#the ebon hawk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frankensteinstherapist · 20 days ago

Text

Guess who has a new hyperfixation

I just finished playing KOTOR 2 for the first time and WOW. Part of the way through my run this scene came to me and possessed me completely and I had to write it. It involves some in-game dialogue but splits the particular cutscene because I couldn’t find a way to make it all fit together cohesively. Truth be told, I’m an illustrator, not a writer, but I don’t have the patience to commit this to a visual format atm so this’ll have to do for now. Cheers xx

Force Bond

Pairing: Atton x LSF Exile (Corrin)

Warnings: none that I can think of??? I’m new to oneshot writing so pls forgive me if I missed something!

• • •

The exile had particularly enjoyed sitting in the co-pilot’s chair as of late. It was a simple, creeping sensation, one that had grown like a weed bursting through the cracked stone paths outside the Enclave on Dantooine. She couldn’t-or simply wouldn’t- name why it had become such a respite for her as she and her ramshackle crew hopped planets, kicking down doors and stoking rebellions, always on survival mode. Perhaps that was why. The exile had spent so long in survival mode. In the co-pilot’s chair, she was always safe.

None of this had anything to do with him of course, she commanded herself to think as she stormed from the dormitories to the cockpit. None at all. Did she enjoy his company? Sure. Was that a crime? Kreia might say so. But Corrin had never trusted that woman. Learned from her, of course. She’d taken the old woman up on her offers of help re-tethering her to the Force on numerous occasions. Kreia had aided her, taught her lightsaber forms and reacquainted her with the art of meditation, albeit always doing so with a dubious air about her. Corrin was appreciative, truly. But this most recent lesson had been… different. The old woman, her de facto mentor, had shown her how to invade the minds of others. Her crew. Corrin had unwittingly heard the thoughts of Mira, Mandalore, Visas, and the disciple. And Atton. Atton’s were different, though. Impermeable. Kreia had known it too, as though she’d crawled into his mind before. That didn’t sit right with the exile. She’d curtly thanked Kreia for the lesson before walking away, wordlessly swearing never again to use such an invasive technique if she could avoid it.

She reached the cockpit, the blue and white blur of hyperspace stretched out endlessly before the Ebon Hawk, and all her brooding and huffing dissipated. Corrin silently re-centered herself at the threshold, figuring she would need all the grace in the known universe to weave this apology together, especially now knowing his history with the Jedi. But she couldn’t rest until she did it.

He must have heard her- she must have shifted her weight or breathed too hard- because Atton’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Something up?”

He hadn’t even turned to face her. Normally, when she entered his little section of the Hawk, he’d spin around in his chair to see her, a sly scoundrel’s grin planted on his face. Normally, he never turned down a chance to look at her.

He knew. He had to. He’d felt it somehow.

Corrin swallowed and stepped deeper into the cockpit, not knowing how to begin.

“Atton…” the exile fumbled for words, toying with her belt, glancing to the navicomputer as if for answers. She sighed, the sound apparently desperate enough for him to finally turn his head and meet her gaze, brow furrowed. “Earlier… Kreia showed me…I… I saw your mind. I’m sorry.” The pilot bit back a laugh and spun his chair all the way around, so that now he was bodily facing her. “Well, that’s a new one. A Jedi apologizing? Never thought I’d see the day.” The exile smiled, mirroring his usual ease. “Don’t get used to it.” She jabbed. “I only apologize when I’m wrong.”

Atton smiled absently, thinking. He met her eyes again. “What did you see?” He asked the question almost fearfully, as if he worried she’d accessed something he’d tried to keep hidden from her. Corrin smiled back at him. “Pazaak.” He tried to hide it, but relief washed over him as he stood, slowly moving toward her with almost unnatural ease. “Of course you did. You know, Jedi- light and dark- look at people’s minds. More often than you might think.”

“You do it to shield your thoughts,” Corrin mused, meeting his gaze.

“Old trick I taught myself,” he smirked, “back when I was-“

Atton cut himself off. Corrin didn’t break his stare. They both knew what he’d been about to say. Back when I was hunting Jedi. The weight of what he’d told her on Nar Shadaa suddenly hung heavy between them. He cleared his throat, looking away but not putting any physical distance between the two of them. She could feel shame radiating off of him. It wasn’t like she hadn’t felt similarly. An unbidden memory of Malachor V lanced through her chest. She shooed the thought away as the pilot spoke again.

“Look, I understand if you…” Atton raked a hand through his hair. “My past…” he stumbled over his words, as though unable to come to grips with her now knowing what he’d done. Who he’d been. The exile knew the feeling too well. “I know I threw a lot at you, back there. I understand if you… don’t want me around, anymore.”

Corrin felt a stab of pain in her chest again, but this was different. Not the ghost of a remembered atrocity but something entirely more ruthless. She searched his eyes for a joke, for something bright to show that her Atton was still there. Her Atton. Where did that come from? Pushing that thought down for another day, the exile brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked back at him. “Atton, your past doesn’t define you. What that Jedi did for you… to you… it was a second chance.” He stared at her, still uncertain. She continued. “We all did things during the war that we’d rather forget. I know I did.”

Corrin looked down, consciously shoving away the thought of how natural it had felt to kill Visquis. To kill his guards. To kill anyone in her way. Muscle memory.

She looked back up at him. Had he always been standing so close? “What matters is what we’re doing now. You’re not that guy anymore, Atton.” The pilot’s face changed. Corrin kept going. “You’re not a killer.”

She could feel, almost imperceptibly, a kind of cautious warmth growing in him as he considered her words. “What makes you so sure?” He finally asked, eyes pleading. She blinked up at him, practically incredulous. The words came out almost desperately. “Because I know you!” She blurted, quickly reclaiming both her cool demeanor and, unintentionally, another inch of space between them. She made sure to lock eyes with him. “Because I trust you.”

They were standing barely apart now, she realized, suddenly breathing heavily. She wasn’t the only one. The exile felt that familiar warmth now coming off him in waves as he gazed at her, and she knew he wasn’t playing mental pazaak anymore. Her eyes darted to his mouth, now mere inches from hers, before she could stop them. He smirked, noticing.

“Atton…”

He seemed to have taken his name as an invitation, because suddenly he was kissing her like his life depended on it, half-gloved hands strong against her lower back, pressing her into him. Corrin wasted no time kissing him back, bringing her hands up to his chest, to pull on the collar of his jacket as if he could possibly be any closer. Stars above, it felt good. Their lips moved together, with almost practiced precision, as though they’d both been waiting for this moment. The exile felt her blood running hotter, Atton’s hands greedily grabbing at her waist, and then the wall of the cockpit slam against her back. Had they moved? Hadn’t noticed. All she knew in this moment was the white-hot fire filling her chest and the feel of his hair between her fingers as they explored this thing they’d been dancing around.

The pilot brought a hand up to her neck, the sensation exploding all over her with a shiver. She heard him chuckle into her mouth. Low, throatily, laced with a sense of pride she suddenly felt addicted to. Weaving his fingers into her hair, he began to trace a line of kisses down her throat, each setting a small fire on her skin. Stifling her moans, Corrin let her eyes wander to the cockpit door as Atton made her his.

And promptly yelped.

“Greeting: Meatbag! Are you in distress? Is there anyone you need killed?” HK-47 stood in the doorway, its mechanical head darting between the exile and the pilot as they abruptly separated themselves.

Bringing a hand to her chest to steady her heartbeat, Corrin glared at the assassin droid. “HK- what are you doing up here?” She demanded, feeling her face redden. “And how long have you been there?” Atton cut in, obviously annoyed at the intrusion. The droid ignored him. “Answer: why, meatbag, I was conducting a routine survey of the ship when my heat sensors detected abnormally high temperatures coming from the cockpit. I had to investigate to ensure there was no fire.”

Corrin sighed, still trying to recover some semblance of a cool demeanor. “Well, there’s no-“ she glanced at Atton, now leaning against the console on the wall opposite her. He flashed a wicked smirk as she paused. The exile couldn’t help but grin. “… everything’s fine up here, HK. Go back to your bay and await maintenance.”

The droid again swiveled his head between the two of them.

“Observation: I seem to have misinterpreted-“

“Go, HK.” Corrin whipped her head toward the droid, ensuring he understood her order.

She swung her head back to meet Atton’s wry grin as the droid shuffled away. “I’m gonna take out those heat sensors, I swear it.” She said, only half-kidding, as she closed the space between the two of them. The pilot laughed, still leaned back against the console, leaving them eye-level with each other as he snaked an arm around her waist, inviting her to rest her hands on his chest. It was still radiating heat, his heart still racing. “Maybe adjust the vocabulator, too,” he met her eyes with his usual cockiness, casually gripping the console with his other hand. “Nothing kills the mood like ‘meatbag.’” Corrin laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his wanting eyes with one hand, a motion that he took in eagerly. “Where were we?” Atton teased as he directed her jaw toward him with two fingers, again capturing her lips with his, but this time with less urgency and more… familiarity. It felt right, the way his cheekbones felt beneath her fingers, the way he traced his tongue along her lower lip. This is what I needed, the exile thought selfishly. This and nothing and no one else. Urgency returned to them both simultaneously as Corrin bit down on his lip. The pilot began to drink her in more hungrily, fingers dancing across her back and waist and hips and face as if he couldn’t decide which part of her he was more eager to touch. The exile had never known anything more intoxicating. This is better than juma, better than the Force, better than-

“Well, this is certainly disappointing—“

Kreia’s stark, stern voice cut through them both, a stunned Corrin practically shoving herself away from Atton in reaction. “Can’t catch a fuckin’ break…” the pilot muttered exasperatedly, tilting his head back and away from the piercing blind gaze of the old witch.

“—though I can hardly call it surprising.” Kreia slowly, deliberately switched between glaring at them both, as a teacher might between two children who were always making trouble. She finally focused on Corrin, whose mouth was already opening to speak. Kreia held up her remaining hand in a silencing gesture. “I had feared that this…” her wicked, empty gaze turned to the pilot as she searched for a word. “…vagabond might be a distraction…” It was Atton’s turn to glare at the old woman, wiping his mouth with one hand, or perhaps, Corrin thought, willing himself to keep his mouth shut. The exile spoke up before the old woman could continue.

“Kreia, I’d… I thought you were meditating.” Was all she could muster. It sounded pitiful coming out of her mouth, like a weak whimper of an excuse one might give their master when caught sneaking out of the enclave. Corrin caught the old woman’s icy stare and felt every inch a petulant teenager again. She straightened her back and stepped closer to her in an effort to recover some dignity. Kreia spoke again before she could.

“Difficult to meditate with your heart pounding so loudly in my mind…”

In her periphery, Corrin saw Atton’s mouth quirk up into a proud smirk at that. She tilted her head slightly, staring at Kreia, not understanding. Or not wanting to.

Off her confusion, the old woman continued. “Need I remind you we are bound through the Force.”

The realization dawned on them both at the same time, if Atton’s sudden, stifled retching was any indication. He tried to mask it as a cough. Corrin felt sick herself. It made sense, of course. If one felt pain, so did the other. Stands to reason it would work for other sensations…

It made sense. She just hated it.

“I had feared you to be in mortal peril,” the old witch continued, seemingly unfazed. “Unfortunately, it appears I was, in some way…” the old woman again glared at Atton-“correct. Come, we have much work to do.” With that, Kreia turned, clearly expecting the exile to follow her back to the dormitories for some kind of Jedi reprogramming exercise.

She didn’t.

Instead, Corrin crossed her arms, as if daring the woman to give her another order. When Kreia looked back, her expression was unreadable. She considered the exile for a long moment.

“I see.” Was all the woman said before silently retreating, leaving the exile and the pilot mercifully alone once more. Atton approached from behind, placing a cautious hand at the small of Corrin’s back. The exile sighed heavily. “She gave up easily.” He noted, following her eyes to where the witch had been standing. “More easily than usual.” The exile knew why. She had them both in a vise. As long as this Force bond of theirs existed, she and Kreia would share every… extreme sensation.

She knew he understood too as she turned to meet his eyes once more. They still shone with the whispers of hunger. She felt it too. Corrin sighed again, but leaned into Atton’s touch as he began tracing small circles on her neck with one thumb, the other hand bringing up her chin to look him in the eyes. He gazed at her adoringly. The exile was sure she had never been looked at in such a way.

“I’m not giving this up,” her pilot began, “so we’ve gotta find a way to break that Force bond.” Corrin laughed, letting Atton kiss her forehead as she leaned back into him.

Down the hallway from the not-soundproof cockpit, in the vestibule, Mandalore collected 5 credits each from Mira and Bao-Dur.

• • •

11 notes · View notes

domwho11 · 4 months ago

Text

Revan sat on the floor and stared at nothing. His hair was matted and tangled, his eyes were bloodshot, his face was a mass of self inflicted bruises. When he had lost the Force, it was like a part of him had died as well. From a distance Revan could hear the sounds of people entering the Ebon Hawk. The former Sith Lord gradually became aware of someone in the room with him. It was Carth.

"We've uncovered the last Star Map and we now know the location of the Star Forge." said Carth.

Revan said nothing.

Carth scratched his head awkwardly.

"Look... I don't pretend to know what you're going through right now but the crew needs you. Bastila still needs you. I'm not much good at this kind of thing but you can still fight, even without your powers, right? You can try."

Revan said nothing.

"If you need me I'll be in the cockpit." said Carth.

"And... take care."

Carth walked out of the room. Revan was left alone. By and by, T3-M4 rolled up to him, bleeping and blooping. Revan gave a half smile and patted T3 on his head. T3 got to work cleaning up the room. As T3 did so, Zaalbar entered and engulfed Revan in a huge hug. Revan found himself hugging Zaalbar back.

"Thanks Big Z." Revan whispered.

Zaalbar handed Revan a bunch of grenades.

"<I still believe in you, Revan.>" he said.

"<You rescued me from those slavers.>"

"That goes for me too."

Mission was there. She flipped Revan a lazy salute.

"Big Z and me will stick by you to the end."

HK-47 entered the room. He carried two Sith troopers' severed heads. The assassin droid proceeded to put on a short play (doing voices for each severed head) about the futility of life and how the only real purpose of it was to kill meatbags. When he had finished Revan, Mission and Zaalbar gave an awkward smattering of applause. HK lapped this up and exited the room saying something about being the first great droid playwright.

Mission gave Revan a hug.

"I gotta get going, but I'll be here if you need me."

Mission left the room. Zaalbar squeezed Revan's shoulder in a bone-crushing grip.

"<Be well my friend.>" he said.

Then he left. Revan was left alone. After a little while he located his old lightsaber. Revan switched the laser sword on. A blood-red beam of light blazed forth. Revan felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was this how he would always be remembered? A brutal, conquering Sith? Revan attempted some saber forms. Without the Force to guide him Revan was slow and clunky. He still had to try though.

"Be careful! You'll put your eye out with that!"

Revan turned. Jolee was there, a slight smile on his face.

"If I'm going to save Bastila and stop Malak I have to remember how to use this." said Revan.

Jolee snorted.

"There are other ways to fight. Let me tell you a little story..."

"Could you please skip to whatever advice..." began Revan.

"Shush!" said Jolee.

"Now where was I. Ah yes, the story. A long time ago, there was a certain, shall we say, less than legal fighting ring on the planet Quarzite. The only rule was, the combatants had to fight unarmed. No blasters, no lightsabers, that kind of thing. Anyway, the dueling ring's champion was a giant of a man named Janus. He could crush his opponents' skulls with one hand, and frequently did. One day Janus' opponent entered the ring, and he and the crowd burst out laughing. His opponent only had one arm. The cocky Janus thought it would be a walk in the park to defeat this one-armed competitor. So they locked up, but try as he might Janus could not outmaneuver this other man. He tried everything he could and he still couldn't beat him. The one-armed man flipped Janus to the ground and won the fight. Do you know why?"

"Why?" said Revan.

Jolee smiled.

"Because the one-armed man's Master only taught him one move. The only way to defend against that move was to grab your opponent's left arm. Which of course poor Janus could not do, as the man he was fighting only had one arm."

Revan smiled.

"That's interesting, but what's the point?"

"The point is; there is strength in weakness and weakness in strength." said Jolee.

"And there's more than one way to win a fight."

"I..."

Revan paused.

"I need time to think about this."

"Fair enough. But don't take too long. The galaxy isn't going to save itself you know."

With that Jolee was gone. Revan was left to think on his words. He did not have long to think as Canderous strode into the dorm.

"I'm not one for pretty words so I'll just come out and say it; get your head out of your ass." he said.

"I'll try and do that." said Revan.

Canderous snorted.

"Ha! A real warrior never tries. A real warrior does, or does not do."

The big Mandalorian tossed a small pouch to Revan, who tried to catch it but failed.

"These are some stims for when you feel like leading us again. You don't have to thank me. I'm here if you want something done right."

Canderous left. Revan opened the pouch. A dozen silver needles stared back at him, like tiny swords. Revan thought that if he just injected them all at once he would be free of this nightmare. (No.) He still had to try to finish what he had started.

"Excuse me, Padawan."

Juhani's soft, accented voice made Revan turn around. He smiled when he saw her (when was the last time he had smiled?).

"Hey Juhani."

"I just wanted to tell you... I will never lose faith in you. Even though you have lost faith in yourself. You saved me from the Mandalorians. And from the dark side. I trust that you will save us once more."

"I'm no saviour, Juhani." said Revan.

"Neither is Bastila. Neither is Malak. It's up to everyone, Jedi or not, to help make the galaxy the place we want it to be."

Juhani looked slightly taken aback. Revan went to her and touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry if that came across as harsh. What I mean is, I'm not going to give up on you. Or on any of the crew. Even Malak. There has to be a way I can save both him and Bastila."

Juhani brightened.

"So you will fight alongside us once more?"

"Yeah. I may not have Force powers anymore but..."

Juhani hugged Revan. Revan was surprised, but he returned the hug. After a few minutes they broke apart.

"Come on." smiled Revan.

"We've got work to do."

#star wars #kotor #revan #bastila shan #knights of the old republic #tw sui ideation #tw self h4rm #kotor fanfic #carth onasi #canderous ordo #juhani #jolee bindo #darth malak #t3 m4 #hk 47 #mission vao #zaalbar #ebon hawk

7 notes · View notes