#the kotfe fic

[carterashofficial]

I did it folks, after 4 damn years I got back to the KOTFE fic and it’s now Part 2: Electric Interlude between KOTFE and KOTET.

Warning: its long. but also, I’m proud of it. Also features an adorable sleen, Theron and Lana romancing each other just a lil bit, and Fiika realizing that her actions have some very unfortunate actions. and some Senya and Arcann mother/son bonding. They both deserve good things.

Oh.

And Valkorian gets headbutted painfully.

[knight-of-aether]

Happy Life Day, have 800 words of SWTOR fic (aka I wrote a thing and want to share it, but it's too rough and incomplete to go on AO3, so here goes nothing) Summary: the Empire's Wrath is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad day, several Horrible, No Good, Very Bad months after losing his homeworld and family; and finally, in Valkorion's throne room, everything collides. (Excerpt from my legacy story project, "Ira Tacita")

He steeled his face into an expressionless mask and knelt beside Marr’s corpse.

“‘You are still special to me; that is why I will kill you last.’” Valkorion echoed Vitiate’s words on Ziost, his voice practically anointed for how oily it was. “I see that you have finally decided to cease your senseless rebellion, Wrath. A wise choice.”

Idris clenched his left hand behind his back as his right held steady over his chest. Across the room he could see his dualsaber, hanging as a trophy from Arcann’s belt. Now that his bonds had been removed, he could open himself to the Force, wrench it into his hand, and leap forward in under a second. And then -

And then what?

If the Emperor didn’t simply move out of the way or use a surprise attack of his own - if Idris managed to actually pull off the assassination, reduce Valkorion’s body to charred fragments, the old man breathing his last to a lungful of lightning and saber - his spirit would still remain. If the galaxy had learned one thing so far, it was that the Emperor could easily survive without a host body, and would only continue to wreak devastation in that accursed immaterial form.

Of course, by then Arcann and the guards would have kicked into gear, an entire hostile fleet pointed at one assassin, and Idris would be dead alongside Marr within moments, his attempt all but futile.

A moment of catharsis and oblivion, weighed against the future of the galaxy. He inhaled slowly, exhaled, and stilled the trembling in his hands, slowed the frantic beating of his hearts. 

Discover your enemy’s weakness, or make one. Strike when their back is turned, when they least expect it; always have backup. Survive long enough to turn the tide, and then survive to see your victory.

He had played the long game with Baras once, and won. He was prepared to do so again, however many years of bitter subterfuge it took, to end the Emperor’s reign once and for all.

So Idris knelt, and bowed his head in silence.

The God looked upon His wrath, and smiled.

His choice to devour Ziost, of all planets, had been in part a challenge; a chance to test His chief servant’s true qualities. He had seen three outcomes that pertained to the creature: it would either be overcome by fear and try to flee from Him, hunt Him down and attack in search of vengeance for its kin, or swear allegiance to Him as the only master it had left.

The creature had chosen the last option; whether out of love or fear or a desire for power, it mattered not. He could sense only a cold unyielding determination through the shields it had built around its mind, but He was hardly worried.

Its choices would never matter, in the end. For the will of its God was absolute.

“A wise choice,” He said through Valkorion’s mouth.

As the creature knelt before Him, closer to its God than it had ever been, He took the time to inspect it thoroughly, before waving it to stand. A Pureblood would have been more to His tastes, familiar and wreathed in ancient power, but this half-blooded alien would suffice for His purposes. Though young, it had been finely tempered and honed in the forge of the Sith, exalted through years of agony; He could wield blade and storm alike effortlessly within its hands, and command the fear of multitudes.

“Together, we shall rule,” the God decreed, and bent His will to the ever-present storm within Him, the insatiable hunger that had kept His spirit in motion through millennia. Distilling His essence, drawing Himself out of Valkorion’s every pore and aiming towards His wrath, He cast aside the old human’s body and entered into His new vessel.

The creature screamed, of course; they always did, too wretched to understand the privilege of being remade in His divine likeness. It convulsed beneath the storm and tried vainly to reject Him, and He pushed further without pause, driving himself into every corner of its being, holding it down as it thrashed and sobbed.

In His lust, the God did not sense the bystander's approach. He realized what it had done only when Valkorion’s body fell sideways, and His ravaging essence was abruptly cut off.

As He looked for the first time through His wrath’s bloodshot eyes, He saw Valkorion’s whelp standing over its father’s impaled body, burning blade in hand. The sparks of His remaining essence withered and faded, trapped in the space between forms, the ritual left incomplete. The God reached out in rage, called the fragments to Him - 

His wrath's body crumpled and hit the floor, tortured beyond its limits and lacking the divine vitality that the completed ritual would have provided. Its eyes - His eyes - fell shut. But He had already won.

He laughed as the darkness closed around them.

[frauleiiin]

This shot is magnificent

[dingoat]

Void-touched

[Just a little bit of writing indulging in some of the terrible angst we've been inflicting on our (best) worst boys over the course of playing through KotFE. Five is... having a time.]

Five never bothered with mirrors these days. Looking presentable was never an issue; he’d perfected the art of doing his hair and having his uniform crisp and symmetrical decades ago, to the point where he could ready himself blindfolded on one foot. But now, there was no pleasure to be found in what had once been perfection. His face… it wasn’t his face any more. His body no longer felt like it belonged to him.

Sometimes, though, even without a mirror, he found himself still forced to acknowledge the changes.

His wound was weeping again, and he’d be damned if he’d get any of the medics to poke and squeeze at it any more, for all the good they’d done him so far. The mystics were no better, and all of Lana’s pacing and fretting hadn’t done a blessed thing. He was fairly sure even Valkorion’s invasive ghost, with all the power he whispered about, couldn’t do a damn thing for him, though with that thought Five allowed himself a brief smirk. Carefully, Five pulled down his trousers and winced at the gash on his thigh, and the dark, spidering discolouration of his skin that spread from it in every direction.

The wound itself was not painful. If anything, it was numb, a disconcerting sort of nothing where his leg had been gored by that beastly monolith among the ashes of Ziost so… so long ago. Ulfran had babbled some nonsense about a void, but… it had been healing. It had been getting better, slowly but measurably, before five years in carbonite had robbed him of his life and quite plainly compromised his body’s ability to heal. Now the wound oozed and stretched as though it had been made mere days ago, and the infection across his skin…

Five twisted and pulled up his shirt, then uttered a soft sound of dismay.

Further, ever further it crawled, rivers of purple and black that reached up his side and across his chest, and it was the edges of the infection, the areas where clean flesh was slowly overcome, that it burned and shot him through with intermittent blazes of pain. He traced his cybernetic fingertips along one of the paths of infection, lines of charred black and gleaming violet along his skin, wincing at the sensation and then snorting with the horrid irony that soon, his false arm might be the only recognisable part of himself.

How had he ever let himself dare to hope for something different? Why had it felt possible to dream of a quiet, comfortable retirement, for himself and his Thirteen and even Crow? After Ziost, he’d found himself increasingly disinterested in his desires for greater power, greater control and influence, wanting instead the time and space to…

To simply enjoy being alive.

Five twisted about the other way, peering over his shoulder to try and examine the extent of the infection along his spine. He felt cold more often than not, now. Cold, and an unfamiliar sort of melancholy, nothing at all like the comfortable rage he’d nursed since he’d been a boy. No, he didn’t have room for that sort of strength of feeling any more. He’d been dragged and pressed into the position of Commander, he had beings from every side of the old wars under his thumb, staring at him, coming to him for advice and direction. He had more power now than ever before in his wildly ambitious life, and he cared for none of it, except for the one tiny thread of hope that it might mean, perhaps, he could attempt to shape a future where at least his precious Thirteen might continue to live. Maybe even live well.

Five no longer saw himself in that future.

He was dying, of that he was quite certain.

Perhaps Thirteen knew it, despite his best efforts to hide it. Thirteen knew how often he reached for his cane, once the adrenaline of a mission wore off, before he had the chance to reach for another stim or hit of kolto. And nothing could disguise the change in his eyes, the luminescent violet that now sometimes burned so bright it smothered his pupils. Perhaps Thirteen recognised that something in Five was turned beyond repair, perhaps it was self preservation that led the Cipher to push away from him, to rebel, to lose trust and faith and seek companionship… elsewhere.

Five closed his eyes, shutting out the world with a soft sigh. If it was self preservation guiding Thirteen’s actions, he couldn’t blame him. He might even be proud, if only he could find it in himself to feel anything.

But it was all fading, and the further Five pushed away the anger, the passionate fury, even the disgust in his own failing body, the easier it became to ignore the cold and the hurt and the desire for something better. Even the quiet yearning for the simple touch of Thirteen’s hand at his cheek was barely a whisper in some shadowed recess of his heart.

And it was better this way. The command he’d never asked for was now all he had, to try and carve out a future for Thirteen out from under Zakuul’s tyranny and Valkorion’s insidious influence, and his decisions would be more clear, his directions more effective, if he didn’t have distractions like fear and fury and vengeance muddying up his thoughts. Thirteen could cry for Kaliyo all he wanted, but the alien had been a loose cannon, a liability, and her death had been a long time coming.

Slowly, Five rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine, trying to find some part of himself that still felt real.

When he opened his eyes, he nearly startled to see Thirteen staring at him from the doorway. Five did not care for anything he saw in his Cipher’s eyes, but the shame and rage that might once have felt inevitable never came. He did not need help dressing his wound, and the sickness crawling across his skin was no longer Thirteen’s business to concern himself with. “Get out,” Five found himself saying, his voice quiet, his tone as deathly flat as the end he knew was coming for him.

This isn’t how I wish you to remember me.

[wayfinderlegacy]

Tonight's rambles:

I haven't even finished my Sith Religion headcanon work OR played the Machine Gods raids, but I am THIS CLOSE to making a google doc of Zakuulan Religion so help me... :')

ON THAT NOTE! If there's Codex entries you get from running the raids or a really good video of them online let me know! (Oooor people willing to get a group together for a story player who just wants to go slow and watch stuff... :))

[anchanted-one]

Eternal War Rewrite

So I'm here at long last.

My first attempt at a fanfic was Eternal War. I had to leave it halfway through because of horrible mental health and burnout, and when I returned, I figured I might as well rewrite everything.

I started from the beginning, creating new characters with better lore and journeys. I wrote the whole Knight's story, a few snippets of the others, and an in-depth Shadow of Revan. I wrote Ziost, and the five year timeskip from KOTFE Chapter 1 to 3.

But I'm here again, and it's at Eternal War book 1.

So I have a dilemma. Do I leave EW as it is, as a separate, abandoned fic, or do I rewrite all its chapters with Vajra instead of Arro? There are some changes I've made in the story, including making Vajra a lot more indignant about the war Arcann waged. Not fallen Jed levels of fury, but definitely different.

Change the original, or post a new fic?

Some opinions would be nice.

[omgkalyppso]

WIP Wednesday

Hello. I'll share 1300 words of a 4000 word wip that I posted some screenshots of the other day but deleted out of embarrassment. It's 4000 words of longing and it's a fic that's intended to have 3 parts / scenes / chapters? that end in smut, but so far it just feels very silly to me and I wonder whether I should even post it, but I do like it (or at least. can tolerate my own bullshit) after a second look. It's my swtor Imperial Agent oc Chri'dalto and Vector Hyllus and their first night sharing a bed after the kotet reunion (which I never played but watched on y/t) (I stopped playing mid kotfe).

I was tagged by @ghostwise! Thank you for thinking of me! I'll tag @bladesandstars, @the-eldritch-it-gay, @wild-moss-art, @lucius-the-sinful, @tadpole-apocalypse, @evilponds, @razrogue, @littleplasticrat and YOU.

I will mention that I also have at least part of my pre-fic notes included in this wip document as an admittance that I don't even fucking remember if Joiners / Vector sleeps. It has been a while since I played the game. We're on vibes.

.

A Joiner can reflect on the memories of a nest, and so sleep can often also bring a thousand-thousand dreams upon Killik such as Vector. When the nest limited Vector’s connections too them, he began having the same singular styles of nightmare — adrift. Alone.

In the ever expanding emptiness of the universe he watched as all life and creation slipped further and further away. The Song of the Universe muffled in the vastness of space. The warmth of connection, the knowledge of life, his senses, lied. His wife was gone, and one day he would be too, and the nest’s fate would be as mysterious and oppressive as the darkness at the edge of the galaxies.

Vector had rejoiced in his reconnection to the nest when questions and whispers had come through The Song that related to the destiny of his long-lost love. Meditation, community and hope had kept his dreams peaceful, vibrant, and whole.

It stood to reason that the first time he should rejoin his wife in bed for a night of repose should offer him the best sleep yet, but no. His mind was awash with questions and anxieties and the impatience of the nest, and he’d tried, with all the tact of a politician, to reassure them and council patience — perhaps he’d even succeeded, as their dreams which floated in and out of his perception were joyous and mundane, but somehow he was still having his nightmare. His Agent, his family and his nest, were slipping away, no matter how hard he clung to them.

.

Vector awoke with a start. He did not jolt upright, but he did kick a leg out in fear, as if he could have fought the darkness away from himself. The motion hadn’t really propelled him so far as his waking body could perceive, and yet still he was nearly sent into a panic by the unfamiliar sensation of a body around him, a hand squeezing his left wrist in response to his violent slip from sleep.

“Vector?” said that impossible voice at his neck, and Vector instantly bent his right arm so that he could squeeze at the hand holding onto him. His Agent. His wife. A safe bed and a blessed place to find himself, to be sure. How could he have mistaken their shared aura for anyone else?

“We are sorry to have woken you,” he said softly, tone shamed and throat dry.

The Agent didn’t respond, and Vector hoped she slept once more. He had been grateful that she had offered to share her bed, and did not now seek to have her regret their closeness, nor this embrace, because he was failing to let them rest.

He imagined rolling over onto his opposite side, upsetting the hold the Agent kept around him for the sake of being face to face, to observe her and her aura directly. To press his forehead to hers and …

And he realized that this was already what she had been doing, with the side of her face pressed to the back of his neck, her breath tickling across his skin, her proximity and perception inescapable.

They were close. Closer than he expected them to be. Even so …

He'd imagined two scenarios as the most likely for if the Agent sought to reassert their relationship: either they would want to take it slow and he would spend months courting her, or they would be as pent up as he was and they would be all sweat and passion. He wasn't prepared for gentle intimacy. To be held and … presumably expected not to touch, not to take it too far, not to fantasize about their scents and auras intermingling while their bodies rocked together in rapturous ecstasy.

The weight of their arm was more than enough to entice and feed Vector’s imagination. He pictured his wife's hand guiding his by the wrist to touch himself for her amusement. Or taking his hand and putting it in her hair to keep his body open to their groping fingers.

Vector carefully flexed his hand to watch his wife's grip spread and relax around his forearm. Her purple-black fingers could be gripping him elsewhere. They belonged in his mouth.

Vector briefly considered rolling off the bed to right himself, to rattle his brain and silence his cock. With luck he would be sleeping with his Cipher Nine for a long time now, with charm he might restore their sexual intimacy after a period of acceptable growth before he made a fool of himself also.

His aura fizzed like angry clouds and carbonated fluid, and with little patience for himself, Vector gently guided Cipher’s hand from his body and down to her side as he slipped from the bed. The refresher wasn’t far, and either a quick moment of personal maintenance would aid in quieting his mind and body for the night — especially while Cipher Nine’s scent clung to his skin as surely as her body protested being separated from him, or a far more restrained splash of cold water should discipline his imagination from it’s continuous hungry spirals.

He had taken but a step when he heard shifting in the sheets behind him and another worried beckoning of his name.

“Vector?”

With a deep breath, he angled himself as best he could, willing that the dark and his wife’s grogginess would spare him his embarrassment. He kept his hands at his sides, but knew his posture was anything but relaxed.

“Only going to the refresher, Cipher,” he said. At least his voice was regulated.

Cipher Nine extended her arm out across the space in her bed that he had occupied, her fingers grasping at empty air. She pouted, “Touch my hand.”

Her command given, she dropped her sleepy face into the pillows, and with a small sigh of amusement, Vector cautiously approached to do as was asked, letting her squeeze his palm in reassurance. She tilted her head to free her mouth from the prison of her bedding to grumble, “Kiss my forehead when you get back.”

He didn’t answer her then, satisfied to leave her presence while she was relaxed, and appeased, and grateful. He wished that he was much the same, and did not want to prolong their parting or risk her suspicion for the delay of his absence because of his own confused emotions. . Vector ran cold water on his fingers, and splashed it upon his face, willing himself into memories, both his own and from the shared bank of the nest. Ice cold water in chilling glaciers, fires ravaging all they consumed, the emptiness of isolation. However each memory brought with it, its twin. The relief of reunion, the smells of blood and blaster burns where Cipher Nine was at her most impressive, the nectar of life in a shared canteen first at her lips and then at his.

It took longer than he’d have liked to find comfort in his state of conduct, and returning to his wife’s chambers did little to alleviate his problems. He briefly wished he could bust into a swarm and touch her every possession, breathe and float upon every unoccupied space of shared air, cocoon her in warmth and the humming of wings. It was not a fantasy she’d share, he imagined, though the breadth her enthusiasm and support of his place in Killik society and the physiology that came with it remained a priceless and precious surprise every time he was reminded of it.

Instead he walked to the bed with the sure gait of a Killik, relishing in the hum of the ship and the song of the stars, and the beautiful aura of his sleeping love. Half a human but wholly a man, Vector sat close to his wife and extended his arm across her body to cage her beneath him, between his wrist and his body, where he could bend his elbow to lower himself to her level and kiss her head as requested.

Cipher Nine made a small noise of acknowledgment, slowly rolling over as Vector straightened his arm, assuring they had the space they needed for their horns between them. She may have just been tired, but her aura was … sharp, sluiced with discordant colors, and so with some concern, Vector asked, “How are you feeling?”

[alyssalenko]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

AWWW! Thank you for thinking of me! A little shameless self promotion never hurt any one right? Be warned it is all smut because this is me we're talking about.

A Dose of Vitamin Me:

Three months before the Arks leave for Andromeda Marlo Ryder meets Harry Carlyle in a bar, neither of them knowing who the other is, and she takes him home for a night of passion. But what happens when they learn the other's identity?

Hearts Laid Bare:

Blackwall reconciles his past and future as Blackwall becomes a title, something to aspire to, Thom Rainier no longer lost in the lie and merging the two identities. This is after his trial with his heart laid bare…

By All Means:

Marina Shepard issued a command to her lovers and expected it to be followed to the letter, but unfortunately Kaidan got stuck on shift and she and Joker got started without him. He has to make up for lost time and they even try a few new positions...

Can't Stand It:

Pre KOTFE Y'vonne Vollay was the newest member of Havoc squad, before they all defected ruining everything for her and Aric Jorgan. Following her promotion to CO of Havoc and Jorgan's demotion before being placed on her squad as her first new member of Havoc, The two of them set off on a galaxy spanning mission to bring the Havoc Squad Traitors to Justice and to finish filling in the gaps of their new team. The two Cathars find themselves slowly falling for each other along the way...

Claimed:

An Underworld inspired Vampyr/Lycan AU where humans have discovered the existence of supernatural beings and have risen up to take down this imposing threat, but the supernatural beings aren’t going down without a fight. Plus a Vampyr and a Werewolf just happen to be soulmates. ;)

[serenxanthe]

Zakuul: A SWTOR WiP

Seren and Theron try to have a conversation after five years apart while dodging skytroopers and Lana’s ire.

This is one of the eleventy million WiPs I’m working on rather than editing the final three chapters of my Coruscant story to upload to AO3.

I just typed this on my phone this morning so it’s 100% unedited, and I’m still on my phone, so apologies for any formatting weirdness that appears.

This is a small snippet of my story based on the rescue from carbonite through to founding of the base of Odessen section of KOTFE. It’s a bit of a fixit fic for where the hell was Theron for nine chapters?

Seren and Lana headed off a group of approaching skytroopers while T7 and Theron hacked into yet another security terminal, frantically trying to cover their trail and confuse and slow down their pursuers. An unfamiliar male voice sounded over their comms asking Lana if she had ‘The Outlander’. That was what she was here, Seren supposed.

Seren learnt that the man’s name was Koth Vortena and that he was piloting the shuttle that would meet them at the planned pick-up point. The shuttle that Theron had piloted in would be abandoned to further confuse Zakuulan Security. Lana and Koth’s relaxed banter was unusual for the Sith, or at least it had been five years ago, so Seren asked her, “Is that your boyfriend Lana?”

Theron snorted with a suppressed laugh, “That’s a good question!” he congratulated her.

Lana’s face was unamused, and her only answer was, “I’ll pretend that isn’t your greatest concern at the moment.”

Lana’s love life wasn’t Seren’s greatest concern, but she had successfully mostly satisfied herself that if Theron did have a new boyfriend or girlfriend, at least it wasn’t Lana, or this guy Koth.

Seren sighed inwardly, she should probably just ask Theron rather than trying to rule potential love interests out through a process of elimination. She was thirty now, wasn’t she? Maybe she should try to behave in a slightly more mature way. But in her defence she’d stepped into Valkorion’s palace having just turned twenty-five and now she was suddenly five years older. It would take time to adjust, she told herself.

They continued their escape, their pace by necessity frenetic, until a long lift journey of hundreds of stories within the spire forced them to pause. Seren had so many questions; what had happened in the galaxy, were the Republic and Sith Empire fighting the Eternal Empire, or each other, both, neither? Was Lana aware of Marr’s death? Where was the rest of Seren’s crew? She rested her hand on T7, grateful he was here at least. She didn’t know where to begin.

Theron was staring at her, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her face. Suddenly, her most urgent question was clear.

“Theron, are you… single?” Seren asked him, her heart in her mouth.

“WHAT?!” Theron exclaimed, “No, of course I’m not single, I’m…”

His voice and facial expression were so outraged that Seren took a step back, startled.

“Sorry Theron, of course you’re not. Of course. It’s been five years, I’m sorry. I wasn’t assuming, just asking, I…”

Lana rolled her eyes so hard she was worried she’d hurt herself. How had these two idiots ever managed to be in a relationship for five years when they seemed completely incapable of communicating with each other effectively? Their two year break-up somewhere in the middle of that was beginning to make more and more sense to her.

Theron was staring furiously at Seren, and she was looking anywhere but him, trying surreptitiously to brush the tears from her eyes.

“If I can interject here…” Lana started.

“Back off, Lana!” Theron snarled at her.

She ignored him and spoke to Seren, “Seren, what Theron is trying, badly, to say is that he’s not single because he still considers himself to be in a relationship with you.”

Seren looked up at her, her face suddenly suffused with shocked hope.

“Theron, what I believe Seren was asking is whether or not you are in a relationship with somebody else who you’d met during the five years she was in carbonite. Yes?”

Seren nodded in silent confirmation, then turned to look at Theron again, her eyes huge. “You’re not with somebody else?” She asked him, wanting to be clear this time.

Theron shook his head, “Never. I’d never… I waited for you Seren, I waited.” His voice sounded muffled, as if he was close to tears himself.

Seren swallowed, “You waited? Do you mean that… you didn’t meet anyone at all while I was gone?”

Theron shook his head, “I didn’t, I… couldn’t.” He broke off, furiously trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Seren stepped towards him and took his hands. “But Theron, you thought I was dead. How could you have been waiting?”

“I was grieving, then I found out you were alive, then I was waiting. Why is that so difficult for you to believe? Do you really have such a low opinion of me?” Theron was sad. And angry. He wasn’t completely sure at whom.

Lana was almost relieved when the lift jerked to a halt on the ground floor and they were greeted with a barrage of blaster fire from yet another group of skytroopers. This ongoing conversation between Seren and Theron was painfully protracted, and she was sick of hearing it, sick of being the dues ex machina in their space opera. They all needed to focus on surviving this escape, and the ache in her abdomen was purely anxiety over that, she told herself firmly.

[pandora15]

no one asked me about this recently but I figured I should say that modern au is probably not gonna be updated in a long time, as is shifting shadows.

for modern au, I think it's gotten to this point where it would just be really difficult for me to dive back in. I can give it a whirl maybe once I'm done with remnants of destruction, but just thinking about the story in a general sense makes me pretty sad. my brainspace has changed quite a lot in the past few months, and I think I'll find it very difficult to continue this story.

as for shifting shadows, I think where I left it off is that I had the rest of the fic outlined or something? I'd have to check my document. but honestly I regret starting that fic. I've since realized that writing sequels to fic is really difficult and I wish I hadn't completely undone drifting starlight's ending for the sake of "shock value". I can maybe talk about the upcoming spoilers for that fic since I'm pretty sure I won't be updating it but only if y'all are comfortable with me doing that. let me know.

(you'll notice this is why I was so insistent on not writing a sequel to kotf)

what I do have planned right now is finishing remnants of destruction. I have the rest of the fic outlined, but I'm already thinking of making some changes to said outline (I want to make sure I do the story + characters justice and it's not easy).

after that, I had some other vague ideas including a kenobi series AU or maybe even some fun time travel thing where there's multiple obi-wans at the same time. because what's more fun than one obi-wan? MULTIPLE obi-wans.

case in point:

TLDR writing is very slow and difficult but I'm trying! I would love love LOVE to write something like kotf again but that would probably (definitely) have to wait until after I'm done with grad school and I finish remnants of destruction.

[sullustangin]

I am hyyyypped for the chapter tomorrow.

It has an illustration from @vexa-legacy

It moves multiple plots forward (heist plot; Eva recovery plot; Theron/Eva relationship; and #3)

Our favorite (spoilers) returns to terrorize bakery workers everywhere

More domestic headcanon that makes me personally happy; I've published it before as part of Fluffy February, but now it's 'officially' part of the story. I treat writing prompt months like first drafts and creative spurs, and then I canonize it all as a 'final' draft in my serialized fics.

Am I doing fic/fluff/smut/swtor/kink -tober? I have no idea yet. I think tomorrow is decision day.

It's actually nice to be spending time on the worldbuilding of Odessen before going right into KotFE Chapter X. It's probably indulgent and maybe annoying for readers who loved the high-speed action of the Shadow of Revan expansion arc, but I feel like these people need a break before being plunged into what's next.

...and that's not to say this fic won't have action.

...or that someone else won't return in full form, ready or not.

[consularmain]

Quick consult for fan fic matter. Arcann's and Vaylin's ages: I remember reading a theorycraft post (maybe it was yours?) about Arcann only being about 20ish when he and Thexan did their thing in raiding the Core Worlds, and so he's about 25 at the time the Outlander is defrosted in KoTFE. That would make Vaylin in the 20-22 region. Does that sound right to you?

I don't think it was me that said that (I operate based on vibes rather than strict timelines lol) but that does sound about right. I always thought Arcann was in the 25-28 age range with Vaylin being two to three years younger so that's how I've written them. Hope that helps!

[chaoticstrata]

A Bit of Aketho Lore

@karanan Ok, since the replies to my one post wouldn't allow me to fully write this out, here it is. XD

Gonna try to not bore you with Aketho's whole family backstory…because I'm insane enough to have this in my head for future fics. For the most part, his father is pretty pragmatic and would see the benefit of having an agent in Intelligence; he doesn't want it to be his son. He wants to avoid getting his family involved with an outsider's--the Empire's--war. At least, that's what he tells Aketho and his siblings. In actuality, he didn't want Aketho to join Intelligence--and Aketho does not know this--because he promised his late wife he would protect their children. Aketho's father knows he would not be able to do that with any of them leaving Chiss space. He already feels he failed her when it was discovered their eldest was force-sensitive. They had to send him away (he ended up training with the Jedi), which devastated his wife and Aketho. He refuses to let that happen again…yeah, the whole start of KotFE wrecked him a bit. >.>

Aketho has always thought himself a disappointment to his father, mainly because the man is a bit cold and distant to him and his siblings. The main reason is his father's upbringing. He's not good at showing emotions or acting like a father because he never had anyone to show him how to do the latter. He can show emotions when a mission depends on him being open and friendly or using his cover of a well-known merchant. Their House is officially known for being merchants and artisans as a cover. However, he struggles to be open in private or with his children. The only person he's truly opened up to was his wife, and when she passed, he clammed up again--he's working on all of that.

I still need to pick out a name for this man, yet I already have a whole backstory for him. ;-; Things may change by the time I reach this in my story, but this is what I've planned out in my head thus far. Hopefully, it makes sense!

And I 100% agree about the Chiss lore bit; it's why I made up Aketho's House. It just seemed to work in my head. I based the House off of the Rogue's Guild in FFXIV, where they're the enforcers of the pirate Code in a legitimate pirate city-state. House Omi is there to keep the noble families from outright killing each other from political intrigue/rivalry--plus a side business of assassinations/spying.

[frauleiiin]

Writing Game

Rules: Post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.

Thank you so much for the tag 🫶 @serenofroses

Ngl I didn't post right away cuz I wanted to keep working a little more on my fic so the last line I wrote would be better 👉👈 but I've been very tired so I DIDN'T. So I'm gonna cheat anyways and put the FIRST line I wrote for my fic, that way it serves like a little teaser hihi.

It was a calm night in the Old World, on its empty streets, a Chiss woman was walking alone. The air was breezy, yet, she felt like the thousands of lights from the city were warming her up, somehow. She found it curious how the homeworld of such a destructive Empire could feel this peaceful. She began to understand why her friend had exiled himself here..

-Lines from a fic set during KOTFE featuring Rue, my Imperial Agent, who's searching for Kaaydan, my Smuggler, after not seeing each other for years.

No pressure tags: @nekorinnie @izmagicallulu @aeskanera (idk if you write!) @shynmighty and whoever wants to do it!

[dingoat]

Five Years

[Well, this is a huge mess of rambling fiction, but I'm working on the philosophy that getting something out terribly is better than not getting it out at all! A response to @askshivanulegacy's Written In The Stars, musings set during KotFE that barely scrape the surface of what our characters have been experiencing. 2.2K words from my best girl's perspective (but they all get a mention), raw and barely edited, sorry not sorry for any incoherency, I need to get to bed hahaha.]

He was as infuriating as he’d ever been.

But that only meant he was still just as captivating.

She’d felt the breath knocked out of her, when the ship finally landed on Odessen, when she felt his presence walking the same earth as her paws tread. “They’re back,” she knew it was only through her that Blakk was aware, and she felt the thread of nerves flickering through him. It was still such dangerous territory, even muddied as it was after so many years. Watcher Five and Cipher Thirteen had been dead as far as the greater galaxy had been concerned, for five years. Each one mourned under a different name, one a polished public figure tailor made for the Empire to love, and the other all too raw and real, the sole survivor of the death of Ziost, the one man who had watched a planet turn to ash around him.

Most considered that cataclysm to be the beginning  of it all.

To Ahuska, it had been the moment they had been sealed in carbonite.

She’d never stopped thinking about him, not really, even after Ulfran had whispered that it was for the best and gently undid the bond she’d built with Thirteen through the Force. It had served its purpose. Linked to his body through his very soul, she’d re-learned how to shift her body with the moon harmoniously, stabilising herself against him. She’d re-learned how to settle her form into one free of discord, free of pain, and she was able to exist peacefully and thoughtfully among those she’d only ever been driven to kill.

She owed him so much for that alone.

And yet he’d also… become something more to her. She couldn’t deny it, even if she still didn’t fully understand it. There was a part of her that loved him, would always love him, but it was a part of her that she’d never had the chance to fully explore, as she’d been physically separated from him and turned back to her study.

Her duty.

Ulfran had been right, of course. Master Tanak’qi had been right. Letting half her heart live half the galaxy away, she’d never have found the room or the focus needed to fulfil her promise to Blakk. She’d never have been able to give her all to Blakk, what he needed, what she owed him, what she desperately wanted to pour into him to see him reclaim his whole self and begin to flourish. To finally allow them both the opportunity, the space, to get to know one another properly and come to understand their feelings for each other without all the galaxy getting in the way.

She was devoted to Blakk. She was in love with Blakk.

But she’d never stopped thinking about Cipher Thirteen.

Was he even Cipher Thirteen any more? She wasn’t really sure what the state of Imperial Intelligence and the Cipher program was these days, and she cared very little for those who claimed to be running things. She heard the people up in the base referring to Five as Commander, and it made her stomach tighten and her lip curl, but when she saw the look in his eyes, when she felt that tear in his soul and the void that was trying to devour him from the inside, she found she felt only pity for the man who had once attempted to keep her as his prize trophy hound.

He was not that man any more, even if the Alliance members who trotted at his heels seemed to think his iron fist would save them all.

She listened to the people, in their little hive of warfare up above. Some still said Thirteen, but she wasn’t sure she’d heard the title ‘Cipher’ in quite some time. Nor Agent. There were those who spoke of The Survivor in sombre tones, or those who named him Corran, but she knew not even that was his real name. His true name… oh, she wished to whisper it to him some time. She wanted to let him know that she knew. She wanted to be able to give him something real.

She wanted to tell him that she’d never stopped thinking about him, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it.

About how she’d grieved his home planet from afar, when she caught wind of the devastation on the holonews.

About how she’d closed her eyes and let her heart travel and how she’d ached at what she’d found, how it had felt too raw and personal for her to experience without him knowing she was there. Those feelings… they were for the people physically there with him, who could put their arms around him, who could give him a place to rest his head and soothe his ragged soul.

About how she’d not been able to contact him, to find him in person, amid the surge of jammed signals surrounding Ziost’s cataclysm, or the way he’d gone dark when he’d begun hunting the rogue Emperor in earnest. With Five, and Crow, and Ulfran…

She’d tried, though.

She wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about how she’d known the moment his breath had been pulled from his lungs and Arcann had sealed him off from the rest of the galaxy.

Dead, the galaxy at large had said.

Asleep, her guts had told her. Quiet. Distant. But not wholly gone. When she ran through the Force in her sleep, she’d glimpsed a barren wasteland that echoed with his presence, but no matter how she called he never seemed to hear her.

Blakk had asked her about Five, once. Very softly. She’d closed her eyes and pushed the pain from her expression, but not before a flicker of it showed through. Five was the same, she’d told him. Somewhere distant, but not gone.

They’d stayed gone for years, and those years had been hellish.

For so long, she’d kept herself free of the never ending conflict between Empire and Republic, determined never again to be used by either side. Determined to keep Blakk free, and safe, and give him the time and space he needed to heal. But the galaxy raged on, and when a new player entered the field, when Zakuul moved in and began to decimate both sides with equal prejudice and unthinkable power, safe places to lay low and avoid the fight grew fewer and further between.

Odessen had been a perfect haven, for a time. One that they’d shared with Crow, where together with Ulfran she’d helped him come to understand the gifts that he possessed. It was a place they’d allowed others to take refuge on, in fits and spurts, a place to keep hidden, a place to be nourished by the Force. A place where she worked as a healer, when those she trusted brought wounded who’d seemed beyond hope. The Queen of the Wilds, they’d called her, and she and Blakk had retreated to wilderness in earnest, only to be pulled out, again and again, to tend to people who had done nothing for her, for the sake of those who’d done everything.

She wondered, sometimes, how different life might have been if she’d held onto her bond with Thirteen. If she’d been beside him, in person, or even riding in his heart, knowing his thoughts and seeing through his eyes, on that fateful day he’d been walled off from all the galaxy. Could she have helped? Could things have gone differently, could they have cut off the head of this new reign of terror then and there? She rose to her feet, wolf-shaped, huge and powerful, and moved to where Thirteen sat, hanging her massive head over his shoulders. None of the endless what-ifs were any good to them, and it seemed that Thirteen had become even more accomplished at dwelling than she was. He’d been lost, and… awkward, almost, in a way so uncharacteristic that it pained her to see. She saw the tension, between him and Five, and wasn’t sure what to make of it. She watched as Crow tried to reconnect, but Crow was somebody new now, as well, with unheard of responsibilities and years of growth and experiences behind him that Thirteen had… simply not been there for.

Ahuska wasn’t sure it was right to push herself into the middle of all that, if she was welcome or wanted, even if the piece of her heart that he’d always owned leapt at the sight of him.

And then the Star Fortress had fired, and she’d found herself shaken to the core, mourning a people, a planet, that she’d never taken the time to get to know. Rage and regret were a potent combination, and the last thing she’d expected was for Thirteen to come to her, after the news of the attack on Bothawui had spread.

He had come, and she’d seized his offered hand, and together they had stormed their first fortress together. Together, they’d cut loose, and together, they’d found an outlet for feelings they didn’t otherwise know how to express. Ahuska realised, as they raced through the fortress halls, shattering glass and splitting skytroopers and tracking the blood of Zakuul Knights through golden corridors, that in Thirteen she had an equal. Someone who understood her wildness and accepted it without judgement, because he knew it as she did, he relished it as she did, and he had never once made her feel like a monster for it. They were equally appalled at the activities of the Zakuul nobility, and they were both driven by red hot fury at the sheer injustice of it all. He had served for years; she had been used for years, and every hope they’d had of putting those bloody, brutal lives behind them and finding something good and new had been gutted.

With Thirteen, she finally found the nerve to stare the enemy in the eye and say no more.

Yet every attempt to express herself to him had fallen short.

He shied away from offering too much of himself… just like he’d always done, really, except now she sensed the hollow ache inside him, and now she didn’t want to let him slip away.

It was easier to be the wolf, to offer herself with no expectations of conversation, to accept his arms around her and give him something strong and stable, but… it wasn’t enough. She needed him to know. His eyes were so soft and his expressions so strained and she needed him to know that he didn’t have to keep facing this battle alone.

They would part, she knew. He would head up to his quarters, she would steal away back into the forest, each to the partners who were theirs.

But she needed to give him more.

She flowed into her smaller shape, halfway between bothan and wolf, taking one of his hands in hers before they went their own ways for the night. She ignored the uncertainty that flickered across his features, the tremor that rolled through him.

“Thirteen,” she said softly, letting her wolf ears splay loosely either side of her head. “Do you remember, years ago, when you told me I shouldn’t rely on a crutch to use my power? When you took the stones and said I didn’t need them?”

“You gave them to me,” he corrected, with hint of wariness about him.

“Yes, after you convinced me. And it was the right thing to do. You were right.” She paused, and dared to reach up and touch her fingertips to his cheek. “I never wanted to be cut off from you.”

His eyes went wide, and she nearly fell apart then and there. Never had they spoken of it; never had they faced what it had meant to have their bond severed with crude and ugly words. And maybe that had been a mistake. She clung to his hand, and forced herself to continue.

“But that had also been the right thing, because I would have leaned on it too hard. You… you would have been a crutch, just like the stones, and I never would have learned just how much I could be on my own, I’d never be where I am today…”

She tried not to look too closely into his eyes, she tried not to read too deep into the expressions tugging at his features. “It hurt, I never would have dreamed how much it would hurt and I… I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you all these years, even when it never felt right to say it, watching the way Crow and Ulfran searched…”

She swallowed, almost lost her nerve, but then pushed herself to find his gaze again. To meet his lovely eyes, did he have any idea how brightly his soul shone through them? “But it’s not a crutch any more. I’m stronger than I’d have ever imagined or hoped, or ever even wanted and so now, knowing you… it’s a choice. It’s something I can choose freely.” Did he hear what she left unsaid? Did he know when she spoke of knowing him, she meant to be connected as they once had been? Did he realise what she couldn’t quite bring herself to say aloud, that she would reach out and bind herself to him once more if he gave any indication that he would welcome it back? “It’s a miracle that you’re back with us and I don’t want to lose you again.”