All things SWTOR!
Sunday Prompt Fest!
Welcome to the SWTOR Super Special and totally not because I forgot about it yesterday Sunday Prompt Fest! We post ten prompts, and you pick one to write a drabble on - or draw something for! - and post it in the comments!
1) Aim for about 100 words. Longer or shorter is okay, just try to keep it in one comment. (note: this is more to give you a guideline than anything. Your prompt fill can be as long as you want, but we're not looking for a multi-chapter fic here!)
2) Post your fill as a reply to this thread or the comment the prompt is from.
3) Put the prompt you used at the top as a header, preferably bolded. If you just want to comment on something, just skip this step.
4) If posting an entry with NSFW content, please warn at the top of your post.
5) After writing your fill, write down three or so prompts of your own at the end of each reply.
6) Prompts should generally be short, no more than a sentence. Prompts may include characters and/or pairings. In that case, try to also include some word prompt (ex: trooper/Aric, out of regulation) unless you feel your configuration of characters is exotic enough to be inspiring on its own.
7) The same prompts may be filled multiple times. By the same person, even, if inspiration strikes.
Prompts
- never happier than when they're arguing
- I gotta get me one of these!
- sarcasm is her favorite form of flattery
- listless afternoon
- frightful things
- seize the day
- favorite meal
- What do you like best about your father?
- old crush
- What do you mean, I'm the sidekick?




So... uh... better late than never? :'D Have some hints of my rare ships.
Old Crush
“How quickly he leaps to his master’s defense!” Darth Gravus remarked.
“My honor is hardly worth safeguarding.” Darth Vowrawn gave a huff but it was not without a smile.
They watched from afar as their apprentices hurled abuse at each other in the middle of the Sith Sanctum. Gravus had visited his dearest friend to introduce his new apprentice. When Vowrawn offered brunch, she had rolled her eyes and pointed out that she had no stomach for dirty old men.
Vowrawn had been delighted with Thana’s candor. His apprentice, Lord Qet, well… he had not.
“You can’t defend what doesn’t exist,” Gravus replied.
Vowrawn clapped a hand to his heart with a dramatic gasp. “I beg your pardon! I have been a perfect angel. Unlike some people…”
Gravus’s mouth twitched.
“Incidentally,” he continued, “why did you bring Thana?”
“I show off all my new apprentices to you, don’t I?”
“The men, my dear. You know I’m not interested in the fairer sex as you are.”
Gravus hummed noncommittedly and very nearly smiled when Thana swung a punch at Qet’s jaw. “Your boy over there. I don’t think I’ve sensed this much sexually charged frustration since our old overseers had a marital fit in the cantina. You haven’t touched him? At all?”
Vowrawn’s lips curled. “No.”
“You haven’t entertained the notion?”
“Will it rain tomorrow on Dromund Kaas?”
“Out with it then. Does he not meet your standards? Is that it?”
“In terms of size you mean?” Vowrawn chuckled. “No, he’s more than adequate in that regard. I’m waiting.”
“Waiting,” Gravus echoed doubtfully.
“Waiting,” Vowrawn repeated, “for him. He’s mad about me, you know. Utterly infatuated. Fancies himself in love. It would be endearing if it weren’t so pitiful. He doesn’t act on it. I imagine he thinks it improper but—”
“But you’re an old sinner and he’s a young fool,” Gravus said, sliding an arm around Vowrawn’s waist almost possessively. “His loss.”
Valkorion / Senya ; it's 2am, i'm tired so let me write my s(in)ecret ship.
frightful things:
It’s a frightful thing how it comes crashing down on her, his voice, his confidence, the way he holds himself, an otherworldly certainty in his eyes as he gazes at her and Senya falls, falls, falls so fast she doesn’t even have the time to register the consequences.
She’s standing exactly 16 steps away from him, she knows this because she counted earlier, sixteens exhales, sixteens inhales as he called her name, she is part of his personal guard now. The new emblem is shining pristine on her chest piece as she stands in attention, eyes focused on the blankness of the space wrapped around the Throne Room. It’s the consecration of her dearest dreams. Senya the Knight of Zakuul, His Eternal Empire .
He gives an order and she frowns. It’s subtle, or so she thinks at least and the room falls in deep silent. There’s an undercurrent of trepidation, no one ever openly second guessed him. He pauses head tilted on the side regarding her, through her, past her she feels cornered like a prey about to be feasted upon and holds herself straight.
His inquiry falls like languid honey around her and she shivers openly as she tries to find her words back, grips her spike tighter and wills her opinion out. She can feel the disapproval of her fellow guards around her but he doesn’t move an inch. It becomes a sort of habit for him to pause infinitesimally and she fills the silence with her thoughts, it’s an implicit arrangement, a sort of silent challenge on his part and she dances the part perfectly dear little Senya.
One afternoon after dismissing them he calls her letting the syllables of her name snaking around her throat as she bows. His eyes are a lighter shade of cerulean this day, almost burning in their intensity and she lowers her gaze on her feet, heartbeat loud in her ears. His quiet chuckle is a dark promise between satin sheets and bursting supernovae as he requests for her to follow him to the balcony, he makes her talk humbly of her family and training, her vision of his empire and before she knows it dear little Senya is deep in the snake belly.
It’s a frightful thing how she lets him becoming him instead of Him ,Immortal Emperor, it’s not supposed to happen, she doesn’t believe in fairy tales, she is not supposed to fall for Kings, she is Knight of the Eternal Empire. She bleeds and fights for Him, not him and yet it's written all over her heart in bright, bright crimson, capital letters carve on her flesh as she lets herself falls deeper, ashes on her lips and poison in her veins.
listless afternoon
[Because I felt like writing more poly space nerds, i.e. my Agent Aviza and Vector and, in this case, Theron]
Aviza had insisted on a day to rest and recover before they depart Rishi for Yavin 4. In the shape he's in (and with the taste of her still on his lips) Theron found it hard to argue, which isn't to say he didn't try.
"And if one day ends up being the difference between us stopping Revan, and him waking up the Emperor and sealing the galaxy's fate?"
"Then that's just going to be too bad for galaxy, but I think it can afford to wait until we're in better shape to save it," she'd said, before locking eyes with him, smiling sweetly, and asking "Now, are you going to go see a medic, Agent Shan, or do I have to make you?"
Now, as their one day of rest slides into afternoon, it's hard to shake the feeling that he should be doing something, but equally hard to will himself to move. He's in a hut in the Rishi village, in what can only be described as a literal nest of blankets and cushions, sandwiched between Aviza and Vector.
Last night was...interesting. Theron pushed himself harder than he probably should have, trying to keep pace with them, but at least the soreness he feels now is for much more pleasant reasons than yesterday's, and he's gained a new appreciation for Imperial ingenuity and the spirit of cooperation. Vector's asleep, his breath tickling the back of Theron's neck, but Theron glances down to where Aviza's tucked in the crook of his arm and finds her open-eyed, her lips moving faintly as if she's talking to herself, trying to work something out in her head. She stops when she sees him looking, and Theron smirks and runs a hand through the sweat-damp tangle of loose curls on his shoulder.
"Too late," he mutters. "Caught you."
Aviza stirs against him, bracing one hand on his chest and looking up at him in amusement. "And what exactly is it you think you just caught me doing, Theron?"
"Being as bad at this whole resting thing as I am," he replies.
"No one's as bad at this as you are," she says, softening the words with a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "But yes, I don't have the easiest time slowing down or letting go of things."
There's a sleepy hum from behind, and then Vector's voice in Theron's ear. "Which is precisely why you both need to do it sometimes." Without raising his head, he lifts his arm from around Theron's waist and gropes for Aviza, who takes his hand in both of hers and brings it to her face, kissing his palm. "And why someone needs to make you, if you won't do it on your own."
Theron tips his head back so his hair brushes against Vector's face and neck, smirking again. "So if she's bad at it, and I'm worse, I guess that leaves you to make us, huh?"
Still cupping Aviza's face in one hand, Vector shifts until he can loop his other arm around Theron's neck, pulling Theron more securely against him. "Exactly," he murmurs, nuzzling Theron's shoulder. "Now both of you go back to sleep."
Prompts
-Is that really you?
-elaborate (verb or adjective!)
-sparkling
What did you like best about your father?
Xhareen stormed into the lounge area, where Vette was waiting with an open bottle of ale.
“Glad you’re a mind-reader, Vette.”
She picked up the bottle and drank about half of it in a single gulp before her backside even hit the seat.
“Yeah, well, I know when you and Captain Spreadsheets start talking requisition forms and TPS reports, it’s gonna be time to crack a bottle or six soon enough.”
Xhareen picked up her bottle to toast, and Vette clinked it and said, “To fussy men and their TPS reports!”
“Hear, hear,” Xhareen concurred, and took another, smaller, swig. “Seriously, I know I couldn’t do this without him being so … exacting, but he’s just so … so … ugh. I don’t want to talk about him tonight. I’m so done with him!”
“Liar! You are so not done with him, but I agree. Let’s talk about someone else tonight. You know, I told you about my family, but what about yours? Was your father an insufferable stickler?”
Xhareen’s birth family had been forced into hiding when the Sith family she had been fostered to on Dromund Kaas were murdered by Darth Vengean. She hadn’t seen them since she was 14 years old, and she hadn’t lived with them since she was 8. But Miralukans are clan-oriented and family is part of their social make-up. She still felt the loss of them deeply, every day.
“I don’t remember him being that way, no. Nor my mother. If anyone was the stickler for details, it was my Nama, my mother’s mother. No, I don’t recall ever seeing him bent over a financial statement or ever hearing my parents discussing money.”
They’d both drained their first bottles, so Vette opened two more. “What did you like best about him?” she asked.
Xhareen paused with the bottle just shy of her lips. “That’s easy. His voice. His singing voice wasn’t star quality, but it was good enough, especially to the children he taught. But no one, ever, could turn away when he was speaking. And he was probably the best storyteller in the city.”
Both women fell silent. After a few moments, Vette said, “I guess we were both at the same point in our lives when we lost our families.”
“But then we found new ones. And we’re building one here, too,” Xhareen said. They clinked their nearly empty bottles together again.
“You’re right," Vette replied, "but now I think I’m going to have a hard time not calling him Nama Quinn.”
Prompts:
Sorry about the wampas.
It's a gift. No, really.
Why do they call it that?
Editing: checked my notes, and I had used the word "Nama" for grandmother.
"Sorry about the Wampas"
[Notes: Rosie is my human female Gunslinger, who romances Theron.]
“Aww man, this was such a bad idea” growled Rosie through gritted teeth, as she and HK crouched down behind cover. They had come to Hoth on a recruitment mission for the alliance, but right now she—and probably HK too—wanted to be anywhere else.
“Where is Theron, anyway?”
As if in answer to her question, the SIS disaster agent concerned came sprinting around the corner, moving faster than she could ever recall seeing him go before. But then again, when you’re being chased by big furious beasts who could rip you apart without breaking a sweat, you probably aren’t going to hang around and ask them if they want to be friends.
“Coming in hot!” he yelled, vaulting over the abandoned barricade to join her and HK.
“You don’t say” sighed Rosie, readying her twin blasters.
The two wampas came stomping towards them, their heavy footfalls making the icy ground beneath the three of them shake. HK felled the larger one with a well-aimed sniper shot to the head, as Rosie and Theron took down the second, which fell forward and slid to a halt in front of the barricade they were entrenched behind.
Rosie stood up, holstered her blasters, and placed her hands on her hips as she fixed Theron with a distinctly disapproving glare—a look he was of course well familiar with by now.
“Uh….sorry about the wampas?” he offered somewhat sheepishly.
“Honestly, Shan, you have a death wish? Why did you have to go do that?”
“Hey, I said I’m sorry! Just….just don’t tell Lana.”
Rosie sighed in exasperation. “That’s your primary concern right now? I swear to the stars, Theron, if I didn’t love you as much as I do—“
She paused. An awkward silence descended.
“You….you love me?” smiled Theron, taking a few steps towards her.
Rosie folded her arms and raised her chin slightly, ever the one to brazen her way out of a situation. “I suppose I do. Although you make it damn difficult at times.”
Theron grinned. “But that’s part of my charm, right?”
“Suggestion” interjected HK. “Masters, may I suggest we leave the cave before more beasts return? You can continue your courtship back at base.”
“Good idea, HK. Let’s go.” said Rosie, pulling her insulated coat closer around her as they started to make their way out.
“He’s right about those wampas” agreed Theron.
A smirk curved her lips. “I was referring to his suggestion about ‘courtship’ actually.”
Prompts: