#sentry droid

[pedroam-bang]

The Mandalorian (2019)

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis | Jedi Survivor

[robcoopz]

Jedi: Survivor: Imperial Droids

[comicwaren]

This week on Marvel Comics (6th December 2023):

Alpha Flight Vol. 5 #005 (Finale)

Amazing Spider-Man Vol. 6 #039

Avengers Vol. 9 #008

Daredevil Vol. 8 #004

Fantastic Four Vol. 7 #014

Invincible Iron Man Vol. 5 #013

Marvel's Voices: Avengers #001 (One-shot)

Sentry Vol. 4 #001 (NEW!)

Star Wars Vol. 3 #041

Star Wars: Dark Droids - D-Squad #004 (Finale)

Thunderbolts Vol. 5 #001 (NEW!)

Venom Vol. 5 #028

X-Men Vol. 6 #029

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Climbing out of a hole on Koboh I was given the most polite "Hello!" from a B1 before it was going to shoot me.

B1s are endearingly dumb.

B2s? Spooky.

But not as spooky as a BX Commando.

[confusedblakex]

A burning hatred (Pt1)

Pairing: Takashi 'Shiro' Shirogane X (Male) Reader

Summary: Where most Galra find entertainment, you find nothing but disgust. Shiro arrived at Zarkon's arena one fateful day, perhaps he was just what you were looking for.

Wordcount: 1722

Warnings: TW - Very descriptive violence, Imprisonment, Death, Blood, Asphyxiation, Sacrifice

Requested by: I refuse to let this fandom die

Notes: Star Trek and Voltron feel quite similar now that I think about it; No romance yet; Galra commander reader

Last edited: 16th November 2024

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

There had been a new intake of prisoners.

As was expected of you, you took your seat with the rest of the Galra commanders. The sea of cheering people was overwhelming. Myzax was in the ring again.

The arena was not entertaining to you. There was no fight here, this was a public execution. The gladiators were Salixan wolves playing with their prey before going in for the kill. Disgusting.

Prisoners deemed fit enough to fight were bought here. Luckily, most of the new intake had arrived injured and were declared unfit to fight. You thanked the universe for even the smallest of mercies.

Behind the gates, there were a dozen different creatures of varying species. An Earthling stood at the front of the line, quivering and dressed in an oversized prisoner’s tunic. He was short, scrawny and - by the fear in his eyes - didn’t have the strength to fight.

Perhaps, you thought, by some miracle, this boy would somehow manage to scrape by with only a severe injury. Perhaps you could leave, tell your fellow commanders that the prisoners are too weak for a proper fight and it bores you. That way, you might not have to watch.

A sentry walked down to the gate, rifle pointed squarely at the Earthling boy. In a flash, another Earthling appeared, pulling the rifle from the sentry’s grip and pushing the droid into the wall. It sparked and slumped over, showing the Earthling’s strength.

You watched intently as the audience roared.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular enough to put up a fight. His back was turned to you, but his body language showed no hint of fear. With the bayonet he held, the man turned to his fellow prisoners and took a slash at the weak one.

Over the cheering and yelling of the area’s audience, you couldn’t hear a word of what he yelled, but another sentry arrived and forcefully took the Earthling by his arm. You averted your eyes momentarily as the gates opened.

There was clearly some relation between the Earthlings, and in a bid to save the boy who couldn’t fight, this man had put himself first in line to face Myzax. It was smart, you had to admit, but watching someone sacrifice themself somehow made it worse than just watching them die.

Myzax roared and the spectators cheered as the Earthling was handed a Galran sword. And the fight began at once.

The large gladiator let the energy orb on the end of his bat charge for a moment before hurling the orb at the Earthling. Barely dodging, the man tripped himself over to get away. Unrelenting, Myzax threw the orb again. In a desperate attempt to dodge, the man rolled over and jumped at the Galra, landing a shallow cut on his arm before retreating from the orb once more.

And the game of Salixan wolf and rodent began.

For a while, the Earthling only dodged, ducking behind the pillars of the arena, seemingly formulating something. The energy orb was thrown again, this time the man used his sword's flat edge as a shield. He was knocked back significantly, but didn’t fall. Once again, Myzax threw the orb. The man knelt down, raising his sword to cover himself as the impact pushed him into the dusty floor.

Myzax raised his bat, the orb flying back to recharge. As the mechanical wiring hummed deep under the loud yelling of the Galran audience, the Earthling lunged to take a swing at the gladiator. A large gash cut across the gladiator’s shoulder, slicing through his neck.

The Galra wobbled on his feet, purple-red blood spilling down his chest. Weakly, Myzax lifted the orb on its plinth and hurled it at where the Earthling had drawn back to.

Panicked upon seeing the energy orb once more, the man rolled away from the incoming projectile. One hit on the ground. The gladiator swung his arm around as much as his injury would allow, the orb flying back over to the Earthling. Narrowly dodged again, he was taking advantage of Myzax’s weakened state. Twice now, and the orb drew back for the final attack. The man raised his sword again.

A third hit. The metal sword shattered, and the orb flew back to Myzax. Before the hum of the recharge could even start, the Earthling jumped and plunged the blunted half of the snapped sword through the gladiator’s chest. With a loud roar, Myzax fell to his knees. The undefeated, killed by an Earthling - of all species.

The spectators cheered more, louder still, and the man standing in the centre of the arena let out a scream of victory. He played to the crowd well.

Without thinking for a moment more, you slammed your fist into the arm of your chair and rose.

“Who’s is he?” your voice sounded over everyone, quiet falling throughout the room.

You stood in silence for a moment, looking across the Galra commanders.

“The Earthling would be mine,” a commander a few rows down announced as he stood.

“I want him. Name your price,” you stated, voice loud and confident. If you could get a hold of this Earthling, you might just be able to do a little good in this universe.

“4000 GAC,” the commander you didn’t know requested.

“Done.” you said, definitively.

“I offer 5000!” A voice called a few chairs to your right. Commander Sendak.

“This is no auction,” you chastised.

“I will not stand down!” he called, turning towards to owner of the Earthling.

“Sendak! You and I both know that I can outbid you.” you reminded him, keeping yout voice level and confident. As a decorated warrior from a long line of commanders, you had the power of currency on your side.

Sandak huffed and stopped for a moment before turning to look up at the Emperor.

“Permission to exercise my Galra rights, my Emperor?” he asked, bowing slightly.

You lowered your head in respect and looked back up to see Zarkon nod.

“I challenge you to a Sar duel for ownership of the Earthling fighter!” Sendak called, as soon as he received Zarkon’s permission.

“Come now, we are in an arena, and the people want a fight,” he taunted as he saw the torn expression on your face.

“I accept.” you said, determined. You may not want to fight, but you couldn’t risk leaving the Earthling with anyone else.

“What are your terms?” the unknown commander asked.

“If I win, I get the Earthling and Commander Sendak shall be sent off to the Javeeno Star System with no crew, for reconnaissance and surveillance.” you called, the crowd surrounding you applauded your decision, “And you?”

“If I win, I take the prisoner. And you, Commander (l/n), will be stripped of rank and sent to Noxxal to die a dishonourable death!” Sendak shouted.

The room went quiet with murmurs. Noxxal… you would die from starvation, if the cold didn’t get to you first. A dishonourable death, to not be killed in battle.

“And the loser pays 5000 GAC for the victor?” you clarified, looking to the Earthling’s finder.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“The terms are set. Let us begin,” you announced. Both Sendak and you descended to the arena floor.

“Hold the Earthling!” Sendak commanded, and two sentries stood at either side of the man, leading him back out through the arena gate.

Sendak took gauntlets, his weapon of choice. They were great meatal things that pulsed with Galran energy. This was the only advantage he had over you.

You chose to take a battleaxe. Versatile and deadly, you knew them well.

“Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa…”

You immediately took first swing at Sendak, purposefully overshooting and missing him. The swing went past his ear, and took him off guard, leading him to turn in an attempt to throw a punch at your gut. In his moment of pivot, you took the haft of your axe directly to his face.

He stumbled backwards, nose dripping with blood. You swung again, leaving him no time for recovery, a jab at his chest that he narrowly avoided. And again, quickly, but he had recovered in time and grabbed your axe’s blade with his gauntlets.

He threw your axe to his side, and you barely kept your grip. This was how the fight continued. You would hit a blow, he would recover, and Sendak would send you backwards.

A slash to his knee, a hit to your stomach, a jab that very nearly took his ear off, a punch square to your nose - revenge for that first hit you got on him. Finally, after 10 minutes of equally balanced fighting, you decided to play dirty. This Earthling was worth the life of the idiot known as Sendak.

You backed up slowly, reaching a pillar, then swung and lodged your axe at an angle in the stone. You threw yourself at Sendak, going for the gauntlets. You sent a jab at his neck, causing him to lose his breath enough for you to kick with all your might at his left gauntlet. With a crackle of power, the purple glow dissipated and the glove stopped responding.

Sendak growled at you and shook the gauntlet off his hand, immediately lunging at you. You dodged, but not enough, as he grabbed you by the arm, spun you, and hooked his arm around your neck. Gauntlet to your throat, he held you there, spluttering for a breath that wouldn’t come. Your body burned with adrenaline and you stomped at his feet under you, kicking back at his shins.

Sendak walked backwards slowly to avoid your kicks until his back was pressed up against a pillar. Perfect.

With the last of your oxygenated strength, you reached out for the axe that was lodged in the stone. In one quick pull, the axe swung at Sendak’s arm and your face. At the last moment, you shifted your head to the side, lodging the axe entirely through Sendak’s arm.

His grip fell limp, and you took a great inhale of air.

The crowd roared in cheer, and Sendak made a barely audible noise - like a whimper - that only you could hear.

“Consider that payment for challenging me.” You spoke lowly in his ear, before turning to leave.

Where was that Earthling?

[heirofazure]

Thrawn’s Musings: 2

A Mother’s Sacrifice

Summary: Sad!Thrawn shower thoughts. I wanted to explore what a Chiss mother’s lullaby would be like considering their culture of rematching to new families. Are they conditioned from childhood that one's birth family may not always be there? Is it taboo to speak of one's past if rematched to a new family? Do Chiss keep in contact with their former/birth relatives if they are rematched? Does a birth family only refer to one by their new name, or a variation of one's core name since it's the one that follows the Chiss for the entirety of their lives? I’d love to see more people exploring this.

Precision, precision, precision was Thrawn’s mantra as beads of sweat streamed down his face and onto the floor of his private sparring gym. Of all the private amenities provided to him as Grand Admiral, this had to be the one he was most thankful for. The vibroblade gripped in his right fist thrummed with energy as he wielded it with brutal efficiency, the blade flashing as it made contact with the Imperial sentry droid’s black plating. He swiftly lifted his left forearm to block a rapid punch from the droid, the vibroblade’s hilt dragging along his chest and plunging forward into the droid’s alloy abdomen. Energy crackled along the plating and caused the droid to seize, granting Thrawn mere seconds to catch his breath. Fatigue was beginning to take over, and when he glanced at the crono on the wall, he realized he had been sparring for over 30 minutes. If he continued, his form would become sloppy.

Absolutely unacceptable. 

“Override...Code Ruhk,” Thawn said between ragged breaths. The droid immediately shifted into attention stance and powered down, Thrawn’s reflection becoming clearer in the sudden darkness now occupying its dimming red eyes. He swallowed as he took in his appearance, noting his own red eyes hooded with exhaustion, and his blue skin a shade paler than usual. 

His reflection was the only Chiss he’d laid eyes upon in the years since he’d entered Imperial service. It had never bothered him before, but for the past few months, it had begun to weigh on his mind. A reunion with Admiral Ar’alani was anticipated in the future due to unusual events occurring within the borders of the Empire, but it had yet to come to fruition. Had he even spoken a word of Cheunh in the past standard year? A hollow feeling began to expand in his chest. His exercising garments, now saturated with perspiration, felt too tight as the sensation spread throughout his entire body.

Melancholy. A feeling he was never fond of but currently permeating every fiber of his being. He shook his head and exited the sparring gym. Light followed his movement as motion sensors tracked his path from the gym to his shower. The thought of warm water and soap washing away the sticky sensation he felt all over brought a smile to his face. Surely that would make him feel better. He strode into his refresher, settling on the fact that of all his private amenities, his spacious shower ranked second. He began humming as he removed his garments and entered the stall, stark white lights illuminating the space. Soaps from distant planets housed in a variety of containers lined the wall, each a unique piece of art that made his cleansing space akin to a private gallery of all his intergalactic travel.

He was still humming a tune as he pressed the buttons to activate the shower, releasing a sigh of satisfaction when steaming water hit his skin from various jets clustered along the ceiling and walls. However, as the realization of what he was humming began to process through his mind, the smile that was plastered across his face slowly shrank. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as water ran through his hair and cascaded down his back. 

Rentor. His home planet. The melody? His mother’s. He could still hear her voice echoing within his mind as he stood under the jets, his humming increasing in volume as he remembered the words of the old Chiss lullaby.

Deep in the Chaos,

Far, far away. 

Cold unforgiving,

Our Ascendancy brave.

Resilient hearts,

Traditions of old. 

Fortune be with you,

Warrior soul.

Thrawn felt the weight of his sadness from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. He wondered if it was possible that his own reflection made him recall the characteristics he inherited from a woman he never spoke to again after rematching to the Mitth. The woman who gave him life.

Your name may change,

And your life may lead,

Down paths I can’t follow,

To places I won’t be.

He had never reached out to her. Although it was frowned upon, birth family contact had never been explicitly prohibited by the Mitth. As he lathered dzisnir herb soap on a cleansing cloth and began scrubbing his torso, he felt the reason for his choice rise from the depths of his mind. There was no question about the pain this topic held in his birth home. 

Vurika’s disappearance. Being an inquisitive child, a young Vurawn constantly asked about his older sister after she vanished. There were never clear answers from his parents, although he would catch a pained look sweep across his mother’s face if Vurika was so much as mentioned. After countless attempts, he at some point stopped asking. However, he always ruminated on it, hoping to solve the reason for her disappearance as easily as a tactical dilemma.

Oh, how naïve he was.

As the years passed, Thrawn did his best to excel in his studies and remain obedient to his parent’s wishes, if only to not be the next child that disappeared. In hindsight, he realized his parents could have never revealed such sensitive information as to Vurika’s whereabouts, even if they had wanted to. 

Even if the silence hurt them as much as it hurt him. Even if he had vanished as well.

But you, my dear child,

Remember in your heart,

That if I live in your memory,

We’ll never be apart.

As he rinsed off the last of the soap, Thrawn felt his throat tighten with raw emotion. His mother had not lost just one child, but both her children to the needs of the Ascendency. More so, his passion for art stemmed from her influence. The fondest of his childhood memories were those seated next to her easel, watching her blend colors and bring to life the faces of children she would never see again. Had she had more children? Had she sung them that lullaby? Had she seen his successes and failures on her Questis news feeds, reading about a son who no longer acknowledged her existence? Was she still alive? 

There was no way for him to answer these questions now. Unlike everything else in his life, he had never planned for this. 

He had never planned to think of his birth mother, let alone miss her.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to exit the stall as he shut off the water. The light around him seemed too bright, and his breathing was shallow and quick. He closed his eyes for a moment to settle his senses, and was stunned to see his face- her face, peering at him from the earlier reflection in his training droid’s eyes. 

In that moment, a sudden tremor emanating from the core of his being overcame all his logical faculties like a massive explosion; emotions that had been suppressed for survival finally erupting on the surface. He roughly grasped the handlebar along the wall with one hand, and a pitiful whimper escaped his lips. Then another, followed by another. He could feel the tears roll down his face as shudders racked his entire body. He had given everything to the Ascendency, and so had she. 

So had she.

Although I don’t know,

What harms you will face,

My love for you transcends,

Both time and space.

So go far, my child,

And if you seek me,

Within your reflection,

There I will be.

And as Thrawn finally cried for the mother he once had, he allowed himself to wonder if all their sacrifices would be worth it in the end.

Thank you to @stars-n-spice for the Thrawn divider!

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 20: Robotics

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Mikey moans as he wakes with a headache. His nose is stuffed up and his limbs are plagued by a dull ache. Donnie is by his side in an instant, smiling at him as he presses a glass of water to his lips, forcing him to hydrate.

"Good morning, Angelo," he says.

Angelo? His name is Mikey...

"How are you feeling?"

Mikey groans wordlessly at him.

"You ready for some breakfast?"

"Mikey doesn't get out of bed today," he announces grumpily, pressing his face deeper into the pillow.

Donnie rubs his cranium, pressing his palm against Mikey's forehead as he checks for any remaining fever.

"Hmm. I guess you're right, you won't be getting out of bed today," Donnie states, placing the cup on a side table and turning the lights off. "You get some more rest and join us whenever you're ready, okay?"

Mikey nods with a yawn, shimmying deeper under the blankets and purring with contentment.

"Leo or Raph will be in with your memory medication from Draxum. But other than that, I guess nothing eventful or interesting will be happening today," Donnie says as he walks out of Mikey's room.

.

.

.

Professor Honeycutt is sitting in his lab office, silently working on a new droid design. This one is different from the other machines he's been forced to build while employed here. All the other designs were weapons, or used to create chaos, or made to hurt the experiments (with one in particular in mind). But this one will be a sentry guard. A protector. SENTRY AUTOMATIC LIFESAVER. He's nicknamed it 'SAL' for now.

The body of the machine is finished for the most part. He's still working on the arms, trying to create a spring mechanism that can cause them to stretch to extreme lengths without breaking. He'd also like to add the same kind of metallic-elastic springs to the legs, even though he's already finished with those. But hey, he doesn't mind working on them again! Anything to avoid the real thing that's stumping him.

Honeycutt is struggling with the robot's AI, specifically its moral center and higher reasoning. He never got around to finishing the moral center for the last AI he built, and now she's starting to unnerve him. He can program the three laws of robotics, but he knows that sometimes you need to make a decision that disregards logic. He's seen movies. They may be inaccurate, but he'd have to agree with a few of the points they make.

So he's procrastinating on the brain. Well, there is a brain in the head, but it doesn't have any information in it, apart from some basic codes for movement and functions.

Most days, Zayton doesn't even know why he's here. He joined the TCRI for the funding, plain and simple. The cause sounded good, and they would help pay for all his robotics and engineering. He had all the money and freedom he could ever want to 'play with his toys'. What could be better? He should have known it was too good to be true. After a month of getting to build whatever he wanted in a secret bunker off the coast of Buffalo, he was called in to help with some work in NYC. And now... he's stuck doing this. Building ice blasters and dart guns and training robots that fight you to the death.

He's a man of peace.

But lately, he's been confusing 'peace' with 'staying out of it'.

Honeycutt's phone buzzes. It's probably another order from Timothy, or Chaplin wants help with the A.LP.H.A. device, or something just as irritating and dangerous.

"Hello, this is Professor Zayton Honeycutt speaking."

"Hey, doc, it's Bishop."

Honeycutt drops his tools and quiets his voice.

"Ah, John. H-how nice to hear from you again... how are the plans for your -- ahem, 'mother's recovery'?"

The two of them have come up with a special code to talk about Mikey without attracting attention.

"We still don't have any information about her condition. But I think she's still with her 'extended family'."

Mikey is still hidden in the sewers with the other mutants like him.

"Have the doctors found anything?"

"Not to my knowledge. But I heard that they did an 'impromptu check-up', and I should be hearing more about that later."

They sent drones into the sewer tunnels. As to be expected.

"When do you suppose that they'll tell you the details of that check-up?"

"No idea. I get the feeling that I'll have to make some calls to a few nurses..."

"Well, if it helps, I could ask around."

Bishop's voice goes quiet.

"...Doc, I don't know if that's wise..."

"Why not? I built those dro-- ahem, I mean, I know a few nurses in the clinic. I could get some answers for you."

The line stays silent for a moment before Bishop answers.

"...Okay, Doc. Just... be careful."

"Of course!" Honeycutt chuckles nervously. "Don't even worry. But, eh, speaking of your mother, I was wondering how the 'quilt' she's sewing is coming along?"

The 'quilt' is code for their side project. Most of the experiments and actions of the scientists here are unsanctioned and illegal, covered up under all the red tape and paperwork and made to look as though they are for the 'greater good'. Bishop and Honeycutt have been working to find evidence of all the mutations and genetic experiments and legal workarounds that they've done here.

"I've been getting some more 'thread' for her."

Thread = Paper trails.

"Does she need any 'fabrics'? I know she was looking for some nice patterns, last time we spoke."

Photographic evidence of the mutated animals or krang parasites.

"She could use some later. But for now, she's worried that she might be overspending."

Bishop is afraid that they've attracted attention, he wants Honeycutt to lay low.

"Okay then. Tell her I said hello."

"Will do. And Doc? Really, be careful. I don't want you getting sick like my mother."

"...I thank you for the concern, John. It's very decent of you. But I should be fine. I'll look into the... ahem, check-up results for you."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

The call ends.

Honeycutt exhales loudly, hoping that by the time all the used air in his lungs escapes him, he'll have also rid himself of the stress that lingers in him.

It doesn't.

Honeycutt lets S.A.L. rest on his desk. He stretches, cracking his spine and wrists before he walks out of his private workshop and into the halls. He could use an extra cup of coffee. He knows that he should try sleeping for once, but he can't really waste time right now. He has so much work to do, and now that Bishop recruited him he's busier than ever. It's a worthy cause and a noble sacrifice that he's more than willing to make.

Honeycutt walks through the halls, flinching at every door that opens and hurrying along his way. Every scientist that greets him with a wave or conversation starter, he simply hustles by them with a nod. He's never felt comfortable in this complex before, but now he's constantly unnerved.

Honeycutt shuffles into the elevator, down to the cafeteria to get a quick cup of joe, and back up to the security room. He considers stopping at the animal sections to see if he can grab any blood samples or photographic evidence... but Bishop is concerned, and the man has a surprising track record when it comes to following his gut. Maybe later... if he can find an excuse. A technical professor suddenly interested in genetics and bloodwork? Suspicious... but, maybe he can come up with some link between his work and the genetic studies... a robot that tracks DNA? Perfect! Only issue would be whether or not they'd buy it. A few might. But the big wigs in charge would ask questions. And Timothy and Chaplin might be against it, saying that none of the experiments can keep up against his tech thus far, so making a robot that advanced would be fruitless... he'll have to think of something else...

Prof. Honeycutt arrives at the security room, takes a quick swig of his black coffee for good measure, and then opens the door.

"Ms. Campbell," he greets flatly. "How are things?"

"Events are transpiring at a typical function and rate," she responds with a similar tone. "And I am working at full capacity, if that was what you were asking about."

"Thank you for the update," he says, moving beside her to watch the cameras. "How's the search for the escapee?"

"Still underway, but halted for the time being. Our drones discovered some odd wreckage in the tunnels, what looks like the ruins of someone's living quarters."

"Someone living in the sewers?" Honeycutt asks, feigning surprise.

"I detect sarcasm, unless I am mistaken," Ms. Campbell says, turning to look at him. "You knew beforehand about this?"

"Word gets around," he replies nervously. "I just wanted to know if it was true that there was something there. I'd heard that we were sending in drones -- and you know New York gossip, everyone thinks that there's some mysterious society of monsters living underneath us. And what with those mutants we've seen... I figured that perhaps one of them had made a shelter down there, possibly even our own little Mikey!"

Honeycutt realises that he's been prattling. It's a nervous trait. Ms. Campbell knows that. She can detect all sorts of tics and traits and habits and quirks. She has an incredible poker face, and she is a living lie detector.

She watches him, eyes analyzing every bead of sweat he creates.

"You are nervous."

"Q-quite so," he chuckles. "I'm just... concerned for Mikey."

That answer seems to satiate Ms. Campbell... for the moment. She turns around and starts to type something on the keyboard, and one of the screens plays glitchy feedback from a drone.

"Perhaps this will put you at ease, father," she says. "We found him."

Honeycutt watches in shock as a drone flies around the wreckage of a large opening in a sewer, complete with burst pipes, crumbled archways, and even broken down arcade games, though glory knows where those came from. On the walls are smeared paintings and spraypaint, words like 'cowabunga' and 'turtle power!' are scrawled across the stonework along with smiley faces, drawings of interesting action heroes and poses, and... what looks like portraits of turtles dressed as superheroes or ninjas. The drone flies through after looking around, hurrying down a corridor. After a several minutes of endless catacombs and passageways, it comes up to a light where the tunnels meet an abandoned section of the subways. The drone continues following a glow that leads to a secret hidden entrance. The drone presses itself up against the wall, waiting. After a few minutes, someone emerges from the door, peeking around. It's not Mikey, but...

"Is... is that...?"

"Another mutant creature like the escaped experiment, yes."

The creature looks down the halls nervously, before looking up behind him and shouting in fright as something dark green with yellow spots drops down on top of him. A flash of blue and the two vanish completely.

"What was that?!" Honeycutt yells, almost spilling his coffee as he moves closer to the video feed.

"Undetermined. But there have been reports of vigilantes that 'pop in and out' of crime scenes, fighting against the mutant outbreak. It is possible that he is one of said vigilantes," Ms. Campbell says. "And that is not all..."

Ms. Campbell speeds the playback to a moment several minutes later, when a human boy comes out of the entrance searching for something. He sees the drone and shouts, activating a high-tech chainsaw device and swings it at the drone, slashing it off the wall and shattering it completely.

"That was a human," Honeycutt says with hushed astonishment.

Bishop said that Mikey was with his 'family', so he sort of knew about the other mutants... but that was a human kid!

"I have been trying to run facial recognition on him to no avail," Ms. Campbell says. "He seems to have no identity."

In her voice, there is a twinge of disappointment, or rather, irritation with the failure. It shouldn't surprise him, he made her with the intention of resembling human in almost every aspect, so her exercise of emotions is not unprecedented. But the attitude, the dark personality lingering under the fake skin and steel grey eyes... that frightens him. Her AI was never completed, at least not in the ways he wanted. But she seems to be growing, evolving, learning. He didn't put that in there.

"Have... have you sent any more drones?" he asks, swallowing the nervous pit in his stomach every time he's with Ms. Campbell.

"Yes. But there seems to be some kind of electromagnetic field surrounding the area now, and any drone that crosses the threshold deactivates and short-circuits."

"Do we know why?"

"They mutants must be protecting their habitat," she states, going back to the original security footage. "But now that we know where they are, it is only a matter of time before we can discover more about their numbers and motives."

Honeycutt watches the screens at the bottom of the video stack, the ones with live drone feed. Three new devices are being sent to the previous drone's last known location. They fly up until a certain point before the feed warps into static and the drones crash, their live recordings die out with a high-pitched whine and crackle.

"I suppose I should contact Dr. Chaplin to make a new plan for the onset for the escaped experiment... Unless you have some theories, father?"

She still calls him father. All his creations tend to do that, he's noticed. But he's not sure how to feel about her calling him that. It feels eerie that she does, but the day she stops referring to him as such will be even scarier.

"I... couldn't say... p-perhaps I could create a device to counter the firewall?" he suggests. "Or maybe we could--"

The screens suddenly all glitch in unison, flashing quickly before turning a single shade of purple. Each monitor works in perfect harmony to create a large, singular image.

Professor Honeycutt steps back in shock. Ms. Campbell tilts her head slightly.

A series of words appear on the screen.

LEAVE US ALONE.

LEAVE US ALONE.

LEAVE US ALONE.

"Ominous," Ms. Campbell states calmly. "And quite interesting. I cannot say that the EPF has ever had any hackers before..."

The screens go dead, the room engulfed in darkness.

Before Honeycutt can say anything, a soft grey pixely static shows up on the screens, brightening the room again in time. The camera feeds return -- save for the drones, which still give no output nor input.

"I would say those vigilante mutants could be classified as hostile, wouldn't you agree?" Ms. Campbell says, turning to Honeycutt.

"Er, um, perhaps," he says nervously, loosening his shirt collar. "But you know me, I prefer to play the Switzerland of these mutant affairs. I'd rather stay out of it. I might suggest we do the same with these drones spies --"

"Why?" she asks, suspicion in her voice.

"Well, see... these mutants see us as an invading force. When an animal believes its habitat to be encroached upon, it will go to great lengths to defend it. These mutants may be doing the same thing, which could end badly for us..."

Ms. Campbell thinks it over.

"They have already fled one habitat," she responds. "So, in your scientific understanding, would they choose fight or flight over this new habitat they've created?"

"I-I'm not sure, animal science is not my area of expertise, but --" he swallows. "-- b-but I would assume that they would prefer to keep their new abode. Considering the lengths they've gone to thus far, they will not give it up easily."

"Hmm. Then this shall be a challenge, eh, father?"

Ms. Campbell smiles cruely.

He's never seen her do that.

"Q-q-quite so," he mumbles as he stumbles out of the room. "I should head back to work now... s-see you later, Ms. Campbell..."

His hand shakes, splashing the coffee in his cup. He's had enough of this for one day... he needs to call Bishop.

Honeycutt may not have the gut instincts that Bishop does, but something is telling him that things are about to get a lot more dangerous...

Prev || Next

[inkformyblood]

hey there darling

Obi-Wan x Cobb Vanth, ObiCobb. Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon The Mandalorian and Kenobi Show. Canon Era Star Wars. Post-Order 66

Ben drags his fingers through the warm puddle of his own spilled drink, considers the irony of trying to drown his sorrows on a desert planet, and presses his sleeve into it instead. It won’t make a difference on the slightly sticky residue on the cantina countertop, but it would keep the droid from circling back to hover over Ben’s small kingdom of empty cups for the third time since the stranger took up sentry at his elbow. 

He hasn’t drunk nearly enough to do anything other than bleed limply at the man’s chosen line of questioning. 

“Why?” Ben asks instead of answering. He selects a cup at random, pressing the pitted rim to his mouth, and tips his body backwards with a single fluid motion. There’s nothing but dregs left, the sharp sense memory of whatever moonshine had been poured into it, a whisper of another’s touch hot on its heels. He shoves the cup back amongst its fellows with a sigh, sliding his gaze along the countertop to the man.

He’s a tangle of wire drawn thin and taut, the tendons splayed over his knuckles carved into stark relief as he leans closer to Ben, one arm propped on the counter, the other tipped over the harsh angles of his thigh. His fingers trace over the fraying edge of a patch at his knee, the stitches holding up where the fabric doesn’t. “I need a reason?”

“Most people do.”

“Darlin’, I’m not most people.” 

Ben laughs despite himself, a harsh exhalation as he tears his gaze away to survey the rest of the cantina once more. It’s an obvious habit to anyone who would care to watch for it, the man’s gaze searing a deliberate hole through Ben’s temple, but not out of place in a cantina that’s just enough off the beaten track that the majority of its patrons are labourers or freed slaves. Here, Ben is just another rat in the nest, dismissible, forgettable. 

“Oh?” Ben draws his arm up from the countertop, the line of his forearm damp as he folds his hands into his lap. Again, the actions of another man, the death throes of a corpse that hadn’t been able to rot. “You will want to find someone more interesting than me to talk to.”

The man leans closer, starving for the space Ben has just seceded. His stool scrapes as he drags it closer, his arm braced against the countertop, his knees bumping against Ben’s thigh when he halts the motion firmly intertwined in Ben’s orbit. There’s intended flattery in the action, Ben hasn’t been removed from the world for long enough to forget this particular dance, and Ben considers giving in. It would be easy enough to brush his fingertips against the man’s, to lean a little closer into the scant space between them, to ghost a kiss over his mouth that’s cracking beneath the desert heat and taste the sharp bite of whatever he had been drinking moments before. 

“I think,” the man says, lengthening his words into a smooth drawl, his grin a shade too sharp to hide the way his gaze flickers over Ben’s face, “that you are plenty interesting. So, will you let me get you another drink?”

He’s young, desperately so, or maybe Ben is just far older than he had ever expected to be. 

There’s a faint scar at the nape of the man’s neck, his hair not long enough to cover where it branches around the junction of his shoulders. Ben’s gaze fractures there, studying the man beneath the sweep of his lashes, knowing he’d already made his choice the moment the man slung himself into the seat next to Ben and grinned at him so tentatively sweetly. Metallic dust lines the cracks of the man’s palms, a faint shimmer over the sharp line of his cheekbone where an old bruise heals sour and yellow, and some dust clings to his temples in a mimicry of the silver already bleeding through the red. His eyes are dark, something hopeful clinging to flotsam despite the rising tide. 

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

There’s that grin again, wide enough to fracture at the edges and shake some debris free from the fragile foundation Ben has been trying to maintain. The man stands in a lopsided slide, his leg braced against the crossbar of the stool as he leans his hips into the counter to brace himself as he waves both hands at the Twi'lek further down the cantina. “Two Sunrise mixes, please, Finu?”

The Twi’lek, heavyset and all the more smug because of it, sets her hip against the counter as she surveys him, her lower lip indented between her lower teeth as she assesses them both. The man huffs out a laugh, a flash of gold at his mouth, and he plucks a chip from a pouch at his belt and spins it over the flat of his knuckles before he drops back into his seat, his attention locked onto Ben once more. “Cobb Vanth.” He offers Ben a hand, barely a tremor threading through his outstretched fingers and Ben, helpless to stop the knife from boring deeper into his chest, thinks of Cody. 

“Ben,” he answers, taking Cobb’s hand in his own. It’s an easy pantomime to fall back into, to twist their joined hands so he can press a kiss to the gnarled surface of Cobb’s knuckles, tasting the ever-present salt and grit of the desert there. Looking up from beneath the sweep of his lashes, Cobb’s cheeks burn pink, the colour invading the exposed shells of his ears. There’s a pale scar through one lobe, near invisible against his tan skin but highlighted through his blush. It’s sweet to have him so besotted already when Ben is nothing special, just another body amongst hundreds.

(Cody had been another clone amongst thousands and Obi-Wan would have known him deaf and blind, Force-forsaken and dying.)

The man in front of him is not Cody, Ben knows that. However, Cobb carries with him the strange sense of being lost in time that the clones had, too old for his years and too young in action, and he looks at Ben the same way that Cody had, like Ben had hung the suns in the sky and stirred the stars in to fulfil a request. 

Intoxicating after half a lifetime of denial. 

It wouldn’t go further than a drink. Ben squeezes Cobb’s hand carefully, releasing the other man as he straightens back into his watchful perch, with a snapshot of his attention still locked onto the door behind him. Off the beaten path did not mean invisible, and the Empire had caught better Jedi than him from less information than a passing resemblance. Just a drink and an instance of delirious what-could-be to keep Ben human for the next decade. 

“So, darlin’,” Cobb says, coughing as he rights himself on his seat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

Cobb hands over the chip to Finu before their drinks touch the countertop of the bar, a smart way of working, and Ben grabs at his own. It’s strong, a generous allocation of cactus juice to cover for the bite of spirits, and Ben sips at it as Cobb picks his own up, dragging his finger around the rim before he tips his head back to drink it. It’s half-empty when Cobb emerges, his cheeks flushed by his own actions, a sly twist to his grin. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“My darling,” Ben answers, echoes of a man he can no longer be in his voice. “You have no idea.”

[darthasterisk]

Here's a two-pager from the photobook since the two Claptrap photos are related. They were part of this little photo story I had where they would go around recruiting other robots/droids to join their One-Eyed Brigade

Orignally posted: August 30, 2014 | August 23, 2014 | January 1, 2015 | March 21, 2016 | January 21, 2014 | December 21, 2016

Figures:

4.5" NECA | Borderlands | Claptrap aka CL4P-TP | Released in 2012

7" NECA | Borderlands | Gentleman Caller Claptrap | Released in 2013

7" NECA | Team Fortress 2 | Pyro (BLU) | Released in 2013

7" NECA | Portal 2 | P-Body | Released in 2014

7" NECA | Portal 2 | Atlas | Release in 2014

3" NECA/WizKids | Portal 2 | Sentry Turret | Released in 2012

1/6th Scale ThreeZero | Mass Effect 3 | Legion | Released in 2015

1/12th scale Hasbro The Black Series | Star Wars | Sandtrooper (Corporal) | Released in 2013

1/12 Scale Hasbro The Black Series | Star Wars: The Force Awakens | BB-8 | Released in 2016

3.75" scale Hasbro The Saga Collection | Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back | R2-D2 (Battle of Hoth) | Release in 2006

3.75" scale Hasbro The Saga Collection | Star Wars: Return of the Jedi | C-3PO (Battle of Endor) | Released in 2006

See other pages from my Toy Photography Photobook

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 20: The Ewok Operation - Okatsu tries to alert Nobunaga about the approaching danger; Mitsunari devises a plan to stall the invaders; and Mitsuhide makes a sacrifice.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Allocation – a good commander knows when to allocate his resources and personnel in order to achieve their objectives.

Personal comments – Okatsu has been trained as a courier and in reconnaissance. She may be one of the best archers I know. However, while sending her out on a mission makes good strategic sense, I am terrified that she will not return.

This may be the first time I have truly understood the personal costs of the tactics written of in texts. “Resources and personnel” are not simply words and concepts … they are people.

I’d been fast… but not fast enough.

I was close… but not close enough.

Iekane’s men were indeed preparing for a nighttime raid on Genba. Could I still find a way into the castle to warn Nobunaga? The only obvious entry was through the gate, but Iekane showed no sign of abandoning his post. Perhaps I could these-are-not-the-droids-you’re-looking-for my way past him and simply stroll in... no... not wearing these clothes. He'd wonder why I wasn't dressed as Okatsu.

Still, I refused to give up without trying. Maybe there was a hidden way in. If I crept along the outer wall toward Genba’s tenshu, maybe I could find another route. I would have to avoid the wall sentries, of cou-

Where were the sentries? 

They ought to have been posted along the walls, but no one was visible. Had they joined Iekane’s troops? Or were they being held prisoner somewhere? Overall, the situation appeared increasingly dire for anyone in Genba, although at least the missing sentries should make it easier for me to get to the tenshu unnoticed.

I found a tree that hung close enough to the wall to allow me to swing over, then ducked out of sight. Keeping my body low, I flattened myself against the stone, crawling slowly toward the tenshu, staying alert to any sound that would indicate an approaching guard.

It was eerily quiet.

Not until I reached the first guard tower did I understand why – the sentries were sprawled out under the tower, bodies stiff and cold, faces frozen in agony, a broken tea pot at their feet. Lady Yone’s calling card. Apparently she had found a use for the torikabuto after all.

I had been too late for these men, too.

Picking up the pace, I hurried toward the tenshu, looking for a door, window, any way in. There was nothing. The window slits were far off the ground, and too small for any human to climb through.

The most frustrating thing? I could even see Nobunaga’s quarters from where I stood. The window slits revealed flashes of green where Hideyoshi paced back and forth, his posture a picture of frustration. Probably he was upset because Mitsunari and I hadn’t come back yet. Nobunaga was sitting calmly, and though I was too far to see the look on his face, I expected that it was reflecting his amusement at Hideyoshi’s agitation. If only I could get one of them to look out - really look - out the window.

In the midst of my churning thoughts, one thing came to mind: "what would Mitsunari do?”

First, he would take stock of his inventory. What did I have with me? My bow and arrows - both my old arrows and the heavier tipped arrows I had purchased in Azuchi. My sword. The war fan Mitsunari had given me. Two daggers. A few acorns. The note the mysterious Kunoichi had slapped into my hand – had that been just yesterday?

Second, he would determine whether the inventory would be useful. Potentially ... could I shoot an arrow into Nobunaga’s room and get his and Hideyoshi’s attention?

Yes of course I could. I’d already tested the blunt tipped arrows and they could easily travel the distance I needed.

Could I manage not to hit Hideyoshi… or anyone else in there? Hideyoshi paced like a dervish, but Nobunaga was holding still. I also caught the flash of Mai’s light purple kimono, but she was sitting down, so she too would be easy to miss.

I would have to time things perfectly to ensure no one got hit. But, if Hideyoshi saw an arrow fly into the room, he was most likely to think it was meant to kill Nobunaga (he already saw assassins under every rock). It was possible he would alert Mouzi and Iekane that Genba was under attack. That was the last thing I wanted.

If I had a brush and ink (my country for an actual pen) I could use the paper from the kunoichi’s note and write a new one... or…

I reread the note: “Hikosane is in danger. Protect him at all costs.”

I tore the note into strips. Now I had a piece that said "In danger." Using my dagger, I cut off a length of material from my kimono. I wrapped the paper around the shaft of the blunt tip arrow, then secured it by tying the fabric around that. It would have to do.

Hideyoshi should recognize the arrow as one from Azuchi, Mai would recognize my kimono fabric.

“In danger" ought to speak for itself.

Plan in place, “all” I had to do was get the arrow through the narrow window slit.

I braced myself against the wall and took careful aim, trying to account for the slight weight of the fabric, waiting for Hideyoshi to clear the window. I would not get a practice shot – I had to get it right the first time.

I was a still as a mountain.

I listened for the wind, but it was a calm, still day.

I pulled back on the string…

Focused, picturing in my mind the arrow zipping easily through the slits…

Breathing into my belly…

And…

Now!

I loosed the arrow.

The shot was true and zipped through the tiny space (ha! The next time someone needs a shot to go through an air duct in a Death Star, they should call me). From my vantage, I could see Hideyoshi immediately throw himself in front of Nobunaga and Mai. He pulled them both below the sightlines of the window.

After a long moment, he cautiously peered through the window.  I could tell from his posture the exact second he spotted the dead sentries, and beyond that, the warriors creeping through the trees. 

Before I could wave to get his attention, I heard a single set of footsteps and the rattle of the lacquered armor Mozumi’s sentries wore. Was this someone simply investigating why the call to change the guard hadn’t gone out? Or did they already know? At this point, it was impossible to tell who was with Iekane, and who was not. Either way, I did not want to stick around to explain. Hopefully I had given Nobunaga and Hideyoshi enough warning to either escape or to barricade themselves inside and hold out until rescue.

Three days.

Three days for Masamune and Ieyasu to arrive with reinforcements. Until then, our small group would need to find a way to slow down Iekane’s forces and try to assist Nobunaga from the outside.

I retraced my steps along the wall to return to the cover of the trees, but the tree branch I had used to swing to the top of the wall, had, without my weight, sprung back out of reach. Climbing down the wall was my only option. I found a portion of the wall that was in deep shadow thanks to the mountain and the angle of the courtyard, and descended as carefully as I could, before letting go about halfway down to drop quietly to the soft grass.

It was about twenty meters to the cover of the forest. If I was going to be seen or caught, it would be while I was running through the patch of open land. I could cover that distance in less than five seconds. As long as no one was looking in my direction… I could manage that.

If I was lucky.

Anxious that at any moment I would hear the shout of a guard or the crack of a musket, I sprinted for the forest, my breath in my ears, and the pounding of my feet seeming loud enough to echo through the mountains.

When I was safely above ground again, clinging to the upper branches of a friendly cedar tree, it was all I could do to not wrap myself around the trunk and never let go. But… I’d made it this far. I could make it back to Mitsunari.

As quietly as I could, I crept over the men who were hunkered down throughout the forest around Genba. Although they weren’t especially loud, they weren't trying to be quiet either. Their ambient noise was enough that I was able to pass above without attracting any attention.

Once I passed the initial ring of camps, there were fewer soldiers to avoid, which made it all the more shocking when I heard the words, "--have no interest in you. I was tryin' to retrieve a runaway horse."

It was a peasant’s dialect.

It was Mitsuhide’s voice.

I froze where I was, as the voices grew louder, clearer.

"A runaway horse? Yours?" Unfamiliar voice, faint coastal accent-which would make sense for one of Iekane's vassals from Tsuruga.

In another moment Mitsuhide appeared, acting unconcerned by the fact that he was surrounded by several armed men, one of whom I recognized as one of Iekane's personal guards.

Should I try to rescue him? I knew how Mitsuhide would answer that. He would say no. I wasn’t certain he even needed rescuing. Mitsuhide was wily. Maybe he could get out of this on his own.

"Not my horse. It belongs to my master, and if I want to keep my head attached to my body, I need to get her back before he notices she's gone.” Mitsuhide made a move to leave, but the men had their swords out before he could take a step.

"Your master ... that would be Oda Nobunaga, would it not?" Iekane’s guard was neither unobservant, now stupid. "I've seen you talking with him in the stables."

Well. Hell. He might need an assist after all. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had to assist from a tree bef--? … a wave of dizziness passed through me while in my head, there was a vision, as clear as memory of sitting in a tree, my arrow trained on a group of ronin who were menacing hapless travelers. But. Though it was clear as memory… this had never happened.

Why was it in my head?

In my distraction, I shifted forward, and the sudden change in balance rustled the tree at just the wrong moment.

At the sound, Mitsuhide’s eyes flicked upward. Though I had immediately pressed myself backward, nearly out of sight, I know he saw me. He tromped loudly on a piece of dead wood near his feet.

“Oda pays my salary, yes. A man’s got to eat.” Mitsuhide spit on the ground. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Or him. Wouldn’t care if I threw my lot in with you, if the pay ain’t bad.”

What?

Was Mitsuhide actually the traitor history had made him out to be?

No, that couldn’t be right. He’d seen me. If he were a traitor, he would have revealed my hiding place. Without looking again at where I was hiding, Mitsuhide made an obvious show of scratching his his nose. Was he signalling me? The nose scratch was a signal that Aki and I often used – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch of the imagination that Mitsuhide was aware of Aki’s signals.

Message received. I didn’t like it, but Mitsuhide, for whatever reason, wanted to stay with these men. Maybe he was playing along to learn more details about Iekane’s plans and assets.

I stayed motionless on my perch, hardly taking a breath, until they moved on in the direction of the castle.

It was only after the woods were quiet again, that I realized I didn’t know if Mitsuhide had managed to contact Kyubei before he encountered Iekane’s men.

“We've got problems,” had been my blunt way to announce my return. “More problems.” Probably I should have built up to that, but my entire trek back to the camp had been a mental recitation of everything that had already gone wrong or that could go wrong.

Despite my announcement, the look that I received from Mitsunari was one of relief. “It’s been a long time since you left.”

“Mitsunari was pacing!” Hikosane looked up from where he had apparently taken over the cooking. Well. He couldn’t do any worse than Shohime who had cajun-cooked the rabbit, or Mitsunari who thought that his tea leaf stew was drinkable.

“Oh. I’m sorry … it didn’t really feel that long on my end. I was too busy with… stuff.” I explained about Mitsuhide, repeating everything I had overheard. “He knew I was in the tree, listening, so for whatever reason, he intends to stay with Iekane’s army for a while.”

"If he was with them, then he will do his best to learn as much about their assets, then destroy them from the inside until he can find a way to escape.” Mitsunari glanced down at his notebook which he had already filled with various plans.  “I trust he knows what he is doing. However, I wish he had told me what he intended.”

Generally, I was less trusting than that, but there wasn't a lot we could do about Mitsuhide at this point anyway, "I don’t know if he made it to Takayama to get a message to Kyubei. Iekane's men are creeping all over the woods. He could have run into them anywhere.”

Mitsunari was silent for a long moment. “We will proceed as if he made it. Because the alternative is too bleak to consider. What is the situation at Genba?”

Otherwise known as:  Okatsu delivers bad news part three. “Iekane was at the castle gates. I couldn't get near enough to personally warn Nobunaga either.”

"But... you did something didn’t you." Mitsunari stated it calmly, confident that I had figured out a plan. I wanted to bathe in that confidence.

Before I could respond to him though Hikosane asked, "Do you think that he will attack my father?"

"He might, if he thinks your father is in the way of what he wants." Honestly, I wasn’t sure if Mozumi was still alive. The fact that the sentries had been poisoned suggested that he wasn’t aware of Iekane and Yone’s plans, although I didn’t have any solid evidence of that either. I didn’t want to upset his children any more than they were already. Instead, to Mitsunari, I said, "I was able to shoot an arrow into the room where Hideyoshi, Nobunaga and Mai were. I stuck half of the ninja's note on it; the part that said 'in danger! Hopefully that will be enough of a warning."

Mitsunari’s confidence extended to Hideyoshi and Nobunaga. "They will understand. Hideyoshi will try to get Nobunaga out, or if he cannot, he will protect him with his life." I wished I had his certainty. Mitsunari must have read my expression, for he added, "I acknowledge the situation is not good, but I am hopeful we can devise a strategy to help them until Masamune and Ieyasu arrive with reinforcements.”

"Then. Let's get to work. We will be... like..." I could think of no example that he would relate to.

"Like?" He prompted me with a gentle smile.

With a sigh, I finished with the word, "Ewoks." Before he, or anyone else could ask, I hurried on to say, "they are in a story from my village. Their fighters were outnumbered. But they were in their home forest and they knew the land. They were able to use small, directly focused attacks to delay the enemy until the main force was able to destroy the enemy’s base."

"Ah, so this strategy can be titled 'the Ewok Operation.’ " Mitsunari wrote the words down in his notebook.

Sure. Why not?

"We must acquire more fighters, weapons, and tools." Mitsunari said. "The armies generally keep supplies in their rear guard. If we can capture one... or more of those, we'd be in a better position." He turned to Shohime. "Will any of your father’s vassals fight against Lady Yone, or will they assume that any instructions she gives them come from Mozumi?

Shohime frowned. "Yone is not popular. Many of my father’s vassals do not live in Genba Castle, but in manors and a garrison further down the mountain. They may not be aware of the current situation."

"I'll alert them!" Hikosane jumped to his feet and was halfway out of the clearing before Shohime grabbed the back of his haori and pulled him back. "I can do this. They'll know me."

The warning note about Hikosane’s danger was still fresh in my mind. I didn’t know where it came from or if he was still under threat, but there was no way I would be letting him go off on his own. In fact, I wouldn’t send any ten year old out into the forest, especially not at night. The sun was already setting, and it would be fully dark before he got very far. "Then I'm going with you."

“No.” Mitsunari’s prior gentleness was replace by a firm order. “We will all go.” His tone said, ‘don’t argue.’

I argued. “Hikosane and I will be faster if it’s just the two of us.”

“We split up before and lost Mitsuhide. Okatsu, I know you are strong. Capable. I do not doubt your skills. But… waiting for you to return.” He tapped his chest. “It hurts in a way that nothing ever has before.”

It’s impossible to win an argument of logic against someone’s feelings.

Hikosane led us along a narrow trail down the mountain until we reached the manor of Susumu, who Shohime assured us was loyal to the Kanamori. “He is my mother’s cousin and has no reason to follow Lady Yone’s orders.

While we waited for the gates to open to us, I looked around. The manor was small, but neatly kept up. Someone here appreciated order and, if the statues of Raijin and Fujin were any indication, had a healthy respect for the weather. But what I didn’t see, was evidence of a personal guard or a lot of vassals. Maybe Susumu would be willing to aid us… but how much aid could he afford?

Though it had gotten late, Susumu was still awake, and he was in his receiving room writing letters by the light of two lanterns. When he saw Hikosane and Shohime, he immediately bowed low. "Lord Hikosane, Princess Shohime, this is unexpected." He turned a questioning look at Mitsunari and I.

Hikosane hastily introduced me as, "This is one of Oda Nobunaga’s trusted vassals, Ishida Mitsunari, and his fiancée, Oda Okatsu. Not only is she a Princess, she’s one of Nobunaga's kunoichi."

Field promotion! (Though Nobunaga, not to mention Hideyoshi would be shocked to learned he employed a kunoichi). Hikosane knew the Mozumi vassals better than I and if they were wont to be impressed by titles and female ninjas, I was not going to argue.

Before we could get trapped in a polite small talk rabbit hole, Shohime jumped in. “Lord Susumu, we need your help. Genba is under attack.” Interestingly, I noticed she had abandoned her helpless princess act. There were no tears, no handwringing – this Shohime was all warrior.

“What?” Susumu looked from Hikosane to Shohime with confusion. “How?”

Hikosane gestured to Mitsunari, who expertly relayed the situation as only a military commander could. Susumu, nodded along, his knuckles tightening on the edge of his desk as the import of the crisis sunk in.

"How quickly can you gather my father's vassals?” Hikosane asked, once Mitsunari had finished.

Susumu frowned. "By sunrise, however the problem is few of them are left to be summoned. Your father ordered General Makino and over one hundred men to accompany the latest shipment of silver to the coast. He said he’d received credible information that the shipment had been targeted by robbers."

Damn it. The orders must have come from Iekane. Lady Yone, or maybe they had convinced Mozumi that that had been necessary. But now was not the moment to worry about that. If we couldn’t convince Susumu to help us, then we had lost before we began.  "How many are left? It's unfortunate that your general has gone with the shipment although Mitsunari is an expert strategist.”

A quick smile bloomed across Mitsunari’s face at my praise before he put his ‘serious strategist’ expression back on. “If I know our resources, I can deploy them where they will be most effective. Mozumi’s vassals know the territory. Iekane’s mercenaries do not. This is to our advantage.”

"I believe there may be up to twenty vassals and an additional dozen support staff." Susumu strode into the corridor and requested a waiting page to round up every man in his household. "I'll send out messages to the others.”

As the page departed, a young woman entered the room. She bowed low to us. “Susumu, why did you not alert me that we had visitors? Lord Hikosane, Princess Shohime, I must apologize for my husband’s lack of manners.”  Susumu’s wife appeared to be much younger than her spouse, but she looked at him with affection and trust.

“Lady Hana. Do not trouble yourself on our account.” Shohime again blew past the small talk. “We are not able to stay.”

After pressing a kiss on Hana’s cheek, Susumu relayed a series of household orders that Hana nodded at with enough familiarity to suggest this was not the first time he’d needed to go off to war in the middle of the night. She headed directly to a wall, where several swords were displayed, removed one, and handed it to him with the competence of a soldier.

And… I had a thought. “Lady Hana, are you much of an archer?”

Without prompting, the much-smarter-than-anyone-knew Shohime picked up where I was going. “She’s very good. As are many of the wives and daughters in the Kanamori clan.”

“How many of these wives and daughters would be willing to,” I paused, because willing wasn’t going to be enough in this era. “And, um, permitted to join us?” I glanced at Mitsunari, hoping he wasn’t upset that I had just usurped his authority.

“Trained archers would be very useful,” he agreed. “On a voluntary basis, of course.”

Susumu and his wife looked at each other, in one of those long, silent marital conversations. One that Hana apparently won, for he sighed and nodded. “If the situation is as you said, we will need them. I would trust her to defend the house, and therefore, I will trust her to help defend Genba.”

That decided, Mitsunari began to herd us out. “Thank you, Lord Susumu. We’ll leave you to make your preparations.” He turned to Hikosane, who appeared to be on the verge of pouting at being left out the recent discussions. “Do you know of an adequate location for everyone to meet?”

"Iekane’s men have the castle surrounded," I reminded Hikosane.

“I am not likely to have forgotten that.” Alright, someone has apparently taught this child sarcasm.

Hm. That someone may have been myself.

"Thirty men plus an unknown number of female archers." If he was disappointed, Mitsunari didn’t show it. "If we can capture some of their supplies, that will make their siege more difficult. We can then send out smaller groups on hit and run missions to harass Iekane's army."

We had returned to our old campsite, as Mitsunari had determined that most efficient place to meet with the Kanamori vassals was at the crossroads. Eventually, though, our base of operations would be moving to an old Takeda signal tower. Though the Takeda no longer held any territory around here, the towers still stood. Mitsunari had determined that both would be useful for our purposes. “We can use one as a line of defense for our small forces and the more hidden one as a place to keep the wounded."

My initial relief at getting the vassals dwindled. Wounded. Yes of course there would be wounded. Hopefully we'd be able to get some medical supplies when we attacked their rear guard. "We have a little while until sunrise, what would you like me to do?" It had become second nature to defer to Mitsunari in matters of military.

"Sleep. You must be exhausted by this time." He patted the ground next to him. He'd built up a small bed of leaves and spread his cloak on it. "If you won't listen to me as your fiancé, then consider it an order."

Well... I didn't like it, but I knew better than to break the chain of command. Still, technically it was Mitsuhide who was my boss and… "What are we going to do about Mitsuhide?"

"I have to trust that he knows what he is doing." Again, he patted the ground. "I need you alert later, so sleep now."

That argument made enough sense to me that I lay down as directed and closed my eyes. I didn't know if I could manage to sleep, but what Mitsunari didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I felt him scoot closer to me, then his fingers combed through my hair the way he had that first night we were in Genba castle, when all we'd had to worry about was keeping up the act. But his hands were as strong and sure as before and I found myself relaxing under the gentle rhythm of his touch, until I drifted off...

When I woke up some time later the first thing that my conscious mind registered was the low tones of Mitsunari discussing strategy with...

Was that Sasuke's voice?

I sat up quickly, trying to shake off the specter of sleep; but the first person I saw wasn't Sasuke. Sitting just a meter away, his hands on his knees as he watched me was-

"Toshiie?!"

@bestbryn @lorei-writes @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[vibratingskull]

Sparring session

“Au where you're an imperial officer (with a crush on Thrawn obviously 🤭)but you're bad at sparring, so he offers to give you "private lessons" in his quarters, and once there, things quickly become a little spicy..😄” - @ele-millennial-weirdo

Tag List

It’s a Thrawn x gn!reader

warnings : a bit of blood, nsfw implied at the end

You crash down, your breath cut out and a shockwave spreading through your spine. You stay laying on the floor, contemplating the ceiling and why you accepted to practice sparring given your atrocious level. You hear your opponent laughing joyously and the congratulations of the little crowd of officers that came in to train during their break. 

You breathe deeply through your nose, still down, when you hear footsteps and a head comes into your field of vision. Two red orbs observe you with indifference and a pinch of disappointment. The room goes dead silent. 

"Lieutenant commander (y/l/n), is this the true level of combat an imperial officer is capable of?" 

Reality finally hits you and you jump on your feet, saluting your superior. 

"Sir, I'm sorry sir!"

Thrawn slowly shakes his head. 

"Such a level is inadmissible. You are supposed to represent the excellence of the Empire."

You nod shameful. You can’t believe he witnessed you ridicule yourself like that. Not him.

"Yes, sir. One on one combat has never been my forte, this is why I continue training."

He looks at you from head to toe, then glares at the rest of the group in the back of the room. His gaze goes back on you, you feel yourself cowers under his burning sight. 

"Clearly the training is inefficient. You will come see me tonight, I will give you a private lesson. Let’s hope I can instill you some techniques by the end of it. You are all dismissed, go back to your posts.” 

You all head towards the door hurriedly. A hand grasps your arm as you walk past the chiss, squeezing it gently. Your heart skips a beat as you look up to him.

“Do not expect me to go gentle on you, you are clearly behind the rest of the group. It is an immense task that is ahead of us.” He warns with a steady voice.

You gulp, nodding once again. He releases you and you run after your colleagues, a little bit of apprehension in your stomach.

______________________________

You enter Thrawn’s training room carefully, hearing muffled combat sounds. You see Thrawn fighting with an electrical staff against his two DT-series sentry droids. You don’t say a word, sliding yourself on the side of the room against the wall, admiring the spectacle before your eyes. Your heart flutters at the sight of his athletic abilities. He gives blow after blow, escaping the deadly grasp of these droids with ease and agility, he manages to put one on his knees and use it as springboard to jump and deliver a powerful kick in the head of the second one, knocking it over. Your eyes widen, taking measure of his actual level in combat. You’re gonna get your ass handed to you tonight. 

“Override code : Rukh.” He orders 

The droids raise up and shut down. He stands straight, you see his shoulder moving with his heavy breath. You approach with his towel that you hand to him, he slowly turns towards you and takes the fabric with gratefulness in his eyes.

“Right on time Lieutenant commander (y/l/n), I permitted myself to do a warm up.”

He rubs his face and the back of his neck, fixated on you.

“I can see that.”

You squirm a little. You’re intimidated by his feat in combat, and terrified at the idea of fighting him, you’re not gonna lie. He towers over you, eyeballing your form and muscles.

You cross your arms in front of you to flex your biceps by instinct, to not show how intimidated you are.

“So. What do we do?” you ask, masking effectively your nervousness.

“You will take the staff and we will fight each other.” He shoves the weapons into your hands.

Okay…

You are bad.

But not THAT bad.

You take offense to that.

“Are you sure of you, sir? I won’t hold back.” You warn

“Good. Me neither.” He answers unfazed.

You frown. You both take a combat stance and without warning you jump on him. You crash the spear on the ground, missing him by some inches. He takes the occasion and kicks you in your exposed ribs, propulsing you against the wall. You hold your stunned head, the shock was hard. You glare at him with anger. He raises an eyebrow with a grin. He gestures to you to come to him, taunting you. Ire spikes in your blood.

You will need to feint him, you think. You stand up, cracking your neck bones to ease your muscles. You throw yourself at him, swirling the staff but at the last second you dive and aim at his feet with a circling motion of your leg, he jumps to avoid it and you sink the weapon in his stomach and ignites it.

Electricity flashes before your eyes, blinding you. You hear a horrible scream and smell the scent of burning flesh.

You stop it, realizing your error.

You hear a thud as his body crashes down, unmoving. You look at him, horrified. 

What did you do?!

That could count as a murder attempt. 

You toss the staff, throwing yourself over him, checking for a pulse, for a breath, for anything that proves he’s still alive.

“Sir?! SIR?!” 

Eyes closed, he doesn’t respond. You lift his black tank shirt to see his stomach. 

It’s not pretty.

You clench your jaw. What are you going to do?! 

Suddenly, a hand seizes a fistfull of your hair and yanks you backward. You yelp with surprise and pain. You’re projected on the ground once again and a body rolls over yours, you throw a punch without thinking,hit, and get one in return. You plant your nails in his side, drawing blood and tearing the fabric apart. A powerful hand comes and claps your wrist, forcing you to let go  so you try kicking him down with your knees but he doesn’t budge. Desperate, you raise your bust and bite down his shoulder, you hear him hiss.

It isn’t any noble martial art anymore but a crude fistfight of the street between bloodied and bruised people. You roll like that for a minute, in a messy battle of scratches and bites, ripping both of your clothes. You lock him between your legs to prevent him from getting back the upper hand, your waists pressed against the his. You only hear the sound of hiss, grunts and gaps coming from both of you and the taste of blood in your mouth.

At one moment, everything came to a halt. He managed to pin your wrists besides your head, flashing you his canines and growling at you. You growl back, shaking your arms to free them. You lock eyes, both panting and bruised, you see blood dripping from his nose, and you feel it in your mouth. You both stay still waiting for the other to do something or break the silence, but you just look into each other's eyes. 

You’re captured by those shiny red orbs.

And suddenly, something switched.

Your lips crash together in a messy, deep kiss. Your tongues meet and hug the other, you put your hands in his hair, disheveling them. He holds your cheek with one hand and slides the other under what's left of your shirt to your chest, caressing the skin. Your blood mix and your limbs tangle. You squeeze your legs, pressing him harder against your pelvis, igniting both of your passions. You roll again, helping him to get rid of what’s left of his own shirt, you caress his sides and chest, you lick the blood you’ve drawn with your bite and hear him moan. He kisses your cheek, caressing your back and sliding one hand in your pants to the heart of your cravings. You wave your back at the touch, gasping. You came back to your senses seeing the blood and the glass shards on the floor.

“Here?” You ask incredulously.

“Here, on the floor, like beasts. It suits us both...” He pants with desire and pulls you for another kiss.

@bluechiss, @al-astakbar, @thrawnalani, @justanothersadperson93

[nika6q]

Thrawn having a quick rest after a sentry droid workout session.

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Lost on Ryloth

Captain Keeli x Reader

Summary: Are you sure Captain Keeli died on Ryloth? Because I heard...when they went to collect the bodies of General Di and his fallen men, the captain was no where to be found...

No Minors Allowed

Word Count: 2, 300 (on the button and I love it)

POV: 2nd. No use of (name), (y/n), or blank spaces

Warnings: Reader is Twi'lek as I'm pretty sure there's no humans natively living on Ryloth, mentions canon deaths, mentions battle and healing, reader has a sassy grandmother, kinda a fix-it story.

"ma sareen" means "my sweet" and is a term of endearment

For the lovely @dystopicjumpsuit ! I tried my best to create something awesome for you, it might be a bit wonky and I apologize if it reads as such. (p.s. I hightlighted the thingys in red as it was the closest to Keeli's armour colour available)

You weren't supposed to be out here... and as blaster fire rained down in the valley before you, you became blindingly aware of the fact.

You should have been with the others of your kind...but instead of being holled up within one of the controlled settlements, you had somehow managed to slip by all of the seperatist sentries to hide in the caves nearby. It was just you and your grandmother.

You covered your ears as the battle went on. Blaster fire being tossed back and forth, a bright blue beam of light slashing about and grenades exploding, not only sending dirt everywhere - but men with it.

The Republic troopers were losing, you could see that clear as day, as the Jedi was quickly becoming the only one still standing. You watched, waiting on baited breath in fear.

The jedi, was all alone now...you watched in horror as the droids just kept coming.

This was it for him, you supposed...

Just as you thought the sentiment, your peripheral caught movement. Your eyes darted to the side to witness one solider stand back up, you gaze taking in his beaten form.

How in the stars could he even move after all that...?!

You instantly were in awe with the man, but your amazement lasted only a short time as you watched the two desperately fighting on with all their might.

The droids began to surround them in earnest, and you couldn't bear to watch on... There had to be something you could do...!

Your eyes caught sight of some rocks on the ledge, they looked precariously settled. Maybe you could...

You ears pricked as you heard the jedi call out, the trooper must have fallen, at least that is what you suspected. If you were quick...just maybe you could save them.

Summoning not only your courage, but your strength...you pushed against the rocks with all your might!!!

Until!!!

You caught yourself just in time, as the cliff came apart and tumbled down toward the droids and republic men - only to watch the other ledge get...taller...?

Your heart fell to your stomach as you screamed, scrambling for a foot or hand hold onto SOMETHING.

Your eyes darted to your destination, watching the droids shoot down the jedi. You were too late, and your attempt of rescue was going to end you as well - what a way to go.

If only you'd been smarter.

If only you hadn't tried to help.

But as the rocks tumbled down and smashed into droids, they somehow managed to narrowly avoid the bodies of the two men. And just as you thought all was lost for you...your heels caught onto a lower ledge. Mere feet from the ground, but it was something.

Panic coursed through your veins, you panted for a moment to catch your breath, but found yourself hurriedly climbing down. Your feet and fingers already lowering you down the cliffside until your feet touched the ground. Without so much of a thought, you ran to the bodies, first dropping to your knees beside the jedi.

Your fingers frantically moved about the exposed flesh of his neck - but no pulse was to be found. You swallowed thickly and maneuvered to the trooper and ducking down to him. Your trembling fingers fumbled around his armour to access his skin, and-

You gasped, quickly leaning your face to his own. Barely. Just barely, you could feel his breath. Hardly a whisp of life remained in him.

You started ripping at the plastoid, it was beat up anyways and it was stopping you from getting to his body. You had a chance - and you were taking it.

No matter the consequence.

Brown eyes stared up at the rock-ceiling but hadn't bothered to move. Keeli's eyes darted about as he tried to make sense of everything.

Hadn't he been shot down? Wasn't he dead...?

The very next question bubbled from his hoarse throat and through his chapped lips

"W-where am I...?!"

He gasped as he tried to sit up, pain blooming across his body, and was met with a gentle hand. His eyes darted to the assertive yet gentle touch, gaze following it to meet your concerned eyes.

His mind raced. So not dead. On Ryloth still - or at least he had a Twi'lek caring for him.

"Don't move so fast" you urged in a hush voice "you'll open all your wounds. Grandma spent a long time putting you back together"

Already, his brow was caked in sweat from exertion. And despite his mind urging him to hurry and get up and back to his men - to his general, he allowed you to push him back into the mattress.

Brown eyes locked onto your form, watching you with the close study of a trapped and wounded animal.

You smiled kindly and reached to the side, settling the cool cloth against his forehead then gliding it gingerly along his face.

"I'm sorry about your troops..." you began softly as you swept the cloth across his jaw.

You then took it away to dip it back in the bowl and wring it out. You glanced back to him, eyes flickering to his bare collar then back to his eyes in a silent plea for his permission. You had to forgo before due to him being unconscious...but you'd hate to impose your wants now - even if they were in his best interest.

The man let out a huff but relented, eyes closing and gifting you the tiniest of nods.

You brought the cloth back, wiping at his neck and his collar and shoulders silently, then set the cloth back.

You turned to leave, but your body lingered. Turning back to the man, you patted his hand with the gentility of touching thin and cracked glass.

"I was too late to save your jedi companion...but I was able to get you out. I wish I had been braver and stronger, if I had...perhaps things could have been different." you confessed quietly "But I am neither. So you will have to forgive me for that."

The clone only glanced his eyes towards you, not bothering to move his face to fully give his attention.

"Grandma said you would hopefully recover soon." you offered as you slowly stood "Until then, you'll be stuck with us. If you need anything, just call."

You then gave him your name and excused yourself from the room

Captain Keeli, as he'd later introduced himself as, had been cautious and unsure of you and your grandmother at first. It must've seemed weird, two Twi'leks living out in the middle of nowhere on their own...but he never stopped either of you from helping him in the healing process.

As the days wore on, he slowly relaxed and was willing to chat with you - until you seemed to spend more time chatting at his bedside than you did anything else. Keeli spent his time within your bed fiddling with his equipment or trying to barter you for small chores. The aimlessness of bedrest was not something that sat well with him, so it seemed, as he was more than happy to peel root vegetables while sitting in bed.

"Keeli, dear..." Your grandma began slowly with a smile "these wounds are healing nicely...soon you won't be stuck in this bed" she patted his arm affectionately

"Thank you ma'a-"

"Ah?"

"G-Grandma" he fumbled

"Much better" she beamed proudly to herself as she pulled her body to its feet "Now...if I could just get that grandchild of mine to listen as well as you do..."

Keeli chuckled softly as he pulled the robe-like top closed. You and your grandmother were quite the pair, and a duo he had grown not only accustomed to, but attached to.

It had been weeks since he and General Di had made that stand for Cham and his soliders. Weeks since he'd most likely been presumed dead. The captain wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself.

His commlink had been dammaged heavily during the battle, although you probably left some further damage to it when you had frantically been ripping his armour from him back then... so he'd been unable to get word to the Republic. And despite your ventures out and about...you'd yet to find a way to get a hold of Cham or his people.

"You know...one of these days..." your grandmother mused as she returned with a sweet roll for the captain "I won't be here"

"You shouldn't talk like that ma- ...uh... Grandma" Keeli urged softly, taking the delightful pastry

Your grandmother waved her magenta hand with a dramatic flair

"Nonsense, I am far too old to be told what to do-" she argued humoursly "but that's not the point. What is, is that my dear sweet grandchild will be left all on their own. I worry...that sweet little one has been tottling after me since their first breath. " she sighed as she rested back into the chair

"They love you a great deal m...Grandma" he pointed out in a gentle tone, his eyes watching the elderly Twi'lek as she seemed to drift away into her memories

"There's nobody here for them...and they will not leave this old bat behind" she frowned "If...if you decide you are unable to return to the fight, I would like for you to entertain the idea of staying."

"Ah..." his eyes darted about as he shifted uncomfortably in the bed

"I understand it's a touchy topic, and I am not telling you to give up on your life. I only ask that you think it over. That is all that I wish." she hummed as she began to stand "That is all that thanks I need for bringing you back to health. Though, if you do leave...I would hope you remember us fondly"

With that, Keeli was left to his thoughts and his feelings.

The weeks bled into months, now it had been 4 months' time since you'd rescued the clone. Keeli has long since been up and about, helping you and your grandmother around your home, yet...the captain never left. Never ventured out to find his brethern like he probably should've. Instead...he stayed close to you.

Over the time you'd spent with the captain, the two of you had developed into quite the team. And it soon became apparent, to you, that your feelings were not just infatuation or awe. You cared deeply for the once Captain and it pained you anytime you thought of him walking out of your life forever.

You turned at the sound of your name, your gaze finding those warm chocolate hues you adored.

"It's getting late, we better head in" he nodded towards the entrance of your home, holding a hand out to you "Don't want to worry Grandma"

You smiled, gratefully grasped his hand and let him lead you back to the home.

His hand was warm, as it enveloped your own...snugly...safely.

Your cheeks warmed at the cozy feeling settled deep inside your breast.

"You're awfully spacey...something bothering you?" he paused to watch your expressions

"...Keeli...? Are you happy?" you asked hesitantly, your gaze turning away from him and to the land beyond you both

"I think I'm as happy as one can expect to be" he mused, squeezing your hand "Don't tell me you're all upset over my happiness or lack thereof"

You didn't reply right away, instead your gaze shifted to the holster he kept on his hips. One of the few pieces of his armour he continued to wear.

"Hey...I'm not going anywhere" he spoke softly, pulling you to him and gently taking your other hand "Unless, of course, you want me to leave."

"N-no, I-"

"Good, because if I'm being honest...I don't want to leave. I don't want to go back" he confessed with a smile "Actually, I...I'm not sure how to put this..."

"Put...what...?"

"I've never really felt like this before, this calm and just...content. And you. You- well, I feel a lot for you too" he smiled bashfully his gaze searching for any sort of tell to give way to your feelings on the subject

You stared at him with surprise then pleased embaressment

"I care for you as well" you smiled back

Enboldened by your words, he crept closer to you. The two of you sharing the same space as his hand glided up to cup your cheek

"Then..." his gaze shifted from holding your own to your lips "would it be acceptable for me to stay? With you...?"

Your breath hitched as his face neared, his breath ghosting across your face

"Ma Sareen, there is nowhere else I'd rather be" he whispered

You gasped softly at the phrase in your native tongue

"Grandma may have taught me how to say it properly"

"Just tell him you love him back!" Your grandma yelled impatiently

The spell momentarily broken, you both let out your own breathy laughs

"Grandma...!"

She huffed at you and headed back inside.

"I'm so, so-"

Just as you turned back to Keeli, you found his lips upon your own. Your heart pounded in your ears as you melted against him, your fingers gathering the fabric of his shirt to ground you. The sweet and earnest display of affection was rapidly moving to something more sensual as your lips moved together.

All too soon, he pulled back and pulled you in for a tight embrace. He cheek resting against your own as he held you, although you could feel his heart hammering in his chest just as much as yours was in your own.

"I'm never leaving...I promise. We'll have all the time in the world" he pledged tenderly

You nodded softly, lekku twirling around each other in a silent show of your feelings, as you agreed happily

"All the time in the world"

[vampireofsorrow]

sketched some peoples ocs ! :3

[from left to right] V is owned by @forlorn-tv , the streetcleaner is owner by @pinkavtomation , and the sentry droid is owned by @vayshkarell !

[cabezadeperro]

ok ok do over: 2/5/6/whatever about "the falling man"???

lksdjf hi bees! (again)

2. Which scene was your favorite to write in [title of fic]?

that part when fox is in the ducts escaping from the Corrie headquarters and echo tells him to keep climbing. that's what the fic is about! keep climbing boy!!!! you're not allowed to just wallow in your misery anymore!

5. Did you make an outline for [title]? Did you stick to it?

i did! iirc i made a few lmao it was pretty hard to write! in the beginning it was going to be more plotty, with an actual murder mystery and more noir-ish, but then it'd have gotten even longer, with even more moving parts, and i decided to focus on other elements of hte story, like the relationships between the characters, etc

most of the changes to the outline happened at the beginning i think. this is how it usually goes with me--i start, get stuck, have an existential crisis, come back to it, start again, rinse and repeat until something clicks and/or i force myself to keep writing.

an example:

where's v3? don't think about it ♥️

6. Which scenes did you cut, and which were added in [title]?

i cut most of the murder mystery. an example:

CorSec is already gone. Fox pulls down his hood and stands in the corner for a while. He watches: the main street, the alleys that disappear between the buildings and the emptiness they surround, the big drain pipes and the vacuum underneath. There is a sentry droid standing in front of the alley’s mouth, but it looks more imposing than it actually is. Fox frowns--if there’s been a murder he’d expect a bit more attention. Especially if the murder victim was from the Upper Levels.  It’s more quiet than it was when he got there, barely half an hour ago. It’s that dead hour between the artificial night cycle and the next day--some of the shops are actually closed, and the Twi’lek lady from the foodcart in the corner is absently wiping down the counter, her lekku lax and her eyes dark with exhaustion.  Fox can empathize. He hides a yawn and the sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, crosses the road. It’s empty--it’s usually swarming with speeders and drivers and people.  Fox slips into the alley. He hid a collapsible ladder under the rubbish--it takes him five minutes until he’s able to find it again. It’s greasy and when he opens it it wobbles dangerously, but Fox has never been afraid of heights. He glances around himself, leans it against a wall, and climbs quickly, his booted feet light over the rungs. From there it’s easier to keep climbing--his fingers and his shoulders protest, but Fox ignores them, that part of him that sometimes still misses officer training in Kamino relishing the pain, the exertion. He climbs onto a boarded up balcony, stands on the railing and jumps to the one over it, uses an old streetlamp to swing himself on the fake roof over it. 

i kinda want to write something more plotty in this kind of setting. i really love a plot 😌