I’m at 41 thousand words. This story is basically guaranteed to break 45k words, making it the second novel in the Hounds of Arkanis series.
Also, if Lieutenant Mitaka hasn’t earned his name here I don’t know how else he could do it.
I am aware a public trial is the exact place a First Order asset would NOT reveal all of this but that’s because this isn’t a public trial. I can use Sloane’s voice next chapter to go over that. Because I also know what else happened during this trial and it involves more than just the First Order.
No pressure tags for: @keldae @kaosstar @actualanxiousswampwitch @commander-krios @vespertine-legacy @shabre-legacy @cinlat and anyone else with something they’d like to share!
This is from an upcoming chapter of Smuggler’s Run:
Hindsight—sometimes she could avoid it altogether. Other times it came around to give her a swift kick in the pants. This situation: well, this definitely felt like a kick in the pants type moment. And what, pray tell, was her stunning epiphany? A real humdinger of a drag, that’s what! She should have listened to Prax. If she had listened to him, she wouldn’t be in her current predicament, tip-toeing through her own galley in the middle of the night while a stolen Kath hound scratched up the custom retrofitted durasteel paneling of her smuggling compartments. The eager Kath hound let out a soft whine, then scratched the panel door with renewed energy.
“Shhhhh, Mimi!” Zallia hissed between clenched teeth. “You’ll wake everybody up…”
Zallia crouched and slid the panel door underneath the galley cabinets open. With a yip and a streak of blinding white, the rambunctious fur ball bounded around the room with her lopsided gait, making zig-zag patterns and bumping into the galley table and stools on her path of destruction.
“Zumi Thane, get over here this instant!”
The voice sounded stern, but who was she kidding? Mimi did exactly as she pleased whenever it pleased her. Zallia would have better luck controlling a Maelstrom, a lesson she’d learned the hard way in the week since she’d tucked the sickly Kath hound into the folds of her jacket and smuggled her out of the Hutt cartel market.
Zumi took a running leap, her luxurious luminescent fur rippled in the light as with all four paws, she rammed into Zallia’s chest and tackled her to the ground. The pup’s long tongue slurped at Zallia’s face and neck, while Zallia struggled to breathe as the much heavier than she looked pup snuggled down into her chest. Zallia surrendered: this was her life now. She’d die asphyxiated on the floor of her ship, underneath the weight of the fluffiest little assassin she’d ever laid eyes on.
When you can't edit photos, you use apps that give you this result.
IS THAT YOU RORY??? 😂🤮🙄 We have already established Cassie Boroski can't edit out watermarks from images to save her life (we're not forgetting the lies about where she gets them in the first place! - read all about it on this account) - now she's defiling them with a face enhancement filter that makes him look like a drag queen. PUCKER UP YOUR FAKE LIPS RORY!
Give it a rest Cassie, you're not very good at it. But then, you're not good at anything in this fandom are you? You lie, you cheat, you steal, you stalk, you're vulgar and now you've clearly proven how much you suck at any kind of photo editing. Or should I say #photodefiling ?????? 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 #allthingswrongwithcassieboroski
In a modern au setting, what would you have the corrie guard be? (Since acab and we are pro corrie in this house)
this went to my drafts instead of posting for some reason, sorry!
in a modern au I don't super know how to apply any of their canon training outside of police or the military and fuck that, SO you know what? the corries are social workers. they’re all driven to help people, presumably especially kids (they have Mando genes after all), and loyal and protective almost to a fault so I think the combined direct client interaction plus case work/management/outreach side would probably appeal
@bladebroken: night terrors / from armin @ eren!!!
The world distorts itself even in dreams, flowers the decay among his grasp && the permanent smell of iron. It taints each nostril refusing to budge, but there are no flames or rivers of red, there is nothing - desolation that magnifies. Is that the end? Nothing but absolution, to be forgotten in this life. Everyone is asleep, it’s peaceful in this darkness almost reminiscent to the days of a young trainee. Where they would huddle together speaking of dreams far too great for the likes of them or naively believing, they could really be the course of change.
Tears that start to spill, this lonesomeness that lingers within the heart is heavy, it nearly crushes the spirit. When was the last time Eren felt this way? Every time another familiar face was lost, the memories of each ghost that manifested, refusing slumber. There is no point in tears, they stain each bit of clothing but he can feel the weight of another against the hardness of his back. Familiar, close but so far as bright eyes flicker an expression that cannot be read contorting onto soft features.
His bottom lip tries to become stiff, nose wrinkling - that’s always how he has been, trying so valiantly to not cry but it fails each time. There is nothing to be said, desperate fingers that reach out clawing at Armin’s clothing. How does he know? Each emotion that sprawls across his face, Armin can decipher within an instant. Even since they were children, there was no use keeping a secret, he would always figure it out. At times, it makes Eren laugh while others he cannot help but scowl, it is an infuriating skill but one that is needed nonetheless.
There’s hesitance to lean in, as if taking such comfort could shatter the fragility of this small world of theirs. He does not fight instead simply leans in, another nightmare where it feels like the endless sea akin to drowning unable to escape. They’ve become more rampant, memories that are not of his own, the endless sorrow that paints itself so vividly - it is more vibrant with each passing day. All this weight, it's unbearable for a restless soul such as his own, how could he ever speak of the upcoming days? He couldn’t.
Tears that stream from anger, melancholy, embarrassment - all of it pours out refusing to end. It’s so lonely this life, when all he wishes is to hold onto what is left. All of them with their smiling faces, even when they come to aggravate his nerves or cause a sigh to escape, he lingers on the nostalgia of yesterdays. Fingers that weave into messy locks, trying to calm his shaking form - Armin always looks like the sun. Shining brightly with brilliant blue eyes, they were the anchor when he felt disappeared or confused. What was capable of calming the fire in his heart && reminding him to gain clarity, but most importantly, to preserve what he held dear.
“You always know…” words that are aimlessly whispered into the air, the half smile that takes form as tired eyes start to itch. He cannot see him nor make out his shape, but the same heat has been there since childhood. Where he felt little fear when they ran home together, bruised && bloodied from another fight - as long as we’re together. That’s what he always believed, so long as they remained by each other’s side everything would be fine. Despair that had once gripped so tightly now starts to melt away, gentle weeping that becomes silent, a grasp so strong but kind. Sunshine, that's what Armin is to Eren - hope incarnated.