#Hunks of the Eternal Alliance Calendar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greyias · 7 years

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FIC: For a Good Cause

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did what?”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not going to work on me.”

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

“I didn’t agree to that!”

“Your signature here says otherwise.”

“I hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

"It's a bow."

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

“Don’t touch me,” he growled.

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

“Can’t I put on something… more?”

“What more do you need?’

“Pants!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like why I’m only wearing a bow?”

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

“That’s not an explanation.”

“You’re wasting time.”

“Are you sure that door is locked?”

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

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

The things he did for love.

"How long is this going to take?"

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

"What is there to smile about?"

"It's Life Day!"

"It's Taungsday."

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

"No."

"Not even the Commander?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We could… if you’d smile.”

"I'm experiencing shrinkage!”

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

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

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

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

"You said you locked it!" Theron hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I never figured you for such a prude."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need a shot to relax?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know what you have to do."

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

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

"I need him to smile, just once."

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

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

"Maybe he's just camera shy."

"I'm right here, you know!"

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

"Excuse me little Missy--"

Her eyebrow arched delicately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg your pardon?"

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

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

"Good!" Theron shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? You're done already?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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greensphynx · 4 years

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Timer Starts Now

A fanfic for Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Mature

Pairing: established Shance

A Spanksgiving drabble for you lost souls.

---

They were all set.

Lance had managed to transform the cold, alien dining hall of the Castleship into the perfectly festive, picture perfect dinner occasion.

He had found a piece of fabric large enough to cover the entire huge table as a proper table cloth and found the best Altean tableware deeply hidden in the cupboards to set out. He had raided the scrap heap Pidge and Hunk shared for their projects to recreate some pretty fancy high candles - the LED type, of course, but it didn't take an engineering genius like Hunk to make them flicker like a real flame.

There was a lot of space left on the table, but Lance had been prepared and brought a big bunch of the beautiful vegetation of the last planet they'd been on, setting it up over the free space like an alien flower arrangement.

Hunk had done his part with an amazing feat of his culinary artistry, cooking up a whole lot of delicious looking side dishes - the occasional neon coloured food would just have to do - and a surprisingly accurate recreation of cranberry sauce. It was too bad that the large roast looked nothing like a turkey, but at least it appeared to be meat so Lance was not going to be picky.

Lance was way too pleased to be picky about such a thing now.

The table was set for a feast, because the steadily advancing calendar of his tablet said today was Thanksgiving, and it was about time they had a party together, just the paladins and the Alteans and not some other civilisation that needed to be pleased and coddled into an alliance. Just them, and a lot of delicious food and all the free time to enjoy it.

Coran had brought out the formal, non-armoured wear for the paladins, so they all looked good.

Lance could not have been happier right now. (Well, aside from spending the holidays with his family back on earth, anyway.)

The only thing off with the table was that when they all took their seats, Shiro pointedly put his tablet on the table, the numbers of an unstarted timer blinking brightly on the screen. Lance glanced up at Shiro's face questioningly, only to receive a meaningful look and Shiro pointedly starting the timer.

Boy, Lance knew what that look meant.

For the first time since he started to prepare this party, he couldn't wait until it was over.

---

"I'm so proud of you, Lance."

Lance answered with only a soft, relieved whimper, his death grip on Shiro's pants legs finally loosening a little. Shiro's hand felt hot and rough where it gently petted the burning skin on Lance's backside, but it was a blessed break from the harsh spanking that had been raining down on bare skin for what already felt like an eternity.

"You set the table so nicely," Shiro continued to praise, all gentle and fond while his hand continued to stroke and pet. "It was almost like being back home, celebrating with family. Which we were doing now too in a way, weren't we?"

"Y-yes, sir," Lance stammered out quickly, knowing better than to let a question go unanswered.

His breathing was finally slowing to something more normal again, the muscles that had him tense as a board over Shiro's lap slowly relaxing into a slump.

Lance was holding back from relaxing fully, knowing what would happen once he did.

Shiro saw right through him though, as he always did.

"Come, we're almost halfway."

Lance couldn't stop the helpless sob at that news, yelping when Shiro's hand swatted down on his abused skin as hard as every time before. His break was over, and Shiro's spankings were relentless, his hand coming down hard and fast, back and forth from Lance's left cheek to his right and back again.

The harsh slapping of Shiro's hand on his skin filled Lance's ears even more than his own wailing did, the rhythm of it hypnotising until he couldn't hear himself at all anymore. He couldn't hear the rush of his blood in his ears, or his rapid, gasped breathing or the creak of the fabric in his hands that he was nearly tearing through. Only that hand coming down again - and again, and again, and again.

And then it stopped again, Shiro's hand remaining on the last spot it hit, like every time Lance was about to get too overwhelmed. Lance heaved in a breath and whimpered out another wail, letting himself be hushed by Shiro's cooing over him.

Another round over. How many times had the timer gone off before the meal had ended?

"It takes so long because you did so well. You should be very proud, Lance."

Maybe he was, but right now he only had whimpers and sniffles, no boasting or genuinely pleased smiles. Right now he couldn't look up at Shiro to see the proud smile on his face - if not for the angle of Lance over his lap, then because his eyes were too full of tears to make out anything.

"Not even Pidge was in a hurry to leave and get back to her laptop. She looked like she was having so much fun, finally letting go a little. She really needed that."

Lance gave a watery nod in agreement as he came down again. Shiro's gentle voice and touch never seemed to have any trouble tugging Lance down from the edge, no matter the situation. No matter the knowledge of how calming down would merely mark the next round.

But the next round also meant one round closer to the last one.

"Maybe I should've taken a larger time interval to measure how many rounds you should get," Shiro mused quietly, and Lance quickly tugged on the leg of his pants, shaking his head sharply.

"N-no!" He protested, voice a rough croak from his crying. "I earned- you can't take away my- I earned them." He tugged again, like a petulant child stamping his foot.

Shiro could not deny him the spankings he earned!

Shiro chuckled warmly at Lance's insistence, giving a light few taps on his butt in acknowledgement. "Alright, dear, don't worry. You worked hard for this, so you'll get your prize."

Lance tensed up in advance when Shiro's hand lifted again, readying for the next round of spanking as Shiro rumbled in amusement. "Happy spanksgiving, Lance."

#voltron #Shance #Lance #Takashi Shirogane #vld #drabble

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