grant the same courtesy to others. Chiefly, when they should be left to fate.”

The last sentences struck him as too personal, somehow. Healing others was a general fact about Calphayus’ statement, but there was something else behind it, his intuition whispered. “What do you mean…?”

“You know what I mean. I’m advising you against that in the future. Not because of your mercy, but of your survival. Dispense all of the compassion you want, just as you’ve given me, but be careful how you do it. The Force is strong in you, stronger yet if you let it be.”

People in his life seemed to love lecturing him. He even made categories of their flavors, Calphayus there was bunched in the same class as his stepfather. Cryptic but precise. He sighed, but quickly smiled it away. “I’m sorry, master. I haven’t thanked you. Oh, and you said you were lonely? Do you want me to accompany you?”

Calphayus smirked behind the crest. “Always trying to please. Go and live your life. Your way of gratitude would be heeding my guidance… Perhaps we will meet again.”

“Wait!”

But the Dread Master instantly disappeared in a cloud of crimson. The subject of his warning resurfaced in his mind, causing him to quietly ponder. Yes, he agreed that it was an extreme measure of saving someone's life, but he already vowed to not repeat it. He wasn't even sure if he could do it again. Somehow, he was upset about receiving the same treatment, albeit in a different way. But he would benefit from his own advice: that he could help more lives by surviving another day.

Riornivo saw no point in staying inside the chamber, subsequently spotting the slab door which can only be opened with the Force or heavy machinery. He did so carefully, avoiding making a sound. His sister was sleeping on the temple bench; he fixed the blanket and tucked her in successfully without waking her up. When he exited the waiting room, the three guardians outside were shocked upon sighting him.

“Barsen’thor?”

“Shh, apologies, but my sister’s asleep.”

“But you shouldn't be walking around like this.”

“I… I need air. Alone. Please let me… I’ll be brief and safe.”

The three tried to gently let Riornivo down, but at that time, he had enough of people not letting him do what he wanted. He broke down sobbing, which spooked the guardians.

Then he apologized for crying.

“I’m very sorry, Barsen’thor, but I cannot risk your health. This is-”

“I say we let him,” The Sith interjected, which surprised the three Jedi in front of him. “He can take us all out if he wishes. He’s more than capable of defending himself out there. Which is already quite clear of pirates.”

Riornivo thanked the Sith, and the remaining Jedi had no choice but to let him go. "But please return to us soon–your brother will have our heads if he discovers us not supervising you."

"Don't worry about that. I'll give him a call. Thank you for keeping me safe and concealed."

He spent the remainder of his walk out of the ruined temple admonishing himself for crying. Not because of the shame, but he loathed worrying people. Appearing weak in front of them could demoralize, and as a beacon of hope, he was finding it hard to become a good Jedi. But emotions are a core part of humanity; sadly nobody has ever told him that. His mind decided to put it behind as he inhaled the fresh air of the farmlands.

Something caught his attention. Two kath hounds were racing towards another one, apparently injured. The Jedi cautiously approached them to render aid in the form of healing. Once he successfully did so, all three kath hounds thanked him by grazing their nuzzles around his robes. It was a much needed soul support for him as he watched the small animal family retreat to their pack. Reminding him of his twin's little family.

His next steps were aimless–he was content with watching nature and feeling the breeze slip through his robes. However, according to destiny, it wasn't aimless at all. It led him to the person he wished he could share this calming stroll with. Meditation started but this time, standing still as a statue. It was short lived however, when snapped twigs indicated that someone was behind him.

It was the woman he deemed the most beautiful in the entire galaxy.

"Vaylin…?"

Both of them were speechless. Vaylin however, couldn't contain her relief after spending days camping out worried about him. She stormed towards him for a tackle hug, which caught him off-balance. They both fell to the grass; her fall was entirely cushioned by his body.

They can feel their breaths on each other’s skin once again. It was something they needed–from their deepest desires, but after a few seconds of that, they realized the situation and how it might have looked. Vaylin immediately got up, their hearts pounding, faces all red, and just inches away from each other. “S-sorry!”

It took quite the labor for him to sit up, which made Vaylin move quickly to help. Her antics were jittery but timid; as apparent by her fixing his robes and sweeping away the leaves and twigs off him. As if he was a newly discovered treasure. The first minute passed, and they both still haven’t said a thing.

Rio stole a glance.

Vaylin stole a response glance. “How… how are you?”

“I’m… uhm, quite fine. How about you?”

They were awkward, when they shouldn’t be. Perhaps it was that body to body contact just then. Vaylin sighed, wanting to express how much she missed him, but was hesitant and didn't have a clue on how to break the ice. She stood up, readjusting her breathing and posture. She wanted to take care of him. “Have you eaten? You look very tired.”

The first question alone was enough to further weaken his resolve, falling even deeper in love. His gaze naturally fell, and he tried hard to conceal a flustered smile.

“I just… got out of the temple. Um, yes, I haven’t eaten.”

“Let’s go. To my camp.”

A slight change of scenery might be beneficial for her nerves. Her speed wasn’t matched by Riornivo however, as he lagged behind. But this time, instead of sneering, she turned around and held his arm to escort him. “Oh, um–you, uh, you don’t have to-”

“You’re right, but I want to.”

That made his joints soggy. There was no more Code repetition in his mind, only the future of holding her while enjoying the sunset, or feeding her some of his cooking, or slow dancing in a private venue somewhere. Whatever happened to the warden of the Jedi Order?

“Right, sit here. Let me get some, uh… hold on let me make something!”

Seeing Vaylin fumble around was adorable. When he wanted to help, she refused. She cooked a simple stew and brewed a jug of tea, serving them in front of him. This domestic scene felt like a dream to the Jedi, but he wouldn’t let it get too far. An example would be her spoon feeding him. He thanked the former Empress many times, to which her arms akimbo and said; “Well, eat it before it gets cold!”

The taste was better than his own cooking. Even though she forgot to put a little sugar in it, causing the stew to be overly salty. It mattered not as the flavor of being in love made up for that. The semi-sweet tea right after definitely helped. When it was her turn to taste, she spat out her own cooking. How did he eat a whole bowl so fervently?

“You like salty food??”

“What? Oh… um, I don’t think it’s salty?” a flustered Rio assured. He reached inside his robe to present yet another flower crown. Her eyes were in disbelief.

“How th–when did you make this?”

“During my walk. I saw some farm flowers and thought of you. Well, I guess this is my token of thanks.” As he placed the crown on the Empress of his heart. Her doe eyes paired with the rosy cheeks and lips were enhanced with a genuine smile. Both were struggling to talk despite sitting next to each other.

"H-how have you been doing?"

"I'm… good. I met with my nieces and Arcann's wife. They're… such happy people. Mother was there too."

Rio's loving heart was delighted to hear that. "I'm so glad you visited them. How are the twins now?"

The topic of Arcann's family proved to be a good icebreaker. Their conversation branched towards her new pet, his nephew, childhood nostalgia, but it took a little turn when she inquired about the recent battle.

"If I may ask… um, what is that thing from your back? The… six extra arms you got?"

That was an unexpected, and frankly embarrassing question. "It's… a device? An invention by a Dread Master. Umm… some sort of a tool. It's a long story… almost a decade ago. Hard times. Dark times…”

Vaylin put a hand on the back of his shoulder. “Sorry… didn’t mean to ask such questions.”

“It’s alright, Vaylin. It’s a fact of life–that we have dark times and good ones. But I’m hopeful that the days forward will be better. Especially yours.”

Vaylin sighed her head down. She wanted to keep listening to those honeyed words, because she knew that he’d eventually had to resume his duties to the Alliance or the Order, so who knew when they would meet again? But she knew it was such an outlandish thing to do–to confess all of the pent up feelings for the Outlander. His response would probably be something predictable. All of that melancholy resulted in a noticeable silence. “Vaylin…?”

“Rio… I…”

“Is something wrong?”

If she uttered the next words following her heart, it can potentially change the dynamics of their friendship forever. She covered her forehead with her palm, distressing over her heart. “I want…”

The Jedi waited.

“Forget it.”

“Are you sure? It looked important to you,” as Rio shifted a little in his seat, facing her. “You can tell me anything. If you want.”

“Do you mean that? Can I tell you anything?”

That smile again. She stood up weakly, putting a little distance between them.

“I really… really want to… I want to be with you. I want–I want to be with you!”

She turned away, not wanting to see his reaction. His face slowly devolved into one of despair as he stood up. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to turn her around and deeply embrace the woman. But his heart broke instead to the point of almost crying again.

“Vaylin…”

Both of their hearts were pumping blood so intensely it labored their breathing. He wanted to say those words back to her. Maybe even return the kiss she gave him last year. But there was something even bigger than him barring reciprocation.

“You’re… you’re so much more than that…”

“...What do you mean?” She voiced her confusion without turning to face him. She was fully expecting him to either say no or go on an inspirational speech.

“You have so much to experience… your life is still wide open, so much of this galaxy to meet–I-I don’t want to stand between that. You’re-”

“Why do other people always decide on their own about what’s best for me? Why am I not deserving of anything I desire?”

“It’s not like that-”

“Enough. I get it.”

She immediately sprinted away, fighting off the tears and anger of rejection. His pleas for her to stop were ignored. No way was she facing him again. No way was she interested in listening to his explanation about why he did not feel the same. No way would she accept that it wasn’t feasible for a Jedi like him to be with a tyrant like her. This confession was a mistake. He tried to give chase and stumbled due to his weak body. Using the Force to stop her felt wrong, and it could potentially rile her up even more. His waterworks began spilling.

If only she understood the predicament he was in. Perhaps they were not compatible after all; his kind of love was to put her on a pedestal, way beyond him, and he wanted her, a former victim of abuse, to further heal and experience life to the fullest. A relationship was not in his perspective of a full life, possibly attributed to being raised a Jedi. But what about those fantasies in his head where he caressed her?

Vaylin’s body gave out after running a good distance away with a mix of the Force and intense emotion. Finally, she could cry it out. She mourned the imminent death of their friendship–as it would never be the same anymore. She tried her best to subdue her sobs so as to not alert the people inside the buildings nearby. But an attention stealer in the form of a broadcast struck fear into her psyche.

“There have been sightings of the former Empress Vaylin on various planets recently. We still have yet to confirm these reports, but it would be wise to not approach her and instead alert your local authorities. Remain calm and vigilant, but more importantly, be careful as to not accuse blindly. Taungsday news out.”

26 notes · View notes

eorzeashan · 1 year

Text

Eiengiri

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood.

Pairings: Jadus/M!Imp Agent

Rating: M

Word Count: 3858

Summary: An exploratory series of snapshots of KOTFE/ET, where the Outlander becomes what he is framed as from the beginning. Spans perspectives concerning Eight (agent), Jadus, Lana, Theron, Arcann.

Your destiny is fire and flames, famine and blood, in the arms of the one whose darkness falls like rain…

He dreams for five years. For five years Eight drifts in the abyss, out of time and space.

The first year the silence is so agonizing he could scream. Where once the curtain of enfeebling night was his ally, a sign of his domain, the all-encompassing sensation of being wrapped in his Lord’s embrace, it was a cold, comfortless stranger now.

He can't hear him.

He can't feel him.

He disintegrates into pieces– fodder in the water sinking beneath the waves, the anchor he called his Lord no longer reaches out to catch him.

This must be what the Dread Masters felt before they went mad, he thinks. He tries to sleep.

In his restless dreams, he smells smoke.

The second year he has not yet become accustomed to the loss– but he no longer waits for the sound of his voice to pierce the veil of emptiness.

It's been so long. He never remembered being so alone in all his lifetimes. Ice seeps into his bones, heavy with grief. He dreams of fire that cloaks the skies.

The third year is nothingness.

A hunger that gnaws, hollowing him inside and out with the sheer need to run free, to breathe, to bite down on shimmering warmth and supple skin- The dream ends abruptly, and he is bereft.

The fourth year… It’s the same dream again. He is in all white, stained up to the neck in rough accents of red, drenched in it. His feet are so laden by the viscosity of it caking his soles that he struggles to move forward through the reddened snow. Whether it is his or another's is irrelevant; in this slate-clean landscape, nothing remains. Someone is calling him. He can barely hear it above the deafening silence that permeates every inch of the snowfield. He has to go.

Someone is… It's the same dream again.

The fifth year, he awakens.

“This will hurt,” greets a familiar voice. It’s not the one he longed for – a cruelty that comes with the dregs of hope. A sharp, shooting pain lances through his abdomen, spreading like toxin, and though he collapses out of the carbonite chamber to his knees and screams, not a sound comes out. The emptiness had been with him for far too long. No suffering now would compare.

This deeply disconcerts Lana, who kneels down to check his vitals. “Thank goodness.” She breathes, worry flickering in her ochre Sith eyes, “For a second there I’d thought the carbonite had damaged your lungs, rendered you mute.”

Eight says nothing, merely closing his eyes and steadying himself against the railing of the durasteel catwalk as if it were his lifeline. His head rings with the echo of thousands of unanswered [connections]. The stars dance overhead. The shadows creep out of the corner of his vision. He claps both gloves over his throbbing eyelids, the searing light borne out of imprisonment too much to bear.

Feel. Feel.

A little astromech droid he doesn’t recognize chirps at them. Vault guards = arriving // Lana + Agent = get ready!

Lana’s concern returns in the form of the pert of her lips and the deep twist between her brow. She grabs him by the bicep, pulling him away. “Eight. We have to go. We’ll be surrounded any minute now, and I’ve staked far too much on this plan to leave you here. I know you're tired, but you must fight through it; the galaxy depends on it!”

Feel. Feel. Feel.

Wait.

He knows this. To be lost in the void. To be found in the darkness. To open yourself up to him.

Lana’s cries fade into the background of the klaxon of alarms and thundering boots as he drowns all else out, focusing on nothing save for the blackness of the depths and the wizened heart that hadn't beat in his chest for half a decade. The air leaves his lungs like gas exiting a corpse. He holds fast.

Feel.

Allow your body to betray you.

Feel.

Allow your heart to slow.

Feel.

Allow your blood to boil.

FEEL ME.

The darkness closes in, smothering the light from his eyes.

Lana cuts down one skytrooper, then another. She whirls around amidst blaster fire, bisecting it cleanly in half. “Eight! We have to-” The words die in her throat midway.

Eight climbs to his feet, the movement loose and unnatural. He flops forward with no tension holding his upper half up, knees buckled inward.

Lana is struck by a delayed warning in the Force before an overpowering presence hits her full-force with all the power of a careening Umbaran magrail; her knuckles go white gripping her saber with such intensity she fears she will shatter the hilt.

It’s enough to break her focus, granting a fatal opening for a Zakuulan Knight to cleave downwards on her skull.

Eight’s wrist is limp when he extends an arm that barely holds itself up. He points one finger that hinges like a rusted joint.

The Zakuulan Knight freezes mid-swing.

Lana snaps out of her reverie to reposition herself; she doesn't need to. The next seconds play out like a holo-film on loop before her eyes:

First, the helmet lifts. It turns to the side. Eight makes a grabbing motion with both hands– he twists. Lana hears the distinct crack of bone, of a broken neck. She pales.

The Knight’s head spins off their neck in a cascading spray of red.

The headless body falls to its knees. Lana steps backward as it thuds at her feet, crimson liquid seeping out from an empty hole where a head once was– long discarded by Eight, who now collapses against the railing as if afflicted by a second bout of hibernation sickness.

A stunned silence falls over the entering guard force and Lana feels the atmosphere of the room darken perceptibly. The heavy stench of fear and iron fills her nostrils, and Lana de-ignites her saber. The broken body of their comrade lay in pieces on the floor, leaking red.

The Knights retreat a foot back, then turn tail and run.

She can't blame them for their cowardice. She blasts the non-organic stragglers to mechanical pieces, returning her attention to the one she'd come for.

The taint of the Dark Side staining the room fills her with power, yet brings no pleasure to her pained expression as she approaches her friend. Her friend, who had accomplished a miracle with no ounce of the Force in his system.

“Eight. Can you hear me?” She asks him, gently, where she knew her voice would only be grating.

He doesn't answer, again. Her hand hovers above his shoulder. Did something go wrong with the treatment? Was he hurt? Did he need-

Do not touch him.

Lana refrains from leaping out of her skin at that moment, but feels a pang of anger in her chest at the full-body jolt that overtakes her. She narrows her eyes. She has had enough surprises this day, especially of the unplanned kind. The voice in her mind boils like molten tar.

“Who are you?” She demands, authoritative, trying to wrench some semblance of control back from the situation.

Succeed in your mission. We will speak after.

“You can't just-” Lana’s protests are cut off as the presence leaves her mind. She doesn’t have time to dwell on it; her holocom rings. Koth.

“Yes, I read you,” She answers briskly, throwing caution to the wind and dragging Eight along by the hand, unnamed voices be damned.

He’s as pliant and meek as a newborn nerf calf, wholly uncharacteristic for the man they lauded as one of the Empire’s greatest Ciphers- not that it helped to absolve him of such crimes in these unstable times.

“An updated timetable would be good!” Koth Vortena pipes up from within his ship.

“We’re on schedule. There were some complications, but I have him.” Lana deposits Eight against a wall and forces the next gate open– or at least tries to, as the blast door slams back shut with a creak of straining metal.

Skepticism colors Koth’s voice when he next speaks. “Great– uh, is there a reason why he’s not talking? He’s not a vegetable, is he? Because I really, really don’t want this crazy suicide mission to be for a corpse.”

“Not now, Koth,” Lana grits out, sweat rolling down her pale forehead as she struggles against the weight of the blast doors. They roll open, finally, and she grabs Eight again to charge on through– back into the fray.

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

They call him Outlander. The assassin of the Emperor.

It’s not true, of course. Not yet.

When Lana tells him of the state of the galaxy, he inclines his head, listens intently, absorbs the information and processes it. Five years worth of galactic decay are his new world now. He should be surprised; perhaps even showcase fear, anger, shock, dismay like anyone else would.

He does none of these things.

He can accept change on the grandest of terms. All he needs is to change with it; yet the weapon he must become is not made clear.

What will be my new name?

Why did you save me?

What will it take for this war to end?

Who will I become, if not Eight?

So, he asks.

“Tell me who I need to be.”

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

Jadus arrives, as promised.

Lana reels in her shock– it’s not everyday one comes face to face with the Sith even Valkorion lauded as second to him in power, and for all the years she’d known her erstwhile agent, she had never once heard Eight speak a word to her about his mysterious… patron. She remained unclear on the details, and made a mental note to press him about it later.

If she’d only gotten him to open up during their work together, she could have predicted this.

She laments over it only briefly; their relationship was never as close as it could have been and in those halcyon days of Rishi, Eight had shared more camaraderie with Theron in the end. He was a fickle thing, always choosing the path of most resistance that left either her or Theron stomping out in frustration half of the time. Then once the dust cleared, his recklessness would pay off and the loser in those duels of choice would look rather foolish for not siding with his rather astute reasoning hidden under a guise of blunt daring.

It was frustrating, how his line of thinking eluded them and kept them at a distance neither she nor Theron could cross. It was just how he was. For Force’s sake, his name was a number.

It was for that reason he could keep such secrets from them. This one had just so happened to decide it was time to collect.

“You kept Valkorion out of his mind for five years,” Lana enunciates, trying to rationalize it to herself aloud. It sounded crazy, as most events did this past cycle. “Your bond allowed you to keep him alive and weaken the Emperor for a time. When I rescued him, he could barely stand. He used the Force. Was that your doing?”

Jadus makes no movement whatsoever; not even a twitch stirs inside the facelessness of his mask. He is eerie to watch, borderline mechanical, and his voice is as unblemished as stone weathered for centuries. “Yes.”

What ferocious power, she thinks, with a shudder. Were they trading one monster for another?

“And now you approach us to…join the Alliance.”

“I am no one’s ally,” Jadus’ voice booms in the Force, quiet as it is to the untrained bare ear, “Your forces are divided. Weak. The Emperor seeks to deceive you at every turn, and you stumble blind as babes in the night. I would guide them, with my Hand at my side.” As is owed. As is my right.

Lana does not need to hear the words to glean their underlying meaning. “With all due respect,” She says carefully, aware that this may be the last remaining Dark Council Member with which she could conduct herself before, “this is not the Sith Empire. What authority you enjoyed previously is all but moot here, and I cannot convince them to accept another Lord on a whim.”

She folds her arms behind her back, an Imperial habit. “As for your ‘Hand’, he is my friend that I risked my life and many others to save. Forgive me if I am not so trusting as to give him up to the first Sith that asks.”

“Your loyalty is admirable,” Jadus intonates, a rumble that reaches the confines of her chest, “Yet it is unwelcome. I do not need to be lectured on how to lead armies, or how to make soldiers out of the feeblest of men. You call him your companion; he was mine long before you formed a blip in his destiny. I will not be denied.”

This time, an undercurrent of anger runs through his curt voice, hot like electrified wire and bordering on combustion.

Lana knows she is outmatched amidst the growing pressure. She remains unfazed. “I-”

“That’s enough, Lana. It’s alright.” The subject of their conversation enters the meeting room, and both Sith turn their undivided attention to the source. The palpable tension in the air dissipates.

“Eight!” Lana says, eyes widening. “You should be in bed. What happened to Koth? I told him to keep an eye on you.”

“He’s remarkably easy to lose,” Eight chirps with mischief creeping on his face, “this makes it the twelfth time I’ve ditched him in the cantina.”

Lana resists the heavy urge to roll her eyes. Children. She worked with children.

She quickly notices that Eight is staring straight past her at Jadus, who seems to be doing the same. Her gaze flicks between them, not understanding the connection between the two.

She catches Eight’s eye, if for a moment, who looks at her– then nods, assuaging her need to be on the defensive. She wasn’t sure about leaving him alone with Darth Jadus of all people, but he had never been wrong on his decisions as of late. She had no need to butt in on a matter so deeply personal to the agent if he did not wish it, and Lana had seen what betraying the fragile trust of spies had wrought before.

When she turns to leave, she catches a fragment of the conversation that floats out the door as it slides closed behind her.

“My Lord.”

“My bride. Come.”

She understood very little indeed.

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

Jadus takes over as Commander of the Alliance, after Eight vouches for him with his whole breath. He makes the argument that his role to play differs, and Jadus excels in leading from the shadows. It would be foolish to have their Commander act as the Outlander at the same time, who must be seen to take the greatest effect in the minds and hearts of the Zakuulans.

Lana is unsure about it as with most of his reasons, but there’s no further argument coming from her. Theron is…displeased, to say the least.

“I don’t trust him,” Theron gets out gruffly, direct with his insults as usual.

“You don’t have to as long as you agree with his decisions.” Eight sits primly in a cantina chair opposite him, sipping on a cocktail as peacefully as a vacationer in Zeltros.

Theron throws up his hands. “That’s not what I– Lana, can you back me up here? You see where I’m coming from.” For once, Theron looks to her with pleading eyes that manage to still be defaced by his scowling.

“We’ve come to a consensus already, Theron. Perhaps you could exercise trusting our Outlander a bit more?” She smiles, the rub successfully getting under the SIS spy’s skin as he frowns even further.

“Oh don’t you– I trust him,” He gesticulates to Eight, who snickers quietly beneath his breath, “I never signed up to trust Darth Jadus. That’s a can of Gizka eggs I said we shouldn’t open.”

“You’re losing it, Theron.”

“Don’t get me started on you! Since when were you married?!”

Lana stifles a laugh behind her asymmetrical glove. The two spies go off on each other like they’d never been apart, easing into the familiarity of being around one another with her as the median. If she squinted, she could picture them very clearly having the same conversation around the crackling fire of their hut in Rishi.

If she closed her eyes, she could pretend they’d never left.

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

They call him Outlander. Assassin. Eternity killer.

They learn his cry is the death toll rung, and where he flies, a head is soon lost. That mysterious figure clad in finery white as fallen snow becomes the object of their loathing, and for others, their fervent adoration. Like a specter on the battlefield, he appears to those decreed by Zildrog’s hand to enter nothingness; only the worthy may see him. Only the worthy may face him. Only the worthy may feel the frigid ice that bites into their neck when his blade finds its mark.

Prince Arcann decries him as a figment of mass hysteria.

The Scions argue otherwise, and he threatens to cut their tongues for their baseless faith. Rumors and backwards thinking, he dismisses it as, but even he cannot deny that this was in part, his doing.

To name your enemy is to give them life, and the Outlander had sprung forth from the weakest foundations of their society to manifest as a vengeful spirit that encompassed their desire for the end, to see it all crumble beneath a veneer of gold and glory. Zakuul had been born from destruction, its creation myth more a tale of wanton nihilism than anything else. All fables and myths he saw fit to burn with the legacy of his father.

A demon, like Valkorion himself; a spirit from the furthest plains that had come from Zildrog’s bosom to usher them to the end times. What foolishness.

Yet as that same figure crashes through the skylight of the Eternal spire in a cascade of broken glass, their ghostly frame illuminated by moonlight, bloodied and beautiful, he thinks he may start to believe.

Their eyes meet, his enraged yellow on their rich, deep darkness, and his pupils contract; where he expects a fury and hatred to match his own he sees…sees nothing but serenity. How can this be?

He raises his lightsaber to meet the blade that aims for his head, and they finally come face-to -ace. The force of their clash blows back the silken hood of his adversary and he is paralyzed by the sight.

A tranquility as unrippled as the skein of a lake. No. Not just an inner peace that staves off his unmatched fury…this emotion is…

The Outlander is overjoyed.

“Your head is mine!”

Arcann’s mask leaves his face in a spray of blood and searing pain, but all he can feel is the biting cold that overtakes him as he falls backwards. As he sees light through his other eye for the first night since the war, he sees him.

He reaches in vain for that distant warmth, so far out of his grasp.

What has he done?

“Thexan… brother. Was this what you-”

The throne room collapses beneath him in fire and flames. Arcann plunges into hell.

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

The Commander and the Outlander are inseparable. This, the Eternal Alliance realizes quickly.

Their leader and their public figurehead are enjoy each others company so often that it becomes difficult to see them apart, though the sight of a white-clad assassin clinging fast to a shadow that towers over them all is a rarity few are privy to.

Lana makes sure their privacy is respected, as that seems to be the only reward they ask for. She grants their request to be given joint quarters far from the rest, nestled in the thicket of Odessen’s deepest woods.

What goes on in their sanctuary is unknown to the rest, but on a quiet night where one is alone with their heartbeat and the silence of falling snow, it is rumored that personnel may catch a glimpse of the Outlander standing in the midst of their training grounds with sword in hand, the other outstretched to catch the flakes that blanket Odessen in winter.

It’s a gentle look for the man who was made to kill Emperors. They say he glows with the love he has for the Commander, who showers him with his own in turn.

Their Commander- the former Darth called Jadus.

Jadus’ knowledge of information flow, fear tactics, and aged experience prove to be invaluable and what misgivings others had of him slowly dwindle away; the Outlander’s reassurances of his infallible strength are proven to be true and this inspires hope in even the most callous of their troops. But it is not the proof of his abilities that convince them he is a man they can place their faith into; rather, it is the romance that blooms between him and their Outlander that cements their loyalty.

The Outlander goes on the frontlines where the Commander does not. He always returns with a smile as sharp and wicked as the curved edge of his vibrosword to his beloved’s side, who turns demure the instant Jadus looks upon him and the victories he places at his feet like a feline with a gift.

For the greatest of Sith to allow this weakness into his impenetrable heart convinces the skeptics of his humanity, and those who would ordinarily decry it as weakness simmer in quiet envy at the apparent devotion his former Hand has for him where no Sith has ever inspired it.

Theron doesn't understand it himself, but what he gleans from it is this: their union guarantees unity in the ranks between Sith and non-Sith alike, and those are results he won't argue with.

A good love story makes even better propaganda, and support for the Alliance swells as their Intelligence unit spins the tale of a lovestruck Echani general fighting a guerilla front against the Eternal Empire to avenge their fallen spouse– a story that resonates with the thousands scattered across the galaxy that were separated from their loved ones in the early days of the war.

Eventually the Outlander’s exploits reach even the furthest shores of his home planet of Eshan, who express the thrill that the latest hero of the rebellion is one of their own. They send him gifts: the long-sleeved delicate robe of the unmarried as pure as the hue of his hair, the lightest of Echani-forged armor to wear beneath, and the finest of vibroblades borne from the designs of countless blades that met conflict against those who wielded the Force.

He dons these, and his persona as the Outlander is made complete. He is no longer Eight, agent of the Empire, Hand of Jadus.

He is remade: he is the Outlander, hero of the Eternal Alliance.

Assassin of the Eternal Throne.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #jadus x imperial agent #kotfe/et #oc: orradiz #cipher eight au #curse my inability to directly tell shit and instead make it weird and trippy #I like writing characters like figures of myth as you can tell #'thats what your six sentences was?!' you like how my exposed wips resemble nothing of the final product #in case it isnt clear: the Outlander is not the Commander #rather these are two separate roles #the Outlander is the assassin figure that will destroy zakuul and a hodgepodge of rumors depending on which side you ask #the commander is the shadow leader of the alliance #idk what to tag this as dawg #if you can figure out wadda hell im saying in here good on ya #oh look arcann is here too #no Valky this time cuz i need to think about his role #craziest fuckin weekend i ever had suddenly waking up at 3 am and smashing my writers block into bloody little bits #ALSO WAOW Echani culture whewewew like 3 seconds of it #admin writes #jadorre

10 notes · View notes

tiredassmage · 1 year

Note

I wish you would write a fic where...Tyr gets a break! A quiet moment, a vacation, a cat purring on his lap or something relaxing xD

I keep saying it's what he fucking deserves, for stars' sake, and yet I keep writing that man in SITUATIONS. Of distress. We are not talking about the other half-bendy straw corpse of a WIP that's languishing in docs rn because I needed to vent it out of my head lest it consume me like a ravenous creature.

Anyway. I'd like the general public to know that this cat has theoretically existed in our dms for maybe like... a month? Two??? I still haven't named it.

(The running joke is that one runs into him in a Zakuulan alley and decides that's Her Person Now. And Tyr keeps chiding her for trying to blow his cover until she finally gets smuggled home with him in his jacket.)

(She becomes very popular in the Alliance leadership group chat.)

x-x-x-x-x-

Mrr-ah!

A faint frown toyed at the corner of Tyr’s lips as he stared through the macrobinoculars. Targets were on the move and payloads were exchanging hands. This was not the time for a distraction.

He increased the zoom to get a better view of the hand-off. If this all went well, the Alliance could expect some new information filtering back through their networks in the coming weeks about some of the underworld movements in the Old World.

Hylo still required a diversified network of suppliers and the stronger the foothold they had on Zakuulan operations, the better the lookout they could keep on Arcann. Keeping a pulse on Zakuulan public opinion and the manipulations of it coming down from the Eternal Throne was going to be immensely important.

Mrrpprrp.

How did a cat get up on a rooftop, anyway?

A small bump against his calf. Tyr idly offered out a hand, steadying the binoculars with the other to watch information trade hands. A slightly cold nose bopped against his fingers before the furred creature rubbed its cheek against his hand, the ex-Cipher giving a vague scratch around the ears.

Discussion. As the spy’s attention flitted carefully between targets, his odd company stilled underneath his hand, delicately settling on webbed paws and tucking its tail around them, blue eyes blinking into the hazy streets below. The creature flicked a delicate, large ear split at the tip from an old, healed wound.

The binoculars came down as the quiet meeting broke up. His rifle remained untouched, if loaded and ready at his side.

“Deal’s good, Commander. I’ll include the coordinates for the drops in my report.”

A quiet exhale slipped his lips. “Good work, Lacey. I’ve got some other business to wrap up. Forward your reports to Operations for now and I’ll review them when I’m back. Lay low awhile. I don't want the Knights catching your scent.”

“Understood, Outlander. Stay safe out there.”

Finally, he looked down at the gray short-haired feline that blinked slowly back up at him and frowned. “Bloody lucky you haven’t gotten us caught, you know?” he muttered.

His eyes narrowed slightly as a faint mrrr emitted from the creature with another slow blink back up at him.

“Right. Now we’re talking to cats.” He closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Very lightly, claws batted at his exposed fingers, catching on the edges of his gloves - a webbed paw attempting to drag a hand back for attention.

He splayed a few fingers and watched the feline paw at them as they moved - slowly. Perhaps still with claws, but…

He exhaled a bit more heavily. “Fine. But only because if you keep following me, you’re likely to get me arrested.” He shook his head. "And then where would we both be, hmm?"

His fingers danced once more, watching as the feline stretched up to bat a bit more animatedly in the chase.

#of course he found the cat on the job would we expect anything less #anyway: yes eventually i need him on the couch with this little cat just purring away #it might not fix him but fuck at least he'd maybe take a nap that might help #answered #swtor fanfic #dot words #swtor fanfiction #ch: tyr #woe vaguely defined space cat be upon ye

12 notes · View notes

the-error-in-love · 1 year

Text

Help, i lost a great fanfic and can't find it 😭😭

it was arcann from Star Wars x reader (i think, might be OC)

I remember the reader was connect to Outlander for some sorts and the Outlander was bad (you know dark side) and i remember the begning, she was going home from work and sadenly her town (?) Was attacked by arcann's army and they took her because he sensed Outlander in her and later on she discoverded that she prefer using two swords (like Outlander) and so on and so on

I neeeeed this

#star wars #arcann #star wars old republic #help #lost fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

roamingswtor · 1 year

Text

I wrote some Arcann x Female Commander/outlander smut. It’s on AO3. Commander’s species and class kept vague, though there is mention of sith lightning. Commander doesn’t have a name (I like to keep it vague so it can be anyone’s commander :3c)

Breathtaking

Description:

Arcann is chained to the bed, and a female commander shows him exactly what he was missing out on all those years he was her enemy.

"His wrists are chained to the bed with durasteel handcuffs, black mask laying on the bedside table and vestments on the floor, his scars visible for her to see.

She sits on top of him, knees bent on the bed beside his waist. Her hand caresses his face, fingers gently brushing over the scars with such tenderness he’s never felt before.

“I’m going to show you all the things I could’ve done to you without that collar.” She smirks slyly, and his heart drops to his stomach, the anticipation rising to his throat. "

Read it on AO3

#swtor #arcann #smut #i dont know how to tag this stuff #my writing

1 note · View note

plaguebirds · 3 years

Text

wym arcann doesnt grow his hair out a bit after kotet?? and who says he cant still be a DS bastard???

[repost of my own art]

34 notes · View notes

i-love-books-because-reasons · 5 years

Photo

7 notes · View notes

carterashsart · 6 years

Photo

I am undone by you

#swtor #arcann #fiika allos #outlander x arcann #listen okay that letter after the nathema FP #has me ugly crying #and that line in the last paragraph #i am undone by you #i just #i had to make some art that goes with it #i think im going to die with the 6.0 update #because literally any more arcann/fiika content will melt me #into a puddle of giggling and flailing mess #digital painting

179 notes · View notes

chaos-enchanted · 1 year

Text

Arcann x Outlander but its to the tune of The Wolven Storm (Priscilla’s Song) from The Witcher 3

youtube

#Arcann #Arcann x Outlander #The Witcher 3 #not to cross fandoms but #back to my Arcann obsession it is #swtor #kotet #kotfe

1 note · View note

jt-artsandfics · 3 years

Text

Fanfic/ oneshots, number fics open

character match Ups. Closed again. I have over 20+ atm.

I'm gonna try and get thought as many as I can. I might have to close it for longer. But while it's closed I'm still taking Fanfic request.

Please know it does take me some time to write match ups. do take me a little while to do with such a demand for them. And also at the same time I'm working on fanfics around them. But thanks you all for your patients and I hope you enjoy what do to come.

*OPEN FOR BUSINESS!*

Rules: please if asking for Nsfw or reading be over 18 I have to say it.

Aloud: NSFW, fluff, smut, angst, hurt, mention of past abuse. (Alien love!!!)

I will not do: rape, abuse, Furries (I'm sorry I just don't write it), necrophilia, anything along that line.

Info for Match ups: please the basics, age, gender sexuality(if your comfortable) a small discriptuion of yourself and things you like. these you don't have to be 18 for but please over 15 for these, they are only gonna be cute fluffy writing. I do not do NSFW for maths ups only fanfics and one shots.

One shot and fanfic info: in happy to do nsfw but I do need confirmation your 18 or over either in your bio or on the ask. Same rules apply from 'rules'. Please state what gender you want the fanfic for otherwise I default to They/them for the writing just to be inclusive.

(Guys please be patient, I'm a guy so doing Character X fem reader takes me a bit is all)

Numbers for number fics are here. ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

-----

The Bad batch

Clone Force 99- Hunter

Clone Force 99- Tech

Clone Force 99- Crosshair

Clone Force 99- Wrecker

Clone Force 99 - Echo

Episode 11- Captain Howzer

--------

Star wars the clone wars

501st

Captain Rex

Kix

Jesse

Fives

Dogma

Hardcase

Tup

212th

Commander Cody

Gregor

Waxer

Boil

Crys

104th 'Wolfpack'

Commander Wolffe

Sinker

Comet

Boost

Warthog

Wildfire

Domino squad :,)

Heavy

Droidbait

Cutup

Echo

fives

Other clones

Oddball

Matchstick

Commander Fox

Commander Thorn

------

Grim Squad (my clone squad)

Weazel

Shreder

Jericho

Tiim

Fable

Maze

Gold-1

Ripple

Glaus

Newbie- Casket (my shiny son)

--------

Info. So I decided to add my own clone squad becuase it's me hahaha. I don't expect much with them but they are there anyway.

Well everything is set so I hope you all enjoy.

NEW ADDITION CHARCATERS!!!

Clone wars

Darth Maul

Savage Opress

Anakin Skywalker

Obi wan Kenobi

Plo Koon

Star wars Rebels.

Older wolffe

Older Rex

Older gregor

Thrawn

Agent Kallus

Eli Vanto ( I don't care if he isn't in it. He is to me!)

The mandolorian

Boba Fett

Din Djarin

Sequels

Armitage Hux

Kylo Ren/Ben solo

Finn

The old republic

Arcann Tirall

Darth Marr

Torian Cadera

OC Characters plus Feature art when asked for match ups or Fics.

Kodja Bathrian (clone wars twi'lek) Male

Varr'ivaz'loawe 'Ivaz' ( Outlander Old republic Chiss) male

144 notes · View notes

arkannis · 3 years

Photo

Good EVENING everyone....I have drawn Arcann reading on his datapad. I think.

Inspired by the entire discussion revolving him reading romance holonovels in his free time.

and some have stated he’s either read or written a damn eternal emperor x outlander fanfic enemies to lovers 100k words slowburn angst. this is canon. source? me. ive spoken with biow*re trust me on this

#bonus for anyone who notice the holonovels name #also I imagine the data pads works like an amazon kindle #swtor #star wars the old republic #bioware #swtor art #arcann #arcann tirall #kotfe #kotet #UMM UHH UMM UHHH IDK WHAT TAGS #I think....I drew the bubble upside down #myart

142 notes · View notes

fleeting-sanity · 10 months

Text

🌷 [ Previous Entry ] 🌷 [ Read @ Ao3 ] 🌷 [ Chapters Index ] 🌷

The ride home was quiet. Even though Senya was tense, she couldn't hide the smile from finally having a peaceful moment alone with her daughter. The longing questions for her only remained in her mind. But the awkward silence chipped away what little composure Vaylin had. She turned on the holo screen to a news report of an Imperial speech, stating their aim to be more inclusive and progressive.

An hour and a hyperspace jump later, Zakuul was right in front of them. Home. Vaylin closed her eyes, head downturned, and mind full of regrets. But mother’s voice snapped her out of it.

“We’re landing soon. I’ve let them know you’re visiting.”

That made her more nervous. Truthfully, while she wanted to be part of that happy family in the holovid, being surrounded by them in reality would make her the most vulnerable she had ever been. And she hated that. Wanting something she conceptually hated had become a driving force she couldn't fight off.

And it began. Senya made her way out of the shuttle, glancing back at her daughter standing frozen next to the co-pilot chair. She smiled, beckoning the anxious Vaylin. The warm air of Zakuul eased her nerves a little as they rode in the taxi. Still, Vaylin kept her head down to avoid unwanted attention. She was again immobile when Senya hopped off the taxi. A sharp but short breath escaped Vaylin’s mouth, right before she shook her head to keep the shivers at bay.

“Come, Arcann’s eager to introduce you to his new family.”

Her heartbeat started picking up. When the penthouse front door opened, she was welcomed by a poking head from a corner. The lady’s eyes widened upon sighting her, but her equally wide smile sent a little warmth and reassurance. “Hello! Welcome, welcome! My name’s Aryuni. Hey big guy! She’s here!”

Vaylin was taken aback by Aryuni’s energy. She had seen this kind of personality before, but she’d always shut them down quickly as she found them annoying. Seeing the lack of response from the former Empress made Aryuni's face drop. But she smiled again as if the fearful look she just displayed never happened. Senya decided to step in to ease the tension.

"Let's take our seats there. Looks like you've already prepared some refreshments, Ary."

"Y-yeah! Please tell me if you need anything else."

She was starting to regret her decision. Her tongue was still frozen even after a few seconds seated with her mother and sister-in-law. She dared herself to sip the tea, hoping it would defrost the stiffness. This would all be easier if Rio was here, but that could mean she was too dependent on him. So much conflicting hidden emotions. Aryuni cleared her throat, stating her query in a calmer, less enthusiastic way.

"My apologies if we got off the wrong foot. I understand that you're here to see the twin girls, yeah?"

To which Vaylin nodded.

“Are they asleep?” Senya asked.

“Nah, they’re keeping Arcann busy. They’re surprisingly docile today, though. Maybe because there’s a special guest visiting!”

The three women headed upstairs, led by Aryuni. As soon as the nursery door opened, Arcann warmly greeted his sister, while holding one of the twins. “Hello, aunt. Come closer, meet baby Avelyn.”

Vaylin has not said a single word, but as they always say, actions speak louder than words. She cautiously approached her brother, eyes trained on the baby. Her body language saddened Arcann; she shouldn’t have to shrink and be so guarded all the time. Baby Avelyn reached out to touch Vaylin with her mittens, feeling an instant connection. The four-months-old baby laughed.

Perhaps the laugh was because she had successfully stolen aunt Vaylin’s heart.

“BURP!” Baby Avelyn proclaimed.

That startled Vaylin, while the other adults laughed. That regret came creeping back, reasoned by how she shouldn’t be this close to her estranged family. But looking at her twin nieces was a much needed medicine for some of her unseen wounds. She then laid Avelyn on her chest, snuggling and closing her eyes to take in the moment. The adults seemed to do the same, appreciating the sight of a peaceful and loving Vaylin.

It didn’t take long for her niece to fall asleep as she swayed lightly, then she carefully placed the baby back to her bassinet. But the older twin, Avery, wanted to be held by her Aunt too. “Yin! Yin!”

“Ah, she already knew your name.” Arcann remarked, to which his partner countered;

“Considering how many times that name’s been mentioned, yeah.”

Which elicited awkward laughs from both Arcann and Senya. It finally caught Vaylin’s attention in the form of a singular lifted eyebrow. Both mother and son instantly became alerted to that. Aryuni however, while obviously catching on to the shift of expressions, decided to dismiss the tension with a proposition for the aunt. “Want some cookies? It should be done right about… now.”

A faint alarm in the sound of a screaming Hutt confirmed Aryuni’s prediction.

“Wh- why did you set that as the alarm?” asked Arcann while snickering rather reluctantly, unable to deny the comedy of the situation.

“Ever since I heard it from that show–I can’t get it out of my head. Now come on, some warm tasty cookies await us!”

Not even Vaylin can deny her amusement towards Aryuni’s antics, much as she tried hiding it. The room was soon emptied except for sleeping Avelyn, who could be monitored by the holocam. Avery was always touching Vaylin’s face, tentatively pinching and squeezing her. Aryuni noticed and immediately cooed over them. “Aww, she seems to really like you!”

The baby’s doe eyes confirmed it. “Yin?”

“Yin.” Vaylin nodded.

Avery laughed, squeezing Vaylin’s cheeks with her mittens. The mother offered to take the baby off of her, but Vaylin declined. “You said she likes me.”

The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the kitchen as Aryuni laid them on the table. Senya served more tea, while Arcann washed the baking pans and utensils. The lack of droid helpers perplexed Vaylin, but she was preoccupied with her niece to voice her mind. While waiting for the cookies to reach room temperature, Aryuni attempted to make some small talk.

“So... how are you doing, Vaylin? Uhh… have your days-” “It hasn't been easy, but nothing I can’t handle. Let’s talk about you, instead. Care to tell me about your origins?” Vaylin spoke in a commanding tone, while her mother and brother were silent.

“I hailed from Telos. The uh, lower slums. Not much happened during my early life. Then I went to the Alliance for a better job.”

“A job of fighting against the Eternal Empire?”

“Sister-” Arcann tried to interject.

“Nah, it’s fine. To be honest, it can be dangerous, ‘specially for an ordinary woman like me. But my Alliance job wasn’t really fighting. It’s just cleaning up and delivering things around. Y’know, menial tasks.”

“Your contributions are significant, Yuni.” Arcann successfully interjected.

“I knooow. Oh, by the way, do you mind if I go get a job again?” asked the new mother, trying to include the husband in the conversation. But the question left him perplexed instead.

“But we have enough to cover everything.”

“What kind of jobs would you be looking for?” asked Vaylin, while Avery laid her head on her collarbone.

“Heh, menial ones. Good paying jobs are great, but I’m just being realistic. I’m still not sure about it, though. Raising twins is hard work, so it won’t be until years ahead, I guess.”

All the other adults nodded, but Vaylin realized something after looking at the clock. Chonky. “I have to go-” as she got up, carefully shifting Avery but it roused the niece anyways. Aryuni quickly collected fussy Avery from her aunt. The grandmother preferred to passively observe rather than interact, keeping her distance but enjoying the short visit nonetheless.

“Aww, don’t be sad. I’m sure Aunt Vaylin will come visit you again soon!”

“Yin! Yin!”

To which Vaylin turned around and gave a sad wave. Suddenly, it was Aryuni’s turn to realize something. She fobbed her child off to Senya. “Wait!”

The new mother quickly filled a small plasteel box with cookies and rushed towards Vaylin, insisting on her leaving with it. Arcann joined her in escorting Vaylin away, while Senya trailed close, trying to calm Avery down. Both mother and her baby bid a loud farewell, something Vaylin appreciated inside. The taxi departed with Arcann on the wheels, riding slowly across their homeworld. “Thank you for visiting us, sister.”

Vaylin was quiet.

“I heard that you haven’t been having it easy. Tell me what I can do to help. You know you can always trust me.”

“Look how that turned out last time.” she jabbed.

“True… I should have been more careful. But now that the matter is out of the way, if you need anything just contact me. Our door is always open for you.”

Again, no response. Arcann took the hint and proceeded to drop her off at their mother’s shuttle. It was previously agreed upon that the shuttle would be free to use should Vaylin needed transport. As she was about to board the shuttle, she turned around to offer some parting words for her favorite brother.

“You’re already a better father than… him.”

It was a simple yet one of the deepest affirmations Arcann had ever received. He managed to hold the tears behind a thank you, long enough to not be seen by Vaylin wiping them away.

The future seems bright.

#swtor #swtor fic #swtor fanart #vaylin #senya tirall #swtor OC #arcann #swtor art #VayRio #my art #swtor fanfiction #star wars fanfic #starwarsblr #wholesome #fluff #vaylin x outlander #vaylin x jedi consular

27 notes · View notes

thelastenvoyyy · 3 years

Note

What’s Kyros Urso’s story?

Kyros Urso, also known as the Outlander, the Hero of Tython, Commander of the Eternal Alliance, Friend of Mandalore, and Slayer of the Immortal Emperor, was a former Jedi Master who has saved the galaxy too many times to count.

A powerful Force user, it's hard to believe such an accomplished man came from humble beginnings on the Core World of Rendili. The son of shipyard engineers, he was quickly recognised for his Force prowess and sent to Tyhton where he became a student of Master Orgus Din who helped hone and enhance his abilities. Though an excellent student, Kyros had a carefree personality that made him popular among other students, who appreciated his sense of humour and easy-going outlook on life.

Having said that, he always took his studies seriously and always knew when to do the right thing. After helping quash a Flesh Raider uprising and defeated Begal Morr, he quickly set out to explore the galaxy in earnest with his new apprentice, Kira Carsen.

During the Cold War and Galactic War, Kyros was instrumental in helping the Jedi and the Republic fight back the Sith Empire. From Balmorra to Corellia, his efforts not only staved off the encroaching enemy but helped bring down the greatest existential threat facing the galaxy — the Immortal Emperor Vitiate.

Dashing hero though he may be, Kyros is not without his faults. While a capable fighter and experienced military commander, his personal life can best be described as... messy. Really messy.

Along his travels, he developed a budding romance with Kira, whom he helped free from the Emperor's clutches. The two seemed to be hitting it off pretty smoothly until the former Emperor’s Wrath, Lord Scourge, entered the picture. Since then, Kyros wrestled with his feelings for both of his crewmates, not wanting to break either of their hearts but somehow managing to do so anyway.

Things got even more complicated when fellow Jedi, Xerxies Androxida, joined their crew whom Kyros simply couldn't resist. Seemingly abandoning both Kira and Scourge, Kyros went all-in with Xerxies (Jedi Code be damned) only for things to grow sour pretty quickly. Most of this is detailed in a fanfiction I wrote with @ruberduckzilla which you can read here [x]

tho neither of us have finished it cos we're both anxious messes

Easy to say, Kyros' relationship with Xerxies failed and the Love Rhombus once again became a Love Triangle. Though Kyros had very brief flings with both Lana Beniko and Theron Shan, those relationships never really went anywhere and, thankfully, no one came out of it sore as both Lana and Theron had love interests of their own (Vaxxen Norr and Jett Jhazar, respectively).

In any case, things were left unfinished between Kyros, Kira and Scourge as the whole Shadow of Revan arc distracted them completely from their personal affairs.

Then the Eternal Empire showed up and, after having been separated from his companions for many years, Kyros decided to start again. Becoming the Commander of the Eternal Alliance and defeating Zakuul was his primary motive, however, he did find some time to romance Koth Vortena. Not enough time, though, as Koth often felt neglected. This personal issue led him to make decisions that could have ended the Alliance and further jeopardised any potential future the two of them may have had.

Needless to say, in usual Kyros fashion, he jumped from Koth to Arcann as soon as the war was over, which upset a lot of people, especially Koth. But this romance with Arcann was a half-alive thing, little more than a brief spark that occurred during the conversation on that outcrop. Soon, Kyros was feeling stifled once again and began looking elsewhere.

Having said that, he chose to keep things going with Arcann for some time. Politically, it made sense as it kept Zakuul in check and it made Senya happy. Regardless, Kyros knew that he was taking advantage and could never find the right opportunity to end things with Arcann.

Things progressed rapidly, however, when Ossus appeared on the Alliance's radar and rumblings rom the Sith Empire caught their attention. Soon after that, Malgus turned up and Kyros was preoccupied with all the trouble his reappearance was causing.

Soon after that, he was reunited with Kira and Scourge, and he couldn't have been happier. He didn't quite realise how much he'd missed them.

Especially Scourge.

There is no denying that the three had changed so much in the last few years, and yet it felt as if not a minute had passed since they were separated. In all the time Kyros was battling Zakuul, Scourge and Kira were having their own adventures and both had come to warn him of the return of the Sith Emperor who, as it turned out, wasn't quite as dead as they all thought.

It was perhaps Scourge who had changed the most. After their reunion, he and Kyros had a heart-to-heart in which Scourge confessed his true feelings for him. It was then that Kyros knew who he was going to spend the rest of his life with, and that was Scourge.

It had always been Scourge. [x]

Kira, meanwhile, long-ago accepted that she and Kyros were ancient history and was more than happy to see her two best-loved companions finally get together.

And now, as new threats continue to menace the galaxy, they are all more than willing to face them all together once more.

#swtor #swtors ocs #oc: kyros urso #star wars #star wars the old republic #jedi knight #hero of tython #commander of the eternal alliance #the outlander #zakuul #vitiate #lord scourge #tenebrae

10 notes · View notes