#it's all theron's fault

[eorzeashan]

man I've been trying to latch onto the story beats for KOTET but mostly failing; and I think it's because Eight's whole deal with it only worked for KOTFE. would he beat Valkorion's ass for trying to hijack his and Jadus' bond? absolutely. would he be there for the Vaylin stuff? not... so much.

The way he sees it, he's repaying a life debt to Lana (since Koth pretty much opted out of it by taking the Gravestone as his reward) that is equal in worth to Arcann's death. Once that happens, he's out. And he hasn't enjoyed this whole stint one bit either; in fact, I can say he's even more miserable than he was under the Castellan Restraints. At least there he was thrilled by it and motivated by his own purposes. Here, he feels trapped. Alone.

You could say he has a choice to walk away, but at this point he's too mired in the war and it's...well, he takes burdens. He has that code to always repay what he owes even if he hates it. Lana doesn't realize it either-- or she only noticed one time via that letter, but didn't do much about it because what she asks him to do is so tied to what she doesn't give a second thought about: it's necessary. She thinks he has a personal stake in this and projects her own frustrations at the state of the world onto him because she doesn't know. And perhaps, that means.... she doesn't know him, either.

Their relationship was basically the same before too, only this time it's tipped drastically in her favor because he no longer has that choice to disobey. He could've had worse masters, but Lana's pragmatism and way of pointing him at what needs to be done (killed) has been horrible thus far. Even Jadus/Acina were both more receptive and open to him and while Lana does in essence, care, she does not hesitate and doesn't question her motives or the one she's shouldering these tasks to.

It's mostly the BuyowareTM effect of mission-ordained bestie and the plot railing, but it also does feel like... she doesn't realize how satisfied she is when he's finally following her orders after a long, long time of him openly resisting and making no effort to respect her chain of command, which was like a subconscious reaction on his part each time he sassed her because he didn't want to be under her thumb. Then when he agrees and does what she asks, she's more than pleased, happy even.

Yet from Eight's pov, it does something to him each time where he sinks even further into being that unfeeling weapon who no longer wants to think.

Would she be mortified if she knew how miserable he was having her as a taskmaster? Most likely. She's just doing what she thinks is best for the people she knows and her galaxy-- but it's her unawareness of this, her extreme pragmatism and eagerness to use him to the best of her ability that shifts their power dynamic to something less benevolent. Even under the kindest of Sith who treats him as a friend, he suffers because of his nature as a weapon to be used by her and her iron-clad ideals.

It's also a detriment on his part where Eight makes no effort to sway other people or change them because he believes in witnessing their true selves without his interference, and when Lana admitted she only saved him so he could save them, she sealed her fate and his. In that way, he tends to enable the worst in others around him because he lets them go unchecked, convinced it's who they are at their core. It's made worse by Eight honoring his debt to Lana, as he can only follow what she wishes and not completely override her decisions as he did before in SoR.

You could also say Theron helped to balance that out but as he's taken a backseat this time, it's also become damaging to him to watch Eight lopsidedly defer to a much colder side that clashes with Theron's way of doing things. So much so he's started "other"-ing him and blaming it on heartless Imps. That's another reason why every time Eight gets separated from them, he briefly considers using the opportunity to run away, but of course, he never does. Using Dromund Kaas' assassination attempt as a cover for his death was so tempting, and how bad does it have to be if you want to fake your death to your friends of all things?

I feel like this is all going to reach an untenable point somewhere as it has to, I'm just unsure as to what form it'll take given the unpredictable nature of the current story to either provide me with all the story revelations or nothing at all.

The current idea i'm entertaining is that Theron puts the pieces together of Eight's downturn into extreme coldness and avoidance of them, an overhead discussion involving Koth once again arguing with Lana over her treatment of him (i.e. that one letter), and then the final subplot where he is given the extra mission during the Traitor Arc to not only destroy the Gravestone but take away their other weapon, Eight himself, by convincing him to leave the Alliance-- only that isn't a ploy from Theron because he catches onto just how bad this is for his former friend and ends up helping Eight "get out".

That's probably too messy of a story to write, but we'll see-- but also because the Traitor Arc would hit much differently if Lana simply sic'ed Eight on Theron like she did on Arcann and Senya and Vaylin to some essence. For one, he might end up dead. And nobody likes a dead Theron. Two, Eight really is the Alliance's other weapon, and much less of a personality as the game makes out the Commander/Outlander to be. Vinn Atrius might have noticed by then who that white-haired attack dog is who keeps entering the battlefield and killing their top contenders: another one of the Alliance's trump cards. He and the Gravestone have been synonymous in their effectiveness and use from the beginning, so it's only natural they'd want to take him out of the picture.

Lastly, I just really want these two to reconcile. It kind of broke my heart that Theron used to find common ground with him and now doesn't see him at all, and I also thought the idea of a little bit of truth being behind him being a traitor was spicy if... the Outlander was one who was more burdened by the Alliance than protected or saved by it. The idea of taking down everything you've built thus far because it's hurting the person who made it all possible... it's sweet, isn't it? It's the kind of thing the last spy with a heart would do. Maybe that's ooc. But I do like the idea of exploring just how far all of them are willing to use weapons who may even be their own friends just to get ahead in this damn galaxy, and course-correcting from that when you realize you'll never stop having another Arcann or Vaylin, with too many Senyas and Master Surros in between.

This has to end somewhere, but mostly I just want the Rishi trio to come to terms with the way they are now :'I.

#swtor #oc: orradiz #kotfe/et au #accidental long winded ramble about eight's relationship with lana and theron in these times #but also. imagining theron going 'it's over. be free' and Eight silently staring at him in that unreadable way #then taking his smiling proffered hand #which theron thinks is going to be a handshake but instead he just holds his hand very delicately #and then kisses his knuckles. #he fucking explodes into confused bisexual panic ofc but eight just smiles genuinely at him and says thank you #eight follows up with ask me to fight for you any time and theron scoffs after what he just saw with lana #like 'im flattered but I won't. ever. you've done that enough.' #hueghh anyways this is just me wishing eight could be seenTM #esp since this side of him was the one his Nine self never wanted to show theron out of fear he wouldn't understand or accept him #so this is a bit cathartic LOL #anyways. this probs makes zero sense #and just so you know this isn't bashing lana she's not evil for doing this #she just has no idea what it meant to choose Eight of all people to be her champion #I think it would be a good wakeup call for her though #to go 'I never realized...I didn't mean to-' ' he says it wasn't your fault.' ' but it was Theron! all of it!' #I think it might help finally rectify the same reasons she used theron as bait albeit more drastically #10 years to crack that one though...wow #i also want them to make up. but it won't be done if neither of them do anything about it :'o #also also also this is the negative consequence of the concern lana might use an imp underling but NORMALLY most would have told her #since she wasn't informed here the worst played out

[kissingwookiees]

reading back through my old swtor posts and like damn we were really working with fucking SCRAPS when it came to gay romance options prior to the conclusion of kotfeet

#i really had kadmus romancing theron for a hot minute??? what was wrong with me??? #and yeah i still have a couple of headcanon rewrites for the arcann romance #bc all of arcann’s dialogue depicts kadmus as this beacon of light and uhhh #noooo…. but it’s sweet that you think that #actually it’s a relationship built on the idea of mutual atonement and helping one another improve #after being brought up in a toxic system 🙏 #in my head at least #bioware says otherwise but that’s fine it’s fine #but yeah it work’s infinitely better than theron #sorry to theron it’s not your fault but i don’t think you wanna woo the war criminal

[13leaguestories]

I want to be friend with both Theron's, but hey, why do they both have to be so complicated? I understand Syd, really, truly. Rahim really seems to have a dick up his ass, but... he's blind, and I just wish- I dunno know... Damn. Rahim, can u pls wake up!!!!??

Just... The World is about to end if all this shit goes wrong, so pls, ya two need to work together, huhh????

Adoel is a bitch n I'm about to kick they dirty ass up

In Rahim's defense, he has a reason. Despite whose fault it is, Sydero did some fucked up shit and continues to do fucked up shit. So, she doesn't get a pass. I love my chaotic cambion but she is chaotic and unapologetic about it.

But perhaps Roe, aided by the power of friendship will save the day. Will they? Find out next time on My Little Supernaturals, Friendship is Complicated.

#superstition ask

[sullustangin]

❛nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time!❜

From soft and sweet sentence starters (I'll still take prompts)

Words: 652

~~

“Nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time.”  Theron was resolved.  The Captain had to come back to Odessen.

That didn’t deter Eva for a moment, as she lovingly gazed up at him from her seat in the dive bar he’d found her in this week.  “Oh, come on.  Lana can do the flimsi-work, and you can find some other slob to do the flying and meeting and greeting.  You don’t need me.  I’m just some lady smuggler.” 

Eva slid her hand down the bar toward him, teasing at the fingers and hand that he had rested there.  “So, what’s a hard-working guy doing in a place like this?”

Theron stole a furtive look around the bar before pulling up a stool next to her.  “Those eyes work in vast variety of contexts.  You know it doesn’t for this one,” he murmured to her. 

She answered him by flagging the bartender down.  “Whiskey, neat.  Corellian, if you got it.”

“There’s a surcharge –”

“Fill ‘er up.”  Eva slid the man a more than adequate number of credits, plus a tip. 

Theron leaned back slightly from his seat at the bar to elbow Bowdaar, carefully; the Wookiee was playing sabacc at the nearest table.  “I thought you’d curb these impulses with her.”

Bowdaar whickered back, “I make sure she gets home in one piece.  Trying to tell her what to do and when are different problems.”  Bowie looked at his cards, and he raised his bet. 

Theron shook his head.  He did feel better with Bowdaar around, but Eva still had the tendency to wander away from Odessen.  She typically did return within two days when summoned, but there were still occasions that required Theron to be deployed.

Like now.

Theron was pretty sure she did it on purpose to lure him away from work.  “What brought you to Tatooine, of all places?”

“No Star Fortress,” Eva gaily answered him, and then she reached backwards to clink glasses with Bowdaar.  Bowie was on a roll at the tables, so he tolerated the interruptions.   “And it’s not too far from Odessen.”

“Only on the opposite side of the Core.”  Theron’s whiskey was delivered to him, and he took a sip.

“Real?” Eva asked.

“Real,” Theron confirmed before he took another sip of the now-rare liquor.  “Hopefully, Corellian whiskey will be back on the ‘basic’ shelf of bars across the galaxy soon.”

“Another great gift of mine to the universe," Eva said airily.  “I should get bonus vacation days for that.”

Theron decided to make the silly argument, since ‘duty’ and ‘the greater good’ weren’t cutting it.  “You’ve had enough vacation days – which is why I’m out here to lure you back to Odessen.  There are many more distilleries, wineries, and brewers to be liberated from the Eternal Empire.”

“I suppose.”  Eva sipped her gin and tonic – not yet Sullustan.  She examined the glass.  “What’s next on our agenda?” 

“Alderaan.” 

Eva hummed. “I might have some friends there, still.  Maybe.”  She swallowed a mouthful of her drink.  “Len taught me to dance there, you know.”

“And you fell out of a tree,” Bowdaar supplied.

“And whose fault was that?”

Bowdaar groused and went back to his sabacc game. 

Theron smiled at their banter.  “Unlike Nar Shaddaa, I’m actually allowed on Alderaan – if you want, I’ll go with you for the meet and greet this time.” 

That brightened Eva up immediately.  “And for the flying?” 

“Sure.” 

And since they were far, far away from Odessen and the business of the Alliance, they didn’t have to keep up the illusion of professionalism.  Theron leaned over and kissed his girlfriend at the bar of some dive on Tatooine.  After a few, wonderful moments, Theron broke the lip lock and pulled back slightly to look at her.  “But first, back to Odessen.” 

“…I’m not the only one whose ‘puppy dog eyes’ are highly effective.”

“In certain contexts.”

#swtor #swtor fan fiction #oc: eva corolastor #theron shan #theron shan x smuggler oc #thanks for prompting!

[serenxanthe]

After Ziost, a SWTOR Story

Part 2 (Chapters 4 - 5): In which Theron learns something disquieting during his obsessive efforts to get his job back.

Part 1 (Chapters 1 - 3) is here.

Chapter 4

Theron had been on Coruscant now for more than two months, and he still didn’t have his job back. He’d met with Trant several times, at Theron’s own insistence, but his position seemed to have gone from somewhat sympathetic exasperation to impatient dismissal.

Theron guessed he had more important things to worry about than the career of one of his more reckless agents. But Theron could help with those important things! If only the SIS would give him another chance.

This was all Saresh’s fault, like he’d told Seren. It was clearly Saresh blocking his reinstatement, using him as a convenient scapegoat to disguise her own catastrophically bad decision to deploy Republic forces to a world in the thrall of the Sith Emperor. Former Emperor he reluctantly acknowledged, thinking of Lana’s insistence on that.

Saresh had summoned him to her presence once, purely to berate him in public, not to hear him out. Theron had kept quiet and let her do so, acting entirely against his own nature; he didn’t want to burn any more bridges while there was still a chance he could get his damn job back. Satele and Jace had been there too, standing at either side of Saresh, looking on like… well, like disappointed parents. He knew they were in fact there in their capacity as Jedi Grandmaster and Supreme Commander respectively, but the fact that they were also his actual parents added to Theron’s humiliation.

That had been weeks ago, and he hadn’t spent time with anyone other than Jonas Balkar and an increasingly reluctant Director Trant since then. Theron was getting nowhere, and he knew he needed to change tack. He considered Jace and Satele. Which one was more influential with Saresh, and which one did he have the greatest chance of explaining himself to; bringing them round to his way of thinking?

Jace was probably the most likely to hear him out; he’d been pretty reckless himself as a young man. His own existence illustrated that point thought Theron, nobody sensible got entangled with a Jedi after all.

Theron’s mind drifted briefly to Seren, but he pushed the thoughts out of his mind firmly. He didn’t have time for any of that relationship stuff now, with his job on the line, and if he was honest with himself, he knew he had a worrying tendency to lose track of time in sentimental daydreaming once he let himself start thinking about her. 

Yes, Jace was the most likely to listen sympathetically, given his own nature, but maybe Satele was a better choice for that very reason. He knew Saresh respected her clear headed unemotional take on things. Maybe that damned maddening Jedi impassivity could be made to work in his favour for once, reasoned Theron.

Chapter 5

Sitting awkwardly on Satele’s luxurious sofa in her Coruscant apartment, Theron swallowed. He wasn’t sure where to begin. He took a sip of the tea he hadn’t felt it polite to refuse, and was reminded of Seren again. Again, he pushed her from his mind, he had to focus. “How’s Master Surro?” he asked, relieved that he’d remembered that he and Satele did have something in common. 

Satele’s expression softened slightly. Even as a spy practised in reading body language and facial expression, Theron doubted he would have spotted it if he hadn’t spent so much time with Seren. Not that she guarded her emotions like this when they were alone, but they so often weren’t that he’d had to get used to interpreting the slightest of changes in expression.

“Surro is improving by the day, Theron, thank you.” Satele hesitated then added with unaccustomed openness, “I’m not sure she’ll ever return to active frontline duty, but I hope that one day she’ll at least be content again, maybe even happy.”

Theron nodded, the guilt he’d been suppressing rearing its head again. 

Satele must have seen something in his face, because she added gently, “She made her own choices, Theron, she would have known the risks when she headed down to that planet.”

Theron nodded again, mechanically.

Satele sighed, “Not everyone is as resilient having been possessed by the Sith Emperor as Seren and Kira, Theron. I wonder if it’s because they were both born Sith, or whether that’s a complete coincidence.” 

That just made Theron feel even more guilty, if he’d asked Seren, Kira, and Scourge to help instead of the Sixth Line…

“How is Seren?” Satele suddenly asked him.

Theron frowned, he didn’t really know, but Satele definitely didn’t need to know that. “She’s fine.” He told her. “Do you mean after Ziost?” he clarified.

Satele nodded, “It must have been awful, to feel all that death at such close range. I felt it from here, a great wound in the Force…” she stopped herself and said, “Sorry Theron, Seren tells me you don’t like to talk about the Force.” 

Theron shook his head, demurring, trying not to mind too much that Seren had discussed his feelings about the Force with his mother. She’d obviously meant well.

Something else was nagging at him, and he thought about it. Why had Satele said ‘at such close range’? Seren had left Ziost at the same time he and Lana did, hadn’t she? Ashamed, Theron realised he hadn’t even thought about, let alone asked her about, her plans after the events at the People's Tower. He’d been so focussed on getting Surro and the other Masters to Tython. He concentrated on Satele again, she was still speaking.

“Thank the Force that Lord Scourge’s lightsabre hilt broke though.” Satele said, and Theron frowned at her in confusion. 

“I’d like to think it was the will of the Force that took them up to the space station for repairs,” Satele continued, “It’s strange how the most seemingly insignificant events can mean the difference between life and death. Maybe I’m just looking for meaning where there is none, but they'd been on the surface literally just a few minutes before the cataclysm happened…” Satele trailed away as she noticed Theron’s white face and look of horror. 

“Theron, I’m so sorry. This is the last thing you want to be reminded of I’m sure. I can’t imagine how you must have been feeling until Seren made it back to Carrick Station.” Satele patted his arm awkwardly, but Theron barely felt it.

She’d been on Ziost? On the surface itself mere minutes before every single person on the planet had been killed? How had he not known until now how close he’d come to losing her? He knew how. He hadn’t bothered to ask her whether she was leaving Ziost, just assumed; all his focus was on Surro, and his own overwhelming guilt. 

He thought back to seeing Seren in his former office on Carrick Station. She’d come running in, uncaring of her Jedi dignity and who was watching. Her face, the face he’d barely even looked at at the time, had been alive with some sort of emotion he realised now, her eyes wide as she fixed them on him. 

He… he hadn’t even hugged her in greeting, hadn’t even made the most superficial enquiries as to how she was. He hadn’t known how close she’d come to death, but that was no excuse; he hadn’t even shown the bare minimum of basic courtesy to his own girlfriend. Theron’s insides cramped with remorse.

What if… was she even still his girlfriend? He’d talked about Surro and his job, and she’d seemed sympathetic, she’d let him kiss her, but… she’d asked him to go for a drink with her to talk and he’d said no, hadn’t he? He couldn’t really remember the conversation properly, he hadn't been focussing at all. 

Had she said, “Maybe another time.” with a polite smile? That couldn’t be good could it? And that had been… two months ago? More? And he hadn’t contacted her, deliberately putting her from his mind so he could focus on getting his job back. She hadn’t contacted him either, obviously, but he could kinda understand why given how their last conversation had gone.

Satele watched the emotions play across her son’s face, but not having any idea how their conversation just now had exposed how little Theron knew about Seren’s life at present, and assuming he was just missing her, she said, “It must be hard, after all that, with Seren being away now in wild…”

“I’m not here to talk about Seren!” Theron interrupted her angrily. He took a deep breath straight away and said, “Sorry.” His apology was short but sincere, it was himself he was angry with not Satele after all. “I was hoping you could help me? Talk to Chancellor Saresh for me? About my job.” 

Satele looked at him, disappointed but not surprised that this was what he was here for. “Your reinstatement is in the hands of Marcus Trant, not Saresh.” she said evenly. Theron snorted in disbelief, and Satele sighed and relented. “All right, we both know that’s not quite true. But Theron, I’m probably not the best person to help you with getting on Saresh’s good side.” Theron frowned at her, surprise and scepticism on his face, and Satele continued, “She still doesn’t quite trust me after I formed the coalition with Marr on Yavin IV.”

Theron snorted again. “That just goes to show her lack of judgement doesn’t it? You acted for the good of the Republic, and the galaxy, not for the good of Saresh. The two things rarely, if ever, coincide from what I can see, despite Saresh’s propaganda.”

Satele was surprised, that was probably the most positive thing Theron had ever said about her. To her face anyway. Satele felt guilty for the jolt of happiness she felt at Theron’s usual spiky bitterness being directed at someone else for once, and in her favour no less! 

She put her hand on his forearm again, more confidently this time, and said, “You should try Jace, Theron. Privately, I know he’s sympathetic to your actions, and he’s currently in better favour with Saresh than I am.”

Theron thanked her, his tone polite if not quite warm, and after finishing the tea she’d made him, said his goodbyes. At least he’d arrived and left through the front door this time, Satele thought. Maybe they were making progress.

#swtor #theron shan #satele shan #swtor jedi knight #swtor oc #star wars the old republic #my ocs #fanfic #my writing #angst #established couple #Theron experiences the first trickle of regret #it gets worse #much worse

[the-andromeda-effect]

14

While Caliban was at the incident scene, Theron tried to handle things with Adira. But it's Caliban's return that calms things again.

“Adira, please drink the tea.” Theron was about to lose his mind, but was trying to keep his voice calm.  The last thing he wanted to do was upset her again.  If she started crying again, he would feel like a complete asshole and Caliban would probably put a bullet in him.  The medic had visited once they had gotten up to the room due to Theron messaging him that Adira’s hands were shaking and she kept hyperventilating whenever there was the slightest sudden sound.  He had given Adira a few pills to help calm her over the next few days since she would be leaving the estate, yet she would not eat or drink since he left, which was required to take the medication.  Theron didn’t want to have to call the medic back and ask for him to come and give her an injection.  With Caliban’s mood, someone WOULD get shot by their boss then, since the mere suggestion of that earlier had almost had her running for the bathroom to hide.  To say she was skittish was an understatement and Theron couldn’t say he blamed her.  She had been through hell in the last thirty-six to forty-eight hours.  

“My stomach doesn’t feel good.  I feel queasy and dizzy.”  Adira’s voice was shaky as she looked up at Theron; her expression plaintive.  She was lying on the couch in Caliban’s room, where she’d been since Caliban had left to head back down to the scene of the earlier incident.  One guard was stationed outside the door in the hallway, another just on the other side of the door in the room that Adira had been given the day before.  With the three guarding her, she knew she was safe, yet her stomach was still upset from earlier in the day.  “I promise I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

“Would ginger ale or lemon-lime soda help? Those are known to settle stomachs.” Theron was ready to try anything if it got her to take the damn meds so her hands stopped having tremors, and she stopped squeaking and jumping whenever there was the slightest sound.  He knew that she was not being stubborn or trying to make things hard, which was the only reason that Theron’s voice remained calm and soft. She didn’t have to tell him that, it was clear in everything about her.  Even from observing her and interacting the night prior, he would have known that.  “And I know you are not trying to make things hard, sweetheart.  Just relax.  I’m trying to help, I just don’t know what to do.”.

Adira’s eyes closed as her stomach rolled again, trying to keep the nausea at bay some.  “I’m willing to try it.  I’m sorry, I really am, Theron.  This is all my fault.  Everything that has happened is my fault.”  She sighed, her hand coming up over her mouth as another wave of nausea hit, and also to try to keep from crying.  Whether it was nerves or the injection she’d been given earlier when she got the stitches to help with pain, she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling this queasy outside of when Mircea used to threaten her with death, her own or someone else’s, or when he’d hit her so hard in the head she would pass out.

Theron looked over at Caliban who had just entered the room soundlessly, his expression saying it all.  “Adira, I’ll get you some cold soda from the kitchen and be right back. You need to take the meds he gave you though, they’ll help with the nausea and nerves.  You are not to blame for any of this, no one thinks that, so please stop thinking it yourself.”  Theron’s brows rose as he looked over to Caliban, trying to make it clear this was the circle they’d been going in for a little bit.  Maybe now that Cal was back he could do something to ease her nerves and her thinking that anyone would blame her.

Caliban crossed the room and sat next to Adria on the edge of the couch.  She didn’t even move or open her eyes as he did.  He doubted that she knew it was him, so that meant she trusted Theron enough not to need to look if he was getting close to her.  “Sweetheart,” now her eyes flew open to look up at him, “he is right, No one blames you.”  His fingers ghosted across her forehead to sweep loose hairs off to the side as he gazed down at her with affection.  “Whatever the doc has given you, please take.  Whatever we need to get you in order to do that, we will.”  He leaned forward and kissed the middle of her forehead, offering silent thanks to whatever gods were listening that she had not been hurt more than a cut hand. 

Adira nodded, her emotions still so jumbled and a mess.  She didn’t even know how or where to start to explain them all to Caliban.  She had thought she knew fear in that basement and her previous life with Mircea, but that had been nothing compared to that insane man dragging her across the yard.  Why he had scared her more than Mircea, she wasn’t quite sure; except that if she had been handed back over to her ex-husband, she knew that the previous violence she had experienced at his hands would pale in comparison to what she would endure in the future.  The sense of security that had somehow settled into her in the last twenty-four hours had been ripped from her, and it somehow left her feeling more vulnerable than she ever had before.

She felt Caliban take her hand gently between both of his and her fingers curled around his tightly as she gazed up into his eyes that shone back at her with understanding and affection.  “I’m sorry for being so emotional and not knowing what to say.”  Her breath stuttered, her voice coming out soft and quiet.  She could feel his hands gently tighten as they encased her hand and warmed it.  “It all just happened so fast…and I was so scared Mircea was going to show up…”  Her breath started to hitch again and she fought another wave of terror and panic that were threatening to rise from the depths of her soul.  Her eyes scrunched shut, trying to chase the memories from her mind and ground herself in the present once more there in the room with him.

“Shhhh…we will find everyone that helped Kondrat and they will be eliminated from the staff.  Those three who helped you will be added to your security detail.  They are all highly worried about you and from now on will be helping to make sure that you are always safe and that there can never again be even the slightest hint of a repeat of today.”  Caliban could not miss the slightly confused look in Adira’s eyes when she opened them to look up at him.  Did she really think that his staff would dislike her or not want to protect her?  What was life on Mircea’s estate?  Maybe it was better he didn’t know, what he already knew of her previous life was more than enough to make him want to eliminate the other man.  “The second man who shot Kondrat will be joining Lars as security when we leave tonight to go to my mountain cabin for a while.  The other two are going to stay here with Theron to help handle Mircea and any other fallout from today.  A call did go through,” he saw the rise in panic on her face and quickly continued, “and we’re going to make sure he firmly believes Riona Kalavati is dead. Since they both saw you and Theron is going to be adding your name to company documents, they can all confirm that you are Adira Andros, and there is absolutely no resemblance between you and the former Mrs. Kalavati.”  A soft smile formed on his lips as he saw her relax and the logic behind his actions began to sink in. He had no doubt that while they were gone that Theron and the other two would vet all of the staff and guards to ensure nothing even close to this could ever happen again.  

“They won’t doubt me because they know who I really am?  Even Theron?  I mean, he wasn’t wrong about that, just that I was spying on you and betraying you.  Does Lars know now?”  She felt so nervous, like she was going to vibrate off of the couch if Caliban wasn’t sitting next to her.  Why was he even trusting her and being so nice?  She was trying to remember why he said he was being so kind?  Waking up that morning in his arms seemed like almost a lifetime ago and all he had said before was hazy, let alone the night before.

“Adira, they all know about the past and no one is judging or doubting you in the least.  Theron may care for you just as much as I do, darling.”  Caliban’s fingers gently caressed the side of her face.  She looked so small and fragile at the moment, like she’d shatter from even the slightest blow.  He knew in that moment that from then on, he would kill in an instant to protect her without question or hesitation.  

“I knew who you were before I ever walked into that house yesterday, and they know that as well, and saw my reaction to you being harmed.  Now, you are my wife, and THAT is not going to change.  PERIOD.”  He brought her hand bearing the ring up to his lips and kissed right below the ring on her finger.  “So, do not argue or worry.  Hear me?” There was a soft and affectionate smile on his face as he looked down at her.  It wasn’t that he did not understand her concern, he was just trying to comfort her the best he knew how.  It was not his strong suit; he’d never had to do it.  

Regardless of anything else, she trusted Caliban implicitly.  She knew the three men he was referring to, and she would trust them as well.  They had saved her from whatever fate Kondrat had held for her as well.  When he had refused to let her go, they hadn't let him hurt her.  “Cal,” she used the shortened version of his name that she'd heard Theron use, “I..” she faltered unsure and saw his brows come together slightly, “are you sure that you still want…” His finger cut her off.  

“My beautiful wife to rest and take her medicine when Theron gets back up here, absolutely positive.  I’ll take care of packing for you.  Do you trust me to do that for you?”  Adira nodded.  He figured she would, but after all that had happened, he did not want to assume if packing for herself was something that would help her to feel more secure. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and then finally upon her petal soft lips.  

“Now, whatever worries or doubts are in your mind, let them go.  Just let me handle everything and I will take care of you.” One last forehead kiss, then he rose to take care of the details of preparing for the trip to the cabin.  Some time away would do them both some good.

#the andromeda effect #my ocs #my writing #writeblr #fiction #original fiction #original writing #crime fiction #mob fiction #crime family #crime story #crime drama #crime suspense #suspense #assassin #mob romance #mob drama #mob war #contemporary fiction #modern fiction #realistic fiction #suspense fiction #fictional romance #crime romance #strangers to friends #strangers to lovers #complicated relationships #complicated feelings #relationship building #abuse

[blue-eyed-banshee]

If you wish to roleplay with me, please send me a message and we can discuss the details. Just know I will not do the following: 

Smut

Roleplay with minors, this blog is run by someone in their late 20's and I do not want to have to deal with children

Roleplay with anyone who is homophobic and if this pertains to you, kindly find the exit closest to you ie: do not engage in conversation with me or I will block you, simple as that

If you disagree with how I portray Sylvanas, do not even bother to ask to roleplay with me 

If you write one liners, please don’t. I can’t send a reply when I don’t have details

If you do not agree with lesbian couples, please…. do not try to change my mind and I will block you

ask for a romance between our characters, it’s not how I portray Sylvanas

Other requests

If you have an issue with me, please be direct and let me know

This blog is not for children, if you see something that offends you; that is not my fault

If you engage in an argument with me over anything involving any roleplays or anything else, you will be blocked.

As a personal favor from me; please include as much detail as you can. It will give me more to work with. The more detail, the better I will be able to reply

Please do not send me any hate asks but all other asks are encouraged! 

Do not ask for my discord or battle tag, those are reserved for mutuals only

I am open to crossovers or OC characters, all I ask is when doing a crossover; we brainstorm on how the characters meet

 If I forget to reply to you, please reach out! 

Muses:

Laudna: (Critical role, campaign 3)

Sylvanas Windrunner: (World of Warcraft, Post-shadowlands)

Logan Howlett/Wolverine: (X-men)

Angel: (Buffy the vampire slayer) vampire with a soul

Xander Harris: (Buffy the vampire slayer)

Faith lehane: (Buffy the vampire slayer)

Colossus: (X-men)

Vax'ildan: (Critical role) half-elf and brother to Vex'halia DeRolo

Moggatorash: (WoW OC, orc shaman)

Giles: (buffy the vampire slayer)

Verath Windrunner: father to the Windrunner sisters and Lirath Windrunner, husbnand to former ranger-general, Lireesa, and Kael'thas' father's advisor

Baine Bloodhoof: (world of warcraft) chieftain of the tauren

Lor'thermar Theron: (world of warcraft) Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas/Silvermoon

Occuleth: World of Warcraft, chief telemancer of Suramar, memeber of the horde

Arcanist Valtrois: Nightborne mage, friend of Thalyssra and Oculeth, member of the horde

Lorna Crowley: daughter of Darius Crowley and commander of the Gilnean forces within the Alliance

Tess Greymane: Princess of Gilneas (formerly), now future queen of Gilneas

Senelstrasza (formerly Senelnoth): Biologic daughter of Alextrasza and Vyranoth, Frost Proto-drake

Craigvaidney sith pureblood sorcerer, old republic era (SWTOR)

[[Will edit this as soon as I decided on more characters!]]

#I will edit when I think of more #Temporary rules post #temporary muse listing

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #balic cormac #keshal vaak #theron shan #shillet jorgan #zolah holran #lana beniko #smutty fun on the firing range #a lot of choices #some bigger than others #all important #valkorion is not impressed

[lavampira]

💜 for kai/theron? <3

TY beloved I’ve missed these two so much 🥺🖤

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss [555 words] [prompts]

Theron is never difficult to find within the Odessen base. Inseparable from his work, Kai finds him alone in the war room where he’s likely been for a few hours, pouring over Alliance reports and returning messages with old contacts. He hunches over the datapad, seemingly lost in thought, his palms braced on either side of the screen, and his dark hair rests tousled out of its usual style. A mug of what was probably once a steaming cup of caf goes untouched on the table beside it.

A swell of fondness at the sight’s familiarity grapples with concern deep in his chest, and before he can think about it, Kai strides into the room. Theron rises to his full height once he hears his approach and looks as though he might say something, but hesitates as he takes him in, too. His eyes drift up to Kai in silent question when he finally comes to a stop in front of him, only to be met with tattooed hands cradling his stubbled cheeks and press of lips against his own.

To his credit, Theron takes the suddenness of it in stride. His hands find purchase in the other man’s loose shirt as he deepens the kiss, allowing Kai to brace him against the table and arching into him, his work temporarily discarded in favor of the moment. Kai feels his rumbling laugh more than he hears it before they finally part, hiding his own smile with a tilt of his head.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Theron drolls, drawing back to look at him with a smirk, “but what was that for?”

“You looked like you needed it.”

“Oh, did I?”

Kai runs a hand through his loose hair. “Reminded me a bit of Rishi.”

A knowing look passes over Theron’s face. Of course, both of them distinctly remember that time together, not much else to do in the cramped safehouse but surveilling and fooling around, but where it still only feels like months ago to Kai, he’s all too aware that it’s been even longer for Theron in actuality. Those missing years when he was in carbonite always seem to linger.

“You mean that pesky time the Jedi Battlemaster kept trying to distract me from the very important Revanites mission?” Theron teases with a nudge of his chest, offering him an out before he can dwell.

Kai shoots him a grateful smile. “I wasn’t the Battlemaster yet. And you lured me there, so if you were distracted…”

“It’s my own fault?”

“Yes.”

Theron huffs a laugh. “And what about now?”

“Still your fault.” Kai kisses him again, brief and swift, but effectively halting any protest on blame. After a moment, he adds, “You should take a break more often.”

“I think I could be convinced,” Theron mumbles against his lips.

Kai slides a hand down his arm until he reaches Theron’s, brushing over his calloused fingers before lacing his own with them, and gives him a knowing look of his own in turn. Both of them know that Theron will be right back in here tomorrow to work tirelessly for the Alliance, and again the next day, and again following that one, too. And so Kai will continue what he always has on whim born of concern, carving out these moments of reprieve for them.

#they’re so ass over teakettle in love and i’m unwell #asked and answered #hythlodaes #dani writes things #star wars #fic: star wars #game: the old republic #ch: theron shan #oc: kaizen amhi #kai/theron

[keldae]

Fluff sentence starters :D “You have something in your hair - let me get it for you.”

There were fringe benefits to being friends with people in the theatre program, Xaja mused – like being invited along on field trips to see plays, and easily filling her volunteer hour requirements during production week. But there was a definite downside as well – and that was the day the main production's set came down after the last performance.

It was fine, she decided inwardly. It wasn't like she had two research papers and a personal reflection paper due in the next couple of days and didn't have time to be taking apart a set, right? She grunted as she crawled behind one of the main set walls, power drill in hand, and desperately hoping there were no spiders back here.

"Having fun yet?" The cast hadn't been spared the set strike chores either – but Arcann was entirely too cheerful a mood for someone who'd gotten bonked upside the head by a wardrobe rack fifteen minutes ago. He appeared to be on the same task as Xaja in taking apart the walls of the set.

"Oh, tons," Xaja responded, looking around for another screw in the bracket holding the set together. "How's the concussion?"

"Bah, I'm fine. Don't stand up." Arcann reached over, and Xaja heard the whirring of his own drill over her head. She sneezed as sawdust started to drift down in front of her eyes.

"Sorry," Arcann apologized. The drill stopped, and he fumbled with his prosthetic left hand with the screw before pocketing it. "Any more on that bracket down by you?"

"Yeah, two that I see." Xaja grunted as she shifted her weight, working to take apart the bracket. "Someone's on the other side of this, yeah?"

In response, Arcann peeked through the window built into the wall. "Hey, you might want to catch these walls," he called out, then waited a moment before nodding in satisfaction. "Yes, we're good. I think Professor Vowrawn recruited some help from outside the theatre department."

"Wonderful," Xaja grunted, inwardly wondering what the flamboyant theatre professor had done to lure in some more poor, unsuspecting souls. "Hopefully he brought 'em in from the sports teams."

Without looking up, she didn't see Arcann's mischievous grin. "They're warm bodies with muscles, they'll be fine," he said, then gave the wall a slight push. "Incoming!"

With a creak, the wall fell forward, caught by several pairs of hands. "Got it!" crowed a voice that immediately made Xaja's head jerk up. It was bad enough having a crush on the cute guy who lived across the dormitory hall from her, but if he saw her like this, in a grubby t-shirt and jeans, with dust all over her makeup-less face…

Dammit. That was Theron Shan, helping to carry the wall section away with Jonas and Koth's help. Maybe he hadn't seen Xaja in the chaos? But why did that prospect make her heart hurt just a little bit?

"You are about as subtle as an elephant," Arcann muttered, under the sound of Professor Vowrawn guiding the guys as to where he wanted the set wall placed; when Xaja glanced over, she could see him smirking, the gesture pulling at the scars over the left side of his face. "Liking checking him out?"

"I – what?" Xaja flushed as red as her hair. "I'm not checking Theron out!"

Arcann's grin widened. "I didn't say Theron…" he pointed out.

"... Fuck." Xaja groaned. "We're just friends, and I don't wanna wreck that." She glanced back over at Theron for a moment. "... Not my fault he's got a cute backside."

Arcann snorted a laugh, one that turned into a cough when Xaja glared at him. "Sorry, sorry… it's just hilarious to watch. I can put in a good word for you with him, if you want…"

"... I don't have a crush on him! And I don't need a wingman!" Xaja hissed. She firmly squashed the little voice in her head that wondered if Arcann's help might not be a bad idea. "He's not interested in me. If he was, he would have said something before now."

"... You two are perfect for each other," Arcann muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Xaja demanded, suspiciously glaring at him.

"Nothing!" Arcann coughed again, then looked over. "Next wall will be easy, should only take two of you to catch."

"I like easy!" Jonas' cheerful voice piped up. When Xaja looked over, she saw him, Theron, and Koth all standing close by, Professor Vowrawn tittering over another piece of the set being taken down.

"Yeah, we know that," Theron dryly commented – Jonas promptly glared at him as Koth and Arcann burst into laughter. The taller student then looked back at Xaja, and winked at her. "Made friends with any spiders back there yet?"

Trying to not feel self-conscious about how she looked, Xaja shook her head and grinned. "If I had, you would have heard the screaming from the dean's office."

Theron chuckled, then paused. "Hang on, you have something in your hair," he said, as the set wall to Xaja's right came down, carried off by Jonas and Koth. "Lemme get it for you." He reached forward; Xaja froze as she felt his fingers brush through her long red hair, knocking more sawdust free of the tangled strands. "There – I think that's the worst of it."

"... Thanks," Xaja murmured, feeling her cheeks go warm again at Theron's gentle touch. What she wouldn't give to feel his hand in her hair again, combing his fingers through the red locks, gripping her head and pulling it back for a kiss, like what she enjoyed reading in the Tumblr smut that Kira teased her about…

Theron grinned, then dropped his hand, looking unsure as to what to do with his arm. "Yeah, don't mention it. Figured you wouldn't wanna go around with sawdust in your hair and–"

"Aww, well wasn't that a sweet gesture!" Professor Vowrawn swooped in, beaming like a proud parent. "You two make such a lovely couple!"

"I–!" Xaja stammered, looking at Theron for a second (who appeared to be wide-eyed with panic), then back at Vowrawn. "We're not–!"

"She's not–!" Theron exclaimed in the same breath. "We're just friends!"

Vowrawn didn't seem convinced. "Oh? A pity. I shall still expect you both to audition for the leading man and lady for our next production – the chemistry you two have is what every production strives for! Now, you'll need to practice before that audition, make sure you're set in your–"

"Professor!" Theron squawked. "I'm not an actor! Xaja and I are just friends!"

Vowrawn grinned. "Nonsense, Mister Shan! You two are very good friends, I take it? Very… close to each other–?"

"Not like that!" Xaja yelped, wishing she could melt into the stage floor – or glare holes into the professor's head. She could feel the rest of the strike crew staring at her and Theron. "We're just… that would be weird!" But a good weird, she silently thought to herself.

"What she said!" Theron emphatically agreed. "Why mess up a perfectly good friendship like that?"

Tsking, Vowrawn shook his head. "Well, if you two are certain, then your next task is to clean out the green room. Chop chop!" He briskly clapped his hands, dismissing the two victims of his torment – Xaja willingly took the chance to escape with Theron. And if it meant time spent with him, without anyone teasing her about her crush on him, so much the better.

Neither she nor Theron saw Vowrawn sashay over to Arcann and tap his shoulder. "I have a bit of an extra task for you, Mister Tirall."

"Yes, Professor?" Arcann asked, looking over at the Pureblood professor curiously.

"An extra ten percent added to your overall grade for my class this semester if you can set those two idiots up somehow."

Arcann grinned. Academic credit for fulfilling what he (and the rest of the dorm) considered to be a necessity? "Done."

#thanks for the ask! #swtor #theron/xaja #xaja #theron #college!au #modern!au #otp: until the stars burn out #mutually pining idiots #and naturally Vowrawn has to interfere #arcann tirall #darth vowrawn #why yes i know some theatre people who WOULD assign extra credit to wingmaning classmates

[chiimaera]

SIGYN. lawful neutral.

norse myth, truth & other lies book series fc: charlize theron

dossier:                      

sigyn had always stuck out, even amongst the gods. she is not violent, she is not vengeful, and her life goal is not to die in ragnarok once it comes. her only idea and her single driving thought is the wellbeing of her family. in all her verses, she was a mortal first and because of this loyalty, she is granted immortality through divine blessing.        

in mythology, loki kills baldr by rigging a game. the gods could not let this pass since baldr was extremely beloved among them. everyone who was part of this and connected to Loki in any way was punished. after killing lokis sons, loki was taken in a cave deep under the earth and chain using his own sons entrails. they put snake over his head so the snake could drip venom on his forehead and cause him immeasurable pain. ever faithful, sigyn remained at his side using a bowl to collect the venom that was dripping from the snake’s teeth.

From time to time, she had to leave his place to pour the content of the bowl. During that time, the venom would drip on Loki’s head. The poison was very powerful, and it made him tremble and scream in agony. Loki’s screaming and trembling are said to be the origin of earthquakes in the human world.

mythos canon does not have to apply to other muses unless desired          

because of her sacrifices ( mythology and headcanons ), she became the goddess of fidelity, nurturing, and grieving. primarily, she was honored by women. if someone was praying to sigyn, they were usually in deep sadness or was heartbroken. also, people who lost their children paid respects to sigyn to keep them safe in the afterworld.

She would not be a God that you would pray for seeking justice but the god to whom you would pray to achieve inner peace. she was usually represented as either a young, innocent bride, a grieving mother, or a nurturing mother, and that were three main aspects regarding Sigyn’s personality. It depends on which Sigyn’s personality you pray to. If it is to the bride, the offering should be cake or some other sweet which should be made by the one making the offering. To the nurturing or grieving mother, one should offer fresh milk and bread.        

personality:   

she is stubborn and willful. she seeks law and order, follows rules and expects others to do the same. this can come off as naive and self righteous at times, putting expectations on others and being disappointed or sad when its not met. her ability to keep giving second chances is taxing and quixotic. as her name sake, she is a fighter and will stick up for herself and others—especially those she loves. she will fight tooth and nail even at a disadvantage. she is loyal to a fault, always wanting to make sure the people closest to her are taken care of even when they break her heart over and over.     

she is hard working, intelligent and focused, tends to be more introverted. she dislikes cheats, liars and bullies and will tell people when she disapproves of their behavior. sadness comes easier to her than anger though she will refuse to cry in front of others if she can help it. when shes comfortable, she can be playful and sweet, letting her guard down enough to let herself breath outside her responsibilities.    

verses:                                  

main ::  lightly based off the novel ‘truth & other lies’ series, sigyn was born to a mortal family on midguard. her mother died when she was young and her brother is a con man so she took over her fathers business at a local book shop and printing press. her father was diagnosed with brain cancer which leaves him bed ridden and hallucinating. she does her best to care for him when shes not working in the shop, fixing the machines and making sure projects are completed on time. her brother is known in bad circles for conning people out of money so she keeps bookies and loan sharks at bay as best she can. she is stubbornly unwilling to give up on her family no matter the strife

             her undying and unyielding loyalty, even at the expense of her wellbeing, sparks a divine energy inside her. while it is acknowledged by odin and freya, they never approached the woman because she is mortal and could not live in asgard. without being introduced, her magical abilities are only brought out when in danger or high emotions, uncontrollable and unknowing to her.             

main verse can be a period piece (1700-1800s) or modern                   

mythological & marvel ::  when odin was gathering his allies, creating the pantheon, he found a one mortal who stood out among the many. despite her families struggle, the betrayal of those closest to her, she remained loyal to her blood and kept her promises even when she was heart broken and exhausted. through her untimely death, odin brought her amongst the Aesir gods as the goddess of fidelity, unable to let that light inside her die. optional to include marriage to loki and her sons.            

this blog does not acknowledge the marvel comics for this character

#biography and verses #xxviii. character ;; sigyn #marvel rp #norse myth rp #loki rp

[eorzeashan]

Lana: Theron... this is all your fault, you spread too many psyops on the holo about the Alliance dying from the inside when you betrayed us!

Theron: it's not my fault if they fall for something they made up without my help! And the Alliance isn't dying- I never said that!

Lana: they got scared when they saw you leaving and taking personnel with you!

Theron: it wasn't about-

Eight: yeah the Alliance isn't dying, calm down

Theron: finally a voice of reason,

Eight: none of you are dead until I'm done with you.

Theron and Lana:

Theron and Lana: what?

Eight: just kidding. (picks up bags) I'm leaving first

Theron and Lana, grabbing him: no you AREN'T

#rishi trio #swtor #ooc #theron: you're making it sound like i said coolsville sucks! #holo of theron: COOLSVILLE SUCKS!

[theniveanlegacy]

What are your Top 3 controversial Swtor opinions?

I have plenty of grievances with this game, but not too many controversial ones tbh. So yeah these took me an insanely long time to think of 😅

My top 3 controversial SWTOR takes:

1. Arcann’s romance is half assed at best. They should’ve given us the option to flirt with him/romance him through the entire Knights saga, not just randomly at the end. We should’ve have Moments with him throughout the entire story. The fact that we didn’t makes his romance really lackluster to me, even though I love him and the fact that we can romance him. They missed out on so much enemies to lovers/son of my greatest enemy and love of my life potential.

(As a bonus maybe controversial take I don’t like Arcann’s post-Knights saga personality. He was so full of anger and passion and then all of a sudden he’s perfectly calm all the time. Give me back a little of that anger, a little of that passion. He’s not a Jedi, he’s allowed to be emotional)

2. Felix Iresso is an incredibly boring companion who only has an interesting storyline once you find him again after the expansions. It’s not really his fault, it’s mostly because you only have him as a companion for like 2.5 planets in the main game. At least Nadia is with you for most of the consular’s storyline.

(As a bonus non-controversial take I hate how late the consular romances start, it feels like they’re basically useless since you can almost immediately jump to Theron and Lana)

3. I love Jennifer Hale with all my heart but I hate the trooper’s voice acting, and it is a waste of Jennifer Hale imo. The trooper so stiff and soldier like and it leaves basically no room for nuanced takes on anything. I can’t stand to hear her speak a lot of the time and it’s part of why I haven’t finished any of the expansions with a trooper yet.

(As a bonus sort of controversial take I think the trooper storyline is actually really strong and emotionally weighty, it just gets bogged down by a lot of yes-manning from the trooper and endless politics)

#this feels dangerous #swtor #arcann #prince arcann #swtor trooper #felix iresso #arcann tirall #ask #controversial swtor takes

[sunderedazem]

How did Corrian handle Theron’s betrayal?

>:3c

Corrain doesn't handle Theron's betrayal well, but it's not entirely his fault. Making it worse, he can sense that it is not a true betrayal, even if he doesn't know what actually is going on, and there's a LOT stressing him out besides his husband Pulling Some Shit.

See, Corrain is fuckoff powerful in the Force, right? But that gift tends to present itself in a few specific ways, one being powerful visions of the future. And right around this point in time, not only is he preparing to take the throne of and actually lead Zakuul while simultaneously trying to democratize their government to some extent, and mediate peace talks between the Sith Empire (which is afterwards divided in half when Malgus escapes with a bunch of pissed off Sith and creates the True Sith Empire and promptly starts a semi-civil-war) and the Republic....but he's also having a series of strong, really-mindfucky visions and for the first time he cannot tell what the Force is trying to guide him toward. Not that his visions are ever clear, of course - they tend to be very metaphorical and only show him little snippets of actual moments of the future - but when Vitiate/Valkorion was his opponent he thought he understood them. Now he doesn't have a clue what they mean, only that something is coming and whatever it is, it's entirely possible it will be worse than Vitiate eating planets.

So, with this kind of Ominous Portent hanging over his head combined with the galactipolicital situation and his own impending coronation and the additional fact that he can sense that not everything is as it seems with Theron and that betrayal...he just doesn't have *any* idea of what's really going on and he's scared. He knows something awful is coming but he doesn't know what it is or how to stop it and he THOUGHT it was Valkorion but he's still having the visions and even worse, the visions seem to be guiding him toward this Awful Thing.

And then Theron crashes the train on Umbara. Corrain can tell something's off the entire time and he's desperate to stop it and the visions from coming to pass but he doesn't know how - and so when Theron turns on him, it breaks him. Visibly. He loses control - and with a strength in the Force like he has, that means a lot of accidental Force Lightning. And, well. He shorts out the control panel on the train as it's accelerating. So it...doesn't stop accelerating. None of them notice until Theron takes off on the speeder stored for his getaway and is horrified to realize that the warning lights are blaring and the sabotaged electromagnetic train pulsars have already been set to blow. This means when the train crashes, Corrain (being a self-sacrificing idiot) tries to break Lana's fall at the cost of protecting himself, and is nearly killed on impact. Lana has to carry him to safety and arrange a medical transport, and he spends a few days in a kolto tank, recovering.

This accidental assassination almost-success has the dual effect of shattering both Theron and Lana, and making the Order of Zildrog FAR more trusting of Theron. It also means 95% of the Alliance, Vaylin and Arcann now included, are furious with Theron. (Keep in mind - the three of them are 'secretly' married at this point, which of course means the entire galaxy knows lmao). And this also means that when Corrain gets on air, about a week later, he's all but begging Theron to come home (because he can sense this wasn't a true betrayal but he doesn't know why it's happening), and pretty much everyone that knows him thinks it's the desperate, delusional plea of a heartbroken man. He also prevents the Chiss Ascendancy from shooting down Theron's ship on Copero with anti-spacecraft guns when they offer to do so. Even Lana only half-believes that he's actually been able to sense Theron's intentions, and it's only because she's generally sensed the same thing - only, she's keeping quiet and levelheaded about it, because she once did something similar to Theron on Rishi, and she knows he'd have clued them in if he were able. (If he were thinking straight about the situation, Corrain would be doing the same. He is not thinking straight. He is terrified because he is an unwilling Oracle for disaster and now THIS is happening-)

This obstinate inability to believe in Theron's betrayal ends up making it somewhat more difficult for the Alliance later, when my Canon Divergence happens with the remainder of the Zildrog arc (i.e. Zildrog isn't the Gravestone wtf bioware). Because sure, Corrain was objectively correct about Theron's betrayal - but now there's doubt about whether that was certainty born out of genuine objectivity, or wilfull blindness to a potentially devastating truth? (Answer: both tbh)

So when he starts having terrifying visions about [redacted], the leaders in the Republic and Empire pay mostly lip service to his warnings and calls for genuine peace and reform and go back to skirmishing. And then, of course, disaster strikes and his credibility comes back in full, but that's another story.

Thank you for the ask!!!!! I'm sorry it took so long to answer.

#swtor #swtor oc #corrain #moonrise legacy #corrain gealai #jedi knight oc #jedi knight #star wars #theron shan #lana beniko #corrain x lana x theron #luna tag! #yeahhhhhh this is fairly similar to how the pc can react in the canon story #but it always STRUCK me how absolutely desperate the PC must sound if they chose to make that broadcast asking theron to come back #especially if there's an active Theron romance #like...god. talk about baring your heart to the entire galaxy hoping the man you love will renege on nearly killing you and come back #pain. heart hurty. ow.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 23: Crave

Fandom: SWTOR

Time: 28/29 ATC (near future)

Pairing:  Theron Shan/Smuggler; Aric Jorgan/Trooper (Past)

CW:  references to deceased partner; infertility; pregnancy

Word Count: ~700

~~

A/N:  Love, like grief, never fully leaves.  Aric is doing ok.

~~

“You’re either doing carb loading wrong or the scuttlebutt around Odessen is true.”

Theron’s back straightened at the words.  “Gossip is gossip, Aric.”  He kept his eyes looking straight ahead as he waited at the Odessen cantina bar for the last dish of the night – a special order – to emerge from the kitchen.

“Yeah, but you’re here at 0300 waiting on an order of chicken and waffles with a really sappy expression on your face.”  

The short-hand note had been left on the bar by the bartender; Aric hadn’t acquired psychic powers recently.

Deflection.  “What are you doing up at 0300?”  

“You know why.  You’re the one put me on that op to the Gree with their wacky time.”  Aric Jorgan plopped himself down on a barstool.  “Shuttle air is dry as Tatooine.  Just water. I know it’s past last call,” he reassured the bartender and his utterly pained expression.

That was at least 50% Theron’s fault.  And 50% Eva’s fault…

“Also, I noticed Eva’s shooting stance changed at the range before I left.”  A few beats.  “Congratulations.”

Theron couldn’t keep the smile away entirely, but it was small and mild.  “Thanks.”  

He didn’t want to be obnoxious about it… especially with Aric.  The tension didn’t leave him entirely.  

Aric studied the man before him.  “You know, Damasa’s been dead for ten years now.  And we never…the kid thing never worked out.  So you don’t have to…”  Aric made a vague gesture.

Now Theron did wonder if the Cathar was psychic or, as a sniper could be, excessively perceptive.  “Don’t want to rub it in your face.  I do remember…”  And then Theron finally looked at Aric.  

He didn’t find the sadness he thought would be thee, nor the wishes that didn’t come true.  Maybe Balkar had read that situation wrong and conveyed it even more off-target to Theron.

Aric’s water arrived. Calmly, he shotgunned half of it before clearing things up.  “You seem to forget that prior to the Pub elevating Damasa to sainthood, they made our lives hell due to our ‘irregular’ marriage.”  

Now Theron shifted his weight slightly.  “No, I didn’t forget that.”

Interspecies children weren’t always looked upon kindly in the Republic, even if they were safer there than in the Empire.  

Aric flicked an ear.  “Even though the med techs said it was impossible, we… had the dumb idea that that it would at least make a hell of a journal article for Elara.” He wore a strange smirk as looked at the water glass in his hand. “It was always ‘chemical.’  Never lasted more than a few weeks.  And the story was the same with human donors.”  Aric finally looked over at Theron.  “But beyond that?  I know that if Damasa had lived, it wouldn’t have been the same… both what the last battle did to her and what the job did to her… and us.”  

“You don’t know—”  Theron objected to the idea that they’d been ill-fated, that it wouldn’t have –

“No, I don’t,” Aric cut him off.  “But you do.”

A vivid, sharp memory cut into Theron.  Eva’s first Eternal Fleet Remembrance, now six years ago.  

Theron reeled internally, trying to think of anything he could say or extract himself out of this. “It…we’ll be a medical journal article, too, if...”

Because it never had happened before.

Aric paused for a few moments, then he nodded his head.  He sipped his water.  “Should have figured.  She was a popsicle for five years.  That…isn’t helpful.”  

Aric finished his water then set down his glass with an audible ‘clunk.’  “All the same.  Don’t bother to keep up any illusions for me, or anyone.”  Aric gave Theron a stern look.  “It’s happy.  After the fighting and rearranging of the galaxy – it’s scary – but it’s really happy.”

Theron let out a breath, sort of a half laugh.  “One of the few things worth being up at 0300 for.”

“Even if it all goes wrong.” Now Aric had that sad expression that Theron had expected, but at the same time… there was some joy there, something that couldn’t be stolen from him, even if the person he was thinking about was long gone.  

“Chicken and waffles, order up!”

It never went wrong.  There were several medical journal articles.  Aric joined the line behind Corso and HK-55 for childminder/shooting instructor.

~~

@fluffyfebruary @ayresis @starlightcleric @ermingarden @bluephoenix1347

#fluffy february #swtor #theron shan #theron shan x smuggler #aric jorgan #aric jorgan x trooper

[blueburds]

Whumptober prompt #1

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | “This wasn’t supposed to happen”

“No,” Theron breathed. “No, no—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” Gently he held Master Surro in his arms, feeling every ounce of guilt that came packaged with his situation on Ziost. He thought he could take matters into his own hands, track down and locate the Sith Emperor while the rest of the Republic busied themselves with less important affairs. So naturally, he’d brought a small army of Jedi with him who agreed to put an end to the chaos. Now most of them had fallen under the control of the Emperor, becoming puppets under his direct control. Master Surro was no exception; in fact, the Emperor had taken a particular liking to her, often speaking directly through her to Theron and his team.

          But with the help of Darth Nox and Lana Beniko, Theron was able to concoct a plan to free the Emperor’s victims. It almost worked.

          The bond the Emperor forged with Master Surro was as strong as iron. He had it out for Nox, growing more irritated that the Darth had been so adamant about stopping his plans. Pride was also a likely factor; Theron couldn’t imagine the Emperor liked being betrayed by someone as high of status as Nox. To the Emperor, Nox was an insect—but a particularly annoying insect that just would not die, thus fueling the Emperor’s rage and determination to kill him.

          Using Surro as his avatar, he challenged and fought Nox, only after he’d casted Theron aside like a child would fling a doll. Nox won, though not without some injuries. The Darth’s companion saw to the wounds while Theron checked on Surro—and her state was less than optimistic.

          “I’m sorry, Master,” Theron said quietly. No longer did he feel the bone-chilling presence of the Emperor. But was it safe to assume she was back to normal?

          “I can—I can still hear his whispers,” she said, her voice hoarse and strained. “He’s trying to pull me back. I. . . hurt you, Agent Shan, and I—I killed so many of our own. I could see everything that happened,” her eyes widened, face paling as she tensed.

          “This isn’t your fault.” It was Theron’s. “None of this was your fault. I’m bringing you back to Tython where the Jedi can help you heal.”

          “The Emperor clearly still lies within her mind,” said Lana. “The better course of action is to bring her to the Sith. We may learn further about the connection she had with Vitiate and find a way to use it to our own advantage.”

          “Her body would not be able to take that kind of experimentation,” Theron bit out. “She needs to heal, Lana.”

          “You are allowing your own guilt to cloud your judgement. This could be the largest breakthrough we’ve discovered.”

          “It’s all hypothetical. You don’t know if you’ll even find anything.”

          “Master Surro goes to Tython,” said Nox from behind them, approaching while clutching a wound on the torso.

          Lana tensed. “With respect, Dark Lord—”

          “The Jedi are capable of learning through healing and therapeutic methods. She will be returned to her people and her mind will be cleansed, and we gain whatever knowledge the Jedi find along the way.”

          “The Sith would have better results. Our methods are more thorough, more detailed.”

          Theron had already begun helping Surro to her feet, relief beginning to wash away some of his guilt. At least he had the opportunity to try to right some of his wrongs. “Thank you, Nox. This isn’t a decision you’ll regret.”

          “I should certainly hope not,” Nox said, voice growing darker. “If we fail to uncover anything, our efforts here will be in vain.”

#whumptober2022 #no.1 #this wasn't supposed to happen #swtor #star wars: the old republic #fic #fanfic #trauma #Theron Shan #Lana Beniko #Darth Nox #Sith Inquisitor #Master Surro #Shadow of Revan #inquisitor is Altrethir but i left out descriptions/actual names to try and fit all oc's