#kara-write

Post the first sentence/s you write in your WIP today (I happen to also have WIP art!)

People used to the scoured clean parades and squares of the upper levels and senate district complained about the insects that scurried and crawled amongst the lower levels of the city planet, pulled towards the neon lights of signs from cracks in the buildings but Feemor was glad of the little lives surrounding him. He smiled beneath his mask when a moth landed on his helmet. It made the hours standing guard over the scattered Temple entrances far more joyful.

@zillanovikov i have the first sentence. *gently hands it to you like a little bug*

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

Mines monday, smashed this out just before going to bed, im about as coherent as sifo right now have i proofread it? no. but ill do that when i post to ao3 but im dropping it down the mineshaft right now cause why not.

---

“A bit of fluff a day keeps the doctor away,” Sifo-Dyas singsonged from his place in a sprawl of limbs on the lounge.

Dooku hummed in question, regarding what in the galaxy Sifo was on about. Even as fluent in Sifo-Dyas speak as he was, sometime the seer’s post-vision mumblings took a little deciphering. The visions took their toll and words were difficult beasts on the best of days, that Dooku knew for certain from handling twisted Senate dealings. 

“Fluff. Thing. Over there.” Sifo flapped his hand in the vague direction of his bedroom.

Dooku obediently placed down the data-pad from which he was reading aloud one of Sifo’s steamy holonovels. Sifo’s headache made it too painful to decipher the print himself, and for some reason unbenownst to Dooku, he preferred Dooku’s voice, pauses at interesting turns of phrase, interjections, raised eye brows and commentary about logistical feasibility and all, to the one generated by the screenreader on the datapad.

He stepped over the various piles on Sifo’s floor to peer into the dim room. Fluff and thing did not narrow down the options when it came to scouring the nest of blankets, pillows, throws and even a shawl arranged on Sifo-Dyas’ mattress. 

There was even what seemed to be one of his own cloaks within the nest, the distinct shine of quality Serennian fabric catching his eye. He absently brushed his hand over it while debating whether Sifo wished him to bring the neon pink, fluffy, heartshaped pillow with some lanky bird that Sifo had once said reminded him of Dooku sunburnt, of all things.

The cloak had been sent to him years ago by Jenza; he had a newer one that accounted for his present height but this one had lasted though he hadn’t missed it with Sifo’s acquisition. It was for winter wear, tailored from a dense outer fabric, capable of sheltering from the rain and drafts of snow while riding in Serreno’s forests, though not the most comfortable to sleep with, surely.

And yet… Dooku pulled it out of the nest to inspect its full form. The inside was lined with fur, soft when he brushed over it and deep enough for his hand to sink into… 

He returned to the lounge, cloak bundled over his arm. He could be wrong, Sifo could be asking for something different entirely which he would then fetch, excusing the cloak as taking it for laundry. Not that one would simply toss it down a chute for the droids to handle into the mechanical washers with the rest of the Temple’s tunics. But Sifo would likely let him be for this slip up in graces. The Force however told him that something in the course of action was right. 

He presented the cloak to Sifo, held out for inspection. Sifo grinned, tiredly, loopily, with a hint of prophetic madness, hands grasping for it haphazardly but in undeniable pleasure at the sensation of softness against skin.

“Mmmm, fluffyyy.”

“It is that, indeed.”

Dooku allowed himself to smile back, and gently lay the cloak over Sifo-Dyas, fur side down to envelop him in it. 

He meant to return to his armchair close by Sifo’s side but Sifo caught his hand, entwining their fingers and tugged at it the same as he did their Force bond.

“Doo, Doo, Doo, Doooo,” he sang, raising his head half from the sofa. 

Dooku did not need anything more to understand that. With a bit of manoeuvring, he slipped in underneath Sifo, so Sifo could drape his upper body in Dooku’s lap.

From a subsequent chapter but I AM SO SO CLOSE TO FINISHING THE NEXT CHAPTER AND INTRODUCING FEEMOR!!!!!! Im excited get excited everyone!!!

But also here we get Jaster dealing with the disabilities being disabling cause laser cannon at point blank range is not something you come out of fine.

—

The jedi went down hard and stayed there. Jaster cursed. He needed to get them both out of here before DW noticed the alley they’d fallen into.

Before, he would’ve hauled the Jedi over his shoulder and staggered out of there between his own strength and that of his armour.

But now, he could barely keep himself on his feet. He wouldn’t be able to carry Jango, who was still a skinny kid a way off his last growth spurt. No way he could carry a fully grown and armoured being half a foot taller than him.

I want to get back into doing more WIP posts as I've got so much that I've been working on , especially in my long fic, that is written but waiting on other bits to be posted as a chapter.

So here, without further ado, assorted snippets including some of my favourite bits, in no particular order:

*

Tarre began to laugh, massive, gasping, body shaking laughs, tears brimming up in their eyes. The sound of it filled the room up and Jaster’s heart too, bouncing off of the walls.

Jaster laughed along with them, both of them chuckling until they were then silently wheezing with breathless, hysterical mirth. In a pragmatic view, both of them were needlessly worrying medics: Tarre clutched their head, face twisted between a grin and a grimace with each outburst, and Jaster’s vision swam concerningly as he was forced to let the back of the bed support his weight.

“We—- we need to figure out—-“ Jaster tried as he and Tarre attempted to sober up staring at the ceiling.

Jaster accidentally caught Tarre’s eye, glancing over to check up on them only to find them looking back and him, and it all began again.

*

The blue light from the datapads deepened the purple under [Jaster's] eyes and the grey cast to his skin. It drew lines between the crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes from smiling and frowning and living. He looked younger though, more lost and tired than he let anyone else see outside his helmet during the day.

He glanced up and blinked at Tarre. His eyes were warm though, deep brown Tarre could sink into in calm moments, when everything else went quiet. Jaster checked his chrono and winced.

Tarre approached, stepping behind him so they could draped their arms around his neck and cuddle close. He wasn’t bothered by the ‘saber they still clung to, gripped in reverse where if ignited it would only be going through their own wrist. Jaster tipped his head back to rest against their stomach and they leant down to brush a kiss to the crown of Jaster’s head then rest their forehead upon it.

*

Xanatos choked on his own gasps for breath. He was frozen here with feet that felt like they were stuck to the floor. Everyone was right, here he was skulking in a hallway thinking about all the ways he could doom them, he was a traitor and Feemor was too trusting and it was only a matter of time before he failed his padawan brother too—

Feemor wasn’t even his padawan brother anymore either, Qui-Gon had seen to that when he repudiated them both. The familiar flare of anger-hatred searing through his veins so strong he couldn’t catch his breath. But it strengthened him, though it was dark and it hurt, because he knew this, it was all he’d been left with after— after everything, even as it couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

He smeared them away with the sleeves of his sleep shirt. They kept coming but he tried even though the action was as useless as he now was. He settled for pressing a hand hard over his mouth to muffle his sobs so he wouldn’t wake anyone up. His shields were an utter mess but he yanked them tighter around him anyway so Fee wouldn’t sense he was upset even unconscious. He didn't need any of them, he was used to being flung between nightmares and insomnia every night by now. 

*

In Jaster’s silence, Feemor sat down on the floor with him and held his arms out welcomingly. Jaster leant back, or more fell into them. With Feemor’s warm body solid behind him, one of Fee’s hands splayed over his stomach, the other curled around his chest, Jaster nearly wanted to cry.

Tarre knelt in front of him, neatly slotting between his and Fee’s outstretched legs. They then tucked their feet to the side beneath themself in a gesture that was so Tarre that Jaster’s heart hurt, before they reached out to cup Jaster’s face. Jaster dropped his own hands away and raised his chin to let them.

*

Feemor’s armour collided with the wall behind him as he let Tarre push him up against it. The impact of it reverberated through his body, taking his breath. He pulled Tarre tighter to him with his hands that were already tangled in their tabards.

He could feel their triumphant grin in the Force as a spark of emotion where he could not see it through their infuriatingly opaque visor. Feemor’s Guard’s Mask wouldn’t show anything either, but his open shields laid his desire bare before Tarre. Tarre’s presence oozed confidence, that same shiny purple-black as their armour, shot through with giddy delight in a wave of sunset orange.

They tilted their head in the exact same way as they would before kissing him deep enough that all he could see was stars, they leant in, Feemor instinctively opened his mouth--- their helmets clacked together. He panted.

*

Feemor rested his head on Tarre’s chest, right over one of their hearts. He could hear both of them beating in rhythm, calm and steady. Tarre wore one of Jaster’s worn out t-shirts; soft under Feemor’s cheek, it smelt of both his partners. He nuzzled into it.

Also Sapphic SykuJo.

---

The lightsaber duel ended predictably: with Sifo-Dyas flat on her back on the mats, and Dooku’s lightsaber held to her throat.

It wasn’t just the landing---hard enough to drive the air from her lungs--- that left her struggling to draw breath, but it was the excuse she would use.

That vivid blue blade, humming with only a fraction of its deadly potential with the power level turned right down for training was close enough Sifo-Dyas had to squint through the light to see that satisfied expression tipping up Dooku’s lips.

She’d had nightmares, visions even, where this had gone very differently, but in life Dooku had never had cause to raise a blade to her that would do more than mark her with stinging burns. In life, Sifo-Dyas simply raised an eyebrow at her.

Sweat dripped from Dooku’s cropped hair, trailing down her temple. Sifo would lick it away, they were mere centimetres apart, yet the lightsaber separated them, a gleaming horizon over the ocean on a perfect blue skies day. Sifo-Dyas’ life was nothing but event horizons but she shook that thought away too.

Even Dooku panted heavily in victory, not so indefatigable, not so invincible after all. Her long body, held suspended above Sifo-Dyas’ was close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her, and to feel the minute tremble of overwrought muscle.

Sifo-Dyas grinned as if she had won this round. In the ways that counted, she would.

---

Then his helmet comm crackled, a close, clear noise in bright gold compared to the metallic greys and blue of the ever-present cacophony of Coruscant. Feemor jumped guiltily.

“Knight-Guard, it is your turn to report,” the voice on the other end said smoothly.

Fierfek. Kark.

He’d gotten distracted. If the comm was enough to surpise him, he was in no way paying enough attention to his surroundings. He was a Guard, he was on duty, he could’ve missed his check in---

He took a sharp breath in through his nose. He hadn’t missed it, but he could’ve.

Feemor swallowed and gave his report of all’s well around the humiliating lump in his throat.

“I am her mother, she is my child. People do tend to wonder.”

its been a while, but first if only sentence of the day is sentenced @zillanovikov