- Local time
- Today 5:50 AM
- Messages
- 11
The Kira referenced is a placeholder for my partner's character. It isn't necessary to play them, or even a Jedi. I'm looking for somebody interested in playing out a scene of an up-and-coming politician in the Galactic Republic taking advantage of their resources to sleep with [YC]. This prompt is written as being in the Old Republic era, but it's lore canonicity is hardly important in a smut prompt.
Kinks may include kissing, power imbalance, political blackmail, spankings, orgasm denial & control, politicians being scumbags, deranged hypercapitalism, general D/s vibes. Power plays. Body worship. Brat taming. Age gaps (domme older woman).
---===---
"My father died today."
On every tier of Coruscant, unfurled from every house window, were banners paid and provided for by candidates with hopes and dreams that they would be begin their transition into office. It was already a beautiful world, but the lights and trilling of hundreds of billions of souls were only made louder by the amplifying effect that election days had on sentients - holoscreens hugged every streetcorner, most of them sponsored, some of them state-provided by those who couldn't afford a personal communicator, but they all had the same things playing; news stations whose talking heads predicted, announced, then wept or cried in joy depending on who was paying for them. Then the crowds would assume their required reaction. Then the next wave of election results would begin for semi-ducal elections, judge, the tension building all over again before rays of red, greens, purples, violets and all other assigned colors would flash on the screen to announce the next sets of winners and losers. Lives were ruined and made. Those in need of the government's programs to survive would either stare in horror, or they would take a breath, thanking their respective gods for the time they were given.
Super Centaxday made Coruscant a casino. It hadn't taken Ilya very long to realize this fact, but it had taken her many years to decide that she hated it, and that her time would be better spent in solace with the good company of friends. She'd lost more than she'd won, and she was hopeful that this would be a rare night of victory for her so that she wouldn't be made a liar.
"I promised that I'd visit the day I was made Supreme Chancellor, and this is the closest one can get to him - legally, of course."
Kira had known where they were going ten minutes after they'd left her secured apartment. There was only one place in the whole of the galaxy that was worth going to on this corner of the world. All knew of it. Every living being in the galaxy.
Subdivision A2-732.
A residental bloc, which, in this case, would have been expected to house six-hundred thousand people in standard sustainable living. Expected, as there were always more. Standard, because not even rats would have found the conditions livable. They were an embarrassing failures on behalf of the world's capital government to provide for its most in need people, and this was known for its residents relying more on gangs for security over their councils.
And then the Sith crashed a frigate into them during the Sacking, killing them all.
Innocent, poor, wise, and weak. None were spared the metal hulk that descended upon them.
It was estimated it'd take another forty years to withdraw it fully from the planet's surface, half that time spent in legal battles as the ship from tip to tip cut through five different administrative jurisdictions. If Ilya and Kira squinted, one could almost mistake its rear for being yet more rising towers. The death toll mounted each week.
As did Ilya's electoral optics. The communicator on the table shook with a notification, but the aged woman paid it no mind, gazing out at the distant horizon, possibly soothing her nerves with a liquor five times older than both of them combined.
"Not much longer, now," she sighs, closing her eyes, sharing a warm smile with the Jedi that would have been calm-inducing if Kira didn't already know what kind of animal the woman she was dealing with was, and the promises made.
Kira had run out the night before. A rare outburst from any Jedi, but her especially, with how eager she was for confrontation. Ilya was, unfortunately, not the type of enemy she could strike down, and she'd practiced the sort of patience that would have made her Master proud if she was there - not that she would've wanted them to be. Not when Ilya was describing, in great detail, the way she'd celebrate her victory tomorrow tonight by taking advantage of the Special Privilege afforded to her that put Jedi under her command at her uttermost beck and call.
She'd been . . . more honest with Kira than any other politician she'd ever met. This day gave her more reason to hate the Treaty of Coruscant than she ever had before.
That's why she'd spent the last 18 hours praying that the woman lost, forced to attend to them on a yacht that cost more than would have been spent on restoring the Jedi Temple, overlooking the one spot on all of Coruscant left in respectable darkness and silence.
Kinks may include kissing, power imbalance, political blackmail, spankings, orgasm denial & control, politicians being scumbags, deranged hypercapitalism, general D/s vibes. Power plays. Body worship. Brat taming. Age gaps (domme older woman).
---===---
"My father died today."
On every tier of Coruscant, unfurled from every house window, were banners paid and provided for by candidates with hopes and dreams that they would be begin their transition into office. It was already a beautiful world, but the lights and trilling of hundreds of billions of souls were only made louder by the amplifying effect that election days had on sentients - holoscreens hugged every streetcorner, most of them sponsored, some of them state-provided by those who couldn't afford a personal communicator, but they all had the same things playing; news stations whose talking heads predicted, announced, then wept or cried in joy depending on who was paying for them. Then the crowds would assume their required reaction. Then the next wave of election results would begin for semi-ducal elections, judge, the tension building all over again before rays of red, greens, purples, violets and all other assigned colors would flash on the screen to announce the next sets of winners and losers. Lives were ruined and made. Those in need of the government's programs to survive would either stare in horror, or they would take a breath, thanking their respective gods for the time they were given.
Super Centaxday made Coruscant a casino. It hadn't taken Ilya very long to realize this fact, but it had taken her many years to decide that she hated it, and that her time would be better spent in solace with the good company of friends. She'd lost more than she'd won, and she was hopeful that this would be a rare night of victory for her so that she wouldn't be made a liar.
"I promised that I'd visit the day I was made Supreme Chancellor, and this is the closest one can get to him - legally, of course."
Kira had known where they were going ten minutes after they'd left her secured apartment. There was only one place in the whole of the galaxy that was worth going to on this corner of the world. All knew of it. Every living being in the galaxy.
Subdivision A2-732.
A residental bloc, which, in this case, would have been expected to house six-hundred thousand people in standard sustainable living. Expected, as there were always more. Standard, because not even rats would have found the conditions livable. They were an embarrassing failures on behalf of the world's capital government to provide for its most in need people, and this was known for its residents relying more on gangs for security over their councils.
And then the Sith crashed a frigate into them during the Sacking, killing them all.
Innocent, poor, wise, and weak. None were spared the metal hulk that descended upon them.
It was estimated it'd take another forty years to withdraw it fully from the planet's surface, half that time spent in legal battles as the ship from tip to tip cut through five different administrative jurisdictions. If Ilya and Kira squinted, one could almost mistake its rear for being yet more rising towers. The death toll mounted each week.
As did Ilya's electoral optics. The communicator on the table shook with a notification, but the aged woman paid it no mind, gazing out at the distant horizon, possibly soothing her nerves with a liquor five times older than both of them combined.
"Not much longer, now," she sighs, closing her eyes, sharing a warm smile with the Jedi that would have been calm-inducing if Kira didn't already know what kind of animal the woman she was dealing with was, and the promises made.
Kira had run out the night before. A rare outburst from any Jedi, but her especially, with how eager she was for confrontation. Ilya was, unfortunately, not the type of enemy she could strike down, and she'd practiced the sort of patience that would have made her Master proud if she was there - not that she would've wanted them to be. Not when Ilya was describing, in great detail, the way she'd celebrate her victory tomorrow tonight by taking advantage of the Special Privilege afforded to her that put Jedi under her command at her uttermost beck and call.
She'd been . . . more honest with Kira than any other politician she'd ever met. This day gave her more reason to hate the Treaty of Coruscant than she ever had before.
That's why she'd spent the last 18 hours praying that the woman lost, forced to attend to them on a yacht that cost more than would have been spent on restoring the Jedi Temple, overlooking the one spot on all of Coruscant left in respectable darkness and silence.
Last edited: