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Transmissions from the Old Republic

Transmissions from the Old Republic

All things SWTOR!

393 members
Posted byinquisitorhotpantsin/swtor-Sep 20, 2016 at 12:00 PM

Daily Prompt: Reunion

  • fanfic
  • fanart

(Prompt courtesy of @jezrana on the last Saturday Prompt Fest)

Comments7
  • XhareenSep 20, 2016 at 3:34 PM

    [note: OK, so utter first draft. This takes place while my Sith Warrior Xhareen, my canon Outlander, is still frozen in carbonite, about two years before the KotFE storyline begins.]

    The bartender looked at the flimsiplast photo in Malavai Quinn’s hands. He pointed to a young woman walking up onto the stage, if one could call it that, in the back of this no-name cantina on the main strip outside the no-name spaceport he’d landed in on Dantooine. He’d spent the last credits he could access safely to get here, following yet another rumor of a Miralukan woman who looked like the one behind the somewhat scratched surface of this, his most cherished relic of his past life.

    He was still staring down at the picture when he realized she’d already started singing. But he knew immediately it wasn’t Xhareen. This woman was too tall, too thin and, since he was thinking about it, too talented a singer, even for a Miralukan. Xhareen had a fine voice, one to rival most human pop stars, but nowhere near as strong or as refined as the voice he was listening to now.

    But every note she sang was familiar. Even the lyrics. He began to sing softly in unison with the performer, though even now, he had trouble making all the tonal modulations despite Xhareen’s patient tutelage.

    He slumped down on the nearest stool, and the bartender brought him a watered-down Jurosian brandy, one last luxury before he had to consider his next move.

    When she and the brandy were done, he wove through the crowd to the area behind the stage as the crowd clapped enthusiastically. She waved back, smiled a well-rehearsed smile, and exited the stage, nearly bumping into Quinn.

    He wasn’t up for small talk and he didn’t want to sound like a fan. “I know who you are, and I know who wrote that song,” was all he said. He showed her the picture.

    The woman looked as though she might shank him, but he did not look away.

    “Come with me, we can’t talk here," she said.

    Of all things, her speaking voice was the most like her sister’s. He hoped she would appreciate knowing that.

  • ravenclawnerdSep 20, 2016 at 9:27 PM

    There may have been a bit of spite in my choice of which ship to write about today, but then again, my ultimate OTP probably comes as no surprise to most of you anyhow.


    Two months, three days, and fifteen hours.

    Jace never thought he would be the sort of sap who counts the weeks, days, hours, since he has last seen her, but his pulse beats ever faster as he sets down his datapad, gives up all pretenses of attempting to work. Instead, he turns his attention to the sky, straining to hear the telltale roar of engines that preludes her arrival.

    If he had been told, years ago, that he would be spending his free time mooning over a Jedi, he’d probably have laughed himself silly. After all, everyone knows that the Jedi are always calm, always emotionless.

    Except.... Except he’s learned that nothing could be farther from the truth.

    The unmistakable sound of a starship landing shakes him from his thoughts and he fiddles with the pad, mentally calculating the amount of time—three minutes—it would take her to disembark and find her way to their camp. Part of him wants to laugh at himself—his actions are more befitting of a teenager than of a major in the Republic army—but even so, he is on his feet the moment she pokes her head into the tent.

    It takes only a few steps—two seconds—to cross the distance between them, and then she is in his arms, his name a bubbling song on her lips, and, at least for a while, he can stop counting.

  • inquisitorhotpantsSep 20, 2016 at 10:20 PM

    The first thing Satele notices is how calm it is. A balmy breeze rustles the verdant leaves overhead, while a blue, blue ocean whispers against the nearby shore. Perhaps she deserves a bit of peace, after a lifetime of upheaval. She draws a long, deep breath, her eyes closed and her face tilted up to the sun.

    "Hello, Satele."

    Satele opens her eyes and turns toward the mellifluous voice. The woman is familiar, as though she's looking in a mirror that isn't quite accurate.

    "I've been waiting for you." The woman smiles and holds out her hands, waiting until Satele takes them to pull her into an embrace. "I'm so proud of you, my girl."

    • ravenclawnerdSep 20, 2016 at 10:22 PM

      BRB CRYING.

  • cipherninethousandSep 21, 2016 at 12:47 AM

    (Unedited reunion fluff for my SI and Andronikos -- KOTFE reunion, because I am a complete sucker for stuff like this.)

    Missed You More

    Five years of crap sleep and crap rations. Sleep hadn't exactly been plentiful before he'd joined up with H'ashura, but since she left it comes less and less. Andronikos doesn't trust medics to knock him out. Too many enemies. Too many eyes glaring him down. So, drinking until he drops seems like a better plan. At least that way, he can shoot someone who gets too close.

    Like this person. The only thing Andronikos can tell is that they're zabrak; he can just make out the faint bumps of their horns beneath the dark gray hood, or maybe that's just the whiskey making him fuzzy. Zabrak cause a lump in his throat, make Andronikos think of her. 'Specially the way that the stranger's coming-of-age tattoos turn to three sharp points beneath their lower lip when they lean forward.

    “What's the protocol for asking a pirate out for a drink?” She asks, and man, that drink must really be fucking with him now. Can't be her. Sith Empress declared her KIA years ago with Marr.

    She cocks her head to one side, curious. Crap. Musta said that last bit out loud. “Sorry.”

    She smiles, but Andronikos can't see if it goes to her eyes. “No need to be sorry.”

    Andronikos does the smart thing here, knocking back the last of his drink. He's finally fuzzy. Warm, buzzed enough that this little trip down memory lane might help him sleep for real. Dream about H'ashura. Yeah. That'd be good. He doesn't remember much after that.

    -...-

    When he wakes, Andronikos is definitely not in his hotel. He's laid out on a couch. Someone has draped a cool cloth over his eyes and a too short blanket over him, boots pulled off. They've even taken a chance to put a pillow under his head, soft – hang on, that's not a pillow. Those don't curve up over one side of his head to rise and fall, in and out like...like breathing.

    One night stand?

    Wait, no. There would be no clothes, then. Ever so carefully, Andronikos peels back the cloth from his eyes to reveal a blessedly dim room. There's no dry mouth. No pain threatening to split his head in two, which he guesses is a blessing all by itself. He glances down at the blanket. As it turns out, it's not a blanket at all, but a too short cloak that would probably be dark gray in better light.

    Maybe he went back with that zabrak. The thought draws up that lump in his throat again, the same one from last night. He almost doesn't want to look at them, but he was hammered and confirmation of his fuck up seems necessary. Andronikos swallows, bending his head back to get a look at the person – they're still sleeping, seems like.

    Just a little more, until he can just barely make out the three points of familiar ink on her chin, three horns that go up into her hair, two spiking outward from her temples. Same tattoo. Same thick, dark hair but longer, spilling in a single plait over the shoulder furthest from him. Damn. H'ashura's even wearing the same jewelry on her horns, delicate twinkling gold that tremble with her breathing.

    “Holy shit.” Andronikos hisses.

    It's then H'ashura's eyes snap open, legs tensing beneath him, her arms coiling for battle. But there's nothing there and the battle rage just fizzles out.

    He offers a fond 'crazy Sith' for her trouble; her face softens until she's smiling at him and a hand cups his cheek. “Pirate.”

    “You've been gone awhile.”

    “You have no idea.”

    There's a hundred questions. A thousand, if Andronikos were honest about it, even though words suck and there are things he'd rather be –

    “Hmm.”

    H'ashura presses her lips to Andronikos' forehead and his brain shorts out. He's gotta have her lips on his, been too long, this position sucks for changing that. Thankfully, it's easy enough to drop between her knees on the floor, pulling her face to his so there can be better things. Kisses. Tongue. A hint of H'ashura's sharp teeth against Andronikos' bottom lip, so that he hums into her mouth.

    Eventually, she slides down on the floor with him, both on their knees. It doesn't last long, H'ashura pushing at him with the Force until Andronikos lays on his back. She straddles him and takes another kiss.

    They can talk later. For now, skin is a priority. But it doesn't stop him from whispering, “Missed you,” between kisses and eager hands until H'ashura finally says, “Missed you more.”

  • zakuulandSep 21, 2016 at 5:07 AMΔ

    ~~ lets pretend im in a timezone where its still the 20th ~~

    Reunion between my SW Alth'ia and Jk M'arha.

    Yavin IV. 08 am planetside. Alth’ia cradles her face against the scorching hot mug of caf she’s holding wishing for the day to be over with already. She wonders when was the last time she got decent sleep as an Imperial team of tech jog past her to bring together their makeshift camp. Across the field she can see the Republic banners shifting with the morning breeze and she scolds a little. The tension in their temporary alliance was thicker than durasteel making her ponders how long before someone acts on it. A shuttle lands in the Pubs side and she entertains the idea of going back to sleep – Marr was still suspicious about her loyalty and she’ll rather not have to suffer the long incoming hours of debate and plotting cranky as a frozen tauntaun.

    She’s half back to her tent when she whirls around eyes wide as she feels the Force pulling at her. She hasn’t felt this connection in a long while as her heart beats an upbeat tempo in her chest. Making her way out of the Pubs camp is a tall looming pureblood sith looking extremely out of place among the soldiers, and strolling by his side a smaller figure, her crimson hair neatly combed in a short ponytail.

    Alth’ia stops breathing for a few seconds. Then the world shifts once more and she is walking – half running really – toward the pair. “Wrath” Scourge greets first and Alth’ia gives him a pointed look returning the greeting “ex Wrath” she nods her head lips quirking slightly before focusing on the Jedi. M’arha looks slightly different from the last time they saw each other – when it has been harsh words and cries and regrets – “It’s good to see you Em” M’arha face keeps her stoic expression until melting slowly to reveal a smile “It really is.. Chị. I just wish it wasn’t because of Vitiate once more”

    • zakuulandSep 21, 2016 at 5:13 AM

      Chị means elder sister, Em: younger sibling and lets pretend its only used in their primary meaning - not as pronouns bc really it doesnt work in conversational english ^^/ I like to hc my girls' ( althia, marha and their mom summxr) first language not to be Basic.

Transmissions from the Old Republic

Transmissions from the Old Republic

All things SWTOR!

393 members
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