I really wanted to participate with FoxMoon2025, but I'm slowly losing my sanity so I'm sorry for my late entry (I relate with Fox in this pic). I combined prompts from both days and found a free, online GIF making site that does a better job than Photoshop. Well kriff me.
Alright I'm off again to lurk in the depths beyond.
Sorry, no taglist since I'm still shadowbanned so tags don't work.
Summary: In a leaky underworld apartment, you and Fox share cup noodles.
Pairing: Fox x GN!Reader
Word count: 2633
Warnings: swearing
Illustration: TCW and Cyberpunk 2077
Crack treated seriously based on a chat with @orangez3st. Thanks for the idea, vod!
--------------------------------
It wasn’t rain. Not really.
But here, on the uppermost floor of your apartment building in Gavas-Eclat, a harsh neighbourhood in Level 3215, the underworld’s so-called "rainy season" might as well be a full-blown monsoon. The pipes in the structures overhead groaned and rattled, letting loose a deluge of runoff that hammered your roof. Leaks sprouted like weeds, dripping incessantly into the buckets and pans scattered around your apartment.
"CYARE!" Fox’s voice rang out from the bedroom. "THIS PART IS LEAKING AGAIN. FUCKING HELL, GRAB A BUCKET!"
You sighed, abandoning your attempt to shuffle another set of towels around the already waterlogged floor. The storage closet offered a lone bucket, battered from years of service. You grabbed it and made your way to Fox, whose patience seemed to be hanging by a thread.
"I told you it was going to get worse!" you called as you walked to the bedroom.
"I didn’t think the whole damn level would spring a leak!" Fox stomped into view, a soggy towel thrown over one shoulder and an empty caf mug dangling from his fingers. Half of his black undershirt was drenched, whilst his trousers were rolled up to his knees. “Please tell me you still have the nice caf. I can’t for the life of me go down to your apartment lobby and buy that shitty vending machine caf. Babe, you know how terrible that stuff is. It’s all sugar.”
“First of all, it’s not a leak - it’s a waterfall,” you corrected, pointing to the stream now pouring from the ceiling. "Don’t think a bucket’s gonna cut it. Second, new beans are in the second-to-right drawer in the kitchen. Grind it yourself.”
“Well, what do you want me to do, cyare? Patch the whole damn underworld?” He shoved the bucket under the latest torrent. “I hate this level. I hate it here.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Could be worse. At least this time it’s not raining some gas runoff or—”
“Don’t. Don’t even finish that thought,” he snagged his already-cold caf pot from the counter. “And you’re insane if you think I’m grinding beans in the middle of this fucking waterfall. I should’ve stayed at HQ. At least that place only smells like bantha shit half the time.”
Despite a fresh leak appearing alarmingly close to where he was standing, he poured what little caf remained into his mug, grimacing as he noticed the new wet spot on the ceiling. You were almost certain it was the eighth or ninth cup he’d downed today, but you didn’t have the heart to mention it. Or maybe you just enjoyed watching him spiral into caffeinated madness. “You’re so needy,” you sat on one of the kitchen counters, arguably the driest patch of the room. “Come on, Fox. Where’s that Marshal Commander efficacy? Surely you’ve got a strategy for this.”
“Strategy?” he repeated. “You want a strategy? Here’s my strategy: burn this fucking apartment down and collect the insurance. Problem solved.”
You gasped in horror. “Fox!”
“Oh, come on, like you haven’t thought about it,” he slammed his mug onto the counter with unnecessary force. "Why’d you even pick this shithole anyway? You could’ve at least chosen a level that doesn’t come with its own weather system.”
“It was cheap,” you said with a shrug, opening a jar of biscuits you’d bought from the corner shop run by a nice Ithorian lady in your building. You extended the jar to him, and his eyes lit up as he eagerly grabbed a handful of biscuits. “And I didn’t think my boyfriend would be over here complaining about caf and leaks every other day. Nobody asked you to come down here anyway, cyare.”
Months of dating had made you an expert at reading the man beside you. The way he leaned against the counter, sipping his caf whilst simultaneously munching on at least three biscuits, told you he was no longer upset. Fox was like a tooka, almost. Feed him, give him something to drink, and he’d settle down. It always amused you how much he loathed the Underworld, yet he still made the effort to come down to your apartment every other day. He knew the trek to the surface level was a hassle for you, and though he’d never admit it to you, he cared enough to make it easier. You watched him, an involuntary smile stretched on your face as he stared blankly ahead, a biscuit in one hand and his caf in the other. Just as you found yourself admiring the rare moment of peace, a fresh drip from the ceiling landed squarely on his shoulder. His scowl returned in full force as muttered a string of curses.
“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, brushing at the wet spot, “someone’s gotta keep an eye on you before this whole fucking building collapses.”
“Just admit it, babe,” you leaned towards his direction with a playful smirk. “You prefer being down here with me instead of in your sterile private quarters up there. For stars’ sake, the last time I stayed at your place, I thought I woke up in a medbay. Do you even own a single decoration? A plant? A poster? Anything?”
You gave him a light sideways punch to his shoulder, earning a low chuckle from him. It was rare to hear him laugh - most days, he was all work and discipline - but when it happened, it was like seeing the actual sunlight in 3215. “Decorate?” he echoed. “Cyare, I’m a soldier, not a fucking interior designer. What do you expect me to do? String up fairy lights and start collecting throw pillows?”
“Well, a few cushions and maybe a rug wouldn’t kill you. I don’t know, a holo-photo of the boys maybe? Something to make it look like an actual human being lives there.”
He snorted before taking another sip of his caf. “I live there just fine without all that junk. But sure, I’ll pick out a nice floral print just for you, sweetheart.”
“I don’t even like flowers,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. It was cute, really. He knew you hated flowers - they always reminded you of funerals. Instead, in lieu of flowers, Fox had developed a habit of giving you snacks from the Coruscant Guard vending machines. And not just any snacks. It was always the most ridiculous, random thing he could find! Neon-coloured jelly that you swore had some kind of caffeine in it, off-brand dried nerf strips, or those spicy crackers that nobody but him seemed to like. He always acted like it was no big deal, handing them to you every time you went out together or whenever he came down to stay at your place. He’d casually say, “Found this on patrol,” as if he hadn’t gone out of his way to snag them.
You grinned at the thought. “Honestly, I think I’d be more freaked out if you did show up with floral prints. Stick to your weird snacks - make a basket full of them.”
“Like a mini bar situation?” He turned his head towards you.
“Yeah, maybe with some drinks, and fruits, or whatever,” you shrugged as you grabbed a biscuit from the jar. “You could even paint that bedside table of yours red - it’d be a great pop of colour amidst all that sterile white.”
Fox snorted but looked thoughtful as he pushed off the cabinet and stood in front of you, hands resting on the countertop where you were sitting, right beside your thighs. “Funny you mention that. I actually saw a nice cabinet while I was patrolling around Calocour Heights the other day.”
“Oh yeah?” you raised your eyebrows. “What kind?”
“It was one of those, uh… modular things,” he gestured vaguely with one hand, the other still steady on the counter. “Real sleek, real clean. Bright red, with these glossy panels that fit together like a puzzle. The whole thing looked like it belonged in one of those fancy apartments topside - like it could double as art or something. It had compartments for everything! Drinks, snacks, gear, even these little hidden drawers you could lock. Thought it might actually make my quarters look less like a medbay.”
You tilted your head as you tried to picture it. “Huh. Sleek, red, functional, and versatile? Sounds like your soulmate, Fox.”
He lowered his gaze to the floor, chuckling as he shook his head lightly. “Yeah, well, the romance died when I looked at the price tag.”
“How bad?”
“Let’s just say,” he narrowed his eyes, “if I wanted that thing, I’d have to sell my speeder - which is a Republic property, my armour, and maybe half the Guard’s refectory rations for a month. And even then, I’d still be short.” He paused before facing you with a grin. “Or maybe I could sell Grizzer, and face Hound’s wrath.”
You laughed, nearly choking on your biscuit. “For a cabinet? Stars, Fox, that’s next-level.”
“Exactly,” he joined your laughter. “Because what I really need in my life is debt over some shiny red furniture.”
“Shame,” you squeezed his cheeks together. “You’d look good with a fancy cabinet. It’d go great with your style.”
“But if it keeps you from staying down here in this death trap of an apartment, I might actually consider it.” He leaned forward to get closer to you. From this distance, you could catch the bitter scent of caf on his breath. You lifted a hand, fingers tousling his curls as you let out a bright smile. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re secretly hoping to bribe me into moving topside?”
“Bribe? I’d call it... strategic persuasion.” He gave you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m a tactical genius.”
You laughed as you playfully shoved his shoulder. “That would’ve been a hell of a flex. Commander Fox’s quarters featured in one of those interior design videos on the HoloNet. And the best feature? The overengineered snack holder.” Fox grinned, arms crossed with that smug look you had come to love plastered on his face. “Damn right. ‘State-of-the-art compartments for your snacks and fancy caf beans.’ I’d probably go viral.”
“Oh, for sure,” you joined his sarcasm. “People would flock to see the legendary Commander Fox and his impeccable taste in mid galactic modern design.”
“You’re not wrong. I’ve got fans everywhere.” His grin widened as he added with mock seriousness. “Have you seen those ladies lining up near the Senate Building? They’re all lining up to meet me,”
A belly laugh burst out of you, so sudden and loud you had to clutch your stomach. “Those old ladies?!” you managed between fits of laughter. “You can’t be serious!” Fox crossed his arms. “Dead serious. They’re lining up for me. Every single one of them.”
You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, still laughing. “Okay, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s part of that Senate Elder Aid program. The Guard’s been running supply deliveries for the retired citizens in that sector. And who do they see when they open their doors? Me. In uniform. Doing my job.” He closed the distance between you again, lifting his caf cup to your lips. You grabbed the cup and took a sip before answering with a teasing grin, “Let me guess. They’re thrilled to see such a dashing young man handling their deliveries.”
He snorted. “They tell me I remind them of their grandsons - or in some cases, their late husbands. One of them even gave me a pie last week.”
That sets you off again, making you laugh so hard. “Oh, stars, Fox. You’re out here breaking hearts and collecting pies.”
“Hey, don’t laugh. Those pies are no joke,” he opened your fridge and groaned when he saw nothing in it. “One of them had so much jogan spread in it, I swear I saw the Force. It was orgasmic.”
You shook your head as you watched him rummage through your kitchen. It struck you then - this wasn’t the same Fox you’d first met. When you started seeing him many moons ago, you had no idea what to expect. He’d always been grumbly, guarded, the kind of man who carried a lot of baggage on his shoulders and refused to let anyone lighten the load. His brothers had even warned you, “It’ll take a few drinks to get him to crack a smile.” But here he was now, standing in your leaky apartment, cracking jokes about orgasmic pies and cursing at the leaks. This side of him, the side that raided your kitchen cabinets and made jokes about burning down your apartment, felt like a secret he shared only with you. Outside, the relentless sound of dripping water finally eased, and the oppressive atmosphere of the leaks seemed to lift with it. “Fucking finally,” you muttered under your breath.
“Yeah, fucking finally, babe,” Fox agreed, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. “Guess we don’t have to burn down your apartment now.” He muttered as he continued raiding your cabinets. “Aha - found it.”
He pulled out two cup noodles, the ones he’d given you last week with a ridiculous backstory about a senator who brought them back from an Outer Rim trip. He tossed one to you before tearing into his own. “You saved these?” he asked in disbelief as he filled the cups with hot water. “I thought you’d have devoured them by now.”
“They’re souvenirs,” you said with a shrug. “Figured I’d save them for a special occasion.”
He chuckled, handing your cup back and settling beside you on the counter. “Well, I’m glad I could be here for the big event.” You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder for a moment. The two of you sat there in the quiet, eating noodles and listening to the last echoes of dripping water fade away. Fox slurped a particularly long noodle, before kissing the top of your head. “I’ll stick to raiding vending machines for you, cyare. Much easier on my wallet.”
“Oh, don’t think this means you’re off the hook. You’re still making me that snack basket.” You elbowed him, and sipped the spicy noodle soup from the flimsi cup.
“Yes, boss.” He signed dramatically at your request.
“You’re such a baby.” You laughed again, resisting the urge to start a food fight. Fox held out his cup noodle above his head like he just received some kind of award for being a decent partner. “And yet, this baby just saved your apartment and provided dinner. I expect proper gratitude, cyare.”
“Gratitude?” you raised an eyebrow. “I’ll think about it. Maybe after you build that basket.”
He let out a soft chuckle, the sound warming you like the noodles you were eating. Both of you would get back to cleaning up soon, hoping the hot water was still working so you could finally take a shower and wash off the day. You thought about dragging him to The Wharf tomorrow for a quick fix for the ceiling leak - he had mentioned it was his off day. Maybe you’d stop by that little diner he liked on Level 4780, grab a plate of fried dumplings, or finally let him show you the vendor that sold the ridiculous milky gummies he kept sneaking into your cabinets.
But you pushed those thoughts aside for now as you turned your attention to him. His serious expression as he ate his cup noodles made you smile. You decided to stay in the moment. The galaxy outside could wait - its noise, its demands, all the things neither of you could control. For now, it was just the two of you, sitting shoulder to shoulder in your leaky kitchen, sharing a moment of peace that, somehow, felt like it was always meant to be.
A bit late, but here's a snippet from an upcoming event fic I've been working on! I saw the 'blood moon' theme for @foxmoonevent2025 and couldn't resist :)
Quinlan shivers when they step out of the shop into the cool night air, gaze catching immediately on a whisp of deep red smoke floating by. It reminds him of the monster around the castle; when he looks up, the moon peeking over the mountains is a brilliant red. "What--?"
"Dammit, it came early," Fox curses. His crimson eyes glow in the bloody moonlight. "C'mon, lets get inside. I don't like watching it."
"What--what was that?" Quinlan asks, a bit shaken. Fox doesn't answer, just gestures him to follow and leads him up the stairs to the beds they'd paid for earlier in the day. While there's a candle on each nightstand, no one else is on the second floor; Quinlan suspects they don't get too many visitors here at the Pon Tu Inn.
He sits on one bed while Fox takes the other and pulls off his overshirt, inspecting the tear from their fight with the Yiga the day before. The Sheikah visibly considers his words as he threads a needle from the kit he'd purchased at Ventest. "Since the Calamity appeared a hundred years ago, every so often there'll be nights where the sky turns red and the moon glows darkly," he explains, slow and careful. "And when it does...every monster that's been killed--Bokos, Chuchus, Lizalfos--they come back to life, like they'd never died." There's an ugly twist to his mouth. "It's why they're still everywhere you look, even though the weaker ones can be killed by most any swordsman. It's not worth hunting them all down when they'll be back just as strong as ever the next day."
Quinlan blinks, taking that in. "So all the monsters we killed, the busted Guardian--?"
Fox ties off the thread and slices the needle free with his kodachi. "All alive again and terrorizing travelers and farmers alike," he confirms, weaving the long tails back through his neat stitches. There's a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. "They always come back. Just like Ganon."
Quinlan swallows hard. That--it's too much. He can't deal with this right now; the knowledge that no monsters can truly be dealt with until he eliminates Ganon settles on his psyche with crushing weight. "I'm going to sleep," he whispers. Fox watches him with eyes far too knowing for someone so young. "Just...goodnight, Fox."
"Goodnight, Quinlan," Fox replies softly. Then he blows out the candle, leaving them with nothing but the creeping red of moonlight dancing across the floorboards.
for @highfunctioningbookaholic @whiskygoldwings and, because they are a genius for coming up with the idea, @clonemando
Cody frowned, reluctantly trying to concede the point. He lightly scratched an eyebrow, needed the second of respite to gather his thoughts, and mentally slammed against a wall. “That’s why you killed the Supreme Chancellor?” And replaced him, he thought incredulously, but first things first.
“Cody,” Fox said, still as stern and unapologetic and offended, “he disrespected the sippy cup.”
Please hear me out on something: Fox drinks his caff from a sippy cup. He is too busy to deal with things like spills and the cup is covered
And here is my second entry, short, sweet and angsty!
Prompts used here were blood moon and the song Black Out Days by Phantogram.
@foxmoonevent2025
His feet carried him through the halls with singleminded focus. Everything around him blurred together, shapes, voices, movement, none of it was relevant to CC-1010. What mattered were the orders he had been given.
A hand gripped his shoulder, halting his forward momentum. A voice spoke, but the words barely registered over the hum in his mind. His HUD automatically scanned, pulling up a CC number, assigning a name, a rank, an identity to the interference.
The buzzing in his skull grew louder, drowning out the words. The urge to move forward, the pain lancing through his head at the second of hesitancy urged his feet forward, because that was what good soldiers did. They followed orders.
He pushed on. The hand fell away. The voice faded into nothing.
The room he entered was both familiar and unfamiliar. His body knew where to go even if his mind didn’t process it, muscle memory, instinct. He didn’t pause, didn’t second guess. He grabbed what he needed and left.
Coruscant buzzed around him, pulsing with life, noise, filth. The neon glow of signs, the lights, the speeders. The streets were crowded, bodies moving past him. The air was damp, sticky with too many people crammed into too little space.
None of it mattered. He had an objective.
Everything else was irrelevant.
#^#^#
The first breath hit like a shock to the system.
Fox gasped in air, lungs heaving like breaking the surface after drowning. His body lurched, muscles jerking, reacting before his mind could catch up. His helmet was gone, his head bare to the cold, damp air.
His surroundings were unfamiliar but he knew where he was. The city stank around him, garbage, stagnant water, decay.
The ground under him was wet. It had rained earlier, he remembered that much. Now the sky was clear, and through the gaps in the buildings, past the neon and light pollution, he saw it, hanging above him, full and red, heavy in the sky.
The blood moon. He vaguely remembered hearing about it. The festival, the eclipse.
His breathing slowed. He blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together where he was, how he’d gotten here.
His armor was slick. His gloves, his chest plate were wet, sticky.
He lifted his hands. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t his blood.
The moon painted everything in shades of red.
No memory. No orders.
Just the suffocating certainty that whatever he’d done, there was no taking it back.
The main prompt I used as inspo for this one was the Song Blue Light by Xylo. It's haunting and lovely. Which is why this probably turned out so angsty. I couldn't help but do an angsty Foxiyo piece for this. The other themes Full Moon, bright and city are definately in there.
@foxmoonevent2025
Fox wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the bruises covering his body, the ache in his ribs where his armor had pressed too tight for too long, or the never ending exhaustion. Maybe it wasn’t any of that. Maybe it was the simple brutal fact that none of it had been enough.
Days spent trying to coordinate disaster relief, running from one crisis to the next, putting out fires that never stopped. The numbers weren’t adding up. People were still missing. Recovery efforts were too slow, the damage just too much.
Maybe it was the humiliation of the briefing earlier that day.
A failure is what he was, what they had all but called him, without needing to say it outright. Every question, every thinly veiled critique from the Chancellor, he had sat there and taken it, a slow drawn out execution of his leadership.
It was a joke that they trusted him to be a Marshal Commander, the medals shoved in his desk drawer were a joke.
He shouldn’t be here. He should have been sleeping, catching up on reports, doing something, trying to salvage what he could. Instead, he was walking Coruscant’s streets with Riyo Chuchi.
The air was hazy with fog and pollution, the flickering neon signs lit up the night. The one full moon visible through the smog cast everything in bright starling relief. It might have been beautiful, if it wasn’t Coruscant.
Riyo had wanted something normal. A few hours where she wasn’t a senator. Somehow, despite everything, his never ending duties, the difference in their lives, despite rules, regulations, and propriety, against all odds he and Riyo had become friends.
For months now, he had come to look forward to speaking with her. Meeting her for caf. Scheduling short breaks to check in under the pretense of a security detail.
He enjoyed her stories. Enjoyed the way she laughed. Enjoyed the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something that mattered to her.
Maybe too much. It was dangerous territory and he knew it.
When she had asked for this, an evening out, some normalcy, a walk through the streets, weeks ago, before Coruscant had gone to hell in a matter of hours, he had agreed.
She had been talking about something, and under pain of torture, he couldn’t recall a single word. His thoughts were too tangled, dragging him down.
She stopped, and the soft chime of her hair ornaments pulled him back enough to register that she was looking at him.
“Are you alright?”
“I…” His voice came out rough. He exhaled slowly. “I apologize. I’m not exactly the best company right now.”
Her smile was so sincere and undeserved. “You’ve been wonderful company.”
That almost got a laugh out of him. He shook his head instead. “I’ve been so stuck in my own thoughts, I’d hazard to say I’m barely doing my job, either as your security or a conversation partner.”
“Sometimes it’s fine to just be,” she said. “I know myself, I talk too much. It’s probably why I’m a senator.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice. “I don’t take it personally when people stop listening, Fox.”
“You deserve better than that.” The words came out sharp. “Just another thing to add to the list.”
She frowned. “Is that what’s got you so deep in your head tonight?”
He didn’t answer. She didn’t need his problems.
“Fox.” She had stopped walking completely now, turning toward him.
“It’s just been a long few days,” he said, which wasn’t a lie.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “They aren’t blaming you for anything, are they?”
The fact that she even asked told him what she already suspected. He looked away.
Her hand found his face, fingers light against his skin.
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, sounding frustrated, almost angry. “How in the galaxy were you supposed to stop a creature like that from breaking containment? It never should have been here on Coruscant in the first place!”
“Maybe we could have had better security procedures. A better contingency plan—”
She shook her head. “Fox, you cannot tell me that the Coruscant Guard, who are mandated to protect the Senate, had a plan in place for a giant, armor-plated creature rampaging through the city.”
“Well, no, but—”
Between a noodle shop and a closed florist, in the dim, just back from the main walkway, Riyo Chuchi was kissing him.
And Fox was kissing her back. His heart pounded, his thoughts scrambled, every coherent reason why this was a mistake lost at the feeling of her lips, the taste of her. She sighed into the kiss, and his hands, not that he recalled them finding her waist, tightened, pulling her closer, needing more.
He needed to stop this.
She deserved more than him. More than someone who had no future, more than a soldier who couldn’t even call himself a person.
He didn’t stop, not when she pressed closer, not when her fingers pulled at the fabric of his jacket. When every rational part of his brain screamed at him to let go before it was too late.
She tasted warm, sweet, like something he’d never had but couldn’t get enough of.
He pulled back, breathless, feeling as if he’d run several klicks in kit.
The neon light above them washed her in blue and violet, highlighting the color of her skin and hair. She looked beautiful, her lips kiss swollen.
“We can’t do this,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
His jaw tightened. “Because you’re someone. You don’t need this, Riyo. I promise, it’s not worth the trouble.”
“You are far more than you think you are.”
Something twisted in his chest painfully.
“If you don’t want this, tell me, and I’ll forget it ever happened. But if you feel as I do, if you think this is something, then tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not even a person.”
“Of course you are.”
She kissed him again. Slower this time, softer.
Against all better judgment, he kissed her back.
She leaned into him. “Walk me home?”
#^#^#^#
Fox sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt back on.
Riyo was curled up in the sheets, her bare skin practically glowing in blue light from the city outside.
Fox exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He should have left already.
Instead, he reached out, unable to help himself, let his fingers trace along her bare shoulder, the soft curve of her back.
Fox leaned in pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.
She stirred, muttered his name in her sleep.
His throat went tight. He stood, finished dressing.
Didn’t let himself look back. Quiet as a ghost, he left, as if he’d never been there.
He tried not to think about the fact that he had never been meant to have this, even if leaving felt like bleeding out.
Big shout out and thank you to all who participated in this event, for the lovely creators and people who shared posts and content!
For anyone who didn't have time to participate, who would like to, I will keep reblogging anything that gets tagged for the even over the next week, so that might give people time who struggled with this even being under the week.
That in mind, if you know a creator, have a favorite Fox/corrie guard fic or fanart rec, if you'd like to get something in, you have until
My poor broken commander, good soldiers follow orders indeed and you were a damn good soldier (even though you’re an asshole, i still love you 💔)
Firmly on the side that believes Fox was under orders from Palpatine to kill Fives. There’s no way any of the vod’e would kill their brothers unless they literally had no choice. He does what he can to honour every brother whose blood is on his hands, directly or indirectly, on the tattoos on his back.
Spooky art prompt: Fox in a scary alley deep in the Coruscant underworld, with strange creatures lurking in the shadows
Fox hated the nights he had to patrol the alleys of the lower levels by himself. Not because he was alone, but because his scanning equipment always mysteriously stopped working…and no one believed him
Thanks for sending a request!
This one combined with yesterday’s is making me really want something like a Corrie Ghost Stories anthology, maybe call it Horror Corries insteada Horror Stories or somethin’. Hmmm…something to think about…
