#in such a swtor mood suddenly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hydrospanners · 6 years ago

Text

a wish your heart makes. Though they've been apart for years, Doc still dreams of Rea often. For once, she dreams back. SWTOR, Pre 5.10. F!Jedi Knight x Doc EXPLICIT SMUT. This is JUST SMUT with a dash of FEELINGS. You have been warned. 6500 words. AO3. For @hoiist who wanted smut and @meonlyred who wanted war table boning.

It’s the same thing every night. Over and over and over again, for so long now he’s lost count of the days.

There’s a kind of comfort in the familiarity of it, even if it leaves him aching.

She’s standing there like she always is, hip cocked and hands braced on the edge of a console, the only solid thing in a room that’s hazy at the edges, shifting and blurry as any mirage. He guesses that’s what this is. The illusion of an oasis in a desert that doesn’t seem to end.

He drinks deep of the fantasy, just like every other night. If he wakes up with a mouth full of sand, it will have been worth it.

He rakes his eyes over her, savoring the perfect sculpture of her body. Every dip and swell and angle, every hard edge and delicious curve. The shape of her is a study in power, the entire concept of potential energy bound up in taut muscle and soft brown skin. He’s never seen anything that left him so hungry as the sight of her.

“Hey there, Gorgeous,” he calls out once the sweet yearning of his desire turns to a raw-edged ache, to need. “You come here often?”

# # #

His voice shoots up her spine like electricity, setting every nerve on fire, and for a single beat of her heart, she thinks it’s real. She can feel the white-hot flames of want, the cold fingers of loss and grief and longing, the warm bloom of satisfaction. She can feel him .

It feels so real. Stormier than she remembers. More confused. But it feels like him .

For a heartbeat, she believes. Then Rea remembers the wages of belief, remembers who she is and the kind of life she leads. She remembers that things like this, good things--these are not the kinds of things she gets to have. Not anymore.

But if a fantasy is all she can have, she decides that’s what she’ll take.

She releases her white-knuckled grip on the console she can barely see and turns, so so slowly. Her heart races, gripped with a fear she can’t bring herself to name. That he might not be there, that he might not be the man she remembers, that she might not be the woman he does. That he might not want the woman she is now. A fear that even her fantasies might be a heartbreaking bait and switch.

She is so, so tired of disappointment.

But he is there. There, but different than she remembers. Streaks of silver are forming at his temples and the lines in his forehead are starting to cut deep. He’s older, and all his edges are harder somehow, more unyielding.

But then his dark eyes lock onto hers and he is all softness, melting at the seams.

Her heart thunders in her ears, the rush of blood deafening, swallowing her up in this feeling of want. This sensation that everything she’s been missing is really there, staring at her, waiting for her to just--If she can just--

“Archiban,” his name flows out of her in a rush of breath, desperate and disbelieving. Her hand reaches out, straining, hopeful.

She begs any power that might be listening to let it be real.

# # #

He’s pulled into her orbit like so many times before, his skin humming with electric anticipation. Her fingers light up his nerves like stars in all the places they touch as she draws him in, closer and closer. She’s a black hole and he throws himself past her event horizon with abandon.

She catches him with open arms and an open mouth, smiling against his lips as their mouths collide in a sloppy, teeth-clacking kiss. She laughs into his mouth and it tastes like honey and ginger on his tongue, sweet and biting and warm. He thinks kissing her might be what kissing a sun feels like.

“Rea,” he breathes her name into the narrow space between their lips and she draws it eagerly into her own mouth. She is always greedy with him in these dreams, taking every part of him for herself.

Stars but he aches for the real thing.

“Miss you, Beautiful.”

# # #

His mustache tickles and scratches at her skin as she licks his words from his tongue, and she is surprised by how it leaves her tingling, by how much she’s been craving the feel of the stupid thing. By how much she wants more.

“You talk too much,” she whispers the words against his lips, slick and swollen from their clumsy kissing.

“So shut me up,” he answers, and she can feel the way his mouth stretches into a smile beneath hers.

She digs one hand even deeper into the lean muscle of his back, not thinking too hard about the scars she can feel, scars she doesn’t remember being there, and drags the other out of his shirt and up into the forest of his hair. It’s as thick and silky as she remembers; she was always so weak for his hair.

She is drowning in the sensation of him, the taste of him, the feel of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the sound of his voice and the little hitches in his breath--The heat of her desire quickly overpowers the slow-swelling something in her heart. Rea’s smile fades from her lips and she is not gentle as she slants her mouth over his again, nipping just a little too sharply, pressing just a little too hard. She looses all of her want, rough and reckless in her greed for him.

He moans into her mouth, grinding against her in obvious approval. She answers in kind, hooking one leg over his narrow hips, dragging him in even closer to her center, creating friction where she is suddenly desperate for it. He answers her unspoken plea and thrusts against her, dragging his mouth across the line of her jaw, scraping her heated skin with blunt teeth and wiry hair.

She throws her head back and revels in the sensation. She is overwhelmed by heat and pleasure and him and she has no intention of stopping. She is allowed to be selfish here, now, where it’s all smoke and mirrors and desire unfulfilled. She is allowed to take.

# # #

He feels the rush of her shuddering gasp, so incongruously sweet with the coarseness of his Jedi, through the tender skin of her throat, vibrating against his needy tongue.

He’s had this dream before, but never like this. Never this visceral. Never this real . Part of him wonders what changed; most of him just wants more.

“Rea,” he pants her name into the dip of her collarbone, licking along the edge of her combat suit to the exposed swell of her trapezius. She tenses beneath his attentions and he savors the taut feeling of the muscle, relishing the perfect geometry of her, the kinetic poetry that is her body. He digs his teeth into her skin, biting down. Her whimpers are music to his ears.

“Archiban,” she sighs, her blunt nails digging into his scalp as she holds him there, working her sensitive neck and shoulder with his mouth. She’s never shy about asking for what she wants, and he can’t say he doesn’t love when she demands it either.

He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t enjoy so long as he was doing it with her.

He kisses the spot where he bit her tenderly, blowing a little warm air against her slick skin and leaving her gasping again. She is so responsive, so eager…

He wants so much of her.

“Rea,” he whispers her into the curve of her throat, his voice straining under the pressure of his own need. “Gorgeous. Where’s the bed?”

“The bed?” Her voice is breathy and high as she lifts her head to look at him, the blue of her eyes electric. The devious, daring smile that creeps across her face is one of his favorites. He wants to taste it. Wants to devour it. It’s the smile that knows it’s about to do wrong and is delighting in it. “What’s wrong with right here?”

# # #

She groans in protest as he backs away, just a little, giving himself just enough space to look at the room around them. Cavernous and filled with glowing screens and holoprojectors and computer banks and half-emptied storage crates. It’s a bit fuzzy at the edges and has a way of shifting in the corner of her eye, but she’s spent enough time in the Command Center on Odessen to recognize it, even like this. Even with most of her mind occupied by very different thoughts.

“Here?” He asks, frowning. Squinting, like he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at.

She’s aware of movement in her peripherals, of the normal bustle of Alliance business at the heart of their chaotic operation. They are not alone here; anything they do will be seen. They are already being seen if she’s any guess.

But this is her fantasy. She can’t really be expected to give a shit about things like decency here. She couldn’t swear she’d give a shit if this wasn’t a fantasy; if he really did walk into her little cave on Odessen, looking devastatingly handsome and smirking that smirk at her and looking at her with eyes still full of love even after all this time—

She wants him. Here and now and damn the rest.

# # #

“Here,” she says, with every ounce of that certainty that made him fall in love with her in the first place.

He swallows, savoring the needy, mischievous glint to her eyes. This is not how the dream normally goes. This is new and thrilling and he finds himself ready to launch into this unknown with arms wide open. He finds himself eager to see what else this fantasy has in store for him.

The hand digging bruises into his back releases its hold, her nails dragging paths of fire across his skin as her hand slides easily beneath his pants, cupping his ass squeezing hard. She is not in a tender mood, too eager for satisfaction.

He loves her like this. Wanton. Ardent. Impatient. Needy.

For all that her heart can’t help hesitating, her body never has.

With one leg still hooked on his hips, she slides herself back against the console behind her, settling her ass on its slanted edge before widening her stance, guiding him closer, his body wedged between her thighs. She grinds her hips against his in a slow circular motion as she pulls at his hair, tugging his mouth back up to meet hers.

He follows her direction happily. He doesn’t know why the fantasy changed, doesn’t know why everything feels so different, so charged--but it’s the closest he’s felt to her in years and he is greedy for more.

His kiss is rough and devouring and it leaves Rea moaning into his mouth, leaves the rhythm of her hips stuttering, irregular and pushing for more. He loves how responsive she is, how bold she is about her desire, how she never hesitates to express her pleasure. He loves how he can almost taste it himself. Some kind of Force trick, he thinks, the way the electricity of their desire flows between them, the way his own veins turn to fire when he strokes her in exactly the right way.

It’s not a feeling his fantasy can usually capture; he relishes the sensation he’d almost forgotten.

# # #

He’s kissing her like he’s a drowning man and she’s the air. His tongue is mapping the inside of her mouth and it feels so good she doesn’t even care that he tastes like caf. Rea wants more.

She whines needily when he draws his mouth away, pressing short, sweet kisses to the corners of her mouth, to the bow of her upper lip and the dip of the lower. She feels the smile on his lips as teases her, scraping his teeth against her heated, sensitive skin when she bucks her hips impatiently. “You ass,” she swears at him, half-laughing and half-panting. “I’m trying to fuck you and you’re messing around.”

She feels the hum of his laughter against her skin as he kisses his way across her jawline, suckling and nibbling at that tender place where her jaw meets her throat, where her blood thunders in her veins. She moans in pleasure, tipping her head back and reveling in the slick heat of his mouth and blunt scrape of his teeth.

“That’s more like it,” she murmurs in approval. She’s not used to being the more talkative one when they’re together, but she feels strongly that if his mouth leaves her skin for even a second she’s going to have to kick his ass.

She’s never been more desperate for release in her life.

Her nails scrape faint lines of pink into the pale, tender column of his throat as she drags her hand out of his hair and down to the front of his chest, to the concealed clasps of his shirt. She savors the silken feeling of expensive fabric, rumpled from her mistreatment and so quintessentially him…

She flicks the first three clasps deftly and quickly, reaching into his now-open collar to run her hands across the sharp line of his clavicle and the lean muscle of his chest. He groans into her shoulder, biting down on the same spot as before as her fingers brush the hollow of his throat. She wants to kiss him there, wants to run her hands over ever part of him.

He brings one hand down from her hair to the back of her neck, drawing her closer against him as he licks and kisses and bites his way around her throat. The other he runs along the underside of her thigh, drawing the leg hooked around his hip just a little higher, adjusting the angle of their bodies until he is pressing hard against her center in exactly the right way and-- Stars .

# # #

She swears as he grinds his hips against her, her breath hot and sweet against his ear, and he would laugh if he had any breath left in his lungs. Even in the haze of lust and need, he can’t help being delighted at how freely she wants him, how open she is to this pleasure.

There really is no one else in the galaxy like her. And he should know; he’s been with most of them.

He draws back just a little, trying not to let himself get too worked up yet, and Rea’s patience runs out. He feels the cord of muscle in her thigh tense just a breath before she moves, one quick twist of her hips that somehow spins them both around, leaving him half-seated on the slanted edge of the console and her climbing on top of him, her knee at his hip pinning him down.

He thrusts against her on instinct, suddenly regretting all the teasing and tasting and time he’d wasted not doing this .

“Rea,” he groans, feeling very much like a teenager getting his first taste of pleasure. He’s almost painfully aroused already, swept up in the heady swirl of sensations he’d almost forgotten after so many years. He doesn’t know why it’s coming back to him now, doesn’t know what’s changed, but it feels so much like the real thing he’s a little worried he might come in his pants if something doesn’t change soon.

Her hands both move to his throat, trailing their way down, just past the collar she’s opened, stroking his feverish skin as she looks directly in his eyes. He falls into the deep, oceanic blue of her stare, into the desire and the adoration and the darker things behind them. The something that almost looks like grief.

It reminds him of Manaan. Of the crystalline water and its fathomless depths. Of how it felt to find a whole planet that felt like looking into her eyes. Of how she looked in the starlight. How she tasted.

“Archiban,” she whispers his name, drawing him back to the now. “Only one of us can fantasize here,” she says, “and I’d rather it was me. My fantasies are more fun.”

Before he gets the chance to ask himself how it’s possible to daydream inside your own dream, Rea is seizing the edges of his shirt with both hand. The delicate fabric rips audibly as she wrenches it open, clasps flying in every direction.

His nipples are already stiff and sensitive from arousal and the rush of cool air against his skin leaves him panting and straining beneath her. Smirking, she brushes her thumbs over them as she runs her hands down his body, following the the faint pink trails of her nails with open-mouthed kisses that feel like fire against his skin.

She is, as usual, absolutely right. Her fantasies are so much more fun.

# # #

He smells just like she remembers, and the scent of that familiar, expensive cologne with the salty flavor of his skin is a heady combination. She’s damn near purring as she kisses her way down his belly, running her tongue along the edges of his lean muscle, tensed under tender ministrations. Scraping her teeth against scars she doesn’t remember, against the faint welts of blaster bolt burns and the pucker of--

Wait.

She draws back sharply, staring at the starburst of a wound she knows like the back of her hand. A wound she bears in her own abdomen.

“Who did this to you?” She traces the ragged edges of the scar with her fingers, a very different kind of fire starting to rise in her belly. It’s shoddy workmanship. Whoever patched him up--Well, she’s learned to tell the difference in a good patch job and a bad one. It must gall him to have to wear a scar like that around, like a stylist with a bad haircut. “What happened here?”

She raises her eyes to his, and finds a storm staring back at her. Confusion and trepidation and hope. Heartbreak. Regret. Longing .

“Rea…” He breathes her name like a prayer, his voice fragile. “What is this? What’s happening? Is this--Are you--” His words seem to get stuck in his throat, and her heart breaks at the look in his eyes. A fear she hasn’t seen on him since the Emperor’s Fortress.

Why is she doing this to herself?

She kisses him deeply, not interested in words or the mire of feelings between them. Feelings that must be hers, even if she can’t explain them.

She doesn’t want a mystery. She doesn’t want grief or yearning. She just wants to feel him. His body and his pleasure and his love. Just for one night. She just wants to feel happy.

“Just love me,” she whispers the words into his mouth, begging. “Please, Archiban. I need—“

# # #

He takes her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing the sharp edge of her jaw, and lets himself freefall into this. Into her. Real , his heart sings in his chest. Prays, maybe. It has to be real, because he isn’t the kind of monster who would dream of her like this.

He loves when she begs him for pleasure. His heart breaks to hear her begging for love.

Maybe this is a nightmare.

“I love you,” he swears, feeling the truth of it all the way down to his toes. “Even after all this, I still love you Rea. Like the wookiees. Remember?”

Her whole body shudders above him and he kisses her again, savoring the plush of her lips and the velvet of her tongue. She tastes of honey and ginger, just like he remembers. Sweetness and heat in equal measure.

She’s moaning into his mouth and her pleasure, her happiness, is so palpable it feels almost like his own. Maybe it is. Because there’s no version of her, real or imagined, that he can stand to see hurting. There’s no version of this crazy, reckless, generous, unstoppable, gentle woman that he won’t fall hopelessly in love with.

“I need you, Gorgeous,” he pants, breathless with desire. Not just for pleasure but for—Stars. To be with her. To be joined .

# # #

“You’ve got me,” she whispers, guiding his hands down her throat, to the hidden clasps at the back of her neck. He takes her meaning immediately, working them open with a practiced motion, like it hasn’t been five (or is it six now?) years since the last time he had to peel her out of this thing. She reaches between them, indulging herself in a single exploratory stroke of the swell in his pants before she flips open the latch on his belt, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder.

The sounds of the room around them are growing louder. Lana’s voice comes to her in a tense whisper, worried and warning. Rea can’t make out the words, but then she doesn’t want to does she? She doesn’t want anything except this moment and this feeling and this man, grinding himself against her palm because he’s no more patient for this than she is.

She slaps the emergency shutter release on the console, and the rest of the world falls away. Sound and color gone, nothing left but the two of them and the storm of their desire. The rush of their love.

Stars but she’s in love.

She flings her own belt to the ground beside his, working the clasps he can’t reach while he fumbles at the latches on her greaves. She settles her center over the swell of him, grinding back and forth across the hardened length as she peels her way out of the suit. She can hardly feel him through the heavy weave, but he’s biting down on his lip, head thrown back in apparent bliss, and it’s worth waiting for her own pleasure just to see him like this. To study the graceful column of his throat and the desperate bobbing of his adam’s apple as he gasps his pleasure.

He whines as she slides off of him, and she laughs at the nakedness of his need. She loves him so fucking much. Loves being with him like this. Like anything.

Why had she gotten on that fucking ship? If she hadn’t—

“Rea,” he pleads, reaching for her.

She tuts at him, swatting his hands away. “I want to see you first,” she says, hooking her hands in the band of his pants, savoring the familiar silken texture of the underwear beneath. She removes them both in a single tug, kicking them away as they fall into a pile at her feet.

He shrugs his arms out of his torn shirt, tossing it over the side of the console and props himself up on his elbows, happy to display himself for her. His eyes follow her gaze hungrily, and she can see the way her attention makes him swell and twitch with delight. It pleases his vanity to be looked at. To be appreciated like this.

And she does appreciate him. The lean cords of muscle and delicate ivory skin. The sharp edge of his shoulders, the narrow line of his hips. Those long, elegant fingers. The swollen cock, blush pink and arched with desire.

She licks her lips, feeling her own arousal pooling between her legs. She wants to taste him, wants to turn him to putty with her lips and tongue and hands. Wants to sink her fingers in the taut muscle of his ass and hear the way he keens as she swallows him down.

But this isn’t the time. It’s been too long, too many unspoken words hang in the air between them—

They need to be together. Now.

# # #

His attention dances between the hunger in her eyes and the shape of her body as she peels her way out of that combat suit.

It’s not the same body he remembers. He’s dreamt this dream so many times, cherished the lingering memories of it so often--He can’t help noticing the puckered scar in her side, a mangled, ugly complement to the one in his own, that wasn’t there five years ago. Can’t help cataloguing all the other puffy, shining scars he doesn’t recognize, with stories he doesn’t know. Can’t help but frown at how lean she is, how hard.

His hands seek out the curve of her waist, narrower than he remembers, his thumbs brushing over the tight bands of muscle and the pronounced ribs. She’s always been fit, always been sculpted like a testament to the beauty of human anatomy. This is different. This is corded muscle and sharp-edged bone, with no softness between. This is the shape of deprivation. Of neglect.

If this is just a dream, he won’t forgive himself for imagining her like this. For wanting her like this. But if it isn’t--If he dares to hope--

He almost hopes it isn’t real. He doesn’t want to think of her as this battered shadow of the vibrant woman he remembers. The woman who thoroughly enchanted him without ever trying. The woman he married. The woman he loves.

He can’t stand the thought of her wasting away under the weight of her burdens. Of her carrying the galaxy on her shoulders without anyone to share the load. Of her without a crew who cared enough to make her sit down and eat every now and again.

“I can hear you thinking,” she whispers, and he looks up to find her eyes swimming with sorrow and regret and grief. “You know that’s not my kink, Archiban.”

He smiles, a little half-heartedly but real enough. Relishes the way her muscles stretch and pull beneath his fingers as she hitches her knee back up against his hip. Relishes the heat of her. “I love you.”

“I know,” she says, and she’s smiling too. She braces her arms on either side of him, pressing her naked body against his. The feel of her, the whole of her, pressed against him, fevered skin to fevered skin--He shudders, his stomach freefalling, his knees going weak. He slides his hands around her waist and down, down, down until his fingers are digging into the taut muscles of her ass, his hands full of her.

It’s the best ass in the galaxy. He should know; he’s handled just about all of them.

# # #

She slides herself along the length of him, savoring the sweet hint of friction and the way he trembles beneath her, the way she can feel his groan roll up out of his chest. She slips against him again, coating his length in the slickness of her own arousal, laughing as he mumbles blissful curses beneath her.

If things were different, if she didn’t know he’d be gone when she woke, she’d take her time. Tease them both some more, work them into a proper frenzy. She’d savor every single sensation, let it really bloom.

But things aren’t different and she can’t wait. She can’t be sure how long this will last before her body stirs her from this dream.

She runs her thumb across the slick underside of him, stroking the velveteen skin, exploring the familiar topography of hardened muscle and swollen veins. He whimpers as she circles the ridge of his head and she is nearly dripping with her ache for this. She runs her hand down the length of him again, his shuddering breath the sweetest song she’s ever heard, and guides him to the entrance of her.

His eyes flutter open as her folds brush against the tip of him. She moves her other hand to his chest, her palm over his frantically beating heart. His gaze is dark and intense, wanting, adoring. She can feel the way he loves her, the heat and the depth of it, even now, even after all this time, and it feels almost--It feels--

Stars.

She holds his gaze, holds his heart in her hand, as she takes him inside herself. Lowers her hips slowly, taking her time to enjoy every sensation as he slides between her walls, opening her up and filling her. Her nerves light up one by one, a brilliant burst of light and pleasure as they join, coming together in just the right way, at just the right angle, until the tip of him is brushing the most delicious part inside of her.

“Fuck,” she swears, dropping some of her weight onto him, her shoulders curving forward as she lets the sensation sweep through her. Her pleasure and his pleasure, crashing together. Bowling her over like the sweetest wave. Every place where they are joined, where their skin whispers together, is heat and electricity and wanting. She can feel his desire as clearly as her own, can feel the blood pumping from his chest with all the aching heat of her own.

For the first time in so long, she isn’t alone.

# # #

She clenches around him, teeth sinking deep into her lower lip and he’s almost on the edge already. Staring into her eyes, barely remembering to breathe as she rolls her hips, swallowing him up in sensations of heat and friction and pressure.

It’s nothing like any dream he’s had before.

Not a dream, his mind whispers. Real .

She’s smiling that wicked smile, the one she wore the first time she mentioned how Jedi have perfect control over every muscle in their bodies, and-- Fuck . Five years have done nothing to erode even a bit of that control, he realizes. She is gripping him tightly, surrounding him in the sweetest pressure, as she lifts her hips. The friction is delicious, and the slick sounds between them leave his heart pounding. He digs his fingers into her ass, encouraging her movements as she slides slowly up, up, up, until he is nearly slipping from her folds and then slowly, so torturously slowly she is sliding down, and he can’t ever remember anything feeling quite as good as being joined with her.

He needs more.

He drags a hand from her ass, sweeping up her back and tangling in the tousled mess of her hair, drawing her down to kiss the wicked smile from her lips. He pants his pleasure into her mouth as she moves, her hips rolling as she rises and falls in long, slow strokes. It’s a delicious torment that has him craving more friction, more speed, more of her slickness and heat. More of her.

It’s the greatest test of his will to hold his hips steady, to keep from rising up to meet her, to keep from chasing the rapture of her walls tight around him, to let her take her pleasure at her own pace.

“Rea,” her name escapes him in a groan. He runs his other hand across the curve of her hip, tracing the hard edge of her pelvic bone, feeling the flex of muscle as she rides him. He wishes he could see her like this from every angle at once. (A voice in the back of his mind whispers that if this was just a dream, he could. That the rules only apply to things that are real, not fancies of his imagination.)

He swallows thickly, drawing back so he can watch her, so he can drink all of her in as his hand falls into the space between them, to the place where they are joined.

# # #

Her whole body trembles as liquid fire pours through every one of her nerves. She is gasping and unsteady on her feet, her knees trembling and toes curling at the rush of white-hot pleasure.

“Stars,” she breathes. And even though she knows her own body like she knows how to draw air, even though she is the expert in her own pleasure… The brush of his thumb against her clit, gently stroking at the edges, is so much better than anything she’s felt in ages. “More,” she pants, even though she isn’t sure her overheated, hypersensitive body can take it. This is all happening so fast, too fast, but she doesn’t want to slow down.

She doesn’t want to lose her chance at falling over the edge with him. Just one more time.

Rea picks up the pace, rocking her hips faster, the contraction of her muscles turning erratic as he draws little circles around the exposed bundle of her nerves. She feels electric, like there are galaxies bursting to life just beneath her skin. Like every touch, every sensation is too much and not enough all at the same time.

She looks down at him, into eyes almost black with desire, and finds Archiban watching her with a look that’s as reverent as it is smug. She can feel the delight rolling off of him, the satisfaction of smashing through her control, of turning her into such a needy mess. She can feel how he revels in her pleasure almost as much as she does.

Rea lets her hips fall, lets him sink deep inside her, rolling her hips desperately to feel the ridges of him against the most sensitive places of her. They moan and sigh and swear together, the sounds of their pleasure jumbling between them as she races to the edge. He is rolling her clit more roughly, more urgently, and her vision is going white with the thrill of it.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, breathless and halfway to wrecked. “Rea. Please.”

# # #

With one arm wrapped around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh of his thigh, she lifts him. Lifts both of them, still joined, and hisses at the feel of the new angle, at the friction of him inside her.

Rea eases them backward, crawling over him once they are settled on the level top of of the console, folding her legs on either side of his hips. She kisses him again, hot and urgent. “Fuck me,” she rasps the words against his lips. “Fuck me, Archiban. I want to come with you.”

He reaches back with one arm, planting his palm and his feet firmly against the console, bracing himself. She rises above him on her knees, her walls holding him tight, squeezing deliciously as he slides out of her.

He thrusts. She lowers her hips to meet his.

Again. Again and again.

They are moving together and every part of him is electrified, dissolving in the white-hot heat of her depths. He rubs at her clit, rolls it with his thumb, squeezes it between his fingers, touching her frantically, desperate for the feel of her quivering, pulsing around him.

“Rea,” he groans, his voice strangled and rough. “You feel--”

“Fuck,” she answers in a whine, the sound of it building as she draws the word out. “Archiban. Stars.”

Again and again and again. His hand on her ass, driving her down. Her hand on his back, leveraging him up. Again and again. Moving in harmony, riding waves of molten bliss.

Her head falls back in pleasure, and without the magnetic pull of her eyes to draw him in, he raises his mouth to her breast, pert and full and bouncing as she rises and falls, riding him. He savors the salt on his tongue as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, circling the hardened nub of it, grazing with his teeth. Savoring the way she moans his name. How her voice surrounds him and vibrates through him, throaty and loud as she babbles nonsense encouragements.

Rea’s hand winds into his hair, gripping fiercely as he nips and tugs, moving his mouth to lavish her other breast in the same rough attention. “More,” she says, as much as plea as a command. “Harder, Archiban. Harder. I’m almost--”

The words catch in her throat. He’s thrusting faster, harder, deeper, her hips following his rhythm, dipping and rising to match his frantic pace. His fingers fall out of time on her clit, frantic and pressing harder and pinching tighter, giving her what he knows she needs to get over the edge. He needs her to come. He won’t make it long like this, with her tight and slick and moving so fast--With the friction so good--

Again and again and again and again and--

There. There .

He leans back to watch it happen. To watch Rea gasp, strangled and loud, over and over and quivering around him, her core pulsing, her body shuddering, dripping with the slickness of her pleasure. “Don’t stop,” she tells him, her voice tight, her hips still rolling, still dipping to meet his. She holds his eyes, her gaze intense, and says it again. “Don’t stop.” She is trembling with ecstasy, riding the waves of her climax. She is so fucking beautiful. “I want to feel you.”

It doesn’t take long. He loses his rhythm quickly, needy and wanton as he takes his pleasure. As he races to join her over the edge. Everything inside him tight and throbbing, aching for release.

“Come on, Handsome,” she urges him, her hands touching him everywhere, her walls still spasming deliciously around him. “Come on. Come for me. Come for me, Archiban.”

Breathless and gasping, he peaks.

# # #

For one second, bright and shining and hot as a sun, Rea knows what it is to join with the Force. She is flowing, bending, shifting. She is everywhere and nowhere. She is harmony. She is light.

Archiban is still moving inside her. Easing her back down with slow, gentle strokes. Gasping for air as he clutches at her back, his face buried between her breasts.

It feels like an ending and she isn’t ready to let him go.

“I love you,” she says, bending to whisper the words against his ear. Nipping at the lobe. “I love you so much and I can’t stand doing this without you. I need you, Archiban.”

The muscles of his core tighten beneath her as he shifts, drawing out another sigh as he settles inside her. He presses his palms to her cheeks, drawing her head back so he can look into her eyes. When he speaks, his voice is soft, still a little tight and breathy, but certain as hell. Confident. “You don’t need me, Rea. I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but I know you. I know what you can do. I know there’s nothing in the galaxy that can stop you.”

Her eyes are stinging with tears and she’s never cried with a man still inside her before, but this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve broken new ground together. She lets herself fall against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and his back, burying her face in his neck.

No orgasm could ever compare to this. To the feeling of his love, of the unwavering belief vibrating inside him, reaching out for her. Nothing in the galaxy could compare to the way he is filling up her heart.

“It’s okay,” he croons into her hair. “It’s okay. It’s just me. I’m here.”

“But you aren’t,” she croaks, her throat closing around the words. “You aren’t and I miss you. I want you back.”

Archiban pulls away, loosening her hold on him just a little. Just enough to take her by the chin. To unravel her with a languid kiss, so full of tenderness and adoration she thinks she might burst.

Her cheeks are damp with her tears when they part, when he rests his forehead against hers and sighs.

“Just hang in there, Rea. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

#swtor #swtor doc #archiban kimble #jedi knight #docember 2018 #nirea velaran #the velaran legacy #i literally cannot believe the longest fic i ever wrote #is fucking smut #but here we are

9 notes · View notes

greyias · 6 years ago

Note

☂️

☂ Gravestone lift malfunctions temporarily trapping OC and Lana, Theron, and/or Koth – from the SWTOR Style Prompt Meme.

Takes place sometime on the journey back to Odessen during KOTET Chapter V. Contains a small reference to part of Unsent Correspondence (although that’s probably not necessary reading to follow).

“Stupid piece of junk,” Theron snarled, punching at the button again. He had already been in a sore mood before the damn lift had malfunctioned and effectively trapped them there.

“That ‘piece of junk’ can probably hear you,” came the sage reply from the person responsible for his current mood. “You might want to speak with a little more respect.”

“It’s a spaceship,” he snapped, “I doubt it’s listening.”

“SCORPIO said that the Gravestone is very intellig—”

“Hang what that conniving bucket of bolts said!”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Why am I—?”

He cut himself off, mouth shutting with an audible click before he turned back to the lift controls and savagely smashed his hand on the button again to take out his spike of aggression. Maybe if he hit it hard enough it the door would suddenly pop open. Or at the very least take away the red haze that tinted his vision. He’d been attempting to go walk off his foul mood in one of the many long, lonely corridors of the Gravestone when she’d joined him in the lift, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he didn’t want company.

“Theron,” the Jedi’s voice dropped to a low, concerned tone, “why are you so angry? Did I do something that upset you?”

He pierced her with a glare, snorting out an angry breath as he tried to reel his temper back in. A cramped, broken lift was not the place to have this conversation, but apparently their semi-sentient spaceship had other ideas. Or, more likely, was suffering some unforeseen aftereffects from their recent escape from that deathtrap of a planet where it had been built.

She reached out to touch his arm in her typical gesture of conciliation and calm, but he jerked it away, although he couldn’t really escape in the small confined space. The action drew a small sound of surprise and her brows drew together in a mixture of guilt and hurt that almost penetrated the angry haze that had descended over him. Almost.

He was not going to let this go, no matter how big of puppy dog eyes she flashed him.

When he finally thought he had a handle on his temper, he managed to grind out, “Did you do something? You mean other than order me to leave you to die?”

Grey swallowed hard at the sharp edge in his tone, eyes still a little too wide and blue for him to completely ignore. “I—I was trying to protect you and everyone else aboard the Gravestone. Considering the risks I thought it best that—”

“That you sacrifice yourself needlessly?”

“It’s not needless if everyone else survives. You had an opening to leave—”

“How is you playing martyr again an opening?”

She flinched at that. “Playing martyr? Is that what you think I do?”

“No, I… damn it!” He slammed his fist back against the sealed door. It didn’t budge, but he was pretty sure something in his hand did if the spike of pain that lanced up it was anything to go by. He couldn’t suppress the foul curse as he cradled it, but refused to turn around and face the concerned expression he could feel burning into his back.

He could still very painfully remember the last time he’d been this pissed off, and the reason why was standing right behind him. At least that time he’d had an entire bottle of fine Corellian whiskey that he could blame for his destructive behavior—he could try to attribute his temper on genetics, say it was inherited from the Revan genes, or maybe even the Malcolm side of the family—but that would be a lie. This time it was all him. And unfortunately the reason for his angry outburst this time and the last was bearing full witness to his darker side.

It was an ugly part of him that he’d tried to control, tried to shove away ever since they started the Alliance. Considering the makeup of their motley crew back on Odessen, he’d found himself falling back on the old lessons of Master Zho more than he’d ever thought he would. He used to be much more practical, more ready to sacrifice pieces of the dejarik board if it meant things came out in the favor of his side. But somewhere along the line something had changed, and the dejarik pieces had started to resemble actual people instead of some abstract concept. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d taken a more hands-on approach than he had during his time with the SIS, brought on by the hard years as the Eternal Fleet flattened everything around him, or if it was due to the influence of the woman currently staring a hole in his back.

Either way, he didn’t want to slide back into the angry, despondent man he’d been after Ziost. After Zakuul.

But unfortunately want didn’t translate into action, and he could still feel the desperation and fury crawling under his skin like an iknayid scurrying through its web. Could feel it in every beat of his heart, every pulse of blood in his veins. As if his anger and sorrow was trying to break free from the chains he was desperately trying to lock down. He tried to swallow it back and focus on the pain in his hand. Unfortunately that surged on every thump of his heart, accentuated by the rise in his blood pressure.

This was the moment where he was supposed to take a breath. Supposed to calm down and reflect. Supposed to recite some ancient code that ultimately didn’t apply to him due to some fluke of genetics. All it did was amplify every sensation on every lungful he took in. Pull in every wave of fury on each cadence — until it was almost too much to ignore. Instead of calming down, he focused in on the pain in his hand, tried to hold on to each flare of it to anchor himself in the moment. He wanted to run out the doors barring his escape and lose himself in these ancient halls until he found himself again in the calm of solitude.

But he couldn’t escape his irrational anger — and neither could she.

“Theron…”

Her voice blended into the too sharp memory of their escape from Iokath, of the thoughtless words barked out over the comm. Forget about me, Theron. The Alliance can’t lose the Gravestone.

Forget… he’d never been able to forget. No matter how hard he’d tried. And oh, he had tried. With every shot of whiskey, every foolhardy mission, he’d tried so damn hard to forget it all, but he’d never been able to banish her face whenever he’d closed his eyes.

And I can’t lose you!

Because he’d already done that once—and it had nearly killed him. Some stupid ancient warship was a pale comparison to the most important thing in his life. Something he’d never imagined he’d have another chance with. Because it was only after she was gone that it had hit him in full. The full feeling of everything that they’d had, of everything that they’d lost. That acute sense of unfulfilled promise had haunted his every step, every waking moment forever a shadow of what could have been. An unending nightmare that had plagued him right up until the moment that he’d been told of his second chance.

A second chance that in the heat of battle she’d been willing to ignore—willing to throw away. For what? What survival did anyone have without her at the helm of their unsteady ship against Zakuul? What chance did he have each morning without her to remind him of what he was fighting for? He’d seen the cold and hollow expanse of the galaxy stretching before him endlessly — that path too long and full of shadows he’d long tired of fighting by himself.

He barely registered when he’d turned sharply on his heel, or how he’d crowded into her space as he’d cornered her against the wall. An action more forceful and bold than he usually took as indicated by her sharp inhale. The crush of his lips against hers was not an act of kindness but more something borne of desperation. He didn’t have the words for the tangle of emotions swirling around him. He never had the words no matter how desperately he wanted them. All he had was what he was able to put into action, as frantic and inarticulate as it was, he could only hope it somehow translated.

She should have pushed back against him, shoved him up against the doors he’d been uselessly pounding against in his attempt to escape as she was so very capable of. She could flatten him in an instant, without so much of a thought if she really wanted to. That she could have done that, but was ever so restrained somehow fueled his thirst further.

Her stillness, her hesitation, only lasted for the briefest of moments. Likely as she took in the action and tried to render the wordless struggle into some sort of logical equation. He felt her understanding kick in the moment her fingers curled into his neck, the pressure of her rough calluses against his soft, vulnerable skin almost painful. Her kiss in return was almost as hard as his, surprisingly unrelenting and powerful as if she couldn’t articulate something herself.

It wasn’t an apology. Not exactly. But Theron could swear that he tasted the regret on her tongue, even if her mouth never actually formed the word sorry.

He broke contact first, chest pounding wildly as his lungs heaved with the lack of air. He registered, almost barely, the feel of her forehead resting into the crook of his neck like a wilting flower going to rest. His throat was dry, and it took several swallows before he was able to speak properly.

“Don’t you ever ask me to do that again.” The firmness in voice wavered, cracking with an emotion he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. “Please.”

The last single word was almost as desperate and loud as the mad thumping of his heart trying to leap out of his chest. He would have tried to silence it, but his traitorous tongue had already stopped listening his commands.

“I… won’t.” Her speech was stuttered, although he couldn’t tell if it was because of the impromptu makeout session, or the emotion tinging her own voice.

Suddenly realizing how horribly awkward and imposing he’d been, he tried to put distance between he two to them but she held on to the collar of his jacket with a firm, unyielding grip. He swallowed, and looked down into her wide blue eyes. Some unquantifiable depth of emotion lurked there, but despite all his spy training he wasn’t able to decipher exactly what it meant. Just that it was meant for him.

“Do you think you can find out why the lift is broken?” The hushed tone of her question belied the intensity of the gaze she had him pinned with.

“Maybe,” he said hoarsely, “with a little time.”

“I don’t want to wait long,” she whispered. “Nor do I want to risk the rest of this being interrupted by an unwitting bystander.”

Somehow without actually speaking her intent, he understood what she meant all too clear. And the cramped quarters of a broken lift, while entertaining and thrilling for a brief amount of time, were not adequate to the emotions surging through him that he could freely express in the privacy of her quarters.

“Although,” she said after a moment, “we should probably find some kolto for your hand.”

“You have a little stowed away in your quarters, don’t you?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I might,” she said, “but wouldn’t you rather—”

“No,” he said firmly, “it can wait. Trust me.”

“Always.” The smile she graced him with lit up the cramped confines of the lift. “But I must insist on making sure you are cared for.”

Of course she did. It was one of the many reasons he couldn’t bear the thought of facing a day without her by his side. Despite the pain and everything else surging through him, he leaned forward and gave her a much gentler peck on the lips than he had before, earning the quiet smile he loved seeing so much. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Yes,” she said, “lets.”

With another breath, this one much smoother and more controlled, he turned back to the stubborn controls that had so far eluded his control. It only took a few moments before he was able to isolate the problem and restore the programming. With a firm press of the finger from his good hand, the door swished open to the proper floor. She grasped his uninjured fingers firmly, pulling them free of their confines and leading him back towards the privacy of her quarters—where he could adequately express the full range of emotions he’d been trying to push away, and let her know exactly how needed she was over any warship or the needs of the galaxy.

The quiet, dimpled smile she flashed back at him as she led the way let him know that the need was more than mutual. And the last of his anger bled away, replaced with a much deeper, and more undeniable emotion that he’d be able to let loose once they reached the confines of her quarters.

That.

That was something he’d gladly set free.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #theron shan #jedi knight/hero of tython #otp: adorkable #kotet missing scene #masterofporgs #haha #this one is late #like a year late #sorry i write super slow :(#this is the last of the hurricane harvey prompts i think #swtor #fanfic #okay i have fixed most of the errors and typos #although not nearly as many as i was expecting considering the copious amount of wine i consumed last night #edits + hangover = my saturday #greyfic

27 notes · View notes

rinjirenee · 6 years ago

Text

For The Best

Got some angst from a @swtor-prompts post. Today’s angst is featuring Veselko and Kaliyo and the “I’ve changed” prompt.

This takes place post-Ziost, and some time before the opening events of KOTFE. Veselko considers his next steps into the unknown, thinking of Theron, and confronting reality with Kaliyo. NSFW for some mentions of sex and sexy things.

Under the cut!

When he closed his eyes, he could still see everything turn to ash.

Alone in his personal quarters, Veselko laid in bed and tried to rest his tired limbs and his racing mind. The past twenty-four hours had wracked him, sapped his energy, but had left him uneasy and unable to focus. He had the mental fortitude to withstand many things, but witnessing an entire planet turning into a lifeless husk in a matter of moments was beyond anything he could have imagined.

The person -- the thing -- responsible had escaped, leaving everyone else with nothing but questions with no easy answers. Why had Vitiate done this? Ziost was largely a loyal Imperial base. If this could happen to Ziost, would it happen again to Dromund Kaas? To one of the core worlds?

Why?

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The Phantom hummed through the emptiness of space. Everyone else on board had been eerily quiet since Ziost, perhaps not knowing how to process what had happened. It was as if the entire galaxy was holding its breath in anticipation.

And frustratingly still, there were powers in play that saw Ziost’s destruction as nothing but a distraction in their petty wars.

There was a comfort that some out there had enough sense to track down the Emperor. Lana was tirelessly working with whatever little resources she had, fueled by her disappointment in both Sith politics and herself. Veselko’s trust in her was still on a shaky foundation, but she was a credit to the Sith. They would need someone who would be able to question the Emperor, if only if they would listen.

There were intelligence rumors that Theron had been effectively grounded in the Republic. Whether or not Ziost was truly his fault, his recklessness had produced results in the past, and the galaxy would need someone with experience and ability to think outside the box. Veselko highly doubted that someone as stubborn as him would let something like a piddly administrative leave get in the way.

Veselko missed him. Every now and again, he remembered feeling Theron’s warm, comforting weight next to him. His sarcastic sense of humor, the way his lines softened when he was being honest, his gentle, shy manner when he didn’t know what to say. Veselko imagined him, the feeling of his body and the sound of his voice, when he pleasured himself, and the couple of times he’d had sex since that encounter in the shuttle to Yavin-4. He felt entirely dissatisfied with how things were left between them, and Ziost had been a poor remedy to that.

It was good to know that Theron was still alive, at least. In the chaos of the fallout of Ziost, it was impossible to account for those who were still left planetside. Reaching out to him in the short term was not an option, as their parting had been abrupt and Theron left no trace. Veselko could settle for the rumors to ease his mind… for the time being.

It had occurred to Veselko that his assignment as a double agent for the Republic would likely mean nothing in the near future. What good would be keeping everything a secret if Vitiate cared little for either side? Finding him before he could cause anymore damage was imperative, but Veselko would need help. He knew Theron would be up to the task, and if his trust could be earned, it would surely make for a better case to team up again.

He had a feeling he could attempt to reach out to Theron still, to let him know that despite everything that had happened, they could work together. They worked well together, and Veselko knew Theron would agree.

I wanted to tell him everything when I saw him again, Veselko thought to himself, staring into the void of his ceiling. There wasn’t enough time.

But Stars, it had been so good to see him again. He had been so afraid that they would be staring at each other down their blaster barrels. If there was such thing as fate, at least it seemed to be kind to them.

Veselko reached out for his datapad on the bedside table. Trying to contact Theron through Ardun Kothe would have left trails that Veselko would not be able to control, and the old man had never mentioned Theron before. It came to mind that Veselko could leave crumbs that someone like Theron could find, much like what had been done with Rishi.

We’re on the same side, Veselko thought to himself with a small smile as he rifled through small galaxy maps. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

The door to Veselko’s quarters suddenly opened. Veselko let the datapad fall from his hand and onto the bed.

Kaliyo’s slender frame came into the light as she stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her. She was wearing nothing but a tanktop, briefs, and a hungry grin.

“Did I wake you up?” Kaliyo came forward and crawled onto the bed. “Or can poor baby not sleep?”

Veselko huffed and sat up in preparation for her approach, propping himself on his palms. “Come to rock me to sleep, have you?”

“Nah.” Kaliyo’s hands were cold upon Veselko’s bare chest as she straddled him over the blanket, and his breath hitched in response. “Gonna need you awake. How convenient that I get to skip a step. For me, anyway.” She chuckled to herself as she leaned forward as if to give a kiss, but her teeth graced the tip of Veselko’s nose.

She had not been drinking, which meant that she really was intent on sex -- otherwise, he would have refused straight away.

Veselko touched her wrist, took it gently in hand. “You waited a while.”

“You barely said anything when you came back.” She lifted her hand to swat his away.

“When has that stopped you?” Veselko grinned.

She wrinkled her nose and firmly pushed back into his pillow. “Whatever. I’m bored, and you’re--” Her blue eyes flickered over to his datapad lying beside him. “... Reading in bed?”

“A thought occurred to me to reach a contact. I was researching my options,” Veselko said, hiding part of the truth.

“Are they cute?” Her voice dripped with annoyance.

The corner of Veselko’s mouth tugged into an uneasy grin. “Maybe, but it’s not that type of call. It’s concerning the aftermath of Ziost,” he said with a half truth.

Not that he would have minded if it was that type of call. But despite his relationship with Kaliyo being open, Veselko got impression that she didn't much care for any of Veselko’s new comrades, nor did she seem to like what Veselko was getting himself into with them.

Kaliyo was quiet for a moment, and then she let her hands slide down Veselko’s chest and onto his stomach, her fingers curling against his skin. The sensation caused Veselko to shiver, and he felt his cock twitch beneath her, despite himself.

But the curve of her lips had turned into something of a quiet, hard line.

“...Why are you still doing this?” Her uncharacteristic quiet voice held back a growl.

“Doing what?” Any idea that he was about to be persuaded into sex fell away.

“I’m not an idiot, Agent,” she said, spitting his title like venom. “But maybe you are.” Her body was tensing up.

Veselko narrowed her eyes at her. “Stop being cagey,” he warned. “Out with it.”

She snorted, and then in a fluid movement, pushed herself off Veselko and kicked her legs over the side of the bed to sit. Her hands gripped the sheets in frustration.

“Kaliyo?” Veselko tempered his tone, concerned for her sudden aboutface.

He could see her jaw tensing in frustration as she fought her own words, but they finally came. “You saw what happened at Ziost. None of your fancy spy tricks are going to stop that shit from happening again. So why even bother?” She shot a sharp glance over her shoulder at him.

Veselko’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

She gave off a sardonic chuckle. “Got you. Now, tell me why you’re gonna put your neck out and ruin everything?”

“Kaliyo, you don’t understand--” Veselko shook himself out shock.

“What don’t I understand? I saw everything. And your stupid ass was in the middle of it. Why are you so eager to get yourself killed?”

Veselko took a deep breath before continuing. “I cannot simply let what happened go. We lost millions of lives on Ziost, but if we can find Vitiate and stop him now--”

“Stop him? With what? Your little blaster gun? Your pretty little words? Your…” She gestured to his groin.

“Kaliyo.” Veselko shook his head.

“Stop patronizing me, asshole. I guess I’m the only one thinking straight here.” She stood up, but did not yet make any motion to leave.

Veselko stared at the back of her head, and tried again to reason with her. “Kaliyo, if I don’t try to stop him, everything that I… that we’ve done up until now won’t matter.”

“Don’t give me that ‘we’ crap. That’s not gonna work on me,” Kaliyo said, her throat tight. “Besides, he’s not gonna come looking out in the boonies if we lay low for a while.”

“I didn’t think hiding was your style.”

“It is when I wanna live.” She snorted again, then seemed to stumble on her words. “Y-you don’t owe anyone anything, so why--”

Veselko waited a moment in silence, then looked towards his hands in his lap. “I’ve done plenty of wrong in my life. I owe plenty of people my best effort.”

“Shut up,” Kaliyo through clenched teeth. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. It took you this long to figure out you have some bleeding heart of a conscience?”

“I’ve changed, Kaliyo,” Veselko said quietly, looking back up to her. “I’m sorry. I have to do this.”

“Yeah, well…” Kaliyo shook her head, then headed towards the door. “I’m bored with you now.” She punched the panel to open the door.

The words stung more than Veselko wanted to admit, but part of him was relieved. He was in no mood to pacify Kaliyo out of one of her moods. His face had grown warm in the heat of the conversation, and he took a deep breath when he realized he was holding it.

Kaliyo braced a hand on the door frame and waited there for a moment, then pushed away and made her way to the back of the ship. He fully expected her to slip away for her own pleasure, as she was wont to do anyway. There was always the thought that she would never come back.

And perhaps that would have been for the best.

#rinji does prompts #OC: Veselko #Kaliyo Djannis #Theron Shan #veselko has such a skewed view on what intimacy and gentleness is like so this was a bit of a trip to write #his relationship with kaliyo is toxic but their feelings are real oh boy

9 notes · View notes

thievinghippo · 7 years ago

Text

Fic Update: Pragmatic Dreams (complete!)

Fandom: swtor

Chapter Title: Epilogue (Read on Ao3!)

Pairing: Lana Beniko/female Jedi Knight

Rating: Teen

Summary: When Darth Marr’s flagship is destroyed, the galaxy mourns the loss of a leader of the Jedi Order. And Lana Beniko mourns the loss of her lover. But when secrets are uncovered, Lana realizes that the only way to save the galaxy might just be to tear it apart, all for the woman she loves.

Notes: And it’s complete! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this fic in the more than a year and a half I’ve been writing. Your support has meant the world to me. Feel free to leave a comment. I would love to know what you think!

One kiss seemed to break down the barrier between them.

Lana let herself be pushed up against the wall of the private cantina room, moaning into Maebry’s mouth as they kissed. Oh, she knew they should go back into the cantina, mingle and talk, raise the moral, so to speak. That’s why Lana organized the party in the first place. But right now, she couldn’t think about anything except Maebry and how it felt to have their bodies pressed up against each other.

“How long do you think we can stay in here?” Maebry asked between kisses.

Lana laughed, a low, throaty laugh. “Not long, unfortunately,” she said, resting her hand on Maebry’s ass. “We wouldn’t want to appear rude.”

“You’re right,” Maebry said, kissing her again, hard on the lips. She took a step away and Lana couldn’t help but notice when she winced, her hand covering her lightsaber wound.

“Dear heart?” Lana asked. She stood behind Maebry, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Only a week had passed since Maebry had been impaled by Emperor Arcann’s lightsaber, leading to the longest forty-eight hours of Lana’s life.

She was so sure was going to lose her lover, just as she got her back. But whatever Valkorian did - and oh, did it incense Lana to be beholden to that monster - kept Maebry alive, just long enough to get her into a kolto tank. And now they were on Odessen. Together. Safe. Actually having Maebry here in person was better than any of the dreams Lana had over the past five years.

“I’m fine,” Maebry said in a voice Lana wasn’t sure if she should trust. When Maebry stepped out of her embrace, Lana raised an eyebrow, challenging her. “Okay, a little sore. But just a little.” She leaned forward and whispered in Lana’s ear, “Just remember to be gentle later when we’re in bed.”

Heat rushed to Lana’s cheeks and she suddenly became acutely aware that almost five years - five years - had passed since they were last together on Nar Shaddaa. Wanting to keep with the mood, Lana slide her finger across Maebry’s jaw. “You know I can be very gentle when I’m properly motivated,” she said quietly.

And then their lips were together again.

When they finally broke apart, Maebry still had her hands on Lana’s waist. “Motivated enough yet?”

Lana squeezed Maebry’s hand. “It’s a start,” she said. She turned to look at the door, where reality waited. “What do you think? One drink? Then we cite a very early morning for our getaway?”

“You always come up with a plan,” Maebry said, intertwining their fingers together.

They walked to the door, then dropped hands as they went back into the cantina, reality setting in. Theron and Koth were talking at the bar while Koth’s crew were being rambunctious in the background. The only way this could be better was if Senya was here. Lana understood why the Knight stayed away, but she missed her friend. Hopefully they would be able to share a bottle of wine soon. This time with Maebry.

While it might not have been too long, it seemed like ages had passed before Maebry and Lana were able to say their goodbyes. Finally, they were able to walk out of the cantina and Lana ached to hold Maebry’s hand. But decisions needed to be made first.

The night air was crisp, enough to make Lana glad her armor would take the sting out of the chill. They lingered on the outskirts of the base. To the left of them, was the war room where work would undoubtedly wait. To the right, an alcove Praven envisioned to use as a staging area, for the day when the Alliance needed to expand even further. If the past week was any indication, that day would be more quickly than any of them dreamed.

It seemed most of the galaxy wanted to fight behind the Outlander’s banner.

“Follow me,” Maebry said and there was a smile in her voice.

What else could Lana do but follow? She would follow Maebry to the edge of the known universe. These past five years have proved that. “Where are we going?” Lana asked as they turned right, into the tunnel.

“My room is too far and I need to kiss you,” Maebry said as they stepped into a small alcove.

With no one around them, they kissed, oh did they kiss. They kissed until she could hardly take any more, wanting to be somewhere with a locked door where they could feel skin on skin. She mentally cursed Praven and the design of the base, which had the entrance to the Commander’s room in plain sight. If Lana had realized that was to be Maebry’s room, she would have insisted on a little discretion.

“Should we-” Lana’s question was cut off by a kiss. “Maebry, darling, we need to make some decisions.”

“You know, you hardly ever call me by my name,” Maebry said, brushing Lana’s jawline with a knuckle.

“A sign of respect, if you must know,” Lana said, even as she cupped Maebry’s ass. “In private, I’ll happily call you by your name, but not in public.”

The look on Maebry’s face told Lana that she didn’t quite understand. Lana wanted to lead by example, especially for the former Imperial Alliance members. Tomorrow the Alliance would officially name Maebry its leader, though Maebry herself wasn’t aware of that yet. Let them have one night together before the reality of the galaxy around them began to overwhelm.

“So what decisions do we need to make?” Maebry said as she moved to lean against the wall, right next to Lana. Their fingers entwined at once, and Lana again wondered at her luck, how everything could have gone so wrong during the rescue attempt, yet still they managed to make it to Odessen safe.

Destiny, she told Maebry. Something she never truly believed in before. But after everything that had happened, how can Lana doubt? Maebry should be dead, but thanks to five years of hard work, she was alive, holding Lana’s hand.

Lana brought Maebry’s hand to her lips. “I suppose I’d like to know how public our relationship will be,” she said. “I know on Yavin 4 and Ziost, we were discrete for a number of reasons…” She trailed off, wondering how to exactly express what she wanted.

“Like me being a Jedi and you being a Sith,” Maebry said, amusement in her voice.

“Essentially, yes,” Lana admitted. “But now I worry…”

Maebry turned to her side and Lana mirrored, so they were facing each other. Their arms went around each other at once and Lana closed her eyes. “There’s always something to worry about with you, isn’t there?” Maebry said.

Lana let out a chuckle besides herself. How well Maebry knew her, even after all these years. “Occupational hazard of being a pragmatist,” she said, caressing Maebry’s cheek. “We’re both in leadership positions within the Alliance. I worry-”

“What? That’ll we’ll set a bad example?” Maebry asked. At Lana’s nod, she added, “How are two people in love, working together for each other and for the galaxy, a bad example?”

Maebry’s words made Lana’s heart want to sing. “You’re in love with me?” Lana asked, hoping she didn’t sound to incredulous. Thanks to the Force, she suspected, but she didn’t want to assume. And to finally hear those words after so many years, meant everything.

“Of course I am. How could I not be? You’re you,” Maebry said, resting her brow against Lana’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Lana answered at once, wondering how her heart would be able to hold this much happiness. She would find a way. They would find a way. But first they must focus on what’s in front of them. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too much of a bad example.”

“Look, I don’t want to keep secrets. Maybe if I was still a Jedi, I’d want to stay discrete,” Maebry said. “But I’m not a Jedi. Not anymore. And I’m pretty sure you’re not a Sith. “But that’s what I want. What do you want?”

Lana thought about that question and how she had so many different answers depending on who asked her the question. But from Maebry, the answer was simple. She tightened her arms around Maebry’s waist. “I’ve got exactly what I want.”

“But? There’s always a but.”

Very true words. Everything came at a cost. The Alliance had started to thrive and with that, the International Banking Clan wanted to start seeing some returns on their investments. Lana was almost positive that at least one or two recruits were spies for the clan. Once word of the Alliance became more widely known across the galaxy, more would send spies to watch their progress. The Imperial Empire, surely. The Republic. Even the Overwatch on Zakuul, if they were smart, would send people.

It would be hard to know who to trust soon, except for the people in their inner circle.

All of that was dwarfed, though, by the potential issue of the reality of Maebry’s mind.

“Valkorian,” Lana whispered. “Please don’t use his power again.” She would beg, if she had to, and Lana had never begged for anything in her life. But she had not come so far, sacrificed so much, only to lose Maebry to the very man they were fighting against.

“Your life was in danger,” Maebry said, her voice almost pleading. “That was the… I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you die. Not when I just got you back.”

Lana leaned forward, resting her brow against Maebry’s. “One life is not more important than stopping Zakuul,” she said, already knowing that her argument was weak. She wished she could explain things properly to Maebry, how terrifying it was to feel Vitiate’s power radiate off of her, even for just a few seconds. For a Jedi who once recoiled at being called the Emperor’s puppet, to see her embrace that power was more than a little disconcerting.

“Says the woman who spent five years searching for me. I’m one life,” Maebry said softly. “If it helps, I don’t even plan on using it again. It simply didn’t feel right.”

Good, Lana thought to herself. It would worry her greatly if Maebry thought anything different. For now, Lana would just have to hope that by using Valkorian’s power, it didn’t give him any more of a foothold in Maebry’s mind.

Maebry’s arms tightened around her and their lips brushed together. “Thank you,” Lana said.

“Doesn’t answer my question, though,” Maebry said, leaning forward and kissing Lana’s neck. Stars, her lips were soft. “How do you want to handle us in public?”

Lana looked away, placing the palm her hand on the back of Maebry’s neck. “I’m very private, you know this,” she said. Part of her wanted to celebrate that she had Maebry back, shout from the rooftops. But the other part scoffed at showing a hint of emotion in public. “However, I will never lie about our relationship and like you, I wish not to keep secrets. I’ve dealt with too many in my life. Transparency would be welcomed.”

“So no makeout sessions in the middle of the war room,” Maebry said with a laugh. Lana was certain she would never get tired of hearing her laughter. “Got it.”

“Well,” Lana said, squeezing Maebry’s ass. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be opposed to a cuddle if no one is around.”

Maebry’s face lit up, looking absolutely delighted. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Lana brought Maebry in even closer, so their bodies were flushed together. “I hope you do.”

They kissed, soft and slow, and when Maebry placed her hand on her cheek, Lana turned into her touch. Maebry’s thumb brushed some of the crow lines around Lana’s eyes, reminding Lana just how much time had passed. They met when Lana was thirty-seven and already Lana was older by well more than a decade. Now five years had passed, with Lana growing older every year and Maebry standing still, not aging a day,

Right now, though, their difference in age didn’t seem to bother Maebry, so Lana pushed the thoughts to the side.

“Would you feel comfortable staying the night in my quarters?” Maebry asked. “Someone had the foresight to put in a pretty big bed, not like those small bunks the rest of you get.”

“I’m sure it will cause some talk, but yes,” Lana said, thinking of the rumors that would start, especially after Maebry was named Commander of the Alliance tomorrow. Let them come. It would give the members of the Alliance something to talk about. Maybe even be a morale builder in the long run. “I would prefer not to be separated from you, as long as we can.”

“I like the sound of that,” Maebry said, standing up straight. “Maybe you could start staying the night right now.”

Her voice was low and full of promise. Promise that Lana felt deep in her core. “That sounds absolutely lovely,” Lana said. And it did. To be able to fall into bed in a quiet room with a locked door? That sounded like absolute perfection. But they had time for that. “I’d like to show you something first.”

Maebry raised an eyebrow. “Well, color me curious,” she said, holding out her hand.

Lana didn’t hesitate and put her hand into Maebry’s. When they walked out of the corridor, into the open air, Lana tensed up only slightly before forcing herself to relax. If someone saw her and Maebry holding hands late at night, it wouldn’t be the end of the galaxy.

“Where are we going?” Maebry asked as the entered the elevator to the Alliance base. “This is the way to my quarters you know.”

“The base is full of twists and turns, if you haven’t noticed. There are lots of places to go,” Lana said, squeezing Maebry’s hand. “And where we’re going is my favorite place on Odessen.”

Only one person tried to stop them on the way to the hangar bay. And that poor unfortunate aide instantly regretted it, as both Lana and Maebry snapped at him at the exact same time, in almost the exact same voice. Once the aide was safely out of hearing distance, even Lana let herself laugh at the situation. She and Maebry were safe on Odessen and the Alliance was flourishing. She deserved her laughter. After five years of hardship, it had been earned.

Thankfully, the hangar bay was mostly deserted this time of night, with only a few workers. Deserted enough for Lana to feel comfortable taking Maebry’s hand again in hers. Maebry promptly squeezed back, and they crossed the bay, leading to the big open hangar doors.

Lana led Maebry just outside the doors, on top of the rocky terrain. From here, one could see the entire valley below, including some new construction. The Alliance was ambitious and just getting started.

“It’s beautiful,” Maerby said as looked at the valley. Her eyes closed. “I can understand why you were drawn to this world.”

“The first time I came to Odessen, the planet spoke to me,” Lana said, remembering that pure feeling of the Force she felt as she stepped off the shuttle. She hadn’t felt that perfect balance since that time; something on the planet had changed, but not enough for Lana to worry. Enough called to her attention as it was. If she felt the need to chase after ghosts, she would never get any work done. “I saw you. A vision, almost as real as you are right now. That’s how I knew. Knew that somehow, the Alliance would rescue you.”

“I used to think Force visions were bunk,” Maebry said quietly. “But then a fellow Knight saw me working for the Sith Emperor and two days later, I fell. How could I not believe after that? If you say I’ll walk down there some day, I will.”

Lana leaned forward and kissed her. How she still reveled in the fact that she could. Five years of waiting and wanting and now Maebry was in her arms. “I’ll be right there next to you, if you’ll let me.”

“Always,” Maebry said.

Lana’s heart sang at the word as she put her arm around Maebry’s shoulders. Then together, they looked out over Odessen and watched the stars come out.

#swtor #lana beniko #maebry hindemith #hippo's swtor tag #hippo's fanfiction tag

58 notes · View notes

catpella · 6 years ago

Text

I’m suddenly in a huge nostalgia mood where I really want more SWTOR RP, because i love my chars so much! and most of my friends have gone and quit playing on the regular. which doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t want to RP, because that can all be happening out of game and all. but because interest in playing/game storylines has flagged, interest in game-related writing seems to also flag.

All I want is to write a lot of my ocs, having adventures and maybe getting shipped.

#idk how to even tag this #i mean are people still really even up for this anymore

12 notes · View notes

11ty7of2017 · 4 years ago

Text

September 6th, 2020

Spent most of the day playing SWTOR

Attended an e-meeting during the day in lieu of attending one in person (which would have been my first since quitting).

Katie asked me to come pick her up after a fight with her boyfriend. She drank some of the White Claws I had in my fridge, and I didn't really feel compelled to join her.

I meant to go to the store today but ended up putting it off until tomorrow. It's all stuff for me, and not really urgent so the fact that I didn't go through with that is bothering me a little.

I want to start this off by saying that writing on paper has been going well. So far I've written something down every day, and in the process changed the format in how I do it. Instead of a GOOD/BAD list at the top of the page, I would just write down individual occurrences during the day, and if necessary expand upon them in the following paragraphs. Now that I've been doing my meetings online, I'm usually at a desk when I'm writing, so it really wasn't much of a stretch to try typing things out instead of writing them and seeing how it feels.

To be honest (and I'm sure I say this every time I take an extended break) I miss having my little blog to record this journey. Customizing it and throwing in pictures adds a bit of fun for me. I don't remember if the page is public, and I'm not going to stop what I'm doing to check—the point is that it's mostly for me to work on and document. If other people happen upon it for whatever reason, so much the better. Adding to that, because I'm still using the same blog from before I can just scroll back and see how I was feeling on whatever date or time.

Anyway, lets move on to what happened today... Not much. I made a fair bit of progress on a character in SWTOR. He's a Jedi Knight named J'zor of the dual-wielding variety. His species is called Zabrak and it's one of the last few species I have to unlock for the ability to create characters of any faction. In any case, I spent a lot of time working on him today, and am planning to jump back into the game as soon as my AA stuff is done.

I'm not sure how to explain why I didn't go to the in-person meeting. I even went so far as to get dressed, keys in hand, and suddenly decided not to go. Same thing happened with the grocery store too. It's like I just don't want to leave the house, and it's been like that for a while. Also, I get tired of being around people pretty quickly. I just start to feel bored and want to go do something else, by myself.

I've been sober for less that a week, so there are bound to be some changes in my moods and such. My meds will probably be more effective now that they aren't competing with an ever-expanding belly full of liquor. There are a few other changes that I've noticed. My hands don't shake all the time, and I eat a lot more. I'm nowhere near as tired all the time, but on the other hand my face seems to be breaking out. I am a little more productive, tackling small projects around the house from time to time. Another thing I have been thinking of trying is beginning my day with some specific project, as opposed to getting up and diving right into video games.

I wonder why I'm so obsessed with these specific games. On days like today I'm perfectly fine being home alone and spending 12 hours mostly concentrated on STO/SWTOR. I've just now decided that limiting my screen time is a behavior I should work into the minuscule changes that I try to make from day to day.

I've got about a half hour until the next meeting starts, and I am planning to share about Katie's visit, and how I wasn't really bothered by her drinking in front of me. Considering what I do for a living I guess it's not that big of a change: being sober while others drink (more or less) at work. And, for that matter, I'm not a huge fan of White Claw to begin with. Had it been Angry Orchard, the temptation probably would have been irresistible.

On that note I'm going to snag a picture from the other day to upload with this, and get it posted. Will I be doing this on paper or screen tomorrow? I guess we'll find out at the end of the day...

0 notes

riajade01 · 7 years ago

Note

Uncanny SWtOR prompt - #4 - “Why do I feel as if someone’s watching us?”

Editing to add: this is legit spooky/scary if you have a fear of the paranormal. Please be warned. I kinda freaked myself out honestly.

Mara bit into her field ration andtried not to grimace at the taste. She cast a glance over at Captain Quinn justin time for him to do the same. It cheered her mood somewhat. They were alonein the middle of the Tatooine desert having just lost half their gear in afreak accident, taking refuge from the dropping night time temperatures andhowling wind in a cave. Her captain had been infuriatingly distant over thecourse of their mission here.

But the near-inedibility of Imperial field rations was acomforting constant.

"What do you call that one?“ she asked.

He jerked in surprise at the sound of her voice, blue eyestwitching to hers and away again. “I’m sorry, my lord?”

She hefted her ration bar. “This one is allegedlyflavored as Kaasi fish stew, but my father always called it Low Tide, which isupsettingly accurate. Which one are you eating?”

He was silent a moment, the dim light of their field lampcasting odd shadows on his face, exaggerating the hollows of his cheeks andshadows beneath his eyes until he had a near-skeletal look to him.

"It’s not a… polite term,“ he said finally.

Something flitted across Mara’s mind. She frowned and triedto focus on it, but it evaporated like so much moisture during a Tatooine day.She couldn’t even be sure she’d felt anything. It’s the stillness of the cavern, she insisted to herself. I’d know if we weren’t alone.

Scans had confirmed the local indigenous life steered clearof this place. Several meters behind their chosen camp site, the cave floorgave way to a sudden 10-meter drop that fed into a continued underground cavesystem.

"Captain, if I’d wanted polite conversation I’d nothave begun by asking you what your ration bar actually tastes like.” Shelaughed, the sound seeming to stop short at the edge of the circle of lightcast by their lamp. “Such a topic is not fit for polite company, as I’msure you know better than I.”

He offered her a smile, then, and met her gaze.

"My OCS class always called this one rancor shit. It’ssupposed to be chili-roasted sleen,“ he clarified, at her questioninglook.

"May I?” she asked. His eyebrows climbed to hisforehead and he handed the bar over. A tiny bite confirmed his assessment; shenearly gagged. “That’s disgusting,” she gasped, laughing. He lookedover his shoulder and frowned, then accepted the bar from her. When he focusedon her again, his smile returned.

"How can the same entity that produces my ship attemptsomething sleen-flavored and come out with rancor shit?“ she asked.

"Sith alchemy gone wrong?” he offered, thenblanched as the implication of the words. But Mara grinned and shook her head.

"Not a bad hypothesis,“ she admitted. "We’readverse to waste and to admitting our faults. Perhaps-” she cut off asthat flitting sensation returned. As it did, Quinn looked over his shoulderagain.

"We’re alone, Captain,“ she said quietly, for boththeir sakes. "We both scanned this cave; there’s nothing else alive inhere.”

"Then why do I feel as if someone’s watching us?“

She froze, trying to decide whether to confide her own oddfeelings, when suddenly their lamp flickered and died.

Quinn’s curse was distant to her ears. The pitch blackseemed to press in on her, almost hissing like static. Without thinking shegroped to her right side and found Quinn’s hand. For a moment, her brainremembered his recent distance, and that he may not welcome her touch. Sheloosened her grip, but his tightened, squeezing her almost painfully.

Suddenly a blue light illuminated their entwined hands - shehadn’t even realized she was looking at them, so deep was the darkness - andher eyes met Quinn’s ever so briefly before, as one, they turned toward itssource.

Mara had seen Force ghosts before. She’d even met someaggressive ones. But nothing like this. The blue form before her was vaguelyhumanoid, but it pulsed with a malevolence unlike anything she’d ever seen orfelt; indeed she had no notion that much seething hatred could exist in thegalaxy. As she met its glittering white eyes, she felt all remaining heat drainfrom her body, invisible bands constricting around her chest. She was fairlycertain there were tears on her cheeks - inexplicable tears, for in that momentshe had no memory of what emotion even felt like, so empty had she become.

It smiled.

The expression provided a visceral reminder of at least oneemotion, assuming the need to vomit up everything she’d ever eaten in her life alongwith several organs counted as an emotion.

Suddenly it sped toward them. Mara had just enoughfunctional thought left to yank Quinn toward and behind her - whatever thisthing was, she had a better chance of fighting it than he did, even retchingand sobbing as she was. She somehow managed to straighten her spine and braceherself-

A bright light nearly blinded her.

She blinked, looking around. She was at Cwukusk on one of Dromund Kaas’s rare sunny days. And before her…

"Maranel, my jewel, are you listening to me?”

Mara shook herself, trying to focus, trying to understandthe part of her mind that shrieked with the wrongness of this extremely normalafternoon.

"I’m sorry, Marsah, what?“

"Your aunts and cousins are waiting for you, my dear.Come with me.”

Her mother’s arm was warm and comforting as it circled hershoulders, something about her scent bringing tears of longing to Mara’s eyes.Her mother led her toward the steps that led from the terrace down to the mainhouse. Just shy of the first step down, something unseen caught her around thewaist. She frowned, leaning against the pressure that held her.

Her mother turned back - she’d gone down two steps already,and so her eyes were just even with Mara’s - and frowned. “You’re strongerthan that, my daughter.”

Mara frowned. “What?”

"Your love for me is stronger than what holds you. Iknow it is. Now come on.“

Again that feeling of wrongness. Distantly, barelydistinguishable, she felt more than heard the familiar voice shouting in hermind.

"Marsah, something’s wrong.”

"You jump at shadows, girl,“ her mother snarled.

Mara wrenched backward. Her mother never spoke to her likethat. Never. Suddenly her face stretched and thinned, like a balloon inflating,a cold blue light illuminating through her aristocratic features.

No. This was wrong. She took a step back, relaxing againstthe bonds around her waist.

"Do as you’re told, or I will show you pain such asyou’ve never imagined was possible.” Her voice had dropped to anunrecognizable growl. When she grabbed Mara’s wrist, her fingers were coldenough to burn.

Mara shrieked in pain as the burning heat lanced up her armand into her head, intensifying until her entire existence was nothing but freezingpain. Through it all, she clung to a single thought: this is wrong.

Suddenly she remembered the Force. How she’d forgotten wasbeyond her.

She reached out with everything she had left, gathering theForce to her greedily, drawing it into her being until its fire rivaled that ofthe thing that held her wrist. And she pushed.

The spirit shrieked in response. It may have outstripped herin terms of raw power, but in using her mother’s face, it had miscalculated.Mara was livid, and the purity of that rage gave her far more power than thespirit had bargained for. Centimeter by agonizing centimeter, she pushed it outof her mind, down her neck, her shoulder, and finally down her arm, feeling itcling to her, leaving lines of fire in its wake, until finally she tore her armback and, with a final scream, let the Force energy she’d inhaled explode outof her.

The spirit dissolved.

Mara collapsed. Her vision cleared and suddenly she was backin the cave, shadows thrown from the dim light of the lamp.

And she was collapsing over the ledge at the back of thecave.

Or she would have, if not for the arms round her waistdragging her backward to safety. She landed on her backside, the pain of theimpact further clearing her head.

Captain Quinn knelt next to her, fairly clutching heragainst his chest, and arm around her waist and the other cradling her head.She could feel his racing heart and, as her senses returned, his fear.

"What happened?“

"The entity… merged with you,” he said after amoment. “The lamp resumed working almost immediately after. But you… younearly walked-” he cut off, as if he couldn’t bring himself to completethe sentence.

She relaxed against him, one hand covering his andsqueezing. For once he didn’t pull away, but held her tightly.

"I’d rather sleep in the open air, wind and sand bedamned,“ she whispered after a moment. She was fairly certain the entity,whatever it was, had been dispatched, but she had no desire to find out thehard way that she was mistaken.

Any other time he would have argued with her, pointing outthe inherent flaws in such a plan.

But not this time.

#swtor #tw for paranormal #tw for ghosts #and creepy ghostiness #honestly this actually sorta freaked me out #sith warrior #malavai quinn #mara thrask #otp: fire and ice #my writing

28 notes · View notes

skullinacowboyhat · 8 years ago

Text

Prologue

First installment of my SWTOR fic about Natila (I’m so excited to share it with all of you). Special thanks to @carterashofficial for proof-reading and helping me.

Natila sipped her drink and straightened her lekku.

The atmosphere of the cantina was overwhelming; everyone was shouting over each other, crowds were filling up the dance floors, and the music was roaring louder than anything else. Yet, through the crowd, one voice was clear.

“Hey, girlie!” a drunk civilian came rushing to the bar, towards her.

“Leave me alone.” She avoided his gaze.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the drunk hiccupped,“That’s no way to talk to somebody. Especially me!”

“I said, leave me alone,” Natila said. She unholstered her blaster and stuck it in the man’s face. His droopy eyes suddenly widened and he drew back, his face covered in an ugly sneer.

“Oh yeah?” he yelled to be heard over the music, “Why should I be scared of you?”

“Cause I’m not a snot-nosed drunk throwing himself into other people’s business.”

Natila let the words hang in the air for a moment. The drunk swayed and clung to the bar.

“Not what I was expecting,” he slurred, “Especially from one of your kind.” He looked at her lekku pointedly.

Natila narrowed her eyes. “One of my kind?” she repeated, standing up tall.

The drunk sneered. “Yeah! You Twi’leks are only good as slaves and-”

Natila’s fist shot out and collided with the man’s nose. He stumbled back, eyes red, and collapsed onto the floor.

She could see some people shifting in the crowd.

Great. He has other drunk friends.

She turned around slowly, eyeing the approaching . She stopped halfway at the sight of a familiar human lounging in a dark booth nearby.

Natila sighed as the friends of the unconscious drunk surrounded her. She bit her lip and thought for a moment. She wasn’t in the mood for a fist-fight, even though she knew she would win. Best to end this fast.

She grabbed a couple of credits from her pouch and set them on the counter.

“Drinks on the house,” she said. The friends’ motives changed suddenly and unsurprisingly. They lunged for the credits, ignoring their unconscious friend who was lying right next to them.

Natila smiled slightly and made her way towards the man in the booth, stopping only to spit on the unconscious man’s head.

“Picking fights with drunks now are we?” The man drawled. His Imperial accent would have been unnerving to anyone who didn’t know who he was.

“I only punched him, Riz,” Natila smiled innocently, taking a seat in the booth.

Riz Jiro smirked dryly and stirred his drink.

“What are you here for?” She moved her lekku forward to lean back.

“SIS has a mission for you.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now they’re just desperate.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. They still have a couple more people to go until they are completely desperate.”

Natila grinned. “What’s the mission?”

Riz’s head perked up.

“Oh. Well, that I don’t know. I’m just here to give you this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a data-card. “I believe it has your briefing on it.”

Riz slid the card across the table.

“Right. Thanks Riz.”

There was silence for a moment, then Riz leaned forward.

“I suppose I should tell you...the SIS has a few new...procedures that you might not like.”

“Like what?”

“Such as...only the best agents get to go on solo missions.”

“Riz. Are you telling me that my mission isn’t going to be a solo one?”

“Yes, probably.”

Natila groaned. “I hate having partners.”

Riz smiled slightly then stood up. “Don’t worry. They’ll probably pair you up with someone else on their desperate list.”

Natila stared tiredly at him.

“You’ll get along very well,” Riz continued. He smiled dryly at her for a moment, then left the cantina.

Natila sat there for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. The drunk, recovered from his injury, was seated at the bar with his friends, slurping strong, glowing drinks.

After a moment, she leaned forward and grabbed the data-card. It was standard Republic-issue, small, with lots of indents on one side and a label on the other.

Seriously, after this, the Republic SIS better officially hire me as an agent.

She stood up and sauntered out of the cantina, heading for her apartment.

Natila frowned and pressed the data-card into the holo-projector. Her apartment was lit up with a bright blue light, as the brief appeared.

Valuable information…codename Silver Bridge….basic smash-and-grab job…..Hutt headquarters…..located on Nar Shaddaa…..rendezvous with partner at Section 23B…..

It sounded simple; Natila had been to Nar Shaddaa many times before. The only challenge would be to have a new partner; she worked better alone.

Stupid regulations.

She surveyed the brief for a moment longer, then shut off the holo-projector.

To Nar Shaddaa it is then.

#hope you like it!#there is waaaayyyy more to come #swtor #skullie's writing #oc: natila #star wars #swtor fic #probably gonna reblog this in the morning #cause I'm posting this later than usual #give me feedback guys #i would love to hear it!

10 notes · View notes

xiamosrs · 4 years ago

Text

Effects of Hyperinflation on Runescape's Economy

I really liked your answer, so people sometimes often confuse grind with"long and thorough game", may I ask now, do you find the grind of RS3 to be fun and engaging? I think I (and several others here) see Runescape as a very good'casual' game. When I am in the mood to become invested and explore, there's a compact that buy osrs gold fast delivery densely populated world with innumerable unique interactions to try. If You Want to focus on making progress rather, many abilities are a Fantastic kinda grind- decently fun to get targeted and put up and just get into the flow of training

Like, games like WoW and FF14 possess HUGE worlds, but pretty much everything it's possible to interact with in them are just enemies (99 percent of which behave identically to every other person ) or harvesting nodes that you just right click once and go on your way. Maybe theres a world supervisor or something, but its all in all very limited and predictable, there isnt much to discover, and thats even with stuff like FF14's Sightseeing logs and SWTOR's holocrons that reward exploration.

With Runescape, particularly when you hit on the midgame (~70s), everything you interact with will be pretty unique. All the supporting abilities have unique mechanisms and features along with hotspots (well, nearly all- I am pretty sure theres not much meaningful gameplay distinction between Crafting to create sure armor sets and Fletching to create ranged weapons) so while everything will have some degree of"click and wait" to proceed, theyre different enough that they offer you a unique sense to advancement. Mining and botany are indistinguishable in FF14, mining and woodcutting have some similarities but they Wind up playing out pretty distinctly

Its really easy to interact with many abilities with reduced actions-per-minute and still progress meaningfully over long periods of time, meaning it works pretty nicely as a cellular game or while viewing a film. You wont get in the paid version, but its a low cost - only download RuneScape and register.

What would occur if substantial amount of gold suddenly entered RuneScape? For example if Jagex gave everyone hundreds of millions of gold as a gift to every player (F2P and members)? Or large quantity of gold could be duped and dispersed among player base? Something like this has happened to multiple countries in the best way to make money runescape addition to some games. Would become untradeable. I doubt anybody will be willing to sell them for Spirit or Gold Shards, and trading them to get materials/non-rares would be risky due to fluctuations in possibility and perceived value of scams. How much Zaros Godswords will be sufficient to get single Party Hat?

0 notes

greyias · 7 years ago

Text

FIC: For a Good Cause

What is there for a bunch of SWTOR players to do while waiting for the maintenance on their beloved game to finish it’s maintenance period? Why, toss out ever increasingly ridiculous scenarios until they have to become a thing. And well, we had to keep each other entertained somehow, and I wound up writing another paragraph about every ten minutes when we sadly announced “Nope, no server’s up yet”.

Paging Clan Pirahna @rinskiroo, @stephyhimemademe, @andveryginger, @storyknitter, and @keldae, because they are just as much fault as this. And pulling poor @mjaydziarand in too, even though she was too busy to join in on our shenanigans.

Anyone interested in visual representation of the Hunks of the Eternal Alliance Calendar, please direct all inquiries to the names above. Because I forgot all the names on the list except for Doctor Oggurobb and his fez and bowtie.

"I'm sorry, do you have a hearing problem? I already told you 'no' about five times."

"Yes, yes, your mouth keeps saying no, but this standard contract agreement I hold in my hand says 'Yes, Gault, I'd love to pose in your charity calendar."

"I didn't sign a contract!" Theron snapped.

"Of course you did.” Gault shrugged lightly. “It was slipped in the middle of last week's requisition forms.”

“You did what?”

“Really, you ought to pay more attention to your paperwork, Old Man.”

“No.”

“You’ll be in breach of contract.” The sing-song quality of Gault’s voice made Theron’s eye twitch.

“You’ll be six feet under,” he snapped back.

“But then, what will you tell the poor children when Old Saint Gault doesn’t bring them their Life Day gifts?”

“I think the words I’ll use are ‘you’re welcome’.”

“Oh!” Gault staggered back, grabbing his chest in mock pain. “I’m so wounded! Well, I guess the poor children orphaned by the Eternal Fleet’s assault on their worlds don’t need any brightness in their lives.”

“That’s not going to work on me.”

The Devaronian quirked a brow. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t try. Since you’re in breach of contract, unfortunately that means you’ve forfeited the specialty caffa beans I so graciously negotiated the routine delivery deal on. I guess you and the Commander will just have to drink from the mess carafes like the rest of us plebeians.”

“I didn’t agree to that!”

“Your signature here says otherwise.”

“I hate you.”

If looks could kill, then one Gault Rennow would have been a pile of ash and cinders on the hangar floor. As it was he just waved jauntily at the Alliance's top spy (and laziest paperwork checker) as he beat a hasty retreat. "Don't forget, back room of the Cantina, 1800 sharp!"

It was later that evening, and the intense glare was still in place. It still had absolutely no effect on its intended target, who was futzing with what looked like a very expensive holo-camera. Theron shifted uncomfortably, and did his best to not look at the “outfit” that he was now sporting for this ridiculous scheme.

"Remember that time I promised to bury you in a hole so deep no one would ever find it?"

"I do, but I was more distracted by the Commander's outfit than your endless threats on my life."

The spy’s brow started to twitch angrily. "I swear, if you've somehow swindled her into this crazy scheme--"

"No, no, stars no! This is an all-male calendar. I’m calling it ‘Hunks of the Eternal Alliance’, catchy don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Besides, if we put the commander in there then no one will ever look at the other months."

The angry snarl was Gault's clue that perhaps it was time to change the subject. "Anyway, that outfit really suits you."

"It's a bow."

"And you wear it well!" Gault crowed, clapping Theron on his bare shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled.

Theron was not really a bashful man by his nature. He had, after all, been awarded the Republic’s highest honor for finishing a very dangerous mission (that he had been nearly naked by the end of, not that the Republic handed out medals for that, thank goodness.)

“Can’t I put on something… more?”

“What more do you need?’

“Pants!”

”Now, Theron, this is for the Life Day spread, and I do mean--"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear I will break off your other horn!"

"Moving on! If you would, please take a seat on that wampa skin rug."

"Fine, but I'm not asking how you managed to get a lit fireplace in the back of the cantina.”

“It’s wise to not ask questions you really don’t want the answer to.”

“Like why I’m only wearing a bow?”

“I told you, it’s for the Life Day spread.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“You’re wasting time.”

“Are you sure that door is locked?”

"Theron. My buddy. My pal. I'm a professional, would I risk humiliation (not to mention horrible dismemberment) by forgetting such a simple thing?"

He really wasn’t sure he trusted any word that came out of Gault’s mouth, but seeing as he wasn’t getting his pants back (nor his girlfriend’s very special and favorite brand of caf he had accidentally signed away), there wasn’t much choice but to go through with this.

The things he did for love.

"How long is this going to take?"

"I don't know!” Gault's well of patience, which was generally measured by how much money he stood to make from any given venture, was starting to wear thin. "Perhaps if you'd smile we could finish."

"What is there to smile about?"

"It's Life Day!"

"It's Taungsday."

"I mean for the holo. You want people to feel happy for Life Day right?"

"No."

"Not even the Commander?"

"That's low, Rennow, even for you."

"Hey, whatever works. Here, let's set the mood, get into the spirit of things. Tell me your favorite Life Day memory."

"Last year, when you were choking on the Commander's special fruitcake. It still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"Yes, well," Gault said irritated, "that's because your girlfriend has the culinary skills of a bantha on life support."

Theron glared, but unfortunately as every word the Devaronian had said was true, couldn't really argue.

"Fine, if you insist on glaring, let me see if I can find an appropriately festive hat. We'll change the theme up, 'The Grouch Who Stole Life Day'. I'm sure it will become an instant classic."

"You've never really worked with models before, have you?"

"Sure I did, and well, not worked with so much as dated, but let's not get hung up on semantics. Matter of fact, there were one or two of these hats involved..."

Theron growled. "I do not want to hear about you playing hide the mynock with a bunch of models, Gault..."

"Your mind always goes to the worst case scenario, doesn't it? They were wearing the hats on their head! (At least for the holo shoot--what happened later, well....)"

"Can we just... get this over with? Please? It’s a bit… drafty… in here.“

“We could… if you’d smile.”

"I'm experiencing shrinkage!”

"Well, I guess the bow will be able to keep you warm then."

“Did I mention the horrible way I’m going to kill you?”

“Only about ten million times. But hey, maybe if you threaten my life again I’ll suddenly take you seriously.”

To Theron's great horror, a gust of fresh recirculated air rushed in and added to the draft as the door slipped open a crack.

"You said you locked it!" Theron hissed.

"I lied," Gault shot back, starting to pack up his holo equipment in a panic.

"Hello? Is someone in here? There was a sign that said 'Private Holo Shoot', but the bartenders had no idea what it meant and--OH!"

"Commander.” Theron nodded his greeting tightly. “Funny meeting you here."

Her face turned an almost brighter shade of red than Gault's, although Theron was fairly certain the conman had never felt an ounce of shame once in his life. "What, what--I don't--"

"It's... for charity?" Theron tried, but couldn't hide his wince.

"Oh, come on, Commander.” Gault slung an arm around the shell-shocked Jedi’s shoulders. “You're acting like you haven't seen all of this before."

"The bow's new." Her voice was so high-pitched, it was almost a squeak.

"Really?" Gault fixed Theron with a disappointed look. "Remind me to get you two some spicy holobooks when we finish up here."

"I'm not touching anything that you've handled and dubbed 'spicy'!"

"I never figured you for such a prude."

"Keep it up, and I'll wipe that grin off your face!"

"You know, you talk a big game, but I haven't seen you attempt to get up from that rug once."

"You want some action, I'll show you some action!"

"Probably not something you should be saying when wrapped up like a Life Day present."

"That's it!" The spy snapped and started to struggle to his feet.

"Oh--oh, no! Theron, your bow!"

His girlfriend, who had seen everything and more was covering her eyes and pointing blindly in his direction. He looked down, a deep flush creeping up from his neck and he quickly sank back down to the rug. The smirk spreading across Gault's face seemed to grow wider as the blush darkened on the woman watching the proceedings with nothing short of befuddlement.

Theron cleared his throat, shooting an uncomfortable, but pleading glance at his other half. "Could you close the door? It's getting a bit drafty."

She shot him a sympathetic (yet still thoroughly bewildered) look, before she very promptly slid the door shut. Thankfully, the drafty breeze finally died, and Theron was extra grateful to hear the telltale click of the lock setting into place. Bless that woman.

"What kind of charity is this for anyway?" The blonde shook her head slowly, as if still trying to figure out if she were trapped in some bizarre alternate dimension.

"It's for the children," Gault assured her.

"This is not child appropriate festive wear--no offense, Theron."

"Trust me, I'm changing my name and leaving the planet the minute I find my pants."

"That seems like an overreaction," she stated simply, a little too obviously looking anywhere but at Theron. At this point, the red had crept to her ears.

"Exactly how much alcohol is out in that bar?" he asked his photographer/blackmailer.

"Need a shot to relax?"

"More like an entire keg to forget. Please tell me we're done, Gault."

"But I don't have the money shot yet!" Gault's voice bordered on a whine.

Theron just buried his face in his arms. "Please never use that phrase again."

"Well fine, but you're ruining Life Day if you leave now!"

The love of Theron’s life (and do-gooder pain-in-his-neck) eyes widened and flashed him the most pitiful look. He wanted to continue scowling, but found his steely resolve cracking as she resembled a kicked puppy. "We can't ruin Life Day!"

Theron's nose twitched as he glared daggers at his horrible, life-ruining photographer. "Fine. What do we have to do to 'save' Life Day." He might not have said "you manipulative son of a bitch" out loud, but it was very much implied.

"You know what you have to do."

"No chance in hell. Not even for Life Day."

"What does have to do?" The Jedi asked curiously.

"I need him to smile, just once."

"That shouldn't be hard. He smiles all the time."

"You're kidding, right?" Gault asked flatly. "We've been here for two hours and not once has that frown cracked. I'm not even sure it's possible."

"Maybe he's just camera shy."

"I'm right here, you know!"

"Maybe you're just not as good a photographer as you think you are," she shot back.

"Excuse me little Missy--"

Her eyebrow arched delicately.

"--er, I mean, Commander. But I've gotten holos of every other model for this calendar, and none of them were as difficult as your boyfriend."

"Maybe you need to work on your people skills," she said serenly. "Give me your holo-cam."

"What? No! This thing is rented--what if you drop it?"

"I save the galaxy on a weekly basis. I think I can handle taking one picture."

"Fine," Gault spat and handed over the camera, "I'll do anything if it gets me out of here."

"You could have just handed me back my pants and found another model," Theron pointed out.

"Except that! You have no idea what the Life Day spread will do for my sales!" At the sharp look that comment earned from the Jedi, he amended. "I mean the calendar sales. For the children."

"I expect to see a detailed invoice for all of this when it's done." She gave him a hard look. "Now, turn around if you please."

“I beg your pardon?"

"Clearly you're making him uncomfortable, I need you on the other side of the room."

"You two are sapping all of the fun out of this!”

"Good!" Theron shouted.

Gault noisily stomped over to the far corner of the room, making an exaggerated show of crossing his arms. "Fine, I'm not peeking and giving our super spy stage fright. Will you take the damn holo now?"

"Now who's being the Grouch that Stole Life Day?"

The blonde shook her head and gave Theron a wry look. "How about giving me a smile?"

"For you?" He quirked a brow, the corner up his mouth curling up into a smirk. "Anything."

There was a bright flash, and the moment was forever immortalized in its full holographic glory. The smile she shot back in Gault's direction was smug.

"I don't see what was so hard about that."

"What? You're done already?"

"I guess I just have better people skills than you."

"You cheated," he accused, starting to turn around.

"Uh uh," she waved a finger. "Let Theron get dressed first."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" He grumbled. “At least let me see how it turned out."

She handed over the camera to Gault as Theron very quickly, and gratefully, found his clothes. From the pleased cackling, apparently the conman had exactly what he needed to finish his dubious charitable masterpiece.

"You're a life saver," Theron muttered to her as he slipped his shirt over his head.

"Anytime," she whispered back. "Oh, and Theron?"

"What?"

Her ears turned bright red again, and she couldn't quite look him in the eye as she leaned in closer. "Keep the bow."

#swtor fanfiction #fanfic #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #Gault Rennow #Hunks of the Eternal Alliance Calendar #i'm sorry guys #blame #clan piranha #we really shouldn't be left to our own devices #this is how crack happens #swtor #otp: adorkable #oc: greyias highwind #greyfic

82 notes · View notes