socthsayers

[socthsayers]

khadisshrike‌:

Something inexplicably odd happens.

She startles.

It is not easy to surprise her – at least, not through stealth. The absence of something is sometimes more telling than a presence, and she’s grown skilled at finding those half in the shadows, grasping at traces of existence before they announce themselves. So, when she’s tinkering with her comlink, in silence, one eye on the chronometer, and that silence is broken, she whirls around, halfway to doubling, tripling, quadrupling herself.

She sees the tattoos first before she notices the rest of him, and pushes the Force fall away from her, no longer shrouding her the way it does when she attacks. “Eidolon,” she greets him, her cynicism tinged with reverence. “I thought they lost you. Where did you go?”

Khadis’s edges blur in a way that implies multiplicity; he watches, unblinking as she settles, hands folded up by his chest, all at once too still and not. Look at his shoulders. At the way he’s holding himself. He’s shivering. If you touched the side of his face, your hand would come back cold. 

The attack from her doesn’t come. (This is strange, Dorian thinks. Did he startle her? He tilts his head a fraction, the question almost on his face.) 

She calls him Phantom, and he calls her, tone empty, “Epiales,” Gaze fathomless and glowing in shadow. 

“Lost,” He echoes, “I was... here. This whole time,” He was here, dreaming. In the dream, Khadis may have been there, too. All grins, all ghost lights, the multitudes of her circling her prey like sharks waiting for an opening. Yet in an instant, she is a war-born child on a planet quite far from here. He’s not present. After a long pause, he finishes, “In some dream. Where were you?” 

[socthsayers]

Chadwick Boseman as T’Challa in Black Panther (2018)

[socthsayers]

♖♝

Who would you most like to make love to?

You Already Know Who This Is (@nniedra)

Who’s the most intelligent person you know?

cue dorian going on a long and cryptic ramble about how the Universe exists inside of everybody and how a multitude of possibilities exist inside of them all, but the short version of this answer, i feel like he would really see orion @accessdecried for this??

MAKE MY MUSE UNCOMFORTABLE.

[socthsayers]

☭, ♦

Who would you most like to be a permanent roommate of?

noa @nniedra because y’all Know This Alright, but also any image of him rooming with anyone else would be really wholesome?? like fein @feinkomo & xavis @ecroixx would be super cute (and okay he might not necessarily Want to room with khadis @khadisshrike but can you IMAGINe, it’d be sitcom levels of absurdity) 

Who would you most like to go on a two month roadtrip with?

answered!!

MAKE MY MUSE UNCOMFORTABLE.

[socthsayers]

❖♦

Who would you most like to send to jail?

how dare you Ask This of Him, he’s somehow become everyone’s dad??? i don’t think he would be able to answer this question, like Morally, the man is true neutral and has very few hard stances on things fsdkhdsfh

Who would you most like to go on a two month roadtrip with?

nareen @nareens (his Daughter) or fein @feinkomo (his Son)!!! 

MAKE MY MUSE UNCOMFORTABLE.

[socthsayers]

☂♤

Who would you most like to get stuck in the rain with?

answered here!!

Who has the best butt out of everyone you know?

dorian Might Be Blind but he can still tell if someone has a good ass. that being said, llewyn @llewynalarcon

MAKE MY MUSE UNCOMFORTABLE.

[socthsayers]

☂

Who would you most like to get stuck in the rain with?

merei @mereiversio because both of them connect to the force through water and he;s her Soft Dad and it would be cute, jezha @jezhamaghrsal because it would also be soft, and obviously noa @nniedra We Know Why

MAKE MY MUSE UNCOMFORTABLE.

[socthsayers]

nniedra‌:

(He thinks it’s enough, just her asking if he wants someone to share his burdens. It’s not enough. It can’t be enough. He cares too much about life that will be, the future that will come to care about the present, as she does. The life that matters is life that lives now, including the two of them. Because perhaps the future will be good, perhaps they will live a good life, someday, but they have to make it there. They still have to live through all the suffering moments. She cares for the life now. And she can’t pull him to the present like she could, once.)

As he speaks, she runs her fingers across his tattoos, traces the ones that run above his brow. Fingers trailing from his temple to his jaw. Like she wants to remember what it feels like to relive old habits, when they could be alone, without the fear, even with all the denial that’s born of a childhood with the Jedi, what all can be internalized. She doesn’t get to relive old memories as he does, for better or worse.

There’s a sinking feeling when he speaks in multiples, she’s used to hearing it, what’s new is the worry from it. What’s new is that she must worry more now than simply when he speaks like this, she has to worry now about where he is lost ever moment. How much of him has unraveled since the Fall? But that’s not the worst question. The worst is wondering how far left he has to go. The worst is wondering if his time alive has already been spent. 

She’s silent for a long time. Silent as he speaks of himself. Silent as he speaks of her Master, of Kai. Silent still when she says, “I have too much to wish for. I’m afraid it’ll be more than a few flowers can handle,” it’s not what she would have said minutes ago. "I should have known to come back and find you, everyone. I should have known,“ they’re not words that ask for a response, for anything. “Maybe you would have liked it there,” her home, “The winter, it never stopped the vines, but the village never got to figure out I was to blame for that.” . It hurts too much to think of her other questions, she asks them anyway, “Do you know—the last thing you remember?”

Dorian’s eyebrows knit slightly at her words. He leans into her hands, the words in his eyes, she couldn’t have known. (He loved her long before he knew her. For years, he dreamt of flowers. Still does.) “Time has passed this way,” Said softly, said into her palms like a prayer. There is nothing we can do. She thinks of the village and of the vines, and he can picture them exactly in his mind’s eye, reliving the memories with her. 

I was there, he wants to say. I was there the whole time. But even he doesn’t fully know that—lost somewhere on some faraway shore, clutching ghosts in his hands. 

“We can’t speak of what could have been.” They can. If they did, they’d be here for years to come, and the weeds would overcome the rest of the garden. “We can only speak of Now. Do you see?” It’s in these moments when Dorian sounds most like himself. (Now is gone the moment you arrive, Knight Valara. He knows so very little; one of the few things he knows it that he has no idea when Now even is—but he can pretend, for her.) 

His fingers gently close around one of her wrists, and he pulls her hand towards his chest. He thinks very carefully. A space in the back of his mind rattles, only slightly. (What does he remember? Cold, dark, the deepest pit in the Vaults; laying on his mother’s chest; the first time he and Noa kissed; hands clasped in his.) 

“I was in the Temple, in the Sacred Pools, with the others,” Eyes are still on Noa’s, but the look in them says he’s watching something else unfold. A memory. All red. “And then the soldiers came, someone was leading them—” He can’t see. Suddenly, he is all aflame, obsidian sand sticking to his wounds. “—they slaughtered them. I went under the water. I suppose... they thought they had killed me.” His free hand moves as if pulled by a string and touches a spot on the back of his shoulder where the scar from that day begins. “Something... heavy was in my arms. But it was silent. The Pools went dark and—” 

So did his vision. 

Slowly, he reaches down into the dirt, plucks up another weed, and adds it to the pile. 

[socthsayers]

DATE & TIME: 1/19, 0700H   LOCATION: Dorian’s Hut TAG: @ecroixx

He waits, unaware that he is waiting, seated on the smooth stone ground in front of his hut, legs folded underneath him, hands resting palm-down over his knees. Birds chirping hail the beginning of the day; warmth spreading across his face; the steady babbling of a nearby creek. 

The image of him seated there while dawn breaks over Yavin IV’s horizon is a peaceful one.

You must know better than to believe that.

It’s been days since his last visit to the Rebel base. (He can still hear them calling for him—he can still feel the cold, he can still feel their little hands pulling on his robes, guiding him to a place where he might not return.)

Something soft presses against his arm, and he opens his eyes, vision slowly collecting into a familiar silhouette, tall and lanky and apologetic.

“Hello, Xavis.” Dorian smiles, but it’s far away. “I didn’t know you would be visiting today.” He did. It’s why he’s been waiting here, though he doesn’t know it. 

[socthsayers]

Send me three names + a number...

[socthsayers]

nniedra‌:

From the moment the call with Rishla ended, she’s been waiting, after the duties of the day had to take pause for the others to rest, when there were no more miles for her to walk in the night, when there was nothing left to do, but wait. There were plans in her mind, because waiting is difficult in times like these, but doing anything would have put the team in danger. Back-up brought to the Palace would have done nothing for the situation, and neither would be calling in for a status report when the mission required stealth. When waiting in the hangar grew to be too much, the room too large, she waited here, and had been asleep for only an hour before now, not knowing she had fallen asleep.

The movement around the hut causes her to stir, but as it is Dorian and all his Force signature can give, she doesn’t wake until his arms around her and there’s a familiar voice close to her ear. Voice muffled by sleep and a pillow both when she answers, the words already ready, for how the mission played in her dreams, “You may have dreamt of another time, it wasn’t a reunion.” Regret in her tone, and an anger, something directed to her core. As if wishing she could step out and be back in the moment, still dripping, still holding the whip. (She should have ended it.) But there’s relief too, in the way her hand stays over his.

There’s a small moment of quiet before she moves, slowly so as to not disturb his arms around her, to stay within them as she faces him. Her hand on the back of his head, lazily running her fingers over his hair, arm laid against him. The other is somewhere stuck between their chests, palm out to face him. Eyes closed because they are too heavy to stay open, and now she can rest openly with easier dreams. “When did you get back? I didn’t hear the ship’s engines.” She has no plans to move until she must. Until she must speak with Rishla, and Obi-Wan, but until then, she’s here only. There is no doubt the mission was successful, even if full of strife.

Dorian’s eyes are fixed on her when she turns to face him, wide open, but unseeing. As if he is still looking on time so far from now—a time long ago. It wasn’t a friend. A planet on fire, little children crawling from the wreckage, screaming. Little children brought to refugee camps still coated in the ash of their loved ones. A shiver runs through him which he cannot place. Anger, regret, all radiate off of her in ripple-waves. He rests a hand on the small of her back, “I see,” In it, I’m sorry.  

When. 

The truth is, he isn’t certain. If he closes his eyes he might very well find himself back in the Vaults on Coruscant; both moments would be true, existing simultaneously. (His bones are solid now, but he’s still blurry at the edges.) 

Instead, he tells Noa, “It hasn’t been very long,” And it hasn’t. There are simply more things he isn’t saying. 

(He blinks and sees her haloed in lightning. He sees a future where she chose not to end it, and he sees one in which she did.) 

“Rishla is pacing.” His eyes track back and forth, watching the ghost-image of her in the ship’s cockpit. “They all move as if through water, as if through ghosts. I forgot how beautiful the Temple was.” In an instant, he is walking through one of the corridors with his Master by his side. He spots Noa through a window into the gardens and their eyes meet. 

His other arm is pressed between them. Gradually, his palm finds hers and he laces their fingers together. “What did you and the others find on Eadu?”

[socthsayers]

feinkomo‌:

Fein watches Dorian’s lightsaber pull apart before his very eyes, and wonders if he would even be able to take his apart should he try. Circuit boards and fused metal, peeling back like they were never welded into each other, casings and wires humming in the air, and in the midst of it all – an empty space where Dorian’s kyber crystal should have been. Spiraling slowly, lazily in the air, the ruin of what was once a lightsaber.

“Your crystal?” he asks, “Where …,” he phrases the question in a way Dorian would approve of, not when or where but, “Why?”

Fein remembers piecing his saber together. It feels like a different man took the designs from the hands of his master and replicated them to the letter. Blue lines that created map to the only future he’d ever known – he’d made his lightsaber like every saber he’d ever known, just as he’d only ever wanted to be like every knight he’d ever known.

He lifts his weapon from the ground, fingers fumbling along the grip, as he replicates what Dorian was able to do with the force with his hands. He wonders, for a moment, if he should have used the Force, then shakes the doubt away. He built this saber with his hands, he would do this now with the same hands.

After a moment his own crystal shines against the dark backdrop of the night, echoing the pulses of negative space where Dorian���s own should have been. Fein reaches out, and takes the crystal in his hand again, feeling the purity of its power echoing with his own Force signature.

“I see … a path,” he tells Dorian finally, “I can’t be the Knight I thought I’d be. Too much has changed. I have to embrace that instead of changing it.”

He looks up, their faces lit up by the glow of their crystal and by starlight. Fein’s a deeper green, an echo of the planet where he’d hid his past and begun his life; “I can’t remember this weapon, it doesn’t feel right in my hands because my hands have changed. I’ve got to create one that will fit.”

Excitement courses through him now. For the first time since they’d left Jedha (since he’d left the pits) he has a purpose again. 

Dorian can’t say, but the day Emperor Palpatine executed Order 66, his entire world splintered off into fragments—a spiderweb of cracks pulsing from every decision he might make. When he held his weapon, all he felt was pain pain pain. Plagued in an instant by visions of him harming another, and then that life tumbling onto the next, and the next, for thousands of years to come—he couldn’t do it. Even the mere possibility that he could cause such unspeakable damage with his lightsaber was something he decided he couldn’t risk.

And the girl—

Nimm.

He looks over Fein’s shoulder and spots them playing together at the base of a large tree planted decades before they’d ever been born. It was her who he pulled from the Temple, it was her who he’d given his Kyber crystal. 

These thoughts feel like an eternity for Dorian, though in reality, only occur in a manner of seconds. He hums a single note and replies, “Little Dreamwalker, we are all on separate pathways, some intersecting, some parallel to one another.” A long pause, the silence drawing out between them before he continues, “I saw something, once,” His voice grows softer, his gaze further away, “It was all red; my weapon humming steadily in my hands. I hid the crystal but kept the rest. I keep it with me as a reminder of my path.” 

From then, he swore never to look into his future again. It’s been a shadow to him ever since.

Fein’s path shines clear and true. Once, there was another way—once, before the ruin of the Jedi befell them, he might have fought with that very same lightsaber in his hands. Dorian peers closely at the dark space behind Fein and realizes now as the image comes into focus that the weapon he wields in a different future is that of another kind. 

At that, he smiles, something present to it. He nods once. “Good. Hold on to that path, Little Dreamwalker. The only one who can take it from you is yourself.” 

Two Trees and a Starry Sky | Fein & Dorian

[socthsayers]

DATE & TIME: 1/17, 0600H   LOCATION: Coruscant, The Vaults TAG: OPEN

Dorian Valara has been missing for hours. He can’t say where—slipping between the veils of time, perhaps—and hears them calling for him in whispers. Their voices mix with the voices of ghosts calling to him; Younglings roaming the grand halls of the Temple, calling to him. Where are you? There-and-not-there. Nobody can see him.

Dawn breaks over the Upper Levels of Coruscant. 

Suddenly, he is in the Now again, standing in the very same spot from which he first vanished. Trembling. The whites of his tattoos seeming almost ghostly in the dark of the Vaults. He looks around. His bones are settling again, but his edges are still blurry.

His vision slowly comes into focus, tiny pinpricks of light forming a familiar silhouette, “—Is that you?” 

[socthsayers]

[socthsayers]

DORIAN VALARA AESTHETICS:

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colors.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mom / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favorite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking, no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

[socthsayers]

DORIAN VALARA BODY LANGUAGE:

DEFENSIVENESS. arms cross on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE. hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off — cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION. arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact /wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE. hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up /shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY. chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer/marker/cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION. short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth /grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up – defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

[socthsayers]

Dorian does not know why he’s in a field. A flicker-flight. One moment, he is surrounded by the all green of Yavin IV’s jungles. In the next, he stands in wheat nearly waist-high. His head tilts for a moment, considering—until he hears a familiar voice call out to him. His sight begins to settle, collecting to form: the farmlands. And, standing among it, Sorin.

A soft smile graces his features. Altogether present, altogether distant. 

This must be why.

“The moons are always different here—but if you look hard enough,” At this, his head tilts back, the firefly-lights of his vision scattering and collecting in the shapes of stars, “You can find the same constellations from home. Are you quite familiar with them, Sorin?”

In a vision from long ago, he’d heard Sorin’s voice ring out like a battle cry; defiant and clear. Oh, but so much noise followed. Noise and chaos and death. (Slaughter. A blaster-bolt, frozen inches away from him.) He hums a single note, quietly. Old guilt and fear radiate off of the other Knight in ripple-waves. 

(In a future that exists mere moments from now, Sorin is thinking of asking Dorian a question. Somewhere, there are bodies scattered on the ground—somewhere, Sorin makes a decision that affects the rest of his life. There is no such thing as static, you see. Things cannot be undone; but nothing is ever certain, either.) 

He takes a few steps closer, one hand extended, palm brushing lightly along the grass that bends to meet him, “It’s difficult to see them from the jungle, or during a storm. What brings you out here so late?” He asks, before he slowly directs his gaze back to Sorin. 

DATE & TIME: 1/11, 9:00pm LOCATION: Yavin IV, farmlands CLOSED: @socthsayers​

Once, Sorin was a good Jedi. A good soldier. He trusted rather than questioned, and he followed what his Master taught him. She promised the Clone Wars could pave the way for more peace in the galaxy, and Sorin believed her. Now though, the galaxy is worse off than before, and Sorin’s going to suffocate on his own uncertainty.

It’s never more apparent than when he looks to Knight Valara. Sorin desperately wants to know whether Dorian sees Sorin’s future clearly, whether Dorian trusts him or not because of it. He wants to know which choices he can make to save himself. If there’s another option, and if he’ll be forced to take it.

Because there are rumors, of course, that Dorian can do more than simply See—that because he understands more than the rest about the Force, he can take it away from others. Sorin doesn’t know if that’s true; he doesn’t know if he wants it to be true. Even after everything, Sorin can’t imagine living without the Force. He won’t ask after that, just as he won’t ask about his own future. At least in uncertainty, Sorin allows himself hope—or perhaps he’s simply terrified of what the Seer would say, and his silence is cowardice.    

Dorian commands attention either way though, this strange man who wanders Yavin IV, a supposedly useless lightsaber at his side. Despite that, Sorin would never describe Dorian as vulnerable. 

Sorin doesn’t quite halt when he sees Dorian in the fields, but he slows—announces his presence too, because it’s night, because they’re alone. Even if Dorian carries no real weapon, they’re all in the midst of a war. Sorin’s not sure he could surprise Dorian if he tried, but all the same, it does no good to startle a fellow soldier. “Are you taking advantage of the clear sky too?” he asks, nodding upwards. With the frequents storms on Yavin forcing him inside, it’s easy for the Base to feel cramped. Tonight though, they can see the moon. Sorin will be awake for hours upon hours yet, but at the very least, wandering here changes the scenery of his late nights.