WEEEEEEEEEEEE

conzu's swtor meta/rp/unpopular opinion blog.

[radetzkymarch]

Because I want to have more space money than I do, and lack the will to grind out daily quests.

I only play on Ebon Hawk, so unfortunately these are limited to players who have credits there. 

Six slots open at a time.

[Cash commissions | Art Tag]

[vyxx]

i forgot to draw what she was eating. which is ok because i couldn’t decide what it was going to be anyways.

anyways, tuesday i’m getting a new bounty hunter. not sure between merc or PT, because i really love merc healing. but i’ve never leveled a PT. who cares mercs are so great

she’s gonna be a dick, i hope you’re all ready

[rashkah]

Bust commissions!

Payment is upfront and through paypal only. Make sure you do check the NO SHIPPING REQUIRED option, since these are all digital goods.

The graphic has set base prices, however based on complexity an additional fee may be added. NSFW will be allowed, contact me for more detail information on the matter! (dos and don’ts, etc)

For more examples of my work you can take a look at my art tag [HERE] If you are interested in full body pictures, the $25/h rate applies without exceptions.

All interest as well as signal boosts are always appreciated.

[radetzkymarch]

no but i can't stop laughing at "im no t unhygenic" now

[gusstuno]

zero girlfriednds zero

reblog if you agree

[damarlegacy]

dread master more like party master

[gusstuno]

look at that it’s actual human trashcan damon flack again

[gusstuno]

hahahahhahah

[gusstuno]

haha oops

[gusstuno]

But where does he throw his paint?

[gusstuno]

People always seem to romanticize this place, like it's where friendship takes flight. But as the crumby plate skids along the tarp and barely reaches the edge, Damon can't feel anything anymore until there's a tingle around his sternum that plunges deep beneath and into his heart. It's just the lesai.

[gusstuno]

Walking around Narsh without a blaster is stupid and freeing and stupid some more.

Damon Flack (narrative)

[gusstuno]

"I deserved better than to be sent into Imperial space with a trauma disorder. I deserved better than to sell myself to sick old men so I could hate my heart and my body when I became a sick old man myself. I deserved better than the loss of my family, even if someone somewhere is probably treating our reunion like a punchline. I deserved a lot better for a long time, and I deserved to know my daughter most of all. Now? All I deserve is the chance to choose when and how I get better. I know what I fuckin' earned spilling blood for even more sick old men. It was a handshake and a thank-you-mister-Flack-for-your-service."

[radetzkymarch]

Commission for versari-arts of an actual event that actually happened IC

(commission info | art tag)

[gusstuno]

i seriously really love this TheTempleCop account on space twitter

[gusstuno]

Music

the strings-- oh stars, the strings

she recounts long claws plucking like picks, the reverberations tickling

note upon note upon note rearing into a blood-soaked crescendo like the kids on the streets

fighting for food, fighting for a taste of normalcy

and of stability

tastes like ash, like we're not at home anymore

kids on the stoop, kids at the door

she doesn't give in to the knocks, doesn't give in to the assumptions and words spread around about her because there's strings at her fingertips and the vibrating metal keeps her mind in the moment

she's been clean for a week

and she loves this guy-- really loves him, she thinks, she feels

the way his lekku flick idly when he hunches over the xantha

she's got a new one, clean and shiny and so is he

coruscant

what's coruscant like, anyway? big? small? stinky? ugly as narsh? neon?

the questions of a curious child.

he doesn't even have a ryl name. doesn't sound like a twi'lek. she can't objectify someone with fingers so light, with so much grace and

spirit?

he touches her heart with every keypress on the organ and this is wrong and unfair and why would she ever let herself get so--

talented

she doesn't want her name in lights

she wants an outlet,

somewhere to channel roiling hate

maybe she just wants him

and it's so unclear how the thoughts dance in and out for her,

chest-tight

head-light

heart-right

but none of this is real in hindsight

it's just music lessons, she's just hitting the notes

singing at the top of her lungs like it hurts but not as much as it really does, deep down

and then he touches her shoulder and she crumbles beneath claws that press keys, that strum chords, that shut valves on the horn

[gusstuno]

Again

He almost forgot what it felt like to be high. Riding that slippery slope of a rollercoaster, up one minute and down the next, he felt out of control all over again. Damon's paint-flecked nails, dug into the covers of Flayr's hospital bed, scratched and scrambled for flat terrain where there were only rocky thoughts. The uppers were out of his system but before he bothered the doctor, Damon strapped in for a trip. Up, up, uphill he went, gears clacking until he slammed back down, lost in the thrill.

Wild-eyed, he still felt glove-covered fingers running through his best friend's hair. They're vibrating. Moving like worms.

I don't have worms for hair, Dae.

---

Damon's an adrenaline junkie beyond all else. The tingle up his spine when someone gets angry, the tight-held breaths when he does something senseless, the tip of a knife beneath the top layers of skin on his thigh. He's used to it. Sometimes you gotta bleed to feel anything at all.

That's why the catharsis of a well-placed shot gives him a rush. It's why he keeps his lips sealed about who he works for. Where else would he get his kicks killing for the greater good?

After a certain point, would it matter who he worked for?

---

The probe droid hovered over his body as she took his vitals. Ello beeped and booped, a report recited in binary that Damon never heard. The ceiling became a cliff-face, the floor an ocean, his bed a raft to safety.

The hallucinations used to drag on for an eternity. Trapped in his own head, out of touch with the galaxy around him, things felt sluggish, if he felt them at all. His body was rhythmic and throbbing with life but stuck in a stasis with no momentum and no motivation to get up.

---

A flash back to his fist sunk deep in Morten's gut.

A flash back to Damon's jaw slammed on the kitchen counter.

A well-placed metal shin can make a man fall to his knees.

Necessary self-preservation.

---

He saw Callie, bent over backwards far enough she could've been a table. "Nothing new about that," Damon muttered, bitterly honest. He always thought she deserved better than to fall on her vibrosword until the exact moment it mattered. She did the right thing.

---

Worms in his hand again, his fingers ran through squirming, squishy masses until they became hair once more. It wasn't Morten's. Rich, deep orange, and obviously dyed but shimmering like a jewel under dancing neon lights. But what about Ezra wasn't already synthetic? It was no surprise the droid was better than the sum of her parts, even the ones from a bottle.

Damon's gloves melted away until he was left with the tickly sensation of hair light on his skin.

---

Back on the hospital bed, he waited for the drugs to die, half-peaceful. Flayr snuck into the room to keep an organic eye trained on Ello. That's when he saw Damon, thrashing under standard-issue medcenter blankets.

Prepared, Doctor Harlock rummaged through his pocket. The produced syringe was tossed from hand to hand as the doctor waltzed over. The needle of the hypo jabbed right into his thigh, Damon had a long, stomach-emptying night ahead.

"Harlock. You called me a hypocrite."

"Yeah, Flack. I-- I didn't mean it. Didn't know that guy slipped you something." The doctor thumbed a loose thread at the hem of his sleeve.

"I am." The pressured speech and snappy words had been sucked from him, leaving a dried-out husk with a cracking voice. "A hypocrite, I mean."

"Flack, get some sleep and come see me in the morning." Flayr knew better than to take the bait. He turned on his heels and went to flick the overhead light off. Stuffing balled fists into his pockets, the door slid open and then shut.

Damon was left in the dark when he realized it would never happen again.

His body already craved more spice, but in the long run it wouldn't matter. He had other ways to get what his brain needed, endorphins firing off until he was in ecstasy and out of reality.