kimaracretak (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fiachairecht) wrote2018-06-16 09:41 pm
fiachairecht) wrote2018-06-16 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
rebels fic
The Rebels crew had an opportunity to not make Pryce my dream villain by casting Mary Elizabeth McGlynn but y'know they cast Mary Elizabeth McGlynn and left me no choice in the matter. Time for all the villainship fics eyy,
Title: lights the remnants on display
Pairing: Arihnda Pryce/Hera Syndulla
Rating: T
Pain blooms white and searing-hot across Arihnda's eyes, as searing as the flames from the fuel refinery. Every inch of her aches, in ways even she hadn't known a body could hurt, and yet beneath it all, there's an enduring satisfaction.
This must have been what the Jedi felt when he died, she thinks, and amidst the blood and broken bits she still has enough breath to laugh. The Imperial Complex is dead, she herself is dying, but Jarrus is dead and the Empire is not lost. It's far from ideal - she tries to bring a hand up to wipe away the blood she can feel making its way down her chin - but it could be worse.
And then a flicker of green swims into her fading vision, and Arihnda knows that things have gotten worse. Syndulla, she would say, if her jaw was still working properly. I don't want to live that much.
"Don't worry," Syndulla says, and Arihnda doesn't have to see to know she's smiling. "In a moment this won't hurt at all."
Liar, Arihnda thinks, but as she slips fully into the minimal comfort of unconsciousness, she realises that's true: she doesn't feel anything at all.
Title: gentle poison to calm my soul
Pairing: Arihnda Pryce/Maketh Tua
Rating: M
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find your way home."
Pryce's left hand is tight against Maketh's throat. The fingers of her right are tangled in Maketh's hair, fingernails scraping none too gently against her scalp. Maketh's own hands are bound, maglocked to the arms of her chair.
She can barely breathe. She's not sure she's ever been happier.
This is where she belongs.
"How long until your rebel friends notice you're gone?" Pryce whispers as she leans down, teeth grazing Maketh's ear. "How long do I have you for?"
Maketh grits her teeth, but can't stop herself from whimpering as Pryce's fingers press down even harder against her throat. "Forever." The word is hardly a wisp of a thing, but it's the only truth she has left.
"Good girl." The hand in Maketh's hair pulls, and her neck arches as tears spring to her eyes at the sharp, perfect pain.
Too soon, though, her hair is released, Pryce's hand slipping over her shoulder and under her tunic. Maketh licks her lips, tries to focus on the throbbing in her scalp and not its echo between her legs. Neither of them are supposed to acknowledge that this is partially about pleasure.
Maketh can feel Pryce's gaze, so hotly focused she's almost surprised it doesn't laser-burn the clothes from her body. Her hand, too, is hot as she roughly squeezes Maketh's breasts, flicks at her nipples. Maketh fidgets, presses her thighs together helplessly, but Pryce notices anyway.
"Poor thing. Did no one do this for you while you were gone?" Despite the words there's no pity in her tone, just a bored disinterest. Maketh shakes her head, and Pryce asks, "Not even General Syndulla?" Now she sounds almost surprised.
Maketh shakes her head again. "Just you."
And then Pryce withdraws, even the hand at Maketh's throat, and she gasps, trying to catch her breath and wondering if her answer was somehow a disappointment. For a moment she's utterly bereft, and then she feels the warmth of Pryce's body at her back again, right before something metal slices her tunic neatly down the middle, leaving her torso entirely exposed.
"Welcome home, traitor."
Maketh spreads her legs, and hopes that forever is longer for her than it has been for so many others.
Title: lights the remnants on display
Pairing: Arihnda Pryce/Hera Syndulla
Rating: T
Pain blooms white and searing-hot across Arihnda's eyes, as searing as the flames from the fuel refinery. Every inch of her aches, in ways even she hadn't known a body could hurt, and yet beneath it all, there's an enduring satisfaction.
This must have been what the Jedi felt when he died, she thinks, and amidst the blood and broken bits she still has enough breath to laugh. The Imperial Complex is dead, she herself is dying, but Jarrus is dead and the Empire is not lost. It's far from ideal - she tries to bring a hand up to wipe away the blood she can feel making its way down her chin - but it could be worse.
And then a flicker of green swims into her fading vision, and Arihnda knows that things have gotten worse. Syndulla, she would say, if her jaw was still working properly. I don't want to live that much.
"Don't worry," Syndulla says, and Arihnda doesn't have to see to know she's smiling. "In a moment this won't hurt at all."
Liar, Arihnda thinks, but as she slips fully into the minimal comfort of unconsciousness, she realises that's true: she doesn't feel anything at all.
Title: gentle poison to calm my soul
Pairing: Arihnda Pryce/Maketh Tua
Rating: M
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find your way home."
Pryce's left hand is tight against Maketh's throat. The fingers of her right are tangled in Maketh's hair, fingernails scraping none too gently against her scalp. Maketh's own hands are bound, maglocked to the arms of her chair.
She can barely breathe. She's not sure she's ever been happier.
This is where she belongs.
"How long until your rebel friends notice you're gone?" Pryce whispers as she leans down, teeth grazing Maketh's ear. "How long do I have you for?"
Maketh grits her teeth, but can't stop herself from whimpering as Pryce's fingers press down even harder against her throat. "Forever." The word is hardly a wisp of a thing, but it's the only truth she has left.
"Good girl." The hand in Maketh's hair pulls, and her neck arches as tears spring to her eyes at the sharp, perfect pain.
Too soon, though, her hair is released, Pryce's hand slipping over her shoulder and under her tunic. Maketh licks her lips, tries to focus on the throbbing in her scalp and not its echo between her legs. Neither of them are supposed to acknowledge that this is partially about pleasure.
Maketh can feel Pryce's gaze, so hotly focused she's almost surprised it doesn't laser-burn the clothes from her body. Her hand, too, is hot as she roughly squeezes Maketh's breasts, flicks at her nipples. Maketh fidgets, presses her thighs together helplessly, but Pryce notices anyway.
"Poor thing. Did no one do this for you while you were gone?" Despite the words there's no pity in her tone, just a bored disinterest. Maketh shakes her head, and Pryce asks, "Not even General Syndulla?" Now she sounds almost surprised.
Maketh shakes her head again. "Just you."
And then Pryce withdraws, even the hand at Maketh's throat, and she gasps, trying to catch her breath and wondering if her answer was somehow a disappointment. For a moment she's utterly bereft, and then she feels the warmth of Pryce's body at her back again, right before something metal slices her tunic neatly down the middle, leaving her torso entirely exposed.
"Welcome home, traitor."
Maketh spreads her legs, and hopes that forever is longer for her than it has been for so many others.