#theron shan x female jk

[theemryslegacy]

@greyias tagged me for: 53. Against a wall kiss, starring my two favorites. While Adela and Olys are a close second, my TOR OTP is definitely my beloved JK, Annya Emrys, and our favorite injury-prone super spy, Theron Shan. I was not intending to take Umbara on – either as headcanon or part of a story. The muses had other ideas. Perhaps this was a way of helping me cope with the stupid.

And while this does draw on my “Between the Lines”-verse, I’m not yet sure if this will stick as canon. That will entirely depend on whether or not BWA screws up the storyline.

So… spoilers for KotFE/ET and Umbara (even though I still haven’t played through it). 

***

The eerie glow of red neon cast shadows around every corner as the smuggler made his way down the hall and into the club. Unlike the Slippery Slopes, where live music pulsed incessantly and the bartenders couldn’t keep up with demand, this club was almost silent. It was only as he approached the bar that he could hear the muted sounds of a water organ, playing through a tinny, blown speaker. There was no hum of conversation; patrons – no more than one or two at a table – avoided eye contact and slunk further into the shadows. They would emerge only when their pre-arranged “date” arrived to escort them to a private room.

Yeah, it was that kind of place on that kind of planet – a planet where Theron Shan no longer had clearance, but Shawn Malcom was welcomed with open arms.

As he approached, the bartender looked up. “What ya want, kid?”

Theron bit back a snort. No one had called him “kid” in at least a decade. The Alliance staff seemed to have gone in the opposite direction, honestly, dubbing him “the Old Man.” Then again, judging by the shadows cast across her features, the bartender was likely still his senior. “Whiskey,” he answered. “Neat.”

She offered a curt nod, reaching for a worn tumbler and the mostly empty bottle of amber liquor. He grimaced as he caught a glimpse of the label. Accustomed now to aged variants of Wyvern’s Reserve, this was going to be pure rotgut. If he was lucky, he thought, he wouldn’t have to drink much of it.

“Lookin’ for a friend?” the older woman asked. She slid the glass toward him.

He chanced a sip of the whiskey, tossing a few credit chips onto the bar. The less refined alcohol burned all the way to his stomach and he shook his head to give himself a moment to recover. “Waitin’ on a friend,” he finally answered. He sounded almost like himself. Almost.

The barkeep frowned. “I’ll need to see their license,” she said. “Don’t want trouble with the Cartel around here…”

A tug on his awareness alerted him to her growing curiosity. He raised his glass halfway, drawing attention away from the gloved hand that waved just over the bar. “Oh, she’s fully licensed. You won’t need proof.”

“Eh, who’m I kidding? I’m sure she’s licensed,” the bartender said. “Won’t even need to check.”

Theron fought the smirk that threatened at his success. In the end, he settled for hiding it behind his tumbler of rotgut whiskey.

Reaching for a rag, the tender then began wiping down the bar. “Lemme know when she gets here; I’ll pass you the codes for the back room.”

Offering a nod in response, he tossed another few creds onto the bar, then moved down to the far end. Earlier recon showed there was no accessible rear exit and he could now see the two paths leading to the front. Back to the wall, he settled in to wait.

Not that he’d have to wait long, he noted. Her taxi had just landed in the Red Light district.

Over the weeks since his rather public departure from Alliance service, he’d done his best to shield his bond with the Commander. Unable – unwilling – to block her entirely, the bond served as a lifeline: assurance she was alive and a reminder of why he’d started this mess in the first place.

Anxiety. Trepidation. Anticipation. Affection. Concern. Their bond resonated with a jumble of emotions so confusing, it was impossible to determine who was feeling what. But then, he reasoned, most were echoes of one another, amplified by their proximity.

Beneath it all, he sensed an undercurrent of discomfort – or displacement? – shadowing her thoughts. Annya simply didn’t feel like herself. She must have sensed his curiosity because he then distinctly heard her voice in his mind: You’ll see…

He gave a mental chuckle, drawing his glass to his lips. The aroma of the rotgut burned his nostrils and he lowered it. Almost enough of that, he thought. Even with misdirection from the commander, the Alliance intelligence apparatus was looking for him. He would need to be on alert.

Anticipation rifled through him. He wanted to tap his foot, bounce his leg, pace the floor. It took almost every ounce of his self-control to maintain the cynical, bored facade of Shawn Malcom. The effort grew more intense as he sensed her approach. He continued to stare into the glass of rotgut, mentally reciting snippets of boring literature he remembered from his childhood. Her voice – spoken – reached him. “Shawn, I presume?”

“That’d be –”

Looking up, he stopped. And gaped. Her red hair – Force, he hoped it was a wig – now framed her face in a simple, chin-length layer, fringe concealing a familiar blue eye. The practical Jedi robes of green, Corellian bloodstripe proudly displayed, had been replaced by an outfit he’d never seen on her before: a fitted leather bodysuit, unzipped to mid-chest, with strategic openings offering a glimpse of the white skin he knew to be so warm and smooth. Strangely, the suit actually seemed more revealing than even her usual bare midriff. It was what the clothing suggested, he thought, rather than what it revealed.

He swallowed. There were times he had considered this a bad idea. Now he knew it was, but for entirely different reasons.

Amusement, laced with a hint of satisfaction rippled through their connection. An impish gleam danced in the visible blue eye. “Chana,” she replied aloud. “Benny suggested I look you up when I got to town.”

Theron gave a snort, distracted for the moment by the task at hand. Business before pleasure, he thought. “Benny, huh? She ever hear you call her that?”

A smirk played across her lips, every bit as roguish as befitting the daughter of a smuggler… even if she was a Jedi. “Not yet.” She paused, fingers draping over his sleeve. “I don’t suppose there’s a place nearby where we could… catch up?”

The knot in his throat suddenly returned. He remembered well their reunion on Odessen – and catching up until the inaugural Alliance cantina party was well over. By the widening of her smirk, he knew she remembered, too. Her word choice, then, had been deliberate. We don’t have time for –

“Ah, I see your friend arrived,” came the voice of the bartender, breaking their silent conversation. She withdrew a card from the pocket of her apron, sliding it under a napkin before then pushing both toward him. “Go through the storeroom at the back. The key’ll get ya in to the suite.”

Picking up the card with some subtlety, he slipped it into the waist opening of “Chana’s” bodysuit, concealed between the leather and her skin. He heard her exhale as he did so, suddenly thankful he was still wearing gloves. He then looked back to the bartender. “I didn’t –”

The bartender gave him a smirk. “Been doing this job a long time, kid,” she said, “and learned a lot of things. You’re dressed pretty for a smuggler in these parts – good leather jacket, well-tended blasters, a few good implants. And you’re used to better whiskey – barely touched what I poured ya. I figure business must be pretty good, but for some reason you’re still slummin’ down here. Me, I think it’s gotta be the girl. If business is good enough you can get her outta this life, I’m gonna help ya anyway I can. Especially while she’s still s’pretty.”

So she had developed her own story for the clandestine meeting. Neither he nor Annya was willing to correct her. He looked up to his fiancee. “A little longer and we can finally settle down,” he replied. “But for now, we gotta take what time we can get.” He shifted his attention back to the bartender. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it – seriously.” The older woman jerked her head in the direction of the storeroom. She picked up the tumbler of rotgut with the sweep of a hand. “Just get going.”

Shaking her head with an internal chuckle, Annya reached down and grabbed him by the hand. Leave it to you, she thought to him, to find friends even now. Reaching into her bodysuit, she withdrew the card and surreptitiously swiped it through the reader, ensuring her body blocked the action from prying eyes and cameras.

He gave his own lopsided grin as the forcefield dropped. She dragged him through the open doorway, and the field activated behind them. What can I say? I’m charming like that.

Theron didn’t have to see her brow to know that it was arched. Not what Teff'ith said.

Confusion creased his brow as they approached the door at the back. When did you –

Later, she said. She swiped the card again, and the door before them parted at center with a whisper. Grabbing his sleeve, she dragged him inside, shaking her head. The doors hissed shut behind them, the lights automatically activated with movement.

It was a modest room, about the size of the bachelor quarters on Odessen, with about the same arrangement of basic furniture: Double bed at center, with a desk and chair to the right, fresher off to the left. Theron suspected the major difference between this and the other, hourly rooms was the level of comfort and cleanliness. While not glistening, a neatly-made bed and the faint aroma of solvents spoke to a recent cleaning.

As he stood, taking in their surroundings, Annya was in motion. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she withdrew a small, round device, holding it up as she looked to him. With a chirp, the device lit up in a faint shade of blue, scanning the room. After a moment, the light turned green. She placed the device onto the desk where it remained illuminated.

She had just secured the room.

“You would have made one hell of a spy,” he said, stepping toward her.

Her hand went to his chest, fingers splayed out, stopping him. Irritation slipped through their connection. “I am one hell of a spy,” she replied, “and I think you have some information for me.”

“Right.” Reaching into the interior pocket of his green leather jacket – a color he had adopted in her absence – he withdrew a recording chip. “These are the notes I’ve been able to piece together so far: A few locations, a few possible players. The upper echelon are hinting at something big, but it’s still a bit above my paygrade.”

Annya took the chip and placed it into another pouch on her belt, this one a bit more discreet than the last. “I know I’ve already said it before, but I don’t like this Theron. If they still don’t trust you enough to include you in their planning…” She sighed, shaking her head. “This doesn’t… feel right. Something’s off.”

He echoed her sigh, taking a step forward. “Everything has been been off since I started this investigation, since I had to leave you behind,” he said. “But this has to be done, Ahn. We can’t lose everything we’ve built, and I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not to these people.”

A flutter of affection made its way between them, accompanied by that same trace of irritation. She wanted to take a step closer, but held herself back. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little less than thrilled with the prospect of losing you to these same people. I still wish you would’ve told me what you were up to. We could have come up with a less… less… stupid plan.”

Now he knew she had at least met Teff'ith. To the Twi’lek smuggler, everything he did was “stupid,” even when it wasn’t. Once again, however, he did not get a chance to question their meeting, as she charged ahead.

“Your mother is worried; your father is kriffing furious; and my father is cleaning his scattergun as we speak, just on the off chance he may find you before Lana does.” She regarded him with her arms folded across her chest. “I don’t think I need to remind you what she will do to you, if she finds you first? And she actually knows it’s an op!”

Removing his right glove, he tossed it onto the floor, his hand coming to rest squarely on the exposed flesh just above her waistline. He half-expected her to step away. Instead, she stepped into his embrace, her own bare hand coming to rest against his cheek. The throttle each had maintained on their connection over the ensuing period fell away, laying bare the emotions roiling between them. Their worry for each other, the Alliance, and the galaxy; for his family and hers, were echoes. So, too, were the feelings of affection, devotion; the ache of their lost intimacy, both emotional and physical. It felt so good to touch, he thought: the warmth, the smoothness of skin, the comfort offered by closeness. But the needle-sharp sting of betrayal – that wasn’t an echo. It had been blunted somewhat by their previous communications, but it was still very present.

Annya drew back slightly, looking to him, then squeezing her eyes closed as he felt her struggle for the right words. “I know you spent years working alone,” she said. “And I know you still have crates of issues, dealing with your mother and father. I’d hoped that loving me, asking me to marry you – I hoped it meant you trust me.” She opened her eyes, the hurt written plainly across her features.

“I’m sorry, Ahn,” Theron whispered. He brought his forehead to touch hers. “I do trust you – have trusted you for a long time. I wanted to tell you everything, I just didn’t… think. I got the tip and heard what they were planning and –” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I acted out of fear. I know I shouldn’t have. Everything I’ve ever been taught tells me I shouldn’t have. But I made that decision and now I have to live with it.”

“We have to live with it. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She swallowed. Her fingers carded through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck then came to rest there as she drew a deep, cleansing breath. “Force, I’ve missed you.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead and, as he drew back, he brushed aside the thick lock of red hair hiding her eye. His lips twitched as he tucked it behind her ear. “It’s a wig, right? Please tell me it’s a wig.”

The absurdity of the question tickled her and she laughed. It was boisterous and sincere and one of the best things he had ever heard. “Yes, Spy-Boy, it’s a wig,” she replied, “on loan from my sister. She’s taught me a thing or two about tradecraft.” Her laughter gave way to a chuckle. “I’ve learned enough to discover I’m dedicated to the mission… but not that dedicated.”

Trailing his fingers over the bare skin above her waist, he gave a fully lopsided grin as he felt her react. “And the bodysuit – also on loan?”

“The bodysuit she said I could keep,” Annya managed. Embarrassment blossomed across their bond as her pale cheeks took on a warm glow. “She said she didn’t want it back after we… well, after this.”

Theron looked down at her, searching her gaze with his own. Yes, her sister understood a thing or two about tradecraft. She also likely understood a thing or two about the relationship he shared with her sister. He suspected she had a similar relationship with her Defense Force counterpart… but that was a question for another time. He leaned closer, nudging Annya’s nose with his own. “How long until Lana comes looking for you?”

“Not long.” Ahn returned the favor, readjusting her fingers over the nape of his neck. “We’ll have to be quick.”

He wanted more than quick. He wanted more than the back room of questionable bar in the Red Light district. He wanted to be back on Odessen, making love into the early morning hours and falling asleep tangled in their sheets. He wanted to wake up next to her, to stumble to the desk for their first cup of caf, to sink quietly into meditation together after breakfast. He wanted to carry her back to Corellia and maybe raise a family and be the parents he never had.

But first he had to save her. And they had to save galaxy.

He knew she could sense his longing along their bond, knew she wanted more, too. But she also wanted him – his affection, his touch, his body against hers. To take advantage of the time they had, when the future could be uncertain. She needed to know he was safe and alive… to feel him safe and alive.

Rising on her toes, her lips met his halfway, and he fumbled with his remaining glove. Removing the offensive item, he was surprised when his fingers brushed the cool surface of the durasteel bulkhead behind them. Ahn rested against it, arms slipping around his neck as she drew him closer. He leaned into her instinctively, a soft hum escaping him as he felt the soft curves of her body against his.

Quick, it seemed, was going to have to do.

[andveryginger]

Romance Headcanon: Soulmates (Annya/Theron)

Romance Headcanon: The @thewriterandmuse submitted two, “🌹 = How would your muse react to romantic gestures, expected or not?” and “💞 = Does your muse believe in soulmates?”

Given the length, I’ve opted to post them separately. Hope you enjoy, dahlin!

This one is entirely Spy-boy... which was surprising, given the dork hasn’t given me anything to work with for over a month! It takes a bittersweet note to it all, in light of Iokath, Umbara, and Copero... but Ahn hasn’t run any of that (and refuses to until Theron is cleared), so this is just back in the happy place, pre-Iokath.

Nine years ago, he didn’t believe in fate -- soulmates -- Force bonds. They were the things hinted at in Master Zho’s texts, whispered about among the younglings and padawans at the temple on Haashimut: Stories of Jedi bound together by the Force, sharing thoughts, feelings, and an unconditional love he would never know. If she continued showing up in his life -- saving his life a time or two -- then it was coincidence, happenstance.

But then she smiled at him, and his heart swelled. He flirted; she flirted back. He began to recognize the impish gleam in blue eyes, began to feel the warmth radiating from her whenever she stood near. Her hand would brush his as they stood in the safehouse, her gaze seeking his when they thought Lana wasn’t looking… and sometimes when she was.

He never thought to get the opportunity to kiss her, to feel her lips, soft and warm, welcoming his, even as his arms slipped around her. She fit against him like a missing puzzle piece, first on Rishi and then, later, on Yavin as they stole an afternoon aboard his ship. Whatever he felt before -- affection, friendship, attraction, and something else he wouldn’t name -- seemed amplified among the soft gasps and sighs that echoed through the empty craft. They anticipated each other, sensed where to touch, where to caress, in a way he had never experienced before.

They lay for a long time afterward, simply talking -- about their pasts, their hopes for the future, their friends, even their ships. It was as though they had always been together; as though their universe hadn’t shifted on its axis the moment that his hands, finally free of his gloves, trailed over her bare midriff, tongue sliding against hers as their kiss deepened. He imagined he felt the Force give way to them, embrace them, even as they lost themselves in one another.

It wasn’t until she was safely on Odessen, some five years later, that he realized the truth of that moment. And it wasn’t until he woke soon after, startled by his own connection to the Force, that he realized all the stories were true: Soul mates existed, and he lay next to his, Force bond humming between them. For the first time in his life, Theron Shan knew what it was to feel unconditional love for someone and, strangely, from someone. It was a gift he planned to cherish for a lifetime.

Tightening his arm around her, he pressed a kiss to her hair. She stirred in her sleep, but didn’t wake, burrowing closer to him, head on his chest. Slowly -- warm, safe, comfortable and loved -- he felt himself drift off, joining her in the bliss of sleep.

[andveryginger]

From KotFE Chapter 8,”Profit and Plunder”...

Theron “I’m-Too-Tired-to-Pretend-I-Don’t-Sleep-in-the-Commander’s-Quarters-Half-the-Time” Shan.

[andveryginger]

SWTOR Fic: Time and Tides (Pt. 1)

Summary: An unexpected arrival provides for a potentially awkward reunion. (Emrys Legacy - Theron Shan/Female JK -- Annya x Theron)

Notes: A very definite “what if” that I’ve been playing with for almost a year now. The muses were finally willing to cooperate. At least for the beginning. I don’t know yet if this is canon for “Between the Lines.” I’ll get back to you on that. If it were, it would fall somewhere between Chapter 7 (”Holding Pattern”) and Chapter 8 (”Clue-By-Four”).

More to come.

Posted without beta and with minimal revision.

Sighing, Lana Beniko lowered herself into her desk chair, blowing away the steam billowing from her cup of caf. She was just reaching for her first datapad when she sensed a familiar presence lurking in her doorframe. “Good morning, Kaliyo,” she said. She didn’t bother to look up as she booted up the datapad.

“You Force sensitives are all so creepy when you do that,” the arsonist groused. She folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the bulkhead.

The Sith cast a glance upward, arching a fine blonde brow. “I could say something similar about your propensity to lurk in the shadows, but I’ll refrain,” she retorted. She tapped a few more commands into the device, unlocking a file for her perusal.

“Hey, I can’t help that you guys are more entertaining than a holonovel.” A suggestive smirk curled across her lips. “The only thing really missing are the gratuitous sex scenes. The constant fade to black does nothing for me.”

Lana heaved sigh and fully looked up for the first time. “Was there something in particular you needed? Or are you just here to discuss your voyeuristic tendencies?”

“A bit of both,” Kaliyo answered with a chuckle. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “There’s a new arrival out there.”

“And?”

“And it might give our favorite super-spy the biggest cockblock in history.” Her grin widened as Lana regarded her with confusion, turning to offer her a sidelong glare. “Doctor Archiban Kimble is standing out on the shuttle pad.”

Shock swept over her, and she felt her grip on the datapad falter. Reaching instinctively into the Force, she bolstered herself, recovery almost instant. “Kriffing Hells.” The frown returned. “Has anyone told the Commander?”

“I said I’d take care of it.” An odd mix of amusement and sincerity lit the Rattataki eyes. “But I know Spy-Boy just got back from a two-week recruiting mission and the lovebirds haven’t exactly been spotted yet this morning. I figure having the ex rapping on the door might be bit of a rude wake up call.”

“That’s… unusually altruistic of you, Kaliyo.”

“What can I say? I ‘ship it.” Kaliyo shrugged, smirking. “And Kimble’s not a bad guy. He doesn’t deserve to walk in on that... It’s not his kink.”

“There’s no guarantee they --” The arsonist arched her own brow, and Lana sighed. She allowed her eyes to drift left as her focus shifted, seeking out the Force signatures of her two friends. As a Jedi knight, Annya Emrys had learned an unobtrusive manner of cloaking, one that projected a signature, but did not allow access to surface thoughts or emotions. While not effective for interrogation, it was exceedingly useful for infiltration -- and protection of privacy. So it was with a degree of difficulty that Lana found her signature, shielded though it was.

Theron Shan was an entirely different case. As a boy, he had learned many Force manipulation techniques -- in theory. His poor connection to the galactic energy, however, left little practical experience. Thus, like most good operatives, Theron had instead learned to block the possible mental intrusions of Force users by constructing what was, in simple terms, a wall around his signature. As a result, he appeared much like a singularity in the Force. It was this technique that frequently served as his default, usually when he was too distracted to harness his emergent Force abilities. It also meant he stood out like the proverbial sore thumb... exactly as he did at that moment.

Drawing back to herself, Lana closed her eyes and shook her head. “Right,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She pointedly ignored the knowing smirk that spread across Kaliyo’s features. “I’ll meet him; get a read on what he wants. I’m sure the Commander will want to see him… at some point.”

“When she comes up for air.” Kaliyo paused. “You don’t think he knows about the Commander and Spy-Boy?”

The Sith frowned at her as she tapped a command on the datapad. It would, in the next few moments, dispatch a time-delayed message to Theron’s implant, strongly suggesting he contacted her at the earliest convenience. “You’re more than welcome to return to your duties,” she said.

“I’ll take that as ‘no.’”

Lana strode past her, heading into the corridor and toward the lift. To her frustration, Kaliyo merely fell into step beside her. An expectant silence fell between them. “No,” she replied at length. “I don’t think he knows. They were fairly discreet during the Revan matter but, from my understanding, there wouldn’t have been much to tell. The Commander was very much a Tythonian Jedi. At the time.”

Kaliyo gave a chuckle as they stepped into the lift. “They’ve tried to be discreet since before I got here,” she commented. “Fails pretty miserably when he doesn’t even live in his own quarters.”

“How did you --?” Lana stopped herself short as the lift doors opened, then strode out. Her scowl deepened when the firebug continued to follow her. “Let me guess: Jorgan.”

“Funny thing about training -- sometimes you get to know the person you’re working with.” She rounded the corner, keeping up easily with the woman beside her. “Turns out he likes not having to share, and I’m sure Theron prefers not having to clean furballs out of his shower drain… among the other perqs.”

The Sith drew a deep breath. She would have to speak with Jorgan… and, it seemed, with Theron. But first, there was another issue to resolve -- with or without Kaliyo in tow. Her feet covered the remaining distance to the landing pad quickly. She found the doctor standing just to the side of the transport, silhouette mostly unchanged since they last met.

“Doctor Kimble,” she said, extending her hand. “Lana Beniko. I’m not sure if you remember me --”

“Creepy Sith Intelligence lady,” Doc interrupted. He clasped her hand with his own, notably still wearing a set of well-fitted leather gloves. “Kaliyo said you were helping run things around here.”

“Yes -- acting as Director of Administration,” Lana explained. She pursed her lips, briefly casting a glance to Kaliyo. “I’m afraid Annya is in a debrief and won’t be available for some time. If you’d like to wait…”

His brow furrowed and he swallowed, averting his eyes for a moment before looking back to her. “If she doesn’t wanna see me --”

Lana sensed the flicker of pain -- worry, heartache, embarrassment -- he didn’t quite manage to smother. But then, she thought, he was never trained to. “Her crew was one the first things she asked about when we arrived,” she said. “I rather suspect she will want to see you. But she truly is otherwise engaged at the moment.”

Behind her, Kaliyo gave a cough. She turned a flickering glare at the Rattataki, then looked back to Kimble. “Perhaps you’d join me for a cup of caf? I was just settling in with my first cup when Kaliyo informed me you were here.”

If he noted the interplay between the Alliance personnel, Doc didn’t react. Instead, he pursed his lips and gave a single nod. “Think I could handle that.”

“If you’ll come with me then, Doctor, we’ll make our way to the mess hall…”

Turning, Lana drew a deep breath, exhaling discreetly as she led the way to the lift. Dammit, Theron, she thought, you’d better check your messages...

[andveryginger]

Snippet: Years in the Making (Pt. 3)

Scenes from Alderaan, featuring Jace, Satele, Theron, and Annya. Follows somewhere after KotET, completely ignoring Iokath. For reasons.

Posted sans beta.

Blink-and-you-miss-it-angst and tooth-rotting fluff.

She was almost back to her guest quarters when the murmur of voices ahead drew her focus from the backlog of messages. Looking up, she found her son, Theron, and his fiancee, Commander Emrys, hand-in-hand as they made their way farther down the corridor. They paused before the door to their quarters and he tugged on their joined hands. Annya drifted toward him, reeled closer. There were smiles and laughter; silent promises along their bond she was glad she couldn’t hear. Kissing her, holding her to him, he nudged her backward: left foot, right foot -- they shuffled in sync over the threshold, as though in a waltz.

The door closed behind them and Satele could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. Embarrassment warred with exasperation, frustration, and relief for her attention. She wanted so much to see her son happy. It was clear that he very much was, a relief after the dark days of the Commander’s initial disappearance. She’d worried about him then, plunging head-first into some of the most dangerous operations Marcus offered him. He disappeared for months on end with barely an acknowledgment to herself or his father. Whether he was running from his problems or seeking the solitude to work through them, she would never know.

When he left SIS a short time later, rumors circulated within the community. First, hearsay tied him to Sith Intelligence, then the growing, third-party opposition to the Eternal Empire. It was clear now that had been The Rescue -- when he, Lana Beniko, and their co-conspirators had liberated the Commander from her carbonite prison on Zakuul. At the time, however, it had appeared her son had completely lost himself in his grief.

Continuing toward her own room, Satele frowned. She recognized the ripple of frustration that surfaced, the crease in her brow deepening as her door slid open. Still the Grand Master at the time, she hadn’t even recognized how close Theron and Master Emrys had grown as they chased shadows of her ancestor. Had she really been that blind?

She sighed. She knew the answer: She hadn’t been blind; she had simply been unwilling to see. She had deluded herself into believing Annya Emrys a Jedi after her own heart -- to have turned from the ties of her family and her past, and emerge as an exemplar of the order. Seeing them on Odessen afterward, then, the way their Force signatures intertwined… it had been eye-opening, to say the least.

She’d had a bond with her masters, of course, one designed to help convey the complexities of a Jedi education. There had been respect, friendship; privacy when it was needed. Had she raised him, she might have even shared a similar connection with Theron. As it was, he kept his distance, their connection a soft echo of what it could have been.

Satele lay her datapad on the nightstand, lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Theron’s bond with his future wife was quite different. She could sense their combined strength; saw their silent communication and the way they moved together, anticipating, rather than reacting. While she did not care to know the more intimate details regarding their relationship, she did wonder what was it like to have that connection with someone you loved? To share such moments so clearly, conveying the emotions and sensations?

Her hand trailed absently over the side Jace had slept on only a few hours before. She wished so much she could share herself in that way with him -- to share the warmth and the light and the joy that was the Force and her connection to it, especially as she revelled in her connection to him. His Force blindness, however, precluded any chance of that. Still, she couldn’t regret it. She loved him -- had always loved him -- and would, in just a few hours, become his wife. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. That would be more than enough for her.

[andveryginger]

“Never stop smiling.”

Warning: Teeth-rotting fluff ahead. Follows on the previous ask from @mjaydziarand.

My muses are apparently in total mutiny. ::sigh::

Decidedly not headcanon.

Annya lay blinking lazily as her gaze trailed the now-familiar lines of the canvas panels draped above her, rocky contours peeking through. Dim yellow light bounced off the reflective surface, generated only by the computer console a few feet from the foot of the bed, and the two ambient lamps at the corner of the loft. It gave the room a warm, secluded feeling – perfect for a few quiet, intimate moments.

Theron Shan pillowed his head on her stomach, body sprawled diagonally across the bed. He gave a contented hum as she combed her fingers through his hair, his own hand coming to rest against her lower abdomen. “I hope we didn’t just scar her for life,” he rumbled.

Chuckling, she continued playing with his hair. “‘Her’, is it?” she said. “I thought most men wanted boys – to pass down that esoteric masculine knowledge, follow in your manly footsteps.”

“Entertaining as that might be,” he said, shifting to look up at her, “the male members of my family seem to have a questionable track record. I… think I’d rather spare our kid the trouble.”

Reaching up, he traced the slight crease below her navel. His gold-hazel eyes creased at the corners, amusement fading as he followed his finger with a kiss. Tender and reverent, it was a perfect echo of the emotions reverberating across their bond.

“Your mom, she’s been through a lot,” he said. His tone was low, voice coarse. “Lost her mom; her master – not once, but twice. Then lost five years of her life. But she laughs and she smiles and just – tries to find the Light in all of us.” He paused. “I hope you’ll be like her: beautiful and capable and resilient, with a smile that melts defenses in nothing flat… especially mine.”

A rueful grin twitched at his lips, eyes suspiciously glassy once again. “Never stop smiling, Ahn,” he continued. She could sense him struggling to give voice and recognition to the emotions roiling through them at the moment. “I know you’re scared; I am, too. But a woman far wiser than me once said we should never let fear hold us back.”

He dropped one more kiss to her stomach, shifted to press his lips her breastbone – top and bottom; a kiss to her collarbone; a nuzzle behind her ear. They were gentle, soothing caresses and Annya could sense him attempting to acknowledge and dissipate the fear that still lurked between them.

She slipped her arms around his neck as his body partially covered hers, then reached up and carded her fingers through the hair over his right ear. Fear slowly gave way to uncertainty. That, she knew, would be easily overshadowed by the hope and awe that rekindled between them.

“We’ve taken down some of the ugliest things this galaxy has to offer – together,” Annya said finally. She chuckled. “I don’t see why teething and temper tantrums and two o’clock feedings should be any different.”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Can hardly wait,” he murmured, then kissed her.

[andveryginger]

for the cute, shippy starters, #22: “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

So this is the second prompt I received, but the first one I wrote. It appears the first is veering too far into pre-Umbara angst, and I refuse to go that route. We need fluff, dammit!

Theron came to a halt at the top of the ramp, frowning at the steady rain falling beyond. The creases in his brow deepened as thunder rumbled around them. “Well, I suppose another shower won’t hurt,” he muttered.

Two steps behind him, Annya secured the hatch with a chuckle. “So you’re admitting you won’t melt, Agent Shan?”

“Salt melts almost as well as sugar, Lady Emrys,” he replied. He paused at the base of the ramp, still sheltered by the hull of the ship, and waited for her to join him. A wry grin curling across his lips, he slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Though I think the first shower was more fun.”

“It was.” A mischievous glint lit her eyes and Theron sensed the echoing emotion through their bond. Placing her hand against his chest, she pushed, recruiting a little assistance from the Force. It was just enough to send him flailing backward, out from under the relatively dry cover of the hull. Fat raindrops flattened his dark hair against his forehead, water streaking down his face and jacket. He gave a yelp of surprise at the chilly temperature as a drop landed on the back of his neck. “I’ll bet our first shower was also quite a bit warmer!” she called with a laugh.

Slicking his hair back out of his eyes, Theron gave his own snort of laughter. “You can always come judge for yourself,” he said, then charged forward. He feinted right, misdirecting her across their bond as well, before ducking left. To avoid him, Annya ducked left, then dashed right – right into the pouring rain.

“Augh!” The chilly temperature stopped her in her tracks, surprise radiating between them as the rain soaked through her robes. “Kriff, that’s cold!” she exclaimed, shoving the dripping strands of red hair from her face. Theron felt the impish flutter across their connection as she looked back over her shoulder at him, winked, then took off down the path toward the house.

Well, he thought, not the first time I’ve given chase through the pouring rain. It was, however, the first time that the reward for capture was quite so… enticing. Amusement reverberated through their bond and his wry grin returned. He dashed after her, tearing down the path only a split second behind.

He caught up to her just outside the back door, sidling up behind her as she keyed her entry code into the security system.  “Here we are, in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you want to stop and feel the rain,” he murmured against her neck.

Annya tilted her head to the side, briefly giving him better access. “Maybe I wanted to enjoy the last rainfall of the season,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice, could sense the way her focus was beginning to fade even as warmth began to swell between them. “It’ll be snow by tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” The Jedi turned in his arms and he nuzzled her neck, nipping at her earlobe as they edged through the open door. “Or maybe you just wanted an excuse for another nice, hot shower.”

She gave a throaty chuckle. Her hands slipped under his jacket, helping him shrug out of the heavy leather. It fell to the floor with a soft thud, water streaming off the treated surface and onto the green rug. “It would be nice to get out of all these wet clothes…”

“Sounds,” Theron said, nudging her nose with his own, “very much like a plan.” He felt, rather than saw, her answering grin as he lowered his head and sealed his lips over hers.

[andveryginger]

Cute Shippy Starters - #44 “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

Rescued from the clutches of pre-Umbara angst...

The swoop race was Gault’s idea -- a way of fostering camaraderie and fun among Alliance personnel, he claimed, after a rough few months. Annya wasn’t inclined to disagree. She was unsure, however, about the survivability of such “fun.” In the end, it was Theron who convinced her… and signed up to race.

Standing at the start, she smoothed her hands over Theron’s chest, grimacing up at him. He was confident, but nervous, a hint of adrenaline beginning to flare through him. His helmet was tucked under one arm, the other around her waist. “I never should have agreed to this,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s not the circuit,” Theron said quietly, his expression softening. Through their bond, he was more than aware of her worry, could feel it settle heavily over her. “We’re not dealing with the Hutts, or some cutthroat pros. Just a friendly race between our own people… and if Gault wins a few credits here or there, we’ll overlook it.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Annya nodded, exhaling slowly. She allowed the worry and fear begin to dissipate into the Force around her. There was a wary smile on her lips as she raised her eyes to meet his. “If you die,” she began, “I will have to kill you.”

“I’ll be fine.”  His gaze flitted around them noting, as she had, that most Alliance personnel had given the two of them a wide berth, avoiding looking directly at them. Those that did gave them a sheepish smile before deflecting their attention elsewhere.

A smile touched his eyes, gently curving his mouth as he returned his focus to her. His voice was a low rumble, his emotions a jumbled mix of affection, devotion, awe, and a few others that were difficult to discern. “I made a promise, Ahn,” he said, “and I intend to keep it -- always.”

Annya swallowed back the knot that had formed in her throat. She combed her fingernails through the closely-cropped hair above his left ear as she struggled for her voice, allowing her hand came to rest at the back of his neck. “Then I guess you’d better win… Old Man.”

Theron sighed. “Don’t… call me that.”

“Prove it wrong, then,” she said, lopsided grin curling across her lips.

“Later.” Giving his own roguish grin, Theron leaned down and kissed her -- slowly and thoroughly. He was still grinning as he drew back. “For now, I have a race to win.”

The Jedi chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine. Go get ‘em, nexu,” she replied. She was still grinning as he climbed aboard the swoop and revved the engine.

Gault, she thought, was about to lose his bets.

[theemryslegacy]

“No Light Without Shadow”

Unlike so many times before, when her words were taken as platitudes, he could now sense the sincerity behind them.

(Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (f!JK), Jace Malcom/Satele Shan (referenced)).

[theemryslegacy]

...while waiting on Bioware to FIX THEIR SHIT, I have been playing through the JK story once again. It occurs to me that Kira was witness to Ahn’s first meeting with Theron -- and her third meeting with Theron, in the Carrick Station cantina, where she learned he really is Grandmaster Satele’s son; openly flirted with the super-spy; and speculated what a couple of suspicious individuals might do, in their circumstances. I can’t help but think that, as connected to the Force as she is, Ahn had to feel something about this meeting, and Kira undoubtedly would have noticed. So now the question for me is: How would Kira react? Would she encourage Ahn to have a little “unattached fun” with the dorky super-spy? Would the fact that he’s Satele’s son make her wary? Would she, sensing something as well, warn Ahn off, knowing that she (at the time) is fully a Tython Jedi?

My initial read is that she might, at first, tease Ahn about the handsome SIS operative with the sexy voice, but that might shift a little as SoR continues. Might be something I need to explore with a bit of writing... Given that it’s already after 0300? It’ll have to wait till tomorrow.

I can also hope I hear from Bioware sometime tomorrow. If the response is once again negative, the next step isn’t going to be pretty.

[theemryslegacy]

The first time I played through Shadow of Revan, I had not read Annihilation, nor The Lost Suns. I knew little of Theron’s background -- only what had been presented in game, and that did not have the emotional impact needed to convey the importance of this farewell. Playing through now, having read both, and also having played all the way through Knights of the Eternal Throne, I see it now. Beyond even his confession that he wouldn’t make the same mistake of leaving my JK out of the loop, I think this speaks to the slow turn of his regard toward something that eventually leads to his “Letter to a Romanced Outlander.” Have to consider this a well-done progression (but then, I think SoR was a decent story, overall), and really recommend that anyone romancing Theron should definitely read the two books. It puts the relationship in a wholly new, more emotional context.

[andveryginger]

Romance Headcanon: Romantic Gestures (Annya/Theron)

Romance Headcanon: The @thewriterandmuse submitted two, “🌹 = How would your muse react to romantic gestures, expected or not?” and “💞 = Does your muse believe in soulmates?”

Given the length, I’ve opted to post them separately. Hope you enjoy, dahlin!

Annya and Theron actually stepped out of the waiting room to answer these. I’m not entirely sure that the first -- regarding romantic gestures -- fits the bill, but we’re going with it: Theron is usually the caretaker, promising to support Outlander!Annya with whatever it takes to keep things running smoothly. In this case, she’s taking care of him.

She felt his proximity along their bond, his relief at being home reverberating between them. Exhaustion pulled at him -- his mind, his body -- as he wove his way through the base. He stopped and talked to curious personnel, happy to see him safely returned, and she sensed his struggle: He wanted so much to just see her, to curl up beside her, to sleep in their quiet, dark little cave, and yet these were friends, co-workers who meant well. So he took a few moments with each one before finally tapering off the conversation and managing to make it a few meters closer before being stopped again.

Eventually, the door slid away, a rectangle of light spilling into the room from the corridor beyond. It snapped shut behind him and he keyed the lock. In the dim light of the computer console, she could see him peeling off his jacket, stripping off his shirt. They found a home over the back of the couch, followed by his blaster rig, which lay on the seat.  His boots landed next to the computer with a clomp; his pants and undergarments tossed over the desk chair. She peeled back the covers on his side of the bed, soft smile lighting her features as he crawled up and buried his face into his pillow. After a moment, he moved enough to tuck his arms under the pillow and lift his head.

“You’re late.” Ahn shifted down, fitting her body against his, stretching to brush her lips against his before kissing him properly. She brushed a hand over the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then continued the caress down his back and over his seat before returning her hand to his shoulder.

“Hmm,” he murmured into the kiss, humming as her hand swept over him. She felt his smile against her lips, his slight shift to eliminate the gap between them. His smile slipped into a grin and she could sense a ripple of pleasure as her leg slid over his. “Had to go around the long way.”

Cool air swept over them as the circulation fan kicked in. Reaching back, Annya tugged the covers back over them, laying down and positioning herself next to him. She continued smoothing her hand over the short hair. Across their bond, she could feel him relaxing, dropping further and further into a restful state.

“Don’t wanna sleep yet,” he said, his voice muffled, syllables slow as he allowed his exhaustion to show.

“I’ll be here in the morning.” Annya smiled, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “You can show me how much you missed me then.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

His smile slowly faded as sleep finally overtook him. She followed him only a few moments later, thoughts of the morning’s possibilities trailing through their dreams.

[andveryginger]

Years in the Making (Outtake) AKA: Satele!muse Hijacked This Section

This... did not go where I intended. Not canon. Definitely. Not. Canon.

::still glaring at Satele!muse::

Alternate version likely to follow. Shared, though, because Satele and Jace. =)

“How long do we have to stay?”

His voice was a low rumble in her ear, breath stirring the dark wisps of hair framing her face and tickling her lobe. A spark soared down her spine and Satele felt her cheeks burn even as she chuckled over the rim of her glass. Her blue eyes scanned the room to ensure her reaction had not been seen. “As long as we have to,” she replied. She gave him a sidelong glance, smile twitching slightly lopsided. “No reason to be so impatient.”

Jace gave his own chuckle, slipping his right hand around her waist and drawing her closer. His chest pressed against her back and he dropped a lingering kiss to her left temple. “Every reason,” he replied. “I’ve waited almost forty years for this.”

“This?” Satele asked, brows raised. She sensed she knew the answer, could feel the regret embedded deep within the happiness and affection that rippled within him, closer to the surface.

“This -- our wedding. Our wedding night. Our life together,” he replied. He gave a rueful chuckle, now sliding his arm fully around her waist. “I wanted to ask you then… I was trying to figure out how.”

The former Grand Master brought her arm to rest over his. “I wasn’t ready then,” she replied quietly. Her wry grin faded to a soft smile. “But I understand better now.” She rested her temple against his cheek. Allowing her eyes to close, she drew in a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of his touch. Whispers danced along her connection to the Force, visions of the time ahead: A soft kiss, a light caress -- tenderness with which she was infinitely familiar, belied by his ferocity on the battlefield, by his size and gruff voice. After so many years, it was like coming home.

Opening her eyes, she allowed her gaze to drift over to their son, standing now across the room with his own fiancee. Their positioning mirrored that of herself and Jace, his left arm drawing Annya close, murmuring something to her, then pressing a kiss to her right temple. Satele watched as she turned slightly in his embrace and looked up at him. Her gaze seemed to trace his features with an expression that was startling in its emotion: Awe, affection, and appreciation intermingled with a very clear spark of desire. She was unable to see from this angle, but Satele suspected his features reflected the same.

“How is it,” Jace rumbled with amusement, “that we ended up married before them?”

“Timing,” the Jedi responded. She smiled, trailing her fingers along his. “We simply set a date.”

She opened her mouth to comment further but stopped short, distracted by a ripple in the Force. Something significant was about to happen. Before she could reach into her connection, seeking an answer, she watched as Theron kissed the tip of his fiancee’s nose, his hand sliding to her middle. He began to lean down for a proper kiss but stopped short, himself. He cocked his head to the side.

And Satele knew immediately why. Now that she knew what to look for, she, too, could sense the tiny flutter that suddenly made its presence known.

“Oh, Force,” she whispered.

Jace frowned at his wife. “Satele?”

Satele continued watching as Annya regarded Theron with a furrowed brow… until she sensed it as well. Her eyes widened, one hand coming to cover her mouth, the other pressed against his at her midsection. She visibly swallowed, and the elder Jedi could feel the shock radiating through her. As it dissipated, she could see a glossy sheen develop in the familiar blue eyes.

Tears stung at the corners of the former Grand Master’s own eyes. “She’s pregnant, Jace.”

“She --” The Supreme Commander shook his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised…”

Blinking, Satele looked to him. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they’ve disappeared this week.”

“I…” She shifted uncomfortably in her husband’s arms. “I tried not to notice. There are some things a mother doesn’t need to know.”

Jace chuckled. “I suppose this means they’ll set a date.”

The Jedi merely gave a long exhale through pursed lips.