#rebel scum resist

[republicansaretheproblem]

Resist!

[vamprisms]

sith lords would call themselves dark empaths on tiktok

[mercenaryg]

They say 'Do Not Resist' when that's all you're going to do.

[thesassypadawan]

Scum (Burnt Darth Vader x FemRebelReader)

Summary: Scum, the name he has so kindly given you upon capture.  The name he calls you every night as he does to you as he pleases.  Perhaps hoping to break you for information, perhaps for his own sick pleasure…maybe even your own.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Choking, up against the wall, misuse of the force…and Vader’s big, scarred dick. 

Notes: Happy Sithtember all you, lovelies! ❤️🖤

🎉❤️A VERY HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO @anakinsbbgirl❤️🎉

- Twisting against the invisible force that binds your hands, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.  Hint of metallic spreading across your tastebuds, swallowed down along with your moans. Refusing to give him the satisfaction even as he thrusts up into you.  As your sore cunt flutters desperately around his scarred length, unwillingly taking another load.

- “Have you come to a decision yet?”  His words were cold, even; rattling out through his modular.  Amber lenses staring emotionlessly into your eyes; almost searching for something, somehow.  While he continues to  buck; pushing his cum deeper, further.  “No…it would seem that you are still foolish enough to resist.”

- Abruptly he pulls out, the grip around your wrists loosens.  “Pathetic.”  And you drop to the floor, wincing from the pain that radiates through your knees…the feeling of his seed trickling out from between your spread legs.  “Truly such a pathetic thing.”

- Anger bubbles up inside of you, hand curls in a fist.  Pounding it against the stone, you unsteadily rise to your feet.  “Shut…your mec-mechanical mouth!”  Legs wobbling, breaths coming out in small huffs.  You try to hold your own, show what little strength remains; even with your shoulder pressed to the wall for support.  “I’m not the one hi-hiding behind a mask…you mon-monster!”

- The air seems to come alive, crackle.  Tension and raw anger filling the chamber, accompanied by the sound of his dark laughter.  “Is that what you think of me, rebel scum?  That I am nothing more than some sick creature.”

- Opening your mouth to speak again; instead your words are silenced, replaced with a gasp.  “Very well then.”  When pressure closes in around your neck; forcing you back, pinning you against the wall.  Jagged rocks piercing, cutting into your exposed skin.  “If that is the case…”

- Invisible hold grows tighter, and you rise up off the floor once more.  Feet scrambling for purchase, nails scratching at nothing in a futile attempt for release.  Vision growing blotchy, lids heavy; head beginning to spin.  “…then I shall show you what a real monster I am.”

- Faintly you’re aware of soft hisses, gears whirling.  Something clattering loudly to the ground; followed by a foreign, gruff voice ordering.  “Look.  Look upon the face of your monster.”

- Gaze refocuses, irises widen slightly.  A sense of fear, mixed with arousal washes over you.  “You’re…”  Before you was the most mangled, most twisted, most…handsome man you’ve ever seen.  “You’re…”

- A gentle prodding at the corner of your mind, pressure on your neck eases.  “Not what you anticipated.”  Feet touch the floor once more, as you stare deeply into those golden orbs.  “Interesting… very interesting.”

- Gloved fingers traces your jawline, thumb tugs at your lip.  Texture sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, causing your gummy walls to flutter.  “Perhaps you can be swayed…”

- Gripping your thigh, he hooks your leg onto his hip; forcing you to teeter on the tip of your toes.  Rigged head pressing, prodding at your swollen folds; phantom presence brushing, circling your overstimulated clit.  Whimper flying from your throat.  “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet…”

- Surging forward, sheathing himself into your spent pussy.  You wriggle and writhe; shudder from the deliciously painful, searing stretch.  A stretch that you find yourself coming to love?  “No…you’re never going to succeed!”

- Pace speeds up on your sensitive nub; hips begin to rock, setting a harsh rhythm.  “Do not act so certain.”  Making your back arch, chest dig into his control box.  Desperate?  Desperate, needy mewl escaping you.  “After all…”

- Labored breaths fan across your face, pale lips hover inches away from yours.  Eyes bore, lock onto yours.  “You could have easily stopped me with your own abilities and yet you have not.”

- Drives grow brutal, tears flow freely down your cheeks.  “Either you are weak or…”  Heat pools in your stomach, hands clench his tabards.  “…some part of you has wanted this the whole time.  For me to use, abuse…break and make you my own.”

- No longer twisting against the invisible force, no longer refusing to give him the satisfaction…  You succumb to your buried desires, finally declaring…  “I-I do!  Make me yours, V-Vader!”

- Tipping your head, you moan out as the phantom presence pinches your clit firmly.  As he slams upwards, popping something deep inside.  Pumping, filling your packed womb once more.  “There, was that so difficult…hatari?”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @anakinsbbgirl, @t03soup, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @avescorner-blog, @vaderswifey, @jediavengers

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

The Moon's Lies

Summary: Kylo Ren x named!Reader. It was never going to be black or white, Light or Dark, friend or foe. Who wouldn't let the galaxy burn to keep their loved ones safe?

Warnings: 18+, Murder/"execution," graphic violence, unspoken threat of bodily harm, twisted morals, Kylo Ren being himself

Masterlist

Canon Divergence Notes: There is no Rey. Finn is the destined Jedi, and he leaves the scar on Ren’s face during the climactic fight on Starkiller Base. The only original canon kept after TFA is the destined Jedi (Finn) leaving to find Luke and Snoke pushing Kylo Ren to the breaking point, continuing the student-kills-the-master cycle. Summary: No Rey. Finn is training to be a Jedi. Kylo Ren takes the throne from Snoke.

This chapter is the only pre-TFA part of the story. Everything after that is in the AU as described.

A/N: Holy shit, I'm having so much fun with this. You all have no idea (but you will soon). Out here crafting whole-ass mythologies and cultures for this shit. Literally forgot to post this first chapter because I'm neck-deep in the next. Please, please, please do comment! I post for interactions with friends new and old. Otherwise I'd hoard all my embarrassing stories like the grouchy old dragon I really am.

1.

He needed to maul something.

His lightsaber practically vibrated on his belt, answering the pull of itching hands as Kylo Ren stormed into the planet-side depot. Civilians scattered from their orderly lines in front of the First Order’s regional bureaucratic office, startled like so many kaadus. The system had so little to offer, the Order couldn’t even justify a separate complex for the port authority and notary.

A shabby little base on a barren little world. If he could, he’d sink his saber to the planet’s core and kill it all in one, fell stroke.

What a waste of his time.

The rebel insurgent had nothing. They hunted him to the edge of the First Order’s territory only to discover a dead end whose handful of contacts met the heat of Kylo’s blade long ago. They’d missed something. He’d missed something. Instead of fresh leads into the Resistance’s plans, he would leave empty handed. This detour took weeks, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that their enemies were planning something. But in the end, the only thing the dead Rodian had been good at was hiding. Any trooper could’ve shot the scum and been done with it. No need for the Knights of Ren.

He looked like a fool.

Rage tipped over the edge of reason, flooding logic, and plans, and anything but the dark urge to destroy.

He marched through the door, well ahead of his knights. The stormtroopers were nearly as eager to avoid his wrath as the civilians, and he burst into an empty hall. The faintest conversation reached him, a hum of living Force further inside. He followed it. Down the hall. Around the corner. Gathering fuel to further spark his hate for this place and all the people in it as he approached.

A crisp, core world accent he had no doubt belonged to an officer carried farthest.

“I’m afraid it just won’t do. If you want clearance to leave for Gan Moradir, I’ll need those credits in my hand. Today.”

“You already have them.”

The second voice almost surprised Ren. He could barely feel the speaker’s signature, and he rested his hand on his saber, ready for a battle. No one unskilled in the Force could veil themselves like that.

From the sound of things, he had two valid targets to suffer for his humiliation. With new focus, he prepared to take the last corner, the heat in his blood ready to burn through the traitors and fools ahead.

Just out of sight, the officer tsked. “Not enough, I’m afraid.”

“Do you plan on demanding more every time we visit your system?”

“I could.”

“I’m afraid that will be very bad for trade.”

Ren saw the pair before they saw him. A First Order corporal with his hands clasped behind his back and a sneer on his face stood opposite a civilian girl, both oblivious to their approaching doom.

“Corporal.”

The man practically jumped out of his uniform, eyes bugging wide. The girl barely even flinched, following the officer’s panicked gaze with guarded curiosity. Ren would deal with her after he thinned the ranks. It was important to cut out rot before it spread, after all.

“Lord Ren!” The officer’s voice wavered, nearly breaking like a teenager’s as he took two steps away from the civilian and bowed to his superior. “My apologies. We’d heard your knights may be in the system, but we had no idea you’d actually –”

“What is the First Order’s standing on bribery?” He asked like he didn’t know simply so the criminal would recite his own conviction. Let him know how he’d failed. Let the fear string out his last moment.

The corporal’s mind couldn’t keep pace with his spiking adrenaline. He shifted, eyes darting for an escape, an excuse, as he tried to drag an explanation through his dry mouth.

“Well, I…”

Ren had no mercy. And no patience. His hand clenched over his blade’s hilt, and he imagined he could already feel the subtle vibration as it came to life to end another’s.

“Well?”

The corporal swallowed, and Ren watched the confidence roll away down the man’s throat.

“Soliciting or accepting bribes in any form, be it credits or goods, is a class three offense, sir.” He spoke clearly. Responding to a clear order with clear rules he would’ve learned by rote in training. He knew the consequences for disguising this theft behind the First Order’s banner, and now Ren would reveal a new part of the corporal. Blood. Bone. The messy things he wrapped out of sight beneath his skin.

Ren hummed. A mockery of consideration as he swayed nearer, forcing the smaller man to stare up at a painful angle. Decapitation was too neat for such a selfish little traitor. Maybe he’d sheer away half the man’s chest. Or leave him in a dozen pieces for his command to discover.

“I see.” He stalked forward another step, savoring the building dread like a cool wind beneath his mask. “And what is the punishment for class three offenses?”

The officer’s lingering hopes to put off his superior with a lie – Blame the girl, his mind screamed – finally crumbled. The dread Force-wielder had caught him. He knew enough to damn him. He’d been judged. He’d been sentenced. Only one step remained. Kylo Ren loomed, a Loth cat playing with vermin caught raiding the larder, and his uniform was an invitation to deal justice, not the shield the corporal once believed. He backpedaled, nearly foaming at the mouth as he spluttered a final plea for mercy.

“Lord Ren, please! I merely –!”

Red light and a crackling hum cut him off.

Ren speared the traitor through the belly, letting the fool totter backwards, wheezing for a breath that would never come. The corrupt officer groped over his exposed diaphragm as he tumbled to the floor, and his head met the polished floor with a crack as he continued pointlessly gasping.

It wouldn’t be a quick death.

Satisfied, Ren looked at the second actor in this little scene. She’d barely flinched when he struck down the corporal, but her attention remained fixed on the dying criminal. Ren waited for the inevitable wave of panic, ready to toy with a fresh target, but the life ending at her feet held her gaze. Something about her blunted his senses, and he struggled to pry into her mind beyond what she projected: caution and studied calm.

Maybe it was shock. Or maybe she needed reminding of her own mortality.

Ren cut off the corporal’s death rattle with a stroke of his saber, and as the head rolled across the hall, the girl finally looked up to meet his gaze. He glowered back through his visor, itching for her reaction.

She bowed. Maintaining the poise of a diplomat who hadn’t just witnessed a brutal execution, she dipped at the knees, dropping her eyes in polite deference before rising to meet him all over again. Still as a lake.

His lightsaber hissed, twisting in his grip. He pointed it under her chin, demanding she answer every question he hadn’t asked.

“You.” He didn’t bother with the show he’d put on for the corporal. Her careful placidity irritated him, and it felt like her very presence muted his senses when he hunted for her fear.

He looked again, noting the grey stone pendant and loops of beads she wore. A memory teased the edge of his lingering rage, dragging his focus away from his quest for bloodshed. He’d seen that material before. He recognized the numbing sensation in the Force from a failed project to build better restraints for Force sensitive prisoners. “What is that?”

Her fingers rose to the pendant, brushing over an unfamiliar pattern of engraved stars.

“It’s Selenubis, sir.” She paused, flicking her gaze over his mask like she might find a clue to his expression. When he didn’t answer, she pushed ahead. “A traditional protection charm from Lethe. If it’s offensive to the First Order I can come again with out it…?”

Behind his mask, he ground his teeth, clawing against the foggy wall so few of her thoughts penetrated. Selenubis proved useless to the First Order when it became clear the stone did as much to shield a prisoner from other Force users as it did to shackle the target.

She wanted to return without her shield? She wouldn’t leave with it. He’d hack it off her neck, and if he didn’t like what he found in her head, she wouldn’t leave with that, either.

His flickering saber reflected in her eyes as he angled it up, forcing her to expose her throat as red lightning reflected in bottomless reservoirs of control. He didn’t believe for a second she was ignorant of the power in her little trinkets and beads.

Just as he prepared to cleave through her jewelry – and likely leave a deep burn to remember him by – one of his knights burst into the hall.

“Commander. The Supreme Leader requests your presence. Immediately, sir.”

His foiled rage rebounded, arcing like a current through his bones and burning him with his own intent as he growled in frustration. The sound hissed through his modulator.

This would have to wait.

Deactivating his saber, he stepped back, pivoted on his heel, and marched back the way he came. He would have to relive his humiliation at his master’s feet, and there was no time to vent his frustrations.

He left no orders in his rush to answer his master’s summons. No one held the girl or even took special note of her name and business as he knelt before Snoke’s projected image, and by the time he returned to the hall, she was gone.

The documentation the dead corporal had been withholding, a pile on the floor by his headless corpse, had gone with her.

[not-so-allegiant-general]

I did a math. IT would be possible for Hux and Kallus to meet. Let's assume that Kallus is still alive and capeable.

JUST IMAGINE THAT.

Kallus and Zeb living their best live with other Lasats as they accepted Kallus as one of them. They didn't want to intervene with the Resistance bc "They will be fine" Zeb always said. But now they got the signal, calling for help from the Resistance to entire Galaxy. And Kallus just can't sleep, eat or function bc existing of First Order is already like a slap for him. He can't stand that after all of it another empire will win. And Zeb can't stand looking at distress Kallus, so he said. "Okey. Get on this damn ship Alexandr. We are going."

They found Resistance. And caused a lot of exitment bc there are actual legends about ghost crew and almost everyone knows them. Poe even knew one song. But when he offered to sing it Kallus offered to shot him and Zeb had to intervened. After everyone calm down a little Poe blured out that they have a spy on board one of First Order ship and Kallus went absolutely feral about it.

" You tell me that you receive information from someone out there. And didn't even bother trying to pull him out!?"

" I… I proposed that but general Organa…

"Well. I am not under any general."

" With all respect Alexandr we appreciate your help but if you want to stay you should.."

"Excuse me, princess. I went in too much trouble in life by just following orders. Not any more. If there is a man or a woman out there. A person. Alone. Who risked their life just to send you information. Valuable i suppose. And now they stoped responding i am going there. Because if i learned something in my life from these rebels scums that i grown to like its not leaving anyone behind. No matter what."

"Damn. He is good in this " Finn shook his head.

"am coming with ya!"

" Poe no!" Leia said.

"Poe Yes!" Finn responded.

**

Plan was simple and stupid. But Kallus had an honest belief that when it comes to rebels only this kind of plan work. They suppose to get caught, wait until spy undercover himself. If it not happened in spawn of five days they had backup escape plan. He didn’t have to wait. First time he saw Hux he knew. He didn’t tell them. It was hard enough to pull out low ranking officer. When it comes to general it will be way harder. When it comes to Starkiller, Kriff… it's probably imposible. He knew now that if they want to leave the ship they had to do it on Hux's terms.

And this damn kid was clever.

And as he expected Hux wasn’t also easy to kill.

They were running to the ship trying to avoid blaster bolts. He remembered the first time he had to shoot to imperial officers, he missed every shoot back then. But Hux was different. Every his shot reached the target. Except one. Hux froze holding a blaster in an extended arm. Mitaka was standing before him, blaster in hand, aimed to the ground. Mitaka dropped the weapon, eyes wide open, face pale like paper. Hux took a deep breath taking off finger from the trigger. Kallus wanted to push him away, but he was to slow. Blaster bolt reached Hux’s arm. He screamed in pain falling to the ground and before anyone else reacted Mitaka grabbed his blaster. The shot was clean and successful, stormtrooper dropped dead. They got Hux to the ship.

“Was it always like that?” Kallus looked at Zeb.

“Like what?”

“ We rescued the spy. But he is General who exterminated Hosnian Prime. We also rescued someone else, entirely unplanned, and he is in shock now. “he glanced at absolutely traumatized Mitaka sited on the ground “We created more problems than we solved. “ Zeb laughed.

“Yeah. Yeah Kal, it was always like that.” Kallus narrowed his eyes throwing a suspicious look.

‘Alright. You!” he looked at Finn and Poe “Which one of you two reckless idiots unintentionally recruited the Starkiller??”

Finn looked at him in surprise.

“What? What are you talking about….?”

Poe cleared his throat, scratching his head. “Poe?…”

“Yeah, well it’s a funny story buddy. Em… “ Zeb was amused, Kallus was visibly done with all of this, Finn was horrified, Mitaka still in shock and Hux was looking at the pilot, he was smiling.

“It’s not funny at all, Dameron. I told you, you have to stop laughing when it's time to cry” He wrapped himself tight in his coat. Poe turned around to look at him.

"Hey… Good to see you alive, Hugs." Kallus sighed already knowing the look on his face. Zeb grinned.

"Alright lovers, enough of that. Get us home Dameron" They both screamed in protest and Kallus just smiled. Memories humming in his head.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Yandere (dark!)First Order Poe Dameron HC's

Note: If anyone wants a story about this feel free to ask me and I can and happily will do one. <3

Poe had a crush on you at his time in the Resistance, so when he joined the First Order, and became a General, one of his goals was to capture you and keep you by his side.

Would keep you in his quarters, with a protocol droid keeping a watch on you should you try something stupid or try to escape.

Poe became a General and was gifted a Fleet and his own personal Resurgent Star Destroyer as a 'thank you' after he spilled every information about the Resistance he had.

Think you can escape? Well... first you have to get through the droid in his quarters and the Battalions of Stormtroopers roaming his Star Destroyer. Even if you manage to knock one out and steal his armor you still have to make your way out of his ship... Oh, and even if you can fly a certain shuttle or starfighter, if you speak into the comm and state whatever story you came up with to get permission to take off, if Poe hears your voice then you better pray an (un)lucky laser bolt will hit your starfighter. Because once Poe has you back in his quarters, he can and will punish you.

If Poe finds you wandering around in places of his ship where you shouldn't be, he would place a hand on your shoulder, making you freeze in place as you pray it would be just an officer or a Stormtrooper. Would lean down close to your ear and say: "Did my little thing got lost, hm?" his hot breath would cause ice cold shivers to run down your spine in response.

If you actually manage to escape his Star Destroyer unnoticed? If you're lucky and the bridge crew couldn't lock onto your ship fast enough to track you with the hyperspace tracker then you have some time to think what to do. But once Poe discovered you escaped he will be furious, he wants to get his priced little thing back and punish you for your disobedience. And once he has a trace of you? It's over for you.

The reason why Poe betrayed the Resistance was because he was sick of always being on the run, always following the ideology of bringing peace and defeating the First Order. He then realized the First Order would be the fraction to truly bring peace and order to the Galaxy.

Poe in the Resistance was hot-headed, cocky and sometimes even disobedient and stubborn, even ignoring orders from Leia herself. But now that he's loyal to the First Order? Well, now he is quite the opposite, shows a more sadistic side, he's calculating, cold, serious and ruthless.

He enjoys hunting down Rebels and other scum, making them think they have successfully jumped into hyperspace and into a safe space, only for Poe to track them via the First Order's hyperspace tracker and jump out behind them with his Star Destroyer to end their lifes.

You have some friends in the Resistance? Poe is nice enough to keep them alive as long as you keep being obedient and behave yourself. But once you try something funny or try to escape he will threaten to kill them. If you disobey again? He will give you a second chance by nearly killing them, but a third chance? Well, there won't be another chance for your friends...

Poe is still nice, don't get me wrong, he will give you alot of freetime, you can do nearly anything you want when he is on the ship. But when he is flying in his TIE then you will be kept inside his quarters.

If you behave yourself and be obedient then Poe will bring you valuable gifts and trophies after a battle. Those can range from simple jewelry to rare crystals, basically anything with a high value. <3

[simslegacy5083]

Not So Berry (Straud Descendants) Gen 9

Today's (9/9/2024) Episode: A Galaxy Far, Far, Away

With the public and very private parts of their wedding night complete, Noemi and Luigi headed out the next morning to honeymoon in Battu.

Luigi was sad he couldn’t talk the theme park’s PR team into letting him film their adventures, but Noemi convinced him that taking a break from worrying about camera angles and optics would foster the relaxing and immersive experience they were seeking.

Another park policy Noemi was grateful for was their strict rules on “breaking character”. She might love how happy Luigi’s fans made him, but she wasn’t keen on giving up any of her brand-new husband's time and attention on her honeymoon.

After a couple quick phone calls to check in on their fur and sim babies it was time to officially begin their adventure!

The couple knew they wanted to fight for The Resistance, but another park requirement was that first time guests engage in a short “tutorial adventure” to help orient them and give them some basic information on each of the parks three main factions.

They quickly learned the secret code phrases and locations for their preferred faction, although Luigi was also impressed with the actors playing Storm Troopers. The First Order background chatter about “happy accidents” and “shooting resistance scum out of the sky” sounded almost TOO real…!

Noemi had been quite excited to role play, but by the time they’d hunted down and talked to members of all the various factions her social battery was running low. Both sims were a bit hungry by that point anyway and agreed to swing by Docking Bay 7 for a break and a bite to eat.

Once they were seated with their meal Noemi confided in her spouse “I don’t know if I can do this. I know they’re just actors, but I still feel anxious, like they’ll think I’m stupid or “doing it wrong”.

“You’re doing great!” he assured her. “I’m always happy to do the talking, but maybe you could use this as a safe opportunity to practice? I promise you can’t get it “wrong”. Remember, I’ve been an employee here. Part of the job is guiding and helping guests find their voice. Its all in good fun.”

Noemi nodded “You know what? You’re right. I’ll give it a try, if you promise to take over if I get overwhelmed”

“Of course.” he said, wrapping her in a quick side hug “now let’s go find the resistance encampment – I’m ready to be a rebel!”

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Surrender - Rose Tico x General Hux (GingerRose)

Authors Note: Good lord….these two make my heart explode.

Warning: Kind of spicy! Nothing huge though.

——————————————————————————————

Air. Air was all Rose could feel and hear. Empty and warm air that surrounded her in this stupid cell. Only an hour ago were her and Finn on their knees infront of the pathetic First Order General. Only an hour ago did the bastard place his disgusting gloved hand under her chin- tilting her to look up at him. She’d debated biting it off- but thought against the better part of herself. It would do no good. No matter how much she wished to see the filth of his smirk wiped from his face.

Now- she was here. Dim lights of the cell flickering to life. She’d been alone. She was sure this wasn’t the end- someone would have to come to the rescue. They couldnt have just been…abandoned? Could they? Gods…she thought it had been only an hour. Her mind flashed with images of Finn. What could they be doing to him?

She was sat down- curled up against her knees as her hands were bound together. She could feel her heart beat- a mixture of fear and determination. She could feel her heart beating to the empty rythm of the air. It was horrid. It was all horrid.

She closed her eyes as she heard the clank of steps outside- heavy boots. They were frustratingly…gracefully getting closer.

As the cell door creaked open, Rose glanced up from her knees, meeting the General’s cold and calculating gaze. His uniform pristine, his demeanor stern, he exuded authority as he approached her with measured steps. The tension in the room was palpable, the unspoken animosity simmering between them like a coiled serpent.

"You're quite the thorn in my side, scum." Hux stated, his voice steady, yet laced with an underlying intensity. "Your resistance and tenacity are both impressive and vexing."

What the hell was he doing here? Rose didn't flinch, her gaze unwavering, a subtle defiance evident in her eyes. "I'll never stop fighting for what I believe in," she replied, her voice matching his own steadiness, refusing to let him see her vulnerability. Though it came out as more of a weak snarl.

Hux's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes narrowing as if relishing the challenge. "What did I say about rebel vermin?” A scowl nearly surfaced. “What you “believe” in is far below the First Order. The Republic is no more.” He spat the word “Republic”, looking at her with accomplishment. His eyebrows raised slightly, tantalizing half smile playing on his face.

Rose didn’t believe it. She knew. The Resistance would never give up, not now. Not ever. Someone would come find her and Finn- and when they did- they would keep fighting. As they had always done.

She didn’t grace him with a response- simply looking up at him in hatred. Her nostrils flared- eyes looking up at him from beneath her brows. Somehow- her lack of a response seemed to irk him. His smile slipped into the familiar scowl- raising his hand. Expecting a blow to the face like Finn got- she closed her eyes- ready to accept- but it never came.

When she opened her eyes- she found the General simply holding his hand up- lip curled. It was as though he had stopped himself- and in his own halt- confused himself as well. His brows furrowed onto her.

There was a moment of charged silence as their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills taking place between them. Rose felt the tension building like an electrical storm, unsure whether to brace herself for the strike or to succumb to the pull of…strange attraction she sensed emanating from Hux.

The General shook his head- as though to shake off his own failure to punish her.

Finally, Rose took her turn to speak- voice leveled. She remembered the feeling of his glove- tracing her cheek and down to her chin- forcing her head to look up at him. The touch…strangely gentle.

“What is it your doing here? If you’re not going to torture me?” Her voice shook- but still dripped with resistance- determination in her throat as she nodded to his hand- still raised.

He scoffed, presumably offended. As though the question was obvious. Hux took a step closer, his breath mingling with hers, their proximity igniting an undeniable spark. He had leaned down to her level on the floor.

Rose thought- this would be the perfect time. To kick or hit or scream or bite. Though…alike Hux’s own failure to hit her- she stood completely still. She attempted to convince herself it was of the fear. The consequences she would face for hitting the man. Thats why she didn’t do it….certainly not the way his eyes trained on her…or the feeling of his touch…or the way his lips curved in the flickering light of the cell.

“You bewilder me, scum,” His voice was suddenly akin to a whisper as neither took their eyes away from the other. It was like a confession- aggression still evident in his words. “…I can't tell if I want to argue with you… or do something else entirely."

Rose swallowed, mouth dry. His hand raised again- though Rose paid it no mind. She stared into his eyes- determined to not show any weakness. It slowly raised as it did when she was first on her knees for him…gloved finger coming down to her chin- then making his way down her jaw, before turning into a fist. He roughly wrapped his hand around into her hair, forcibly pulling her neck back in a sharp motion.

Rose let out a grunt at the action, causing her to finally stand up to his level as he pulled upwards. Her mouth dropped, not taking her eyes off him once. Heavy breaths sounded between the both of them- Hux’s own strangley shakey despite his power. It made her question what the hell was happening. Though it hit her- neither of them really knew.

“Your defiance fuels my desire to break you, yet I find myself….inexplicably…captivated.” His whispers sounded. He sure does talk…a lot. Rose thought to herself, gaze moving from his eyes to his lips. She hurriedly looked away- fighting her thoughts of his lips.

Another tug to her hair forced her to look at him. “Look at me,” he growled- eyes trained on her- emperial accent shaking at his own words. ”Nothing else.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between her instincts to resist and the inexplicable allure he held over her. "I won't let you break me," she asserted, though her resolve seemed to waver as his intensity bore into her soul.

“I assure you…” A slight smile played on his lips- one that he was unsure of himself. He was letting himself go. His control was slipping- but in the moment he didn’t care. Nothing mattered. He dipped his head into her own neck, hand fisted into her hair pulling back. He was now fully pressed up against her- her own body against a cell wall. “…It would be quite…pleasurable for the both of us.”

His breath grazed her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. He murmured the words against her neck, his admission catching them both off guard.

She felt her thighs clench together in reflex. She hated this.

Rose's heart raced, and she mustered the strength to meet his gaze with defiance. "I won't give you the satisfaction," she whispered, her voice filled with determination. "I won't let you see me weak."

A mix of frustration and intrigue flickered across Hux's features as he pulled away from her neck to observe her. The air between them crackled with a charged energy, a dangerous dance of power and attraction that neither of them could deny.

His grip on her hair loosened slightly, and his thumb brushed against her cheek, his touch strangely tender yet tinged with restraint.

"Your soul...” His voice grew more intense. He held on to her tighter, his affection evident in every caress.

“Your body…” Hux pulled at her hair and leaned close to her lips until he was practically speaking against them.

“Your thoughts…” He struggled to get the words out as he felt the sensation of her own body press against him.

“They already give me satisfaction,” He spat- harsh contrast to the reality of the words. “You are already weak. I can see you right now. A weak…pathetic little thing.”

Rose's breath hitched, her heart conflicted by the emotions coursing through her. She had come to see General Hux as nothing more than an enemy, a cruel and heartless leader of the First Order. But now, faced with this complexing…allure…she couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of anger and attraction.

"Is this some kind of game to you?" she asked, her voice trembling, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer. "Toying with me like this?"

Hux's gaze bore into hers, and for a moment, the arrogance in his eyes faded, replaced by a raw honesty that surprised them both. "No," he said, his voice barely above a whisper- cracking in self-frustration and admission. "It's not a game…I don't know what it is, but it's something I can't explain."

The vulnerability in his confession resonated with Rose, and she found herself inching closer to him, drawn to the enigma before her. Despite everything, she couldn't deny the pull she felt, the strange connection that had formed between them from then to now.

Their faces were mere inches apart, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Rose could feel the heat of his breath on her skin, and her heart pounded in her chest, torn between the desire to fight and the desire to surrender to his wants for her.

Hux closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, calming himself enough for his voice to return to normal. He opened his eyes and looked back into hers. His gaze was filled with the same confusion and conflict as when he spoke before. He knew what he was feeling, but he couldn't admit it, not here.

“Please.” He muttered- word gutteral in his throat. As if it was foreign to him to have to beg for anything. He was used to just getting what he wanted.

Rose felt a strange mixture of emotions swirling inside her as she looked into Hux's conflicted gaze. The General, known for his cold and ruthless demeanor, now appeared vulnerable, almost like a lost little boy searching for something he couldn't quite name.

His plea hung heavy in the air, and Rose could feel the weight of his desire- though not quite fully understanding just what he was asking. It was a dangerous proposition, and part of her wanted to resist, to hold onto her defiance and not give him the satisfaction he sought.

But another part of her, a part that she had never acknowledged before, was drawn to him in a way she couldn't explain. It was as if they were two halves of a whole, two souls entangled in a fate they couldn't escape.

As his lips hovered near hers, Rose felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her. She knew she should push him away, to remind herself of the pain and suffering he had caused. The people he’d killed. Tortured without a second glance. Yet, in this moment, none of it mattered. The lines between captor and captive blurred, and all she could focus on was the magnetic pull between them.

"Please what?" she mumured, her voice barely above a whisper, feeling her resolve melt away. The vulnerability in his eyes was mirrored in her own, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the galaxy.

"Surrender," Hux stated, his voice firmer now, as if trying to regain his composure. His voice was a bit louder- as if he was commanding her as he did with the troops. He had practice, Rose reminded herself. Practice in forcing people to do what he wanted. Practice in pain. “Surrender to me. Not to the First Order. To me. No one else.”

His words made her let go of a shakey breath, and Rose found herself finally unable to retort. It was a dangerous proposition, and part of her wanted to run, to deny the questionable aura between them.

But another part of her, a part that she had kept hidden deep inside her heart, yearned to give in, to let herself be consumed by the passion and desire that Hux had suddenly awakened in her.

In that moment, Rose made a choice that would change the course of their lives forever. And with that same mix of fear and determination she had in the begginning, she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was electric, a collision of conflicting emotions and unspoken desires. It was as if the cell walls around them had crumbled, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to each other.

Hux responded with equal fervor, if not more. His free hand roughly grabbed her neck, shoving her even farther into the wall that trapped her. His touch was both offensive and passionate- and in that moment, they both surrendered, unbeknownst.

As they kissed, time seemed to stand still, and the weight of the war and their responsibilities falling away. In this small, secluded moment, they were just two individuals bound by fate, trying to find solace and understanding in each other.

When they finally pulled away, both were left breathless and bewildered by the intensity of the moment. Their gazes locked once more, and in that shared look, they saw the vulnerability and strength in each other. Hux looked…horrified- but hadn’t let go of her throat in his hands. Rose looked similarly.

Neither knew where this uncharted path would lead them, but they both knew that they were forever changed. The lines between love and hate had blurred, and they were left with a whirlwind of emotions that neither of them could fully comprehend.

In the dimly lit cell, they’d both stood as equals, despite the chains that held Rose in place.

And in that moment, they realized that sometimes, surrendering to the other….may not be all that bad.

——————————————————————————————

[liminalpebble]

May I have one for our favorite ginger General Hux?

Well, well, well, you insolent rebel scum,

Have you learned yet to properly respect the First Order? Do you surrender yet to true power, or shall we play this little game a bit longer? Of the two of us, I must add, you are the only one suffering. For me, it is simply an exhilarating game....one which I will always win.

Your willfulness, while frustrating, is admirable and adorable in its futility. That insolent challenge smoldering in your eyes when I visited your cell was just splendid, beautiful even. However, you will be even more beautiful on your knees. The harder you struggle, the more satisfying it will be to see you soften and yield.

There would be lavish rewards for your obedience, pet, but I would be equally generous in my punishments if you continue your resistance.

Yield. Surrender yourself to me and to The First Order. My special attention towards you shall persist regardless. Whether that will bring you pain or pleasure depends upon your choice.

I'll visit again soon, and when I do, I expect answers.

General Hux

@lemongingerart

[enkisstories]

The trial of General Hux - Part 2 of 2 (Chapter 10 of Mutiny on the Steadfast)

Part 1

In the infirmary things went by a different pace than in the outside world. None of  the hectic and confusion had a place here, but never mind that, people of course brought their memories and grievances with them. Those who had gotten seriously wounded during the mutiny or the subsequent rebel takeover were resting, sorted by their specific injuries instead of their allegiance. It remained to be seen if that was still manageable when the first First Order members would have recovered enough to start trouble. A trio of only lightly wounded members of the Resistance’ boarding party was sitting around a table, absorbed in a card game. They were waiting for the doctors to make their next round that would most likely clear them to leave and resume duties appropriate to their condition in the base.

Commander Trach woke up on his back. He had been briefly awake before, after arriving on the planet, and then passed out again while the medics had changed his blood-soaked bandages. How long he had slept the man didn’t know. He only felt a sting in his left arm, where an infusion needle had stuck not so long ago. So at minimum he’d been out for the time it had needed for the medicine to trickle into his body.

The first thing he beheld when he looked around were his tropical fish swimming around their tank. Trach blinked. This really was his own fish tank, that had gotten placed so prominently in the room, he realized. The sea anemones and corals were all in the specific places he had arranged them in. Someone must have had rescued the aquarium from the Steadfast - not the worst prize Trach could imagine to take from an enemy ship.

Having spent most of his life in space, Masir Trach had never developed a taste of planetbound life. He just knew that someone would open a window sooner or later to let the “good, fresh air” in. That would introduce all kinds of overwhelming sounds and scents to the room, rendering the protection a four-walled shelter offered moot. And over the course of the day the temperature would change drastically, perhaps the one aspect of planet life that irritated the man the most. There’d be wind or even rain and the air pressure would change hours before the onset of the downpour already, giving any sensible person a headache. Not to mention the gradual change in lighting from sunrise to sunset. The heck, scratch “gradual”, a single cloud could cause havoc with that! Normally Trach could deal with all of this when he was on a mission, even find it entertaining during shore leaves. But getting tossed into a natural environment without warning and against his will caused the officer to give himself over to his aversion to life in an ecosphere to the fullest degree. Everything about nature sucked, weather was not species-appropriate for the most advanced people in the galaxy and he didn’t want it, end of story!

Someone approached the patient. It was Poe Dameron and his intention seemed to be to hand Trach a pot filled with hot, steaming tea. Next to the rebel rolled his droid, the infamous BB-8. That one’s intention Trach couldn’t guess. Assisted by a medical droid, the man sat up and accepted the cup. Without taking his eyes off Dameron, and as appalled as if staring a Dianoga into its eye, Trach took a sip. What could his visitor want? He looked like Dameron, but Trach thought to know better. His General was dead; this here was once again a smelly, unpredictable rebel-scum.

“Trach? I never knew. Never knew that so many of you really believed in your propaganda. I thought… I mean, Finn told me about the stormtroopers, how they got brainwashed from their early childhood. But I believed all you officers to be in this for the power. Now it seems that you, too, are victims. If there’s a way to make you see… to wake as many as possible up, I’d do it. In an instant.”

All of a sudden the weather wasn’t the most irritating thing anymore. Dameron still spoke in the same manner as he had done on the Steadfast: brash in battle, but warm and encouraging in private. How could that be?

“Talk to me, Commander!” Poe pleaded, but the First Order officer only glared at him as one of the barbarians who were about to plunge the galaxy into chaos.

“The hell, Trach, of all the things you could have picked up from me and Hux, it had to be our stubbornness?”

At this point of the one-sided conversation someone screamed on top of their lungs. A male voice, Poe realized, and then he recognized it: Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka of the bridge crew. Poe followed the sound with his eyes and saw the lieutenant grasp his bed sheet, ready to pull it over his head any moment. The man’s fingers were jittery, his whole body was shivering. What could have scared him this much?

WHOMP.

Poe looked up into the direction this new sound had come from. He spotted Eightball, the spherical interrogation droid, that had just hit the ceiling that, unfortunately for the droid, had cables running along it in this section. IT-08’s currently extended syringe poked deep into one, what resulted in a weak jolt. Trying to free himself by wiggling around, Eightball only managed to get caught even tighter in that technological spider web.

“I see”, Poe murmured.

Mitaka must have seen one of the infamous imperial torture droids close in on him… and he was currently a prisoner of the enemy… What was one to think in this situation, naturally?

Only Eightball’s job was not information gathering, but delivering medication to those who needed it according to their individual schedule. He was also constantly monitoring the patients’ condition and would raise the alarm should one try to leave the infirmary or engage in otherwise suspicious activity. In other words, the droid was living the best life he could imagine. Before the scream anyway, Mitaka’s fearful wail, that in turn had scared the droid into shooting up towards the ceiling.

“I guess that’s on me”, Poe confessed. “I vouched for IT-08 to get employed here. Because Hux said they serve as paramedics…”

“Have you ever noticed that General Hux is a tad bit less on the empathic side?” Trach sputtered. “Maybe what HE thinks is acceptable is a little non-standard?”

“Er, right. You’ve got a point. - Eightball, come down!”

In beeps the droid explained what was plain to see – that he was caught in the cable salad.

“I’ll fetch someone to help you”, Poe promised.

That someone was already on his way here and his name was Finn. While Rose was following Hux’ unique search tactics with the same fascination someone shooting a wildlife documentation might feel, Finn had listened to his common sense. Distressed about having been made into a First Order follower, Poe would most likely seek out First Order personnel. Not the likes of Kandia and Kornsenf in their cells, but the pilots and officers he had worked with after he had gotten turned. Most of those were in the base’s hospital at the moment, so that’s where Finn had went.

Poe grabbed his arm, pulled the friend close, quickly pressed a kiss on his cheek, then gestured towards the captured droid.

“Ever wanted to be try out Force telekinesis?”

“Guess what”, Finn replied with a grin, “I practiced on my own in our cell! But I had to be careful not to alert the guards to the full extent of my abilities, so I didn’t get anywhere. I have the feeling telekinesis is something I might be good at, though, seeing that it complements my combat training. A push in the right moment… Well, in this case  a pull, more like it.”

The force sensitive looked up at IT-08.

“Eightball, I’m going to grab you with the Force! If that scares you, go into standby for a spell!”

Finn waited a moment. He saw the lights on the droid dim one by one, until only the “unit activated” indicator was glowing white anymore. Then, like the Jedi of old, who had also used gestures to better focus on a task at hand, Finn stretched out both his hands towards the ceiling, first the physical ones, then the spiritual extensions. With the left hand Finn steadied Eightball, with the right hand he gently tucked at the cables until the droid was freed. But Finn wasn’t trained in the use of the Force yet, so his channeling of it had been less efficient than it could have been. After entangling the droid, his hands and arms felt strained. Finn couldn’t gently levitate the droid downwards as he had planned, but he could position himself where Eightball would land and catch him before he’d smash onto the floor.

Finn was holding Eightball safe and sound, when Rose and Hux entered the room through a door opposite the one Finn had taken. They saw Poe enthusiastically congratulate Finn to some feat – apparently he had levitated Eightball with the Force? Poe was full of awe of his partner, less so of Finn’s talent, but of the way he had calmed the droid down before starting the rescue. That was husband and father material right there!

“Grabbing is what’s difficult”, Finn stated. “Establishing the connection to anything requires faith in the Force actually existing and in my connection to it being real.”

Rey having healed Hux back to full had been a pretty big indicator to the Force being real, powerful and open to get called upon by those with an open mind and heart. Finn hadn’t been present at that scene, but the living evidence of it having happened had stood right next to him on the stage afterwards.

“After I touch something, moving it around can be as easy as if I held it with my physical hands”, Finn relayed his experience.

Can be, that was the key here. Today there had been no pressure. Had Finn failed, someone else would have come with a ladder and untied the droid. To reliably produce the same effect in a crisis, or move objects around tactically in combat would require actual training, something Finn was looking forward to.

For now he handed Eightball to Poe.

“Here. He’ll probably like waking up in someone’s arms.”

“Eightball – call to arms!”

At the verbal command the droid returned from standby. He fully turned around himself once, saw the Generals Dameron and Hux as well as Rose and Finn, who weren’t strangers by a long shot, either, and synchronized his position with Poe’s shoulder. Everything was well again.

“So, P…” Hux’ lips were closing in preparation to form the P-sound, but before they could produce it, he corrected himself: “So, Dameron. I expected you to be distressed to Exegol and back, but here you are, playing with my droid.”

Poe grinned.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Armitage.”

It was nice, indeed, Poe thought to himself. Not exactly the other’s presence in itself, but standing here while feeling all calm, with no more primal urges for prisoner mistreatment.

“Shall we take this double date to the cantina?” Poe asked. “The last I had was a sticky energy drink before going out to blast rebel-scum out of space.”

Rose opened her mouth, but before she could voice whatever concerns she might harbor, Hux nodded.

“Yes, let’s. I haven’t even started telling the imbeciles in there what I think of them!”

There they walked, the First Order deserter Finn, the (technically) defector from the New Republic to the Resistance Poe, the leaker-temporarily-traitor-de-facto-leader of the First Order Armitage and Rose, who had lost her home world and family to the First Order. To their feet BB-8 was prowling and around their heads IT-08 was skimming.

As executions went, Hux thought, this one was way more pleasant than his first one. That was the whole point: He was still thinking and as long as he kept at that, there was still a chance to escape his face for a second time.

[kanerallels]

for the Ao3 writer ask game: 7, 8, and 14!

7. Share a line/paragraph/snippet that you were especially proud of from a work this year! Honestly I love how many times I've gotten this one. Ummmm let's see OH HOW ABOUT THIS ONE from my Epic (2013) au that I love very much:

As he and Hera moved to intercept the troopers, he heard the purge trooper scoff. “I can take down Jedi scum any day,” he said. “But you should at least make it hard. Where’s your weapon, Twi’lek?”

Kanan felt a grin cross his face, and he couldn’t resist stopping to watch, just for a moment.

Hera smiled at the purge trooper. “I don’t need one,” she said, and the kyber crystal around her neck began to glow.

8. What's your favorite work you posted this past year? DANG that's hard. Let's go with "Truth And Consequences", my first fic in the Valiant tag!

14. Give us a sneak peek of one of your upcoming works! Hehehehe will do!! From the Sabezra Aladdin Au:

That was the first day Sabine ever met Ezra Bridger. Outsider, Rebel thief, and her best friend in the galaxy. Though she hadn’t thought it on the first day they met, she couldn’t imagine her life without him now.

Sometimes, she wondered if it was just as a friend. But now, things were complicated. Now, she understood her duties to her clan better. She had to protect her people, no matter how much she wanted to rebel and—

“Sabine! Are you even paying attention?”

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

Have some John.

Chernobyl

...The year is 2550. Chernobyl, a desolate wasteland, echoes with the remnants of its haunted past, is now host to a new form of terror. The Insurrectionist FOB, a hive of scum and treachery, thrives amidst the ruins. Here, the Master Chief embarks on a perilous mission to rescue the kidnapped children of Lord Hood.

Dressed for death, the Chief's armor—a dark, winter-camo patterned MIRAGE suit fused with his MK-6 MJOLNIR helmet, his helmet's visor as crimson as blood—melds with the night. Each step is calculated, his form a specter sliding through the shadows, the compact MA2B assault rifle in his grip ready to unleash hell.

The assault begins with an unsuspecting Insurrectionist guard patrolling the perimeter, his steps casual, his demeanor unguarded. Without a sound, Chief closes the gap, his movements a blur. A swift, precise strike to the neck, and the guard crumples, a silent testament to the Chief’s deadly prowess. This is no mere rescue; it's a declaration of war.

Penetrating deeper into the FOB, Chief encounters increasing resistance. The air crackles with gunfire, the night shattered by the cacophony of battle. Insurrectionists, emboldened by their perceived strength, unleash a torrent of lead, but to Master Chief, they might as well be throwing stones.

A squad of rebels forms a barricade, their weapons trained on the narrow corridor ahead. The Chief, undeterred, rolls a grenade with pinpoint accuracy. The explosion is a concussive force of fury, metal and bodies tossed aside like ragdolls in the aftermath. Through the smoke and debris, he advances, his rifle barking death as he dispatches any survivors with merciless efficiency.

The corridors of the FOB become a maze of death, each turn a potential ambush, every room a battlefield. Master Chief navigates this labyrinth, his sensors and instincts guiding him, each engagement more brutal than the last. Insurrectionists, armed with makeshift shields and salvaged weapons, fight desperately but fall just as quickly.

Within the heart of the FOB, the air crackles with anticipation. The corridor narrows, funnelling into a makeshift arena where two titans are destined to collide. There, standing amidst the wreckage of his fallen comrades, is Colonel Robert Watts, a traitor to the UNSC turned Insurrectionist leader.

His physique, augmented in a crude mimicry of Spartan enhancements, gives him the stature of a behemoth, a grotesque parody of the super-soldier program. In his grip, a Brute's gravity hammer, its head crackling with volatile energy, ready to unleash devastation.

Opposite him stands Master Chief, a the real deal. His stance is calm, calculated, the very embodiment of lethal precision. Between them, the air hums with the imminent clash of ideologies made manifest in physical form.

Watts charges first, the gravity hammer swinging in a wide arc, a move designed to crush bone and pulverize armor. John sidesteps, the ground where he stood moments ago now a crater of shattered concrete. The Chief's counter is swift—a burst of gunfire aimed to stagger. But Watts, his body a testament to unsanctioned augmentations, barely flinches, pressing forward with the relentless determination of a man with nothing left to lose.

The hammer swings again, this time in a vertical descent, aimed to split the Chief in two. Chief rolls forward, closing the distance, his MA2B firing in controlled bursts. Watts staggers, the shots finding chinks in his makeshift armor, but the beast of a man roars, undeterred, swinging his hammer in a blind fury.

Chief, now within arm's reach, holsters his rifle, knowing this battle will be decided in close quarters. Watts attempts a backhand swing with the hammer, but Chief catches his arm, the muscles in his suit straining against the augmented might of the Insurrectionist. They struggle, a deadlock of force and will, until John delivers a knee to Watts' midsection, forcing him to buckle.

Freed from the hold, Chief steps back, watching as Watts recovers, the older man's breathing heavy, his movements tinged with desperation. The Chief knows this fight won't be won by brute strength alone.

Watts, fueled by rage, charges again, the hammer raised high. This time, Chief meets him head-on, his own augmented strength channelled into a single, devastating punch. The impact sends shockwaves through the air, Watts' arm recoiling from the force. The hammer falls, its ominous hum silenced as it skids across the floor.

The Colonel, now disarmed, faces the Spartan with nothing but his fists and his fury. The two engage in a brutal ballet of punches and parries, each blow a testament to their respective training and enhancements. Chief's movements are precise, economical, while Watts fights with the wild ferocity of a cornered animal.

The fight moves through the corridor, a dance of destruction that leaves the walls scored and the floor littered with debris. Watts lands a heavy blow to Master Chief's helmet, a crack appearing in the visor. The Chief staggers but recovers, the damage igniting a spark of urgency within him.

With a fluid motion born of countless battles, Chief feints a punch, drawing Watts into an overextended swing. As the Colonel's guard drops, Chief delivers a series of rapid strikes, targeting the augmentations' weak points, the culmination of combat experience and strategic brilliance.

Watts, overwhelmed, begins to falter, his movements slowing, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. John seizes the opportunity, landing a crushing blow through Watts' chest, the impact reverberating through the corridor as John's fist rips through the other-side of Watts' torso.

Watts' body slumps to the ground, dead.

The Master Chief stands over him, the victor.

With the FOB's heart now silent, Master Chief proceeds to the children's holding area. The door, reinforced and locked, poses no obstacle as John peels the door off its hinges. Inside, the children cower, their eyes wide with fear and hope. They are safe now, their rescuer a towering figure standing amidst the smoke, his silhouette promising safety.

The return journey through the FOB is a silent procession, the night reclaiming the ruins of Chernobyl as the mission, though successful, leaves a heavy toll on the Chief; each life taken, necessary in the pursuit of a greater good, weighs upon him...

Dangggg this was awesome. It's fun to see a more action-oriented chapter hit. I enjoyed seeing the idea of the crazy zombie Watts, that's a fascinating thought!

[empresskadia]

Have some John.

Chernobyl

...The year is 2550. Chernobyl, a desolate wasteland, echoes with the remnants of its haunted past, is now host to a new form of terror. The Insurrectionist FOB, a hive of scum and treachery, thrives amidst the ruins. Here, the Master Chief embarks on a perilous mission to rescue the kidnapped children of Lord Hood.

Dressed for death, the Chief's armor—a dark, winter-camo patterned MIRAGE suit fused with his MK-6 MJOLNIR helmet, his helmet's visor as crimson as blood—melds with the night. Each step is calculated, his form a specter sliding through the shadows, the compact MA2B assault rifle in his grip ready to unleash hell.

The assault begins with an unsuspecting Insurrectionist guard patrolling the perimeter, his steps casual, his demeanor unguarded. Without a sound, Chief closes the gap, his movements a blur. A swift, precise strike to the neck, and the guard crumples, a silent testament to the Chief’s deadly prowess. This is no mere rescue; it's a declaration of war.

Penetrating deeper into the FOB, Chief encounters increasing resistance. The air crackles with gunfire, the night shattered by the cacophony of battle. Insurrectionists, emboldened by their perceived strength, unleash a torrent of lead, but to Master Chief, they might as well be throwing stones.

A squad of rebels forms a barricade, their weapons trained on the narrow corridor ahead. The Chief, undeterred, rolls a grenade with pinpoint accuracy. The explosion is a concussive force of fury, metal and bodies tossed aside like ragdolls in the aftermath. Through the smoke and debris, he advances, his rifle barking death as he dispatches any survivors with merciless efficiency.

The corridors of the FOB become a maze of death, each turn a potential ambush, every room a battlefield. Master Chief navigates this labyrinth, his sensors and instincts guiding him, each engagement more brutal than the last. Insurrectionists, armed with makeshift shields and salvaged weapons, fight desperately but fall just as quickly.

Within the heart of the FOB, the air crackles with anticipation. The corridor narrows, funnelling into a makeshift arena where two titans are destined to collide. There, standing amidst the wreckage of his fallen comrades, is Colonel Robert Watts, a traitor to the UNSC turned Insurrectionist leader.

His physique, augmented in a crude mimicry of Spartan enhancements, gives him the stature of a behemoth, a grotesque parody of the super-soldier program. In his grip, a Brute's gravity hammer, its head crackling with volatile energy, ready to unleash devastation.

Opposite him stands Master Chief, a the real deal. His stance is calm, calculated, the very embodiment of lethal precision. Between them, the air hums with the imminent clash of ideologies made manifest in physical form.

Watts charges first, the gravity hammer swinging in a wide arc, a move designed to crush bone and pulverize armor. John sidesteps, the ground where he stood moments ago now a crater of shattered concrete. The Chief's counter is swift—a burst of gunfire aimed to stagger. But Watts, his body a testament to unsanctioned augmentations, barely flinches, pressing forward with the relentless determination of a man with nothing left to lose.

The hammer swings again, this time in a vertical descent, aimed to split the Chief in two. Chief rolls forward, closing the distance, his MA2B firing in controlled bursts. Watts staggers, the shots finding chinks in his makeshift armor, but the beast of a man roars, undeterred, swinging his hammer in a blind fury.

Chief, now within arm's reach, holsters his rifle, knowing this battle will be decided in close quarters. Watts attempts a backhand swing with the hammer, but Chief catches his arm, the muscles in his suit straining against the augmented might of the Insurrectionist. They struggle, a deadlock of force and will, until John delivers a knee to Watts' midsection, forcing him to buckle.

Freed from the hold, Chief steps back, watching as Watts recovers, the older man's breathing heavy, his movements tinged with desperation. The Chief knows this fight won't be won by brute strength alone.

Watts, fueled by rage, charges again, the hammer raised high. This time, Chief meets him head-on, his own augmented strength channelled into a single, devastating punch. The impact sends shockwaves through the air, Watts' arm recoiling from the force. The hammer falls, its ominous hum silenced as it skids across the floor.

The Colonel, now disarmed, faces the Spartan with nothing but his fists and his fury. The two engage in a brutal ballet of punches and parries, each blow a testament to their respective training and enhancements. Chief's movements are precise, economical, while Watts fights with the wild ferocity of a cornered animal.

The fight moves through the corridor, a dance of destruction that leaves the walls scored and the floor littered with debris. Watts lands a heavy blow to Master Chief's helmet, a crack appearing in the visor. The Chief staggers but recovers, the damage igniting a spark of urgency within him.

With a fluid motion born of countless battles, Chief feints a punch, drawing Watts into an overextended swing. As the Colonel's guard drops, Chief delivers a series of rapid strikes, targeting the augmentations' weak points, the culmination of combat experience and strategic brilliance.

Watts, overwhelmed, begins to falter, his movements slowing, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. John seizes the opportunity, landing a crushing blow through Watts' chest, the impact reverberating through the corridor as John's fist rips through the other-side of Watts' torso.

Watts' body slumps to the ground, dead. The Master Chief stands over him, the victor.

With the FOB's heart now silent, Master Chief proceeds to the children's holding area. The door, reinforced and locked, poses no obstacle as John peels the door off its hinges. Inside, the children cower, their eyes wide with fear and hope. They are safe now, their rescuer a towering figure standing amidst the smoke, his silhouette promising safety.

The return journey through the FOB is a silent procession, the night reclaiming the ruins of Chernobyl as the mission, though successful, leaves a heavy toll on the Chief; each life taken, necessary in the pursuit of a greater good, weighs upon him...

oooooo, I really like the fight scene!!!

CHILDREN HOLDING AREA?! The poor little guys, omg.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Chernobyl

...The year is 2550. Chernobyl, a desolate wasteland, echoes with the remnants of its haunted past, is now host to a new form of terror. The Insurrectionist FOB, a hive of scum and treachery, thrives amidst the ruins. Here, the Master Chief embarks on a perilous mission to rescue the kidnapped children of Lord Hood.

Dressed for death, the Chief's armor—a dark, winter-camo patterned MIRAGE suit fused with his MK-6 MJOLNIR helmet, his helmet's visor as crimson as blood—melds with the night. Each step is calculated, his form a specter sliding through the shadows, the compact MA2B assault rifle in his grip ready to unleash hell.

The assault begins with an unsuspecting Insurrectionist guard patrolling the perimeter, his steps casual, his demeanor unguarded. Without a sound, Chief closes the gap, his movements a blur. A swift, precise strike to the neck, and the guard crumples, a silent testament to the Chief’s deadly prowess. This is no mere rescue; it's a declaration of war.

Penetrating deeper into the FOB, Chief encounters increasing resistance. The air crackles with gunfire, the night shattered by the cacophony of battle. Insurrectionists, emboldened by their perceived strength, unleash a torrent of lead, but to Master Chief, they might as well be throwing stones.

A squad of rebels forms a barricade, their weapons trained on the narrow corridor ahead. The Chief, undeterred, rolls a grenade with pinpoint accuracy. The explosion is a concussive force of fury, metal and bodies tossed aside like ragdolls in the aftermath. Through the smoke and debris, he advances, his rifle barking death as he dispatches any survivors with merciless efficiency.

The corridors of the FOB become a maze of death, each turn a potential ambush, every room a battlefield. Master Chief navigates this labyrinth, his sensors and instincts guiding him, each engagement more brutal than the last. Insurrectionists, armed with makeshift shields and salvaged weapons, fight desperately but fall just as quickly.

Within the heart of the FOB, the air crackles with anticipation. The corridor narrows, funnelling into a makeshift arena where two titans are destined to collide. There, standing amidst the wreckage of his fallen comrades, is Colonel Robert Watts, a traitor to the UNSC turned Insurrectionist leader.

His physique, augmented in a crude mimicry of Spartan enhancements, gives him the stature of a behemoth, a grotesque parody of the super-soldier program. In his grip, a Brute's gravity hammer, its head crackling with volatile energy, ready to unleash devastation.

Opposite him stands Master Chief, a the real deal. His stance is calm, calculated, the very embodiment of lethal precision. Between them, the air hums with the imminent clash of ideologies made manifest in physical form.

Watts charges first, the gravity hammer swinging in a wide arc, a move designed to crush bone and pulverize armor. John sidesteps, the ground where he stood moments ago now a crater of shattered concrete. The Chief's counter is swift—a burst of gunfire aimed to stagger. But Watts, his body a testament to unsanctioned augmentations, barely flinches, pressing forward with the relentless determination of a man with nothing left to lose.

The hammer swings again, this time in a vertical descent, aimed to split the Chief in two. Chief rolls forward, closing the distance, his MA2B firing in controlled bursts. Watts staggers, the shots finding chinks in his makeshift armor, but the beast of a man roars, undeterred, swinging his hammer in a blind fury.

Chief, now within arm's reach, holsters his rifle, knowing this battle will be decided in close quarters. Watts attempts a backhand swing with the hammer, but Chief catches his arm, the muscles in his suit straining against the augmented might of the Insurrectionist. They struggle, a deadlock of force and will, until John delivers a knee to Watts' midsection, forcing him to buckle.

Freed from the hold, Chief steps back, watching as Watts recovers, the older man's breathing heavy, his movements tinged with desperation. The Chief knows this fight won't be won by brute strength alone.

Watts, fueled by rage, charges again, the hammer raised high. This time, Chief meets him head-on, his own augmented strength channelled into a single, devastating punch. The impact sends shockwaves through the air, Watts' arm recoiling from the force. The hammer falls, its ominous hum silenced as it skids across the floor.

The Colonel, now disarmed, faces the Spartan with nothing but his fists and his fury. The two engage in a brutal ballet of punches and parries, each blow a testament to their respective training and enhancements. Chief's movements are precise, economical, while Watts fights with the wild ferocity of a cornered animal.

The fight moves through the corridor, a dance of destruction that leaves the walls scored and the floor littered with debris. Watts lands a heavy blow to Master Chief's helmet, a crack appearing in the visor. The Chief staggers but recovers, the damage igniting a spark of urgency within him.

With a fluid motion born of countless battles, Chief feints a punch, drawing Watts into an overextended swing. As the Colonel's guard drops, Chief delivers a series of rapid strikes, targeting the augmentations' weak points, the culmination of combat experience and strategic brilliance.

Watts, overwhelmed, begins to falter, his movements slowing, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. John seizes the opportunity, landing a crushing blow through Watts' chest, the impact reverberating through the corridor as John's fist rips through the other-side of Watts' torso.

Watts' body slumps to the ground, dead. The Master Chief stands over him, the victor.

With the FOB's heart now silent, Master Chief proceeds to the children's holding area. The door, reinforced and locked, poses no obstacle as John peels the door off its hinges. Inside, the children cower, their eyes wide with fear and hope. They are safe now, their rescuer a towering figure standing amidst the smoke, his silhouette promising safety.

The return journey through the FOB is a silent procession, the night reclaiming the ruins of Chernobyl as the mission, though successful, leaves a heavy toll on the Chief; each life taken, necessary in the pursuit of a greater good, weighs upon him...

[junkydrawr]

OK, this isn't much of a scene but I haven't posted in a while. I'm working on a scene with Bunnie so that'll be next.

Anyway, in this scene, this is soon after Snively has let Naugus out of the Void. Naugus used his magic to temporarily bring his generator back online. It tired Naugus out so Snively had him brought to the infirmary.

(image is a SatAM screenshot with a filter, I didn't draw it)

Snively stepped into the infirmary. Naugus lay in the nearest bed.

Immediately, Snively was surrounded by the medibots, their cold hands reaching out to access him.

"Ugh. Get away. I don't need help."

The Head Medi, a robot taller and slimmer than the others, insisted on running a handheld scanner over him. He sighed and allowed it, staring over at the wizard.

Naugus had his eyes shut, an IV running into his hand atop the blanket.

"You do not require assistance at this point, Sir."

Snively pushed past and stood near the wizard's bed. "He still looks rather peaked."

"The patient refused nanites, Sir."

"Huh." Snively wondered why. The microscopic medical robots quickly repaired injuries and illness, with minimal side effects.

He examined the wizened wizard. What an ugly creature, he thought. He'd never seen a Mobian like this before. The mage seemed cobbled together from leftover parts. A horn, a claw, a human-like face but ears like a goblin. I wonder if he's even from Mobius originally. An alien, like me.

Julian's words needled him. Snively, you pathetic fool! You should've killed him! Uncle was right, of course.

He stroked the laser pistol at his side. The Securitybot behind him could make an even bigger hole with that laser cannon. With his eyes on Naugus, he clutched the pistol's grip, starting to withdraw it.

I can't take a chance. You don't seem the type who will be happy playing second fiddle.

Maybe Naugus wouldn't mind, though? As long as he was given a place to stay and do his magical research? He could be a fine weapon against the furballs.

I don't know what his goals are. And he's powerful. A threat. I can handle the flea-bitten scum myself.

He nearly had the gun out, his jaw set, when the wizard's eyes fluttered. He let go of the grip as Naugus peered up at him.

"Small One. You've come to check on me?"

"Yes." A fake smile, but not too overdone. "How are you feeling? The nanites work wonders, don't they?"

"Do you mean those invisible machines, injected into one's bloodstream?" The wizard sniffed haughtily. "I do not trust such things."

Snively didn't bother to surpress an eyeroll. "Or maybe you thought I was shooting you up with something else."

"Are you planning to shoot me up, Small One?" The orange eyes dropped to Snively's gun side.

"Of course not."

"Mmmm. The eternal honesty of the Kintobors." The wizard smiled slightly, showing just a peek of those jagged teeth. "You do not trust easily. But we will benefit from each other. I wish to do my research. You wish to rule Mobotropolis free of rebel resistance. I can help you, and you can help me."

Snively was quiet a moment before intoning dryly: "It's Robotropolis."

"Oh, you have not changed it to Snivotropolis?"

"Gods no. That sounds ridiculous."

The shark teeth showed more now. "You have more sense than Robotnik. I implore you, Small One, give me a chance. You could kill me anytime, I know. But you will be tossing aside what will be a great partnership."

Snively kept his face perfectly blank. His patented poker face. He'd heard the bullshit before. Trust me. Greatness together.

"What exactly is your research going to entail?"

"I am intrigued in testing my magic on the body and mind. Testing my own limitations. If I could borrow some of your myriads of prisoners, of course."

Snively didn't answer that. Naugus must not know their prisoners were all metal-plated.

"And there is still much to learn of the Void. I fear my crystal affliction is not completely resolved."

"You have Robotnik for that first use." Snively smiled crookedly. "If you don't damage him too badly, he'll last you a while."

"Oh, yes. I intend to use him. And he can work for you as well. He can take the daily menial burdens off you."

Snively didn't like this. The acquiescence inside him. Don't be stupid, Uncle hissed in his mind. Eliminate him!

Perhaps he spoke to defy Robotnik. Perhaps there was a chance this teamup could work. Perhaps he was just lonely.

"I haven't ended our partnership. You may stay here, and I will assist your research within reason. And you will do the same for me?"

"Of course, Small One."

Snively sighed. "It's Snively, actually."

-

A/N: that's it for now! I don't really want to post all the Robotropolis Sniv stuff at once because it has some 'plot points.' Lol. Even though a kindergartener could write a better plot than me.