#[in which vessel is a space mercenary on the run]

[j-ofspades]

💫🌟🌌 A Field of Stars 💫🌟🌌

Written for the aib server prompt: Sci-Fi AU

The dark helmet had felt like his very own prison at first. Restricting, suffocating, severing him from the rest of the universe. Now? The helmet was as much a part of himself as his own face.

Even if he wasn’t constantly on the run, it was probably for the best if he concealed his identity. As a Ronin, a mercenary, Vessel’s activities weren’t precisely legal.

Vessel.

That name had come to him like an unwanted gift, the night he had escaped. He’d snuck into a merchant ship, a spatial stowaway; there, crouched behind crates stamped “BESSEL”, the word got ingrained in his head so much that when he arrived at a customs outpost he muttered it as his name. The officer wrote “Vessel”, so Vessel he became.

It was very late when he arrived. Home. The only place he would ever call so. Neon.

‘Where it all began,’ Vessel muttered to himself. 

Years ago, he’d been a Neon Street Rat through and through. Born in the Underbelly, he couldn’t even say he resented his luck back then. It was a simple life but he was happy to have his family and that was that. He started working for Xenofresh Corporation when he was still a teenager, Vessel and his father hoped they could work hard enough, save enough, to give Vessel’s younger sister a better life. 

If he sometimes wandered all the way to Bayu Plaza to pickpocket unsuspecting tourists, well, they were to blame. Partially. ‘Fools and their credits are easily parted,’ his father often said, and Vessel had to agree. Not long after, his skills also included lock-picking. But even then, he made a point never to take from anyone in need, no, just from those people who treated his city as a dumpster where everything went.

And then one day someone noticed him, his potential, as they put it, and they offered Vessel a job. If he’d known what that meant, he wouldn’t have accepted.

The Crimson Fleet.

They’d introduced themselves as “independent merchants”, “adventurers with special interests”. Pirates, they were pirates. And Vessel had been fool enough to join blindly, not knowing that death would be the only way out.

The first few years went by, and while Vessel didn’t actively participate in the capture of ships, he did take part in the looting, telling himself that this was just a “redistribution of wealth”, hell, he was starting to sound like them.

Still, little by little the implications of his choice of life started bothering him and, although he wasn’t opposed to violence at first, he found himself very much opposed as the violence of the attacks escalated, especially when it was directed toward simple merchants or explorer ships. But he did nothing. He could do nothing.

Fifteen years later, he found a chance to leave.

Neon wasn’t a safe place for Vessel to be, no planet, no system was. He could run, but he couldn’t hide. The Crimson Fleet didn’t take desertion lightly, Vessel’s former captain put a price on his head when he noticed Vessel had left. If that wasn’t enough, his former association with pirates meant he was also wanted by the UC and probably every other faction.

That was why he needed to keep moving, going from one planet to the next, all over the Settled Systems. He could never stay still for too long or someone would catch him. Running and his helmet were the only two constants in his life.

But he couldn’t help it, he had to return to Neon every few months, for the same reason he had left in the first place: his family. Vessel still sent them credits whenever he could, in intricate ways that could never be traced back to him. Being a mercenary meant he didn’t exactly have a stable income, but he got by alright.

Vessel walked unhurriedly under the neon lights, letting people jostle him to and fro. He wouldn’t visit his childhood home, the home where his parents still lived. He wouldn’t bring danger to their door. Instead, he made his way to the Astral Lounge. The bartender there was his “friend”, which meant he told Vessel about the city, about his family for a fee. That was how Vessel had learned that his sister was apparently dating the club’s dancer. Vessel hoped to see her–without letting her see him–before he left. He had a job to do somewhere else.

As a blade-for-hire, Vessel preferred jobs for people who truly needed help. But he wouldn’t turn down a well-paid job when the opportunity arose.

Redemption? No, Vessel didn’t believe such a thing could be achieved, it felt out of reach. He didn’t want to be considered a hero. All he wanted was to help others, to take care of his family even if it has to be from afar. If those that wanted him dead caught up with him, all he hoped was that he would be able to take more than a few of them with him. Other than that, what more could he ask for?

[canonkiller]

Many promotions last Eberron session; Aurelia (a former player character) now captains the pirate hunter Remora, a submersible sea vessel that sinks opponents by latching on to their hulls and drilling through them. also derien is first mate now which everyone hates

Full Ship Infobox:

The Remora

Affiliation • Lyrandar

Size Class • Small

Type Class • Mercenary

The Remora is a submersible seaship capable of full rotation on its horizontal axis. Created as a pirate-hunting vessel, its most notable feature is its inflatable hull, which keeps it afloat when above water and allows it to seal to the hull of other vessels when submerged. Once attached, excess water is siphoned out of the enclosed space and the drills exposed by the deflated hull bore through the ship it is attached to to create entryways for weapons or infantry. After piercing the hill, the Remora can also disengage and leave the vessel to sink, allowing it to "hit and run" unsuspecting targets and return to plunder their wreckage at a later time. It is freshly captained by Aurelia, former first mate of the Mindcraft.

Features • fully submersible, gyroscopic internal structure within hull

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Favorite Character Poll

Rules: post brief descriptions of some characters and a poll, then get people to vote on their favorite

I think this would be a fun way to introduce some of my Starbreaker characters, so that's what I'll do!

Character descriptions under the cut :)

Faalgun is a little (three and a half feet tall) dragon guy with the distinguished air of a military officer and the level-headedness of a fighter pilot. He's the pilot of the RS Starbreaker, predictably, and also serves as its unofficial captain. Keeping the ship and crew running smoothly is a full-time job, but he does it gladly. However, his honor-bound demeanor masks a craving for adrenaline and a serious addictive personality. Faalgun has a crippling gambling addiction and was killed in life by loansharks he couldn't repay. He seeks redemption by completing this quest to the edge of the solar wheel.

Nyda is an elf, a transwoman, and a certified punk. She hates authority, is supremely unorganized, has a mouthy temper, and will rail against any perceived injustice. In her life, she failed to live up to the expectations of her family of famed mercenaries, so she became an astronomer instead. This haunts her, though. She believes her astronomy is pointless because she's not the warrior she should've been due to her cowardice. Her death came after traveling to the Next-Door Land to study the stars there and immediately getting hunted for sport by a pack of Fair Folk.

Kaulakri, a halawemavish selkie, is Nyda's opposite in every way. She's neat, meticulous, rigid in her beliefs, compassionate in a blunt way, and probably more than a little autistic. She is also Nyda's contemporary by four hundred years and serves as the RS Starbreaker's cartography. Mapping is Kaulakri's passion, and she would like nothing more than to complete a map of the solar wheel. In her mortal existence, she died trying to map the Janazi Isles, catching a deadly flu before she could return with the completed product. She will never again fail in her quest to put every piece of land onto paper.

Pash is a bit of an oddball in the group. He's not Illari, but one of the Fair Folk. His Contribution, his express purpose for existence, is music, and while he does love music, he also has a passion for travel. He took several jobs as a honeytongue, leading to his post as the RS Starbreaker's negotiator. Though generally laid-back and kind, Pash inhabits a headspace particular to the fae. He does nothing if it isn't pleasurable, and will do anything in the pursuit if pleasure. To the fae, everyone is out for their own happiness alone, so you can't get mad when someone hypothetically kills you for playing an unpopular song in a tavern. They were looking out for themself, just like you look out for yourself.

Anarac is the quietest and most mysterious of the group. He hides for most of the time and barely speaks when he isn't. No one recognizes his lineage as the Araunian people have been extinct for millenia. The rest of the crew is unaware of his true purpose as their expert on End, the starry demon bearing down on the solar wheel that the gods battle eternally. Anarac is such an expert due to the fact that he was End's vessel for much of his life. The demon forced him to wreak much carnage and punished him terribly when he refused, and even when he died, his soul remained a part of End for thousands of years. Simply put, Anarac does not want to be on this boat in space. But he will protect his new friends with his unlife if it means keeping them safe from the demon who tormented him so.

Gonna tag the whole gang so this gets votes ;)

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @ray-writes-n-shit @evilgabe29

@trippingpossum @tragedycoded @halfbakedspuds @ominous-feychild @cain-e-brookman

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Naomi Kritzer's "Liberty's Daughter"

Tomorrow (November 22), I'll be joined by Vass Bednar at the Toronto Metro Reference Library for a talk about my new novel, The Lost Cause, a preapocalyptic tale of hope in the climate emergency.

There's so much sf about "competent men" running their families with entrepreneurial zeal, clarity of vision and a firm confident hand. But there's precious little fiction about how much being raised by a Heinlein dad would suuuck. But it would, and in Naomi Kritzer's Liberty's Daughter, we get a peek inside the nightmare:

https://fairwoodpress.com/store/p148/LIBERTY%27S_DAUGHTER.html

Beck Garrison is a seasteader, living on a floating platform built by libertarian cranks to get away from big government, taxes, and the idea that people owe each other care and consideration. Various kinds of market trufans have built their own fiefdoms: there's a sin city, a biotech free-for-all, a lawless Mad Max zone, and so on.

Beck's father, Paul, is some kind of local functionary. He's wealthy and respected, both a power-broker and a power in his own right. He pays for Beck to get private tutoring (no public schools – no public anything) and if she needs bailing out from some kind of sticky situation, he's got her on his account with Alpha Dogs, the toughest mercenaries on the sea (no police, either). An armed society is a polite society, after all.

Beck has a job, naturally (there ain't no such thing as a free lunch). She's a finder: for all that the steaders worship commerce as a sacrament consecrated to the holy Invisible Hand, there's not a lot of retail at sea. California – the nearest onshore neighbor – has lots of pesky taxes, and besides, it's a long ways off. Besides, space is at a premium on the stead, so people don't have attics and basements to fill with excess consumer junk.

Instead, when a steader needs something – a shoelace, a fashion accessory, or any other creature comfort – they hire a finder like Beck to clamber around between the decks of the aircraft carriers, scows, yachts and other vessels comprising the stead. It's a good way for Beck to earn spending money, and she's a natural at it. After all, she's been a steader since she was four, when her mother died in a drunk driving accident and her father took her to sea.

The story opens with a finding job. Beck wants a pair of sparkly shoes for her client, and the woman who owns them is an indentured servant whose sister has gone missing. Find the sister, get the shoes.

Indentured servant? Yeah, of course. Freedom of contract is the one freedom from which all the others flow, so you can sell yourself into bond labor. Hell, maybe you can earn enough to buy a share in the stead and become a co-owner/citizen.

This is the setup for Beck's adventure, which sees her liberating bond slaves tricked into fatal work details, getting involved in reality TV production, meeting illegal IWW organizers, and becoming embroiled in a pandemic that threatens the lives of all the steaders. It's a coming of age novel, told with the same straightforward, spunky zeal of Heinlein's juvies, but from the perspective of the daughter, not the dad.

Kritzer makes it clear that growing up under the thumb of a TANSTAAFL-worshipping, self-regarding, wealthy autocrat who worships selfishness as the necessary precondition for market clearing would be a goddamned nightmare. She also thinks through some of the important implications of life in one of these offshore libertarian archipelagos, like the fact that the wealthy residents would be overwhelming drawn from the ranks of corporate criminals and tax-cheats, and the underclass would be bail-skipping proles ensnared in the War on Drugs.

But Liberty's Daughter isn't a hymn to big government. Most of the steaders are escaping the US government, a state whose authoritarian and cruel proclivities are well-documented. Kritzer uses the labor dispute at the core of the novel to reveal market authoritarianism – the coercive power that hunger and poverty transfers from the have-nots to the haves. Think of Anatole France's wry observation that "the law, in its majestic equality, equally forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread."

If you're familiar with Kritzer's work, you won't be surprised to learn that she tells a zippy, fast moving tale that smuggles in sharp observations about the cleavage lines between solidarity and selfishness. Her story "So Much Cooking" – published years before the pandemic – captured life under lockdown with eerie prescience:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/17/pack-of-knaves/#so-much-cooking

More recently, her "Better Living Through Algorithms" is a dazzling display of knifework that'll cut you a dozen times before you even notice that you're bleeding:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/02/wunderkammer/#jubillee

If you habitually read Kritzer's short fiction, Liberty's Daughter might be familiar to you, as it is adapted from a series of stories that originally ran in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Kritzer's YA debut, Catfishing on the CatNet, was also adapted from a short story, "Cat Pictures Please," which won the Hugo Award in 2016:

https://boingboing.net/2019/11/19/setec-astronomy-kitteh.html

"Libertarian exit" – buying a country, or an archipelago, or just a luxury bunker – has been in the air lately. It's a major element of my new novel, The Lost Cause, which came out this month – anarchocapitalist wreckers try to sabotage the Green New Deal from the seastead they've moored to the tallest point in the drowned Grand Caymans and declared to be a sovereign nation:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

Kritzer is great at catching that zeitgeist. Seasteading is part of a long, bitter dream of a certain kind of selfish person to escape society, a tale told in lurid and fascinating detail in Raymond Craib's 2022 history Adventure Capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/14/this-way-to-the-egress/#terra-nullius

There's a longstanding joke to the effect that you can shut down any discussion of the merits of a libertarian exit by asking three questions about the brave new world:

Whether you can sell your organs;

Whether you can sell yourself into slavery; and

Whether there is any age of consent.

Kritzer tackles the first two, but tacks around the third. Instead, by giving us a young adult protagonist who has been raised in a rusting libertopia, she finds a decidedly less incendiary way to think about the role of autonomy in adolescents, and thus generates far more light than heat.

The result is a cracking read with a sting in its tail.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/21/podkaynes-dad-was-a-dick/#age-of-consent

[capacle]

20 Brazilian TTRPGs I wish also existed in English

Today I offer you:

20 Brazilian TTRPGs I wish also existed in English (because I want the world to know about them)

Buckle up, because you won't BELIEVE the diversity of our indie scene.

[presented in no particular order, and only one per author]

1. Meu Brinquedo Preferido ('My favorite toy'), by Eduardo Caetano

A metaphor about a child's growing process by deconstructing their fears through playful situations.

2. SeanchaS, by Jorge Valpaços and Jefferson Neves

A game about myths, construction of identity and narrative around bonfires, about the time of ancient stories and the present time.

3. Gatunos, by Tiago Junges

A GMless/Solo game in which you play as cat thieves and mercenaries doing the dirty work of the five big factions that run the city.

4. Nômades (Nomads), by Marcelo Collar

A card-based RPG in which you play as beings who have the ability to find and pass through the cracks in the veil that separates the universes.

5. Infaernum, by Caio Romero

Create your own apocalypse while playing the game, and interpret characters who experience the last days of all things.

6. Áureos, Os Dançarinos da Lua ('The Moon Dancers'), by Rey Ooze

A game of fight and freedom where dice play capoeira. You play as an 'Áureo', a former slave who, in a fantastic colonial Brazil, receives the blessings of his Orisha to free his people from slavery.

7. Veridiana, by Alan Silva

You play as creatures that live in a large tree, embarking on a deeply sentimental journey in search of a cure.

8. Karyu Densetsu, by Thiago Rosa and Nina Bichara

A game inspired by action anime and manga, with tactical combat, philosophical conversation, and passionate ideals.

9. Imperia, by Jonny Garcia

A game of politics and intrigue in a medieval court, inspired by Game of Thrones. Create a kingdom collaboratively and assume the role of the most influential people in it.

10. Goddess save the Queen, by Carol Neves and Julio Matos

A pulp adventure game in which you play as secret agents of the British Crown during the interwar period, with their own agenda connected in some way with their home nation.

11. Abismo Infinito ('Infinite Abyss'), by John Bogéa

A narrative game of psychological horror in which the protagonists are astronauts, far away in space, involved in a web of lucid nightmares and manifestations of their own fears.

12. Mojubá, by Lucas Conti and Lucas Sampaio

An Afrofuturistic urban fantasy game inspired by Yoruba and Afro-Brazilian mythologies. Play as a person with fantastic powers who descends from the Orixás, fights evil spirits, and occasionally gets into a rap battle.

13. Chopstick, by Igor Moreno

A game inspired by action movies of oriental martial arts, gang fights and crime, with a twist on Fate Accelerated.

14. Contos do Galeão ('Tales of the Galleon'), by Encho Chagas

Create together the legend of a vessel that would have existed during the Golden Age of Piracy. Players will create the ship, its pirates, as well as its enemies, challenges, and rewards.

15. O Cordel do Reino do Sol Encantado ('The Cordel of the Kingdom of the Enchanted Sun'), by Pedro Borges

A narrative game set in the northeastern 'cangaço' region at the beginning of the 20th century.

16. Através das Trevas ('Through the Darkness'), by Ramon Mineiro

A post-apocalyptic fantasy game inspired by The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Witcher and Diablo.

17. Nihilo, by Andre Osna and Gustavo Rolanski

A world very much like our own—yet bigger, deeper, and stranger. Secret banks are run by Urban Dragons, Infernal mafias terrorize slums, interdimensional portals open in the basements of abandoned pizzerias.

18. Caçada ao Colosso ('Hunt for the Colossus'), by Jairo Borges Filho

Reenact stories such as Siegfried and the dragon Fafnir, the Greek Odyssey or legends centered on the opposition of two primary forces of humanity.

19. Perdidos ('Lost'), by Marcelo Paschoalin

Inspired by Bloodborne and Dark Souls, a world in ruins, fragmented to the point where only memories remain. You'll find relics of yesteryear, monstrous beasts, beings that have forgotten their purpose, and devious paths to tread.

20. Hitodama - A jornada das almas ('The Journey of the Souls'), by Alexsander Araujo

You are Shinigamis: creatures half divinity, half Yokai, who must carry out missions through different worlds, fighting formidable enemies and saving lost souls.

[paranormal-pal]

My friend once wrote something called the Pasta Turtle Mafia lore and I posted it on Wattpad. Then I saw that on tumblr you could put the entire LOR trilogy with the right spacing.

Let’s boogie.

The Pasta Turtle Mafia have their hideaway in Germany but front all the spaghetti smuggling in Italy. The Cucumber Pelicans have had enough of this as they are also trying to front their cucumbers in Italy from Scotland. They decide to try to overtake the Turtles in combat by hiring Ruthless Mercenaries, The KiddyWinks, to fight each other and for control over the land. To ensure that they don't have to pay The KiddyWinks for their violent work, they have been infused with only the best of American soil from the Lizards. The lizards plan to re distribute the corpses as their own product, as they have been thrown into anarchy ever since their own mafia had been thrown out of power by a government which has given them terrible things like indoor plumbing, and TAXES, instead of the lively, indoor plumbing free gang violence that roamed the land before, and their Iceberg sculpture project otherwise known as the Mark ZuckerBURG and the Facebook gang, failed. But until then, the Children Fish Mafia watch over them to ensure that the Mercs are always stocked on ammo, weapons, and friendship, which is made from the Fish's main trade.

Friendship, however, is a dangerous trade, and the mafias know this. So if any of the KiddyWinks finds The Power Of Friendship, Every gang from around the DinnerTable has agreed to shank them. The Power Of Friendship is an ancient product that is theorized to be dealt by mafias from ancient times, their species is unknown, but is thought to be the same species as the KiddyWinks, as they are the only known species without any history of having a mafia, and all other mafia-less species went extinct, like the clams who died of chronic taxes from the government they tried to establish. The Power Of Friendship is, unknown to every living being, not a weapon, but a vessel, that's why it is called friend-SHIP, any that embark on it will have access to the most powerful full wheel drive vehicle imaginable and can run over anyone without having to worry about enemy resistance. This is why it is feared. The Pope, not being alive, is the only creature that knows the true nature of The Power Of Friendship, and guards it with the rest of the Communist Clams. However, none of them know that they accidentally left the keys in the ship.

The Watermelon Otter Mafia spends their days de-seeding watermelons to turn into other illegal substances, like indoor plumbing. They do this because it is their belief that if indoor plumbing comes to fruition, a government will crawl out of it and overtake the mafia, as it did to the lizards before. Due to this however, the otters have been a very passive mafia, not even partaking in team-building exercises like turf wars so that they may keep hording all of the indoor plumbing and turning them back into watermelons for sale. The DinnerTable is an InterMafia organization aiming to maintain InterMafia peace and security, develop friendly relations among us, achieve InterMafia cooperation, and be the center for harmonizing the distribution of products around mafias. None of the mafias around the DinnerTable do this however, they only attend for the free food, and to know if, or when, someone has found The Power Of Friendship, and when to shank them. The Mafia Donkey Mafia, is the most powerful mafia in the world, they are all dons, as their species is DON-key. Every mafia on the planet is run by a Donkey, but the main head of the Dons is stationed in Canada. The head donkeys of the other mafias are determined to become head of the Mafia Donkey Mafia by selling mafias to those who will pay for it. The Donkeys are determined to find The Power Of Friendship to reclaim their lost products, but have been unsuccessful due to the fact that they are not archeologists, and therefore cannot dig, to discover its underground location with the Pope and Clams. The other Mafias were created by the Donkeys, but refuse to accepts their leadership, and fear that they may be usurped them if they ever find The Power Of Friendship. This is part of the reason the DinnerTable was formed.

The KiddyWinks were once made by the Communist Clams to enforce indoor plumbing and taxes on their people, but when the clams were killed from chronic taxes, the KiddyWinks production stopped, but when the Lizards one day started singing kumbaya they realized that the real taxes were the friends they made along the way, and dedicated themselves to making America Mafia controlled again, they also restarted the ignition on The Power Of Friendship and it began making more KiddyWinks. These new KiddyWinks climbed to the surface and became mercenaries, others decided to become archeologists, commonly joked as the "Sand Nolan Mafia" in passing as they consume sand to become one with The Power Of Friendship, or they boil the sand and other ASS-anine things to attract the attention of the Donkeys so that they may give them a proper mafia, but since all the currency they have is sand they have been unable to buy one. Since the new generation of KiddyWInks didn't have The Power Of Friendship dampened in them through communism, their bodies begin cannibalizing themselves if they are not in constant motion.

The Children Fish Mafia gather their products from schools, that's why they're called "schools" of fish, to distract from the fish breaking into schools and stealing children to accrue more product. No one has ever tried to stop this mafia because children are a very versatile product, they can be turned into almost anything. The mafia however, mostly uses the immense potential of children to turn them into ketamine, but misdirect the public by marketing it as cannabis, that's why it's called sea-WEED, all the seaweed in existence is made out of children. The Pasta Turtle Mafia was one the first and thus far only mafia to break away from control of the Donkeys. To keep their freedom they began pedaling pasta, as donkeys can be killed from pasta. That is what they were told from their new Don, as turtles cannot become a Don themselves, the Turtles worship a flying pasta monster. They believe this however, because the fish forcefully gave the turtles some ketamine, and put a yellow mop on one of their heads. The turtles then after seeing this, created a new god, the spaghetti monster, after feeling offended that a mop was more powerful then them. That is why the spaghetti monster is a 10 foot tall mech made out of pasta. The Pasta God can be piloted, but it must be controlled by at least 4 people because the sheer saucy-ness would kill lone beings, it has the same exact control scheme as The Power Of Friendship.

The Pulled Pork Mafia is comprised entirely of a single pig, every other member, including the Don-key, died of salmonella, that's why it's called PIG-ing out, the last member doesn't realize that everyone else is dead and continues to sell their product without question: pulled, pulled anything. The pig has a strong relationship with the fish. The String Pidgeon Mafia is the most violent mafia to ever be made by the Donkeys. Originally meant to be seagulls, they are extraordinarily aggressive, they pedal strings, string music to be specific. Being a mafia with such violins behind them, the donkeys have ordered them to always have a tune playing to alert people to their presence. As a string-based mafia, their tune is usually anything but, as they can't stand their own music after having to listen to it 24/7. So, they usually play either big band 20's themes with lots of horns, or sitcom opening themes. Leprechauns are sponsored by Skittles to make Ireland, that's why no mafia lives there. The String Pidgeon Mafia is stationed in Manhattan to keep the man in the hat, that's why it's pronounced MAN-HAT-IN. If he ever escapes his hat, he will be able to run a legitimate business, that is taxed and has indoor plumbing. The Pope supports their efforts in secrecy, because The Power Of Friendship must remain hidden, yet is the best option for destroying a government.

If The Power Of Friendship is ever used, the plan is called "The Manhattan Project" due to that being the original target and creating the hat that the man resides in. The last time The Power Of Friendship was used, it nuked Japan, the cover story was that America simply nuked Japan themselves, but that couldn't of happened due to all funding going to the ZuckerBurg. The moon does not exist, it is a projection that comes from the collective conscious that is the Nutter Bee Mafia. The Bees are a hivemind that control all people that are deemed "crazy" whether they control people and make them act psychotic or they control people who become psychotic is unknown, however it is undeniable that the collective conscience of the crazy people that they control projects a hologram that is the moon.

And that’s it. That’s everything. I’m sorry. Kudos to you if you got this far. Want some pasta?

[cyanophore-fiction]

I’m going to do this for one of the antagonist factions of a WIP called Vargheist. It’s a longer, space-opera sort of project that I haven’t done much with in a bit, and I need to give it some love! 

The protagonists are Candlelight Squadron, a group of space fighter pilots who make their money providing security escort for freighters running between the gas giants of Sol. As they operate out of the moons of Jupiter, this frequently brings them into contact with the private forces of a megacorporation called JMEI, Jovian Mineral Extraction Interests. They are also known as Jimmy, the Company, or by any of a myriad of different insults in the Jovian moons.  

JMEI claims exploitation rights to all mineral resources on Jupiter. That claim isn’t really recognized by any government in the system, but it doesn’t matter--JMEI’s sheer naval power and status as the largest producer of refined reactor fuel in the Solar System means that it has gone unchallenged for decades.  This also makes them the de facto government of the many aerostat colonies suspended in Jupiter’s atmosphere, where gas mining and refinement takes place. 

Now, JMEI’s hold on Jupiter does not extend to its moons. The governments of Callisto, Ganymede, Europa, and Io are unified under the JSC, Jovian Satellite Confederation, and there’s a ton of tension between them and JMEI. The Company will do things like raise fuel prices or refuse to sell to buyers in the moons altogether to try to pressure the JSC into making policy decisions which benefit them. For their part, the JSC turns a blind eye to the practice of vessels skimming gas from Jupiter’s atmosphere in defiance of JMEI’s claim to the planet. Jupiter is so massive that even the Company navy can’t monitor its entire surface area all the time, giving spacer pilots who don’t mind a little risk an opportunity to skim some of that sweet, sweet deuterium fuel for free. 

Once spacers have their hands on some illegal deuterium, they can run it back to one of the moons to refine and sell. Freighters will then try to ship that cargo out of the Jupiter system. If JMEI finds out about it, or even remotely suspects that somebody is running skimmed fuel, they’ll send squadrons to interdict the offending freighter, usually with indiscriminate railgun fire. 

How does this affect the protagonists? Well, along with the prevalence of ordinary piracy, JMEI’s activities mean that mercenary pilots flock to the Jupiter system. Most civilian freighters are afraid to leave or approach the moons without an armed escort, so there’s almost guaranteed work to be found. Candlelight Squadron has shot down their share of JMEI interceptors and drones over their career. 

One of the members of Candlelight, a native of Europa named Hunter, actually fought in an incredibly ugly ground war against JMEI about five years before the events of the main story. As JMEI wanted Europa’s ports and natural supplies of water to supply its aerostat colonies, the Company set its sights on acquiring Europa. Under extreme political pressure, the JSC briefly ceded Europa to JMEI, but armed resistance on the moon was so intense that JMEI couldn’t set up any kind of administration. Ultimately, the Earth-based Solar Neutrality Organization stepped in and halted the war before it could escalate any further.

Having personally lived through all of this, losing friends and family to the conflict, Hunter hates JMEI more intensely than any of the other main characters. He hides it well, adopting the traditional cocky pilot persona and trying to stay lighthearted, but he’s still suffering deeply. 

Oh man that got long-winded, lol. Feels good; I love this setting and the characters so much. 

Now, we’re going to keep those introductions going. What is the antagonist or opposing force in your story? I know this might not be a character, so interpret it however you would like!

[nonwal]

(Hello bored! Asking about the among us/arranged marriage au? Is this an AU where Caleb/Bren never broke? Are there other characters on the ship stuck watching it go down? (Or casual casualties since among us 👀) How does having magic affect the space opera? (You said teleportation circles still work between planets, so is spacefaring cheaper/just for frontiers?) Wild guessing says that the dynasty found Essek out ergo the arranged marriage? How does dynasty space magic affect dynasty space travel? I forget if you mentioned you were going the alien eating people imposter route or just assassinations/killings route 👀)

(Lol feel free to ignore if no longer bored ;)

HELLO. THANK YOU FOR ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL QUESTIONS. some of them may be answered just by the fic summary:

The fact that six mercenaries and a weasel have stowed away on the highest-security vessel in the Dynasty’s fleet is, technically, a serious problem that bodes poorly for the rest of their journey. But Essek is delighted. He’d been dreading a long and tense voyage to Mutalos, without any company except for a skeleton crew comprised mostly of military personnel, the awkward spare scourger, and his—

It feels strange, to think of Beck as his wife. Even calling her his enemy feels too intimate.

(In which Essek agrees to a political marriage to ensure intergalactic peace and keep himself alive, only to discover that his wife has married him for exactly the opposite reason.)

More in-depth answers below the cut. Some of these are technically spoilers for the first couple chapters or for miscellaneous worldbuilding, but nothing major.

Is this an AU where Caleb/Bren never broke?

Nope! The background for this fic, other than the obvious change in setting, is very similar to the actual events of C2. You can assume that most major plot points prior to e141 remain more or less intact. The big divergence is that Trent never showed up at the Blooming Grove (and in fact, he and Astrid/Eadwulf have been missing for unknown reasons since the Nein left for Aeor.) Beau's dad still goes on trial, the Nein begin gathering evidence for a case against Trent in his absence, Caleb and Essek take a second trip to Aeor and take the first tentative steps in a romantic relationship. But then Essek goes back to Rosohna, to prepare for eventually going on the run, and...

Wild guessing says that the dynasty found Essek out ergo the arranged marriage?

...gets volunteered. The Dynasty has not yet figured out that Essek is the traitor, but his mother has. She, being a gazillion years old and politically savvy, recommends him as the rational counterpart in a peace deal the Dynasty and Empire have been hashing out behind the scenes. If he accepts, he would essentially become a public figurehead for a peace deal that returns an additional beacon to the Dynasty--and, therefore, any investigation into whether he stole the first two would become politically unsightly. Den Thelyss avoids scandal, her son doesn't get executed for treason, etc.

“You don’t have to do this, man. Your mom can’t just use you as a fucking political pawn.”

“My mother,” Essek says sharply, “is trying to save my life.” And then, much quieter, “I don’t know why.”

Of course there's the minor detail that Essek is already in a romantic relationship, but no one in the Dynasty knows that. Pulling a preexisting romantic relationship out of nowhere in order to weasel out of a political arrangement that would be of major benefit to himself as well as the Dynasty would be...suspicious. And Essek cannot afford to have people suspicious of him right now. Also, I really like angst. He breaks the news to the Nein and goes through with the deal. So: a union between the Shadowhand and one of the Cerberus archmages, to seal the peace.

I forget if you mentioned you were going the alien eating people imposter route or just assassinations/killings route

...specifically their newest member, the Archmage of Antiquities...Astrid Beck? former wizard assassin, I assure you.

(now would be a good time to mention the Unreliable Narrator tag.)

How does having magic affect the space opera? (You said teleportation circles still work between planets, so is spacefaring cheaper/just for frontiers?)

There are certain practical considerations--arcane focuses/material components routinely get confiscated on ships, to avoid things like "I cast Disintegrate on the exterior hull." There's also some fun interactions between magic and technology--stuff like automated counterspelling systems, an Amulet of Proof Against Detection and Location also working against cameras, wizards including arcane malware injections in spellbooks to prevent them from being digitized, etc.

Teleportation Circles are still the easiest way to safely travel between planets/space stations/large ships, but few of those are public, for security reasons. Short-range trips through space are relatively accessible, though less convenient. FTL space travel requires a high-level wizard or cleric who can send your ship to the Astral Sea (I did have to invent a new spell for this one,) plus more traveling through the Astral Sea, and then sending the ship back to the Material Plane (now in a different star system.)

It's a lot easier to use a Teleportation Circle, if you're going that far. But first you have to make the Teleportation Circle. Hence why the newlyweds are taking a very long spaceship ride to the middle of nowhere--as part of the deal, a previously-contested planet is now in need of some wizards to draw the same lines on the ground every day for a year.

How does dynasty space magic affect dynasty space travel?

They are very smug about having normal gravity on all of their ships. Empire is still working through the kinks on that one. Their ships are also just a lot faster/more maneuverable due to graviturgy.

Are there other characters on the ship stuck watching it go down? (Or casual casualties since among us)

The Nein, as one might guess from the summary, sneak aboard. Caleb and Essek spend a lot of time pining at each other from across a room. They get back together eventually. I'm not a complete monster. Eadwulf is there, ostensibly as Astrid's bodyguard. There are also a bunch of random Dynasty crewmembers and some ambassador dude from Empire, many of whom I've been trying not to name so the audience doesn't get too attached to them. Because...well. You know.

[utilitycaster]

You Write Angst Not Tragedies

This might be my most “what if this trend in fandom preferences in story and meta is the sign of larger issues within fandom qua fandom” writing yet but I think it’s worth talking about. Also many thanks to everyone who said they wanted to hear this rant; I was going to probably do it anyway but this lit the proverbial fire under my ass.

There’s a marked preference in much of fandom for angst over tragedy, and while the way we all deal with negative emotions is complicated and personal and what one does in fanfic and headcanon is one’s own concern, I think in terms of story and meta, an overabundance of angst lessens the impact of tragedy.

To define the two as I’m using it: tragedy is about things going wrong in a way that causes emotional pain, and how it affects the characters (and audience).

Angst is, at its best (and it does have a purpose) about exploring those negative feelings, but at its worth, in squeezing sadness from minor or at times nonexistent details to the detriment of the larger story.

A tragedy is a story - either in the classic theatrical sense of a story that ends with death and failure, or in a more modern sense in which those things occur within the context of a larger narrative. Angst is a tiny piece of that, often taken out of context. It’s a few points of a much larger arc, again at its best.

I find that angst isn’t quite the same as baseless theories, but they occupy a similar place in my mind; they’re both for people who want raw emotion over plot or reality, and often for people who I think want to feel they’ve tapped into something special and hidden when in fact there was nothing in particular waiting for them beneath the surface.

I think the best example is character death. The immediate response of others is often full of angst, with intense, acute grief, and anger, and all sorts of messy emotions, and spending time in that space with the affected characters is I think very healthy! The problem is that people don’t want to move forward from there, and in extreme cases they also wanted the emotion without the death.

The problem is grief is a long and complicated process and it often doesn’t look pretty or even necessarily relatable. Sometimes it looks like people very slowly going down a dangerous or harmful route, or pushing others away in a manner that doesn’t end with a hug and a therapist-approved conversation about needing to express yourself, or just...nothingness. And sometimes it looks like being pretty much fine most of the time except for very weird and specific things, and often those weird and specific things aren’t poetic or poignant at all and are even faintly ridiculous or offensive.

And I think those stories are important to tell and I think that actually, a decent amount of fantasy, and especially something as long-running as D&D campaigns, is well-suited to tell them. But the responses to those long and weird and at times uncomfortable stories is often very reductive - criticizing the characters going through grief in a realistic way, or criticizing the storyteller(s), or wanting the pain but no lasting consequences nor complications.

I would say the disproportionate focus on lifespan angst is perhaps the purest form of it that I see. By its very nature lifespan angst takes place when the story is ended. There are no consequences, no canonical messiness. However, it also assumes the characters freeze where they are; that someone who knows they will outlive a partner or friend by centuries never makes others. It is stagnation. It is a refusal to allow the story to move forward when unobserved. It is another empty vessel on which to project whatever you want without having to consider the actual tragedy that led to the angst. It’s results with no work. It’s lazy and uninspiring.

It’s not limited to grief, though, and the other way in which it annoys me is the oddly mercenary, in a way, mining of angst from nothing. In this case it often builds on known tragedies - even sources of angst - but adds unnecessary detail that often detracts from the story. The trend that sticks out to me the most is people adding physical or further emotionally abusive details to the histories of characters with neglect, which tends to have the unfortunate implication that neglect doesn’t ‘count’ to the same extent. The same sort of thing occurs with most examples of this form of angst - it takes something that is already in itself painful or tragic and then unnecessarily embellishes it, with the underlying attitude of “no, that wasn’t enough,” and often with additional strains to credibility that throw me so far out of the story I’m just looking at it going “this is what you want?”

In short: some angst is fine, and it’s an entire subtype of fanfiction for a reason, but the focus on angst is so frequently coupled with an inability to handle any true tragedy in the narrative, which strikes me as childish and dull.

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part Three)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 11.7k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unprotected sex and loss of virginity

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

  vaar’ika - little runt

  nehutyc’ika - feisty one

  sarad’ika - little flower

mesh’la - beautiful

    -

  You’d never had so many sets of eyes on you at one time until you had left the Paradise Atrium in the company of Boba Fett. The crowd had swept apart for you as if by the powers of a Jedi Knight of old, with Fett’s hand in yours, leading you out of the lounge and into the cool night air. You had been alarmed about leaving so abruptly at first - a part of you had expected to sit and chat for a while longer, get to know each other, but you supposed that prolonged discussion wasn’t really Boba Fett’s style. Once it was agreed upon that you were to spend the night together, he had simply enveloped your hand in his gloved one, and begun pulling you along towards the doors, much like a parent guiding an unruly child rather than a suitor escorting his barroom hookup.

  You had balked as you approached the exit; you hadn’t settled your tab. Fett had turned and regarded you with a mute stare for a brief moment, then had wordlessly tugged you towards the bar, the Bothan bartender gazing towards you with a look of mingled pity and amusement. You didn’t think he’d really expected your irrational scheme to work out. You’d begun digging through the small bag swinging from your arm with a shaking hand, desperately searching for the credit chip that had disappeared into the recesses of it, all too aware of Boba Fett’s presence at your shoulder, breathing down your neck. He watched you struggle for a moment longer before he jostled you to the side and reached into one of the many pockets lining the flak suit underneath his armor, pulling out a haphazard pile of gold and silver Imperial credits, easily several hundred worth, the largest amount you’d ever seen in one setting. By the way Fett slammed the chips down on the counter, he knew he was vastly overpaying your dues, but you knew he wasn’t just covering your tab - he was also buying the bartender’s silence pertaining to this tryst. The Bothan wordlessly swept the money off the bar and into a cupped paw, being careful to not make too much eye contact. It was more than obvious that this kind of transaction had played out here many times before; it was better to just take the money and continue on with business as usual, no questions asked. You’d attempted to thank Fett as he’d silently led you through the shipyards towards his cruiser, but he didn’t even turn to acknowledge your words, so you dropped it. He hadn’t done it out of a display of romantic chivalry, after all - he’d only been covering his own ass, trying to make a quick getaway with you in tow. You were his prize for the night, his bounty .

  So you found yourself within the confines of the Slave I , a ship the sight or sound of which would send most creatures fleeing in terror for their lives. You sat frozen on a narrow bunk in the pilot’s quarters, unsure whether you were trembling from nerves or from the cold. You hadn’t been on very many space vessels in your lifetime, let alone ones owned by galactic mercenaries, but the sterile spotlessness of the Slave had shocked you upon first entry. Based on the chipped and battle-worn exterior of the transport, you’d expected it to be dingy, the walls bearing the mark of blaster smoke residue, maybe even some old bloodstains, but instead your surroundings gave off the impression of having been scrubbed down meticulously, carefully - and fairly recently. You could tell this wasn’t the work of maintenance droids - this kind of immaculate cleanliness could only be the mark of human hands. You tried to imagine Boba Fett sitting back on his haunches on the hard durasteel floor, a sponge and bucket beside him, diligently scouring the insides of the cages that held the captives he was entrusted with transporting to their dooms. You envisioned the armor of his breastplate glistening in the artificial light, rivulets of soapy water dripping down the front of it, soaking through the thick material of the leather gloves he never took off. You’d been so kriffing wet ever since you’d arrived aboard the Slave I, anticipating what was to come. Boba Fett’s hand had felt so warm in yours as he’d led you up here to his personal quarters, and you shivered at the memory of his large palm on your ass, steadying you as he’d instructed you to climb the ladder behind the cockpit. You’d never been touched in that way before, and you’d momentarily frozen, before a rough push from below had boosted you up through the hatch in the floor. 

  And now here you were, sitting on Boba Fett’s bed, listening to the rhythmic release of the hot water in the adjacent shower. You hadn’t expected a bounty hunter to have such an extravagant luxury as a chemical-based bathing system onboard his craft - although you supposed that he could afford any type of vehicular modifications he wished, with the kind of exorbitant payouts he received for his work. Fett had told you - practically ordered you, in hindsight - to stay put and wait for him to get out of the ‘fresher. Despite the arousal coating your thighs beneath your dress, you couldn’t stop your knees from knocking together. You hadn’t known it was possible to be horny and petrified at the same time, but you were. You truly hadn’t expected to get this far in your fantasy - it had seemed like such a pipedream, a childish adventure you’d anticipated to end in rejection and embarrassment and heartbreak. You hadn’t expected such a man to be a willing participant in your flight of fancy. But instead you were now aboard Fett’s personal transport, waiting for him to finish washing up. Unless something were to go unspeakably wrong in a very short amount of time, you were going to lose your virginity to Boba Fett tonight. The shiver that curled up your spine as you said it to yourself in your head was both one of expectancy and timorousness. 

  “You’re still dressed.”

  The voice was gruff, the unexpectedness of it causing you to gasp and leap to your feet. You whirled towards the source, and felt as if the breath had been forcefully knocked from your lungs as if by a sharp blow.

  In all the time you’d spent researching Fett, siphoning up every piece of information on him that you could find, not many creatures had ever thought to describe what his voice sounded like. You supposed that Fett didn’t talk much, being such a singular man - in all the holovids you had seen of him, never once had he spoken, even when speech had been directed towards him. Just that stony silence answered, maybe a tilt of that mysterious worn-out visor or a quick gesture with a gloved hand, but that was it. The modulated voice that came through the Mandalorian helmet’s vocoder back in the cantina had been harsh, unforgiving, devoid of most emotion save annoyance and the venom that you expected from the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. There had still been that odd kindness to his tone when he’d seen you were upset, however, a shift that had seemed so out of character based on what you’d seen and read about the man that it had stunned your senses into complete sobriety, stilling your tears. This voice that confronted you now was very much human, but gravelly, made harsh by years of hard living and long periods of solitude. There was an inquisitiveness to it, though, and a youthfulness you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t place the accent, although you’d heard rumors that Fett’s family was from the Mandalore sector of the Outer Rim, some backwater moon called Concord Dawn, but none of the bounty hunter aficionados you’d spoken with seemed to be sure. He did wear Mandalorian armor, after all, but most assumed it had been plundered, not inherited or earned. Of course, nobody had ever asked Boba Fett himself - and lived to tell anyone, anyway.

  The man standing before you was bare-chested, a thin towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in the doorway of the refresher, residual steam still collecting behind him, water beading on the muscular expanse of his pectorals. His shoulders and upper arms and abdomen were covered in tattoos, unfamiliar spiraling patterns as well as glyphs in a language you’d never seen before, and every inch of his body that you could see was riddled with scars - some obvious blaster wounds, others looking like the marks of vibroblades or crude spears, some overlapping others and completely unrecognizable as being from any particular weapon. His skin was like a canvas, a story detailing decades of fierce battles, of wins and losses. You longed to run your hands over each and every scar, hear those stories yourself. Even more so, you yearned to tangle your fingers through the thick black curls atop his head - for some reason you had always expected him to have a shaved scalp, like so many other humanoid mercenaries, and the surprising full head of hair gave Fett a strangely boyish appearance. You pegged his age at anywhere from late twenties to mid-thirties, although it was hard to tell; the scars peppering his body also extended across his facial features, a prominent one in particular slashing a ragged arc through his furrowed brow, making him look older and harder than his years. His hooded eyes were a deep brown, more black in the light, almost the color of the darkness between the stars, and his nose was broad and slightly flattened, then upturned at its tip, which would have given him a haughty air, if it weren’t for the deep scar directly across the bridge. You wondered how he came across these distinctive wounds if he really never did take off his helmet. But it was his mouth you couldn’t tear your eyes away from - the sharp line of his strong jaw left him perpetually unsmiling, but the soft pout of his lips was intoxicating to look upon. You were dying to have those lips on yours, feel them leave a trail of kisses down your neck, across the stretch of your belly towards the wet heat between your legs. Soon .

  This was the infamous Boba Fett, unmasked. A mortal man, after all.

  You stared dumbly at him, your heart hammering in your chest, your limbs trembling where you stood. Your face was impossibly warm, and you could feel the sweat beading on your forehead. This was too much. You were starting to think that maybe you did understand why Fett was never seen without his helmet - creatures the galaxy over would fall before his feet at every turn, more so than they already did. Whole dynasties would crumble for him.

  He was easily the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your lifetime. 

  And he was to be yours tonight.

  “What’s the matter with you, girl? Loth-cat got your tongue?” Fett asked as you continued to ogle him like something out of a menagerie, one eyebrow arched questionably, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stalked towards you. You backed up as he did so, your calves hitting the edge of the cot and causing you to fall onto the thin blankets. Your face burned from the display of clumsiness, but Fett acted like he hadn’t noticed. He just continued to stare with those deep dark eyes, the thoughts behind them all but unreadable. 

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare, it’s just… you’re beautiful. ” You stumbled over the words, and felt slightly ashamed. To describe such a hard man with that word seemed almost wrong, sacrilege. You’d heard of the Diathim, mysterious beings that supposedly dwelled on Iego’s moons; known for their uncanny beauty, creatures called them angels. You didn’t care how odd it might sound to others - you felt that if angels truly were real, one was standing before you right now.

  Your declaration was met with a derisive snort and a roll of the eyes on Fett’s end.

  “I’ve been called many things over the course of the years. Most of them aren’t worth repeating in the company of others. But ‘beautiful’ isn’t one I hear very often, nehutyc’ika .” His voice was even and highly controlled, for someone who was nearly naked in the presence of a stranger, although you knew from your talks with Rystáll Sant among others that this was nowhere near Fett’s first casual fling.

  “What does that word mean? Nehut…? You’ve called me that twice now.” You cocked your head in confusion, trying and failing to think of anything to talk about that would distract your feverish mind from the sight in front of you. Fett’s unwavering eye contact and the way he seemed to be drinking you up was starting to make you nervous. Everything was happening so fast .

  “ Nehutyc’ika. It’s Mando’a, the language of my father’s people. It means you’re a feisty one.” He answered matter-of-factly, taking several steps towards you. You sat frozen, looking up at him mutely. You were vaguely aware of how badly your hands were shaking and quickly placed them underneath your thighs to hide them from Fett’s watchful gaze, although you feared it was too late. You were dumbfounded. You still couldn’t believe you were actually here , that the man of your dreams was standing shirtless in front of you - clad in nothing but a towel - and had brought up his family , and was now calling you ‘feisty.’ Was Boba Fett actually flirting with you?

  He took another step forward and dropped the towel.

  Oh.  

  You supposed he was doing more than just flirting now.

  Blinding heat instantly pooled in your cunt, and you gasped from deep in your chest. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t been expecting this level of boldness - ‘more like sluttiness,’ the whimsical voice in the back of your head chided before you shoved it back down into the recesses of your mind - from Boba Fett. Trembling, you unconsciously scooted away from him on the bunk, your eyes glued to his waist.

  He was huge .

  Not that you had any personal experience to work with, but you’d watched enough holoporn on the ‘Net to know that Boba Fett was packing . He was eight inches at least, thick and veiny, already half-hard. Kark , even his balls were perfect - tight and plump, sitting there nestled in a patch of dark, wiry hair. He gauged your clearly shocked reaction smugly, looking you up and down with a barely perceptible smirk ghosting his features. He was amused by your wide eyes, the hang of your jaw, your tensed limbs.

  “ Hmm . You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” There was laughter in his voice, and - oh, stars - blatant arousal. His cock had twitched as he’d said ‘virgin,’ and your pussy throbbed in reply. Part of you wanted to grab him by the wrists and pull him down on top of you, beg him to satisfy the growing ache between your legs as soon as possible, but instead you could only let out a torrent of stutters.

  “W-...w-why would I lie to you about that? That’s the reason I’m here, i-isn’t it? I w-wanted you to be my first…” You answered faintly. Your tongue felt heavy, your throat tight. It felt as if every molecule of heat in your body was collecting in your cunt, and you hoped the growing damp patch in your panties wouldn’t soak through your dress, let alone into the cot.

  “It wouldn't be the first time a beautiful woman has tried to lie her way into my bed.” His lascivious grin grew broader, and it struck you then just how white and straight his teeth were. You felt dizzy, and your eyelids fluttered. Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. ‘This is what you wanted. You’ve come so far. Don’t let your nerves turn you back now.’ 

  “Not going to get shy on me now, are you, girly?” You opened your eyes when you felt a warm, calloused hand come down on your shoulder, and you had to stifle a surprised yelp. Boba Fett was standing directly over you, looking down on you as if he were a god watching his flock from above. His stiffening cock was level with your nose, and your mouth watered. It was so close that you felt as if you would go cross-eyed if you continued to look at it. You wondered if he expected you to take him in your hand, stroke him, pleasure him with your tongue, but Fett shoved you back by your shoulders, and you landed unceremoniously back on the pillow, shifting your eyes downwards to the foot of the bed. Fett now balanced there, one knee resting on the edge of the cot, exposing himself unabashedly to you. He observed you broodily, his lips slightly pursed, and you wondered if he was expecting you to try and make a run for it, and what he would do if you did. You had the mental image of a completely nude Boba Fett chasing you down the boarding ramp of the Slave I, blaster in hand, penis flopping as he ran, and a hysterical giggle rose to your lips, which Fett silenced with a stern shush.

  “Go on, girl, lay down. Let me help you feel good...” The bounty hunter purred, climbing on the bed to fully kneel before you, reaching out and placing his large hands on either side of your hips, rucking the shimmersilk dress up to rest above your belly button. You breathed heavily through your nose, in and out, hyper-aware of the feeling of Fett’s rough palms on your skin, the warmth radiating through him coming across more like fire licking up your pelvis to your ribcage. You wondered if he could tell just how badly you were shaking under his hands, if he could feel how hot you were for him already; if he did notice, he kept it to himself - he seemed solely focused on that spot between your legs, the junction of your sex that felt almost numb with how turned on you were. It didn’t even register to you at first that you were almost naked in front of a man for the very first time, that maybe you should be embarrassed - stars, he didn’t even know your name, hadn’t even expressed a passing interest in learning it - until you heard the low, animal growl emanating from Fett’s throat, and saw just how greedily he was admiring your soaked panties.

  “Already wet, are you? Good. That’ll make it easier on you.”

  You groaned at his words and covered your face with sweating, trembling hands, your core tensing as you felt your underwear being pulled down around your knees, then your ankles, and finally being harshly yanked off entirely. An arm nudged your knees even further apart, and you gasped, the ship’s cool air bathing your spread pussy lips, the wetness gathered there making it feel even colder. There was a brief pause, and a hand encircled your wrist, pulling your hands away from your eyes. You blinked to see Fett looming over you, the ghost of a smile upon his lips, and he settled to lie between your legs as he made sure you were making direct eye contact with him. You could feel his hot breath on your core, and your head swam. You had Boba Fett between your legs, about to pleasure you with his mouth. It was like something out of your most secret fantasies, but this was real .

  “Keep your hands away from your face, vaar’ika . I want you to watch me taste you. I don’t get to eat unspoiled fruit very often, you know.”

  He buried his face between your legs without another word.

  Oh, stars above.

  You’d never felt anything like this before, and struggled to keep from fainting back against the pillow. His tongue was hot against your cunt, licking warm stripes up and down, lapping up the juices that had collected between your folds as if it were the most delicious nectar he’d ever tasted. Fett hummed against you and the vibrations traveled up your spine like a shock, and you twisted your fists in the blankets, biting your lip to keep from crying out already. His lips latched onto your swollen clit at last and he suckled on the engorged bud hungrily, and you finally allowed yourself to moan. Fett gave a deep rumble in return that you didn’t immediately recognize as laughter due to the fact that his face was nestled against your sex. He was laughing at your reactions to his ministrations, and your face and chest only flushed hotter. Fett’s arms came up for a moment to loop around your thighs, dragging you downwards and causing you to emit a strangled whine, before he settled your legs over his broad shoulders. The change of position - you were practically sitting on his face now - prompted another rush of arousal to flood your needy cunt. Boba Fett groaned appreciatively as his tongue probed inside of you, its tip curled, licking at the opening of your sex. You gasped deeply and arched your back, and Fett grumbled, holding you down as you began to squirm underneath him, digging your heels into his shoulder blades. He turned his mouth back to your clitoris, flickering his tongue methodically back and forth, up and down, swirling circles around the sensitive bud until you began to pant and whimper in earnest. You were so wet that you could hear him eating you out, obscene slurping sounds interspaced with pleased grunts, his nose pressed into your vulva, his hips grinding into the corner of the cot beneath him in an effort to bring himself some pleasure.

  All it took to send you over the edge was an unexpected nip of his teeth to the hood of your clit, and your vision went white. You let out a choked sob, your hips bucking off the cot and your fingers threading through Fett’s tight curls, holding him in place as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

  You weren’t sure how long it lasted, but the waves of your climax finally began to ebb, and you released your hold on Fett’s hair, quivering helplessly in the aftershocks of your first-ever assisted orgasm. Fett released his iron grip on your thighs and raised his head to look at you, and you couldn’t help but let out an overwhelmed squeak at what you saw.

  His chin and mouth were glistening with your arousal, shiny in the light, and your breath stuttered as you watched him slowly lick his lips, his tongue circling to gather every last bit of your cum that had coated his features. It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen in your life - the Boba Fett now sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of you, wiping the rest of your cum from his mouth with the back of one hand and absent-mindedly stroking his cock with the other, observing you with an almost bored expression. His cheeks were ruddy with arousal, the rosy head of his length weeping pre-cum, his dark pupils blown. But despite everything he had just put you through with his mouth alone, he wasn’t even breathing heavily, hadn’t broken a sweat. He looked zen, if anything.

  “...Can I kiss you? Please?” You asked breathlessly, your chest still heaving, leaning back on your elbows on the cot in front of him. The question took him by surprise at first, his eyebrows raising, the scars sprinkled across his features distorting with the movement. And then he laughed , a genuine laugh, oddly musical and light coming from such an imposing figure, so much so that you could help but grin in response, your cheeks hurting from just how hard you were smiling at this show of vulnerability on his part. Fett leaned forward and grabbed you by your biceps and hoisted you into his arms, bringing you to sit straddling one muscular thigh, his skin hot and firm under your pussy, and you felt yourself becoming aroused all over again at the press of his bare flesh against your center. Fett tapped your shoulder and gestured with a curt jerk of his head for you to lift your arms, and he yanked your dress above your head in one smooth movement, tossing it out of sight. You didn’t care if it got ruined, that it had cost you nearly a third of your weekly pay - all you cared about anymore was Boba Fett.

  “I just made you cum and you’re asking if you can kiss me? You’re a strange one, girl. Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed a man before either.” Fett teased, cupping your chin in one hand, his face so close to yours that your foreheads were nearly touching.

  He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he captured your mouth with his.

  You could taste yourself on him, a musky, earthy tone, and you moaned as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, playfully darting at your own and biting at your lower lip. You had never understood when your friends had claimed to have seen fireworks when being kissed, but you could wholeheartedly say that you did now. It felt like the celebrations on Empire Day in the pit of your belly, full of bright sparks and incredible explosions of color.

  Fett hefted one breast in his hand, absently flicking the nipple back and forth with his thumb and kneading the tender flesh as he lazily kissed you, mostly letting you take the reins in your experimentation. You kissed him deeply, your nose digging into his cheek as you turned your head for a different angle against his mouth. You could have kissed Boba Fett forever, your arms around his neck, your chest flush with his, your nude body pliant in his lap, his cock pressed against your thigh. You eventually came up for air, breathing hard, dropping your hands to rest your palms on his brawny chest, searching his face for any sign of what the bounty hunter might be thinking. He simply stared back at you, any and all contemplations he may have had hidden behind a deathly still visage. You thought Fett must be an incredibly adept sabacc player, with that kind of self-control over his expressions.

  “So, this is where you fuck me now, right?” You breathed, and Fett narrowed his eyes, scoffing as if you’d just asked him if Ewoks could speak Basic. He placed his hands on your hips, gripping the flesh there so roughly that you involuntarily let out a hiss of discomfort.

  “Oh no… you’re not nearly ready to take me, not yet. You’re still too tight. Do you want to enjoy this or not?” You’d thought you were getting somewhere; you’d thought that maybe you were actually beginning to see a softer side of Boba Fett, but the annoyance in his voice was palpable. Your face burned with shame. You knew he thought you were an idiot, blinded by lust, eager to use him as your personal fucktoy so you could tell your friends that you had lost your virginity to Boba Fett, and now he was angry with you. You were brought out of your thoughts by a slap to the meat of your ass, just sharp enough to make you yelp and refocus on Fett with widened eyes.

  “ Answer me .”

  You gulped and nodded your head rapidly in response, stammering despite your attempt to remain calm. “Y-yes… I want to enjoy this…”

  Fett reached further around and patted your ass as if praising a beloved pet. “ Very good. Don’t question me again, and don’t go thinking you’re the one in control here. You’re only here because I took pity on you. I could just as quickly throw you off my ship, naked as the day you were born. Don’t think I haven’t done it before. Would you like that, princess , or do you want to continue with our little game?”

  Fett reached between your bodies and pinched at your clit with his thumb and index finger, and you let out a little shriek of surprise, gripping his muscular shoulders. Despite his threats, the broody edge to his voice, his almost violent touches, you didn’t think you’d ever been so turned on in your life. The dangers that seemed to be around every corner concerning this encounter were exciting rather than frightening - even the image of having to make your way home in the nude, a walk of shame after having been cast out from Boba Fett’s company, felt like more of a thrill than anything else. You didn’t even care that he called you ‘princess’ in a clearly derogatory way; as he’d said himself, this was a game, and judging from the pre-cum dribbled down the side of his cock, he was just as willing to play as you were. 

  You raised your eyes to his, drawing your gaze away from his hand, where it was resting on your pubic mound, his thumb just barely grazing your clit. There was an almost mischievous glitter in Fett’s eyes as he waited for your reply, and the slightest pressure he was applying was killing you. In lieu of words, you simply grasped his wrist with a shaky hand and pressed his palm harder into your pussy. Fett let out a deep chuckle in response, and began rubbing your clit tortuously. Humming contentedly, you bucked your hips sloppily, attempting to work up a rhythm in time with Fett’s hand. Your pussy dragged back and forth along the hard expanse of his thigh, your arousal smearing over his skin, making for slicker traction with every push of your waist. Fett looped one strong arm around your middle, holding you steady as you rocked yourself on his leg. He continued to jerk your clit at a frantic pace, his entire hand settled over your dripping cunt, occasionally running his thumb up and down your slit to gather the juices there and spread them along your swollen bud before resuming his direct assault.

  “You love riding my thigh like this, don’t you? Is this what you think about when you’re alone in bed at night, girly, with your pillow between your legs? Rutting your hot little cunt against me like a felinx in heat?” Fett goaded, and you let out a quiet moan in response, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, focusing on the sensations building in your quim. He knew. You didn’t know how, but it was like he was aware of every single dirty fantasy you’d ever had about him. All you had told him is that you wanted to give yourself to him - nothing more, nothing less. Had he been contemplating what sparked your nocturnal emissions while he was showering earlier in the night? It was true, you thought of bringing yourself to climax this way often - daydreaming scenarios in which you were some faraway planet’s heroine, kidnapped for ransom by a ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter, forced to grind against him like an animal for his pleasure, a blaster to your temple - but no reverie could ever compare to this.

  The sweet, cresting wave of another orgasm had been building within you for quite some time, both at the urging of Fett’s deft fingers as well as the movements of your own undulating hips against his thigh, when he suddenly took his hand away and stilled your movements with a painful squeeze of your hip, and you cried out pathetically. You’d been so close . Fett clucked his tongue at your begging, and his hand slowly went back to its place between your legs, his fingers crawling further down than before, and you automatically tensed. 

  “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now, vaar’ika . If you really want to take my cock, I need to open you up more.” Fett warned, circling his thumb over your clit and poking at your entrance with his index and middle fingers. Your breath hitched at the probing, the muscles of your groin bracing for yet another sensation you had never experienced, but you nodded desperately. You were ready for this.

  Fett dragged the digits up and down your slit, back and forth, collecting your wetness, and then dipped them into you slowly, gently. You emitted a whooping gasp at the intrusion, bucking your hips against his fingers as they slipped deeper into your cunt. Fett’s fingers were blunt and thick, and you already felt stretched out deep inside - you wouldn’t call the feeling painful, but your inner muscles fluttered wildly, pushing back against this unknown invasion, and you had to concentrate on keeping your breathing even in an effort to get yourself to relax. Fett stilled his movements as he sensed your muscles contracting uncomfortably around him, and waited for your breathless nod of consent for him to resume. He began gingerly pumping in and out of you, listening for little moans and whimpers on your part to know it was alright to move faster. As his pace increased, he continued rubbing your clit with his thumb, and the unfamiliar pressure of his fingers inside you quickly gave over to a pleasurable massaging sensation that had you groaning aloud. You began to experimentally wriggle your hips against his motions, seeing what felt good, and dug your nails into Fett’s arms as the shifting of your weight back and forth helped guide his probing fingers to a spot deep inside you, one you’d never been able to reach by your own hands. Fett sensed the change in your movements against him, the stutter of your hips against his digits, the sudden gush of wetness dripping onto his palm, and knew he’d found what he was looking for. He curled his fingers up towards himself inside you, pushing in hard against the soft, spongy patch and pulled your cunt back and forth rapidly, reveling in the way you cried out and clutched at him. The sweet pressure within your groin was building rapidly, becoming more intense than anything you’d felt in the past. 

  “I… I think I’m going to…” You stammered weakly, your words punctuated with little whines and squeals of pleasure. You attempted to continue your warning with the words ‘to cum ,’ but you could only let out a loud moan instead, letting the bounty hunter jerk your pussy whichever way he wished. Your face burned, your ears zoning in on the loud squelching noises coming from your cunt as his fingers worked faster and faster, his arm pumping rapidly with the exertion. 

  Fett answered you with a teasing snarl, completely unbothered by your pleading. “ Oh? What’s that? You’re going to cum on my fingers, hmm? If this is enough to make you fall to pieces, just wait until I’ve got my cock in you, girl…”

  That did it. His words, and the insistent, constant press of his fingers against that unbearably sensitive spot deep inside of you, sent you crashing over the edge. You let out a strangled scream, burying your face in the crook of Fett’s neck, scrabbling at his back with your nails as your orgasm devastatingly washed over you. Fett swore loudly as you let yourself go on his fingers, although he showed no signs of slowing, and your face burned with the realization of what was happening. You could feel the buildup of pressure gradually releasing from your cunt, could feel yourself gushing onto his hand and thigh and onto the cot beneath, but in that moment you were beyond caring - every nerve-ending in your body was in ecstasy. 

  It felt like hours had gone by before you finally felt him remove his fingers from within you with a soft wet noise, followed by another dribble of fluid from your core, and let out a choked sob at the sudden emptiness. Boba shifted to rise from the cot and you clumsily slipped off his lap and back onto the blankets, cringing uncomfortably at the wetness beneath you. It was once you were seated and had regained control of your breathing and heart rate that you were aware of just how drenched everything was. The cot was soaked, your ass settled in the center of a large damp patch, the inside of your thighs coated with your own juices. You turned to look at Fett, and your jaw dropped when you saw just how much of your slick was glazing his stomach, his thighs, the arm he had coaxed your orgasm from you with. And he was grinning .

  “You squirted all over me, girl.” To your disbelief, Fett sounded impressed, and the self-congratulatory smirk on his face reflected it. He was curiously inspecting his dripping fingers, rubbing them together, then stuck them in his mouth like a child with a sucker, his eyes boring into you darkly. He pulled the digits free with a noisy pop after a long moment and looked down at his hand, a whispered “ So sweet …” emanating from his lips. You didn’t know whether he’d intended for you to hear him, but the object of your affection speaking in that way, about you - about your arousal - had you feeling weak. You’d never squirted before in your life, and Boba Fett had drawn it out of you within mere minutes. You wanted to repay him for the pleasure he’d given you - twice over, now.

  “I… I want you in my mouth, Boba.”

  He gave a start at your use of his name - it was the first time during this encounter that you had said it aloud, and you didn’t think he’d been expecting you to at all. His cock twitched openly and a bead of pre-cum leaked from the slit at his head, dribbling onto the blanket to join your own mess, and when he spoke, his voice was even rougher, lower, full of flagrant excitement. You expected him to forcefully grab you by your hair and shove your mouth onto him, fuck your skull with wanton abandon, but instead Fett regarded you silently, stroking himself with languid pumps, swirling his thumb across the tip of his cock to spread his arousal down his shaft.

  “I’ll have to teach you. How to suck a man’s cock. Do you want that? Do you really want to suck my cock ?” He rose from the edge of the cot, standing before you as you crawled on your hands and knees towards him. You nodded fervently, not in the least ashamed that you were literally begging for this man’s cock; you no longer cared, you just wanted your lips around him. You’d never given a blowjob before, but you wanted to taste him like he had tasted you. Fett watched you and held himself out straight, one fist gripping the base of his thick member, as you sat yourself before him.

  “Open,” Fett ordered brusquely, and you obediently followed his command, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. This seemed to amuse the bounty hunter, and he smirked, a low rumble of laughter emanating from deep within his broad chest. He jerked himself a few more times as he stood over you, then took another step and laid his heavy cock directly on your tongue. You were surprised at the taste of him - you weren’t sure what exactly you had been expecting, but he tasted of soap, and clean skin, and some sort of minty cologne you’d assumed he’d applied in the ‘fresher, with a hint of salt that intrigued you. It was a distinctly Boba taste, although you didn’t think you’d ever be able to explain what you meant to another living being. As you experimentally wrapped your lips around his girth, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with your teeth, Fett let out a soft groan, and you felt him reach out to pat your hair. “Yes, that it’s… good girl. ”

  You paused like that for a long moment, focusing on the heat of him in your mouth to distract from the fact that your jaw was already tiring a bit, then dipped your head to take more of him into your mouth, hesitantly suckling on his glans and attempting take him further down your throat before reflexively retching and pulling back. Your face burned with embarrassment as you wiped spittle from the corner of your mouth, and you looked back up at Fett hesitantly, expecting to be reprimanded for this novice’s folly. Instead, he was smirking, and you got the strong sense that he was impressed that he’d made you gag so soon.

  “Go slow, girl. No need to choke yourself. ...Or is my cock too much for that pretty mouth of yours to handle? Here, I’ll show you...” Fett cooed smugly, and he reached out to take your wrist in his large hand, helping you wrap your fingers around his cock. He was throbbing under your touch, and you felt your cunt heating up all over again at the sensation, fresh wetness gathering between your thighs. Fett tapped the underside of your chin once your hand was secured around him, and you opened your mouth, taking him on your tongue of your own accord. He was so heavy, you couldn’t help but let out a groan at the weight of him, and Fett let out a hiss at the feeling your vibrations made against his length. He put one hand on the back of your head, pushing you forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, allowing you to gradually become accustomed to his presence in your mouth without further triggering your gag reflex.

  “No teeth , girly… careful, careful… now suck . Gentle . Use your tongue to massage my cock… there you go, that’s it…” Fett coached as you gingerly swirled your tongue around his head, making sure to pay extra attention to the prominent vein running along the underside of him - maybe you’d never actually done this before, but you liked to think you had an idea of what to do based on all the dirty holovids  you watched. You just couldn’t believe you were actually trying all of this out on Boba Fett himself. He was too girthy for you to swallow him to the hilt, so you shyly brought one hand up to rest shakily on his thick thigh, the skin still damp from your juices, and knead the flesh there, and a jolt went through your pussy as Fett emitted a purr at your ministrations. You reached your other hand out to cup his balls, heavy and hard in your hand, and the bounty hunter’s cock twitched violently in your mouth as you massaged them, almost making you gag again. He groaned under his breath every time you squeezed and rolled his sac, and you relished the feeling of his length spasming against your tongue, the salty sweet taste of his pre-cum filling your mouth. Stars, he was delicious. You wished you could see yourself, on your knees, sucking Boba Fett’s cock, and reprimanded yourself for not having the foresight to bring your holocam, strategically place it somewhere in the room to record tonight’s tryst so you could watch it over and over again. 

  You were just building up a rhythm - digging your nails into Fett’s thigh, occasionally tugging at his balls, and slurping greedily on his cock, when he ended it. With a growled moan, Fett grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off of him, his short nails scratching at your scalp in a way that sent shivers up your spine. He left with your mouth with an audible pop , a string of drool leading from your lips to his glistening glans, which only broke when you placed a chaste kiss to it, grinning up at him. You felt drunk on his cock, if it were possible to be so - he hadn’t even been inside you yet, but you already found yourself yearning for his presence in your life, for this to be more than just a one night stand, a fantasy come to life. You didn’t think you’d ever not be able to envision the gorgeous creature standing in front of you the next time you saw the faceless entity who prowled after bounties featured on the nighttime HoloNews.

  “But I wanted to make you cum …” You pouted as Fett wordlessly pushed you onto your back on the bed, walking forward on his knees until he was nestled between your spread legs. He pressed his arms into the cot on either side of your head, holding himself up above you, his face hovering above yours. You could feel his hot breath on your skin and wanted to place your hand on the back of his neck, draw his mouth to yours, but you found yourself frozen in place, staring up at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped to your breasts.

  “No, vaar’ika. Not yet. I want to cum with that tight little virgin pussy of yours squeezing me.” Fett crooned sweetly, and you whined loudly at his words, bucking your hips up, trying in vain for your sopping core to make contact with his dangling cock, but he pulled away, rising to sit back between your knees, his member rosy and standing at attention, a clear drop of pre-cum beading at its tip. You laid beneath him, spread out and open, and Fett pushed your thighs apart even further, positioning himself at your entrance. He began rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb, pressing in slow circles, and you mewled appreciatively.

  “I’m not going to lie to you. This will hurt.” Fett warned, leaning forward slightly and skimming the head of his cock up and down your slit. With every swipe, his heavy glans would catch on your swollen clit, and you had to stop yourself from grabbing him in your hand, keeping him positioned there so you could get off from the friction alone. You were so wet that you could hear the slick sound of his hardness passing through your folds, and that alone eradicated any doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted. You needed him inside of you more than anything else. It was time. There was no turning back. You didn’t care if it would be painful. Not anymore.

  “Boba, please . I’m ready for this. I’ve always been ready. I want this… I want you .” You urged him, and he nodded curtly in acknowledgement. It was then that the realization hit you - in your rush to leave your flat earlier in the night, you’d forgotten perhaps one of the most important things. Your roommate always stored contraception in your shared ‘fresher, which you’d completely bypassed in your mad rush to get to the Paradise Atrium and find Boba Fett. Now you were here, about to do the deed with the man himself, without any sort of protection, and you’d only remembered at the last possible moment. 

  “ Wait . I’m… I’m not on anything. Do you… ?” You began, and cringed to yourself, fully expecting Fett to rise and demand you to get out of his sight for your stupidity, cast you out into the night like he threatened to do earlier. Instead, you were met with a huff and a shake of his curly head, and he patted your inner thigh. Again, he looked smug, almost proud of himself.

  “I have an implant, girl. If I didn’t, I’d have bastards the galaxy over. You came all this way with nothing of your own? Hmm. Interesting . Now just relax… ” Boba replied, and you nodded, feeling faint. Of course he had an implant, why hadn’t you considered that? You supposed you ought to look into getting one too, but your thought was interrupted by something hard and hot and blunt poking at your folds, and you cast your eyes downward to watch as Fett spread your lips with the fingers of one hand, using his other to line up his cock with your hole.

  He entered you slowly, with a gentle nudge, just the tip breaching your entrance, and you involuntarily cried out despite yourself. He was so big already. The stretch was unlike anything you’d felt, it was as if your opening was going to tear, and you silently reprimanded yourself for thinking his karking fingers alone had been too thick for you. Your hips canted upwards to try and escape the discomfort, and Fett laid a massive, warm hand flat against your belly, ceasing his movements as well as your own squirming, shushing you.

  “Easy, little one, easy . I’ve only just started to enter you. This is nothing . Are you absolutely sure you can handle the rest of me? You’re allowed to change your mind if you don’t want this after all. I can still turn you loose…” Fett offered, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the skin of your tummy in a way that was shockingly comforting, coming from such a harsh character. The weight of his hand on your stomach was oddly grounding, and you closed your eyes, taking several deep breaths through your nose, and nodded for him to continue. 

  He slid into you further and it was like a rod of flame had been inserted up your cunt. You yelped, biting back a proper scream as you involuntarily hunched away from the invading presence. Fett held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away further, and immediately stopped his movements once more. He wasn’t even fully sheathed within you yet, but the pain was unbelievable. You didn’t imagine that it could hurt this much, especially with how wet you were. He was just so huge , you couldn’t fathom how the rest of him would fit inside of you. There were already tears of frustration filling your eyes at having to stop him again so soon, and you gazed upwards at the bounty hunter, who was looking down at you with a completely unreadable expression. Your hands were gripping his forearms and you could feel just how taut the muscles there were, how much self-control it was taking him to keep from pounding into you like a wild beast despite your discomfort, and you admired him for that. You wanted him deep inside you, you wanted him to finish the job, fully claim you at last - you wished he would just push forward with one savage thrust and break you open already.

  “If you keep crying out like this and trying to move away from me, vaar’ika , we’ll be stuck here all night.” Fett said simply, looking down between your bodies at where you were partially joined. You followed his gaze as well, your eyes growing wider as you took notice of his hard length sitting between your legs, halfway vanished into your quivering pussy. You felt sweat gathering on your brow, underneath your breasts, and the sight brought a fresh wave of arousal flooding through your cunt. Fett obviously felt it, as he let out a soft groan and you felt the tip of his member twitch within you, and a delicious shiver of pleasure went up your spine. That sensation alone made you want to wiggle forward yourself, despite the pain, and impale yourself on him fully. You squeezed Fett’s arms and he raised his head to look into your eyes, his gaze boring into yours. The arousal in his eyes was intoxicating.

  “Boba, I… I want you to move. Just do it, even if I scream or cry or try to get away. I give you my full permission. If… if I need you to stop, really stop, I’ll tap your shoulder three times. Is… is that okay?” You asked nervously, already feeling yourself begin to shake from the anticipation of what was coming. You wanted this more than anything , and now it was actually happening. You couldn’t have imagined you would actually be here even a few mere hours ago, underneath Boba Fett in the pilot’s quarters of the Slave I , about to lose your virginity to him. You expected to wake up in your own bed any moment, the night’s events having been just an incredibly vivid dream. Boba Fett didn’t answer your request with words. His eyes shifted to the side, almost imperceptibly, as he considered your proposition, and then, silently, he brought one hand up to rest on your flushed cheek. You took a shaky inhale as he gently craned his neck to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, then dipped lower to capture your mouth in his.

  In one smooth, hard motion, Boba Fett snapped his hips upward, forward, and claimed you for his own.

  Your eyes flew open and you let out a muffled scream against his mouth, your feet kicking out briefly, your hips jerking, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades. It felt as if you’d been torn open from the inside, like a blade had been thrust up into you, and the stretch was immense. You couldn’t fathom how the whole of him had fit. Your vaginal canal burned terribly, and you couldn’t help but let out several loud sobs at the overwhelming sensation of being filled so deeply. Fett broke his kiss and stared down at you, still buried to the hilt inside of you, unmoving.

  “ Easy there, little one . Look at me. I’m inside of you, see? You’re no longer a virgin, at last. How do you feel? Do you want me to stop?” Fett hummed softly, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face with the pad of his thumb, his hips flush with yours. You could feel the dark patch of pubic hair at his groin against your vulva, and the sensation was somehow soothing. Your cunt involuntarily clenched around his member, gradually becoming used to the feeling of him as time dragged on, and you were surprised that you could feel his hardness, the ridges of his glans pressed into your inner walls, the veins on his cock against you. The pain was receding, little by little, as Fett remained motionless and let you get used to his presence. It occurred to you that he was waiting for you to give him permission to move, and your walls fluttered.

  “No, no, please don’t pull out. Oh, kriff … it hurts , but it’s getting better. You’re so big . I feel so full. But… I just can’t believe…” You gasped, struggling for words. You swore you could feel Boba Fett in your guts, were shocked that you couldn’t see a bulge in your lower belly where his cock was nestled inside of you, that’s how big he felt. Fett let out an amused chuckle, cutting off your words by pressing a blunt finger to your lips.

  “Well, you’d better start believing it… you’ve got a bounty hunter inside of you. Tell me when I can move, mesh’la . I’m getting restless.” Fett replied, and it was then that you noticed the sweat beading his forehead as well, the way his speech was coming in harsh pants, how his arms were shaking with need above you. He needed to move . You could feel your swollen cunt becoming hotter and hotter, your natural lubrication helping to ease the pinching burn that had settled deep within you, and you found you wanted him to move too. Your tears had dried for the most part, although you had a feeling he’d have you weeping again soon enough. You shakily moved your hands up to cup Fett’s sharp cheekbones, his eyes locking onto yours with the movement. The words that next left your lips, barely above a whisper, were ones that you never imagined you would find yourself saying to this man, but they resulted in an amorous growl that sent a thrill through your bloodstream and straight to your pussy.

  “Fuck me, Boba.”

  His first few thrusts shook your entire body, and you let out a grunting squeal for each one, your breasts jiggling from the force of them, although Fett still moved slowly. It wasn’t until you wrapped your legs around his calves, pulling him in closer, and settled your palms on the tense cheeks of his ass, urging him to pump into you harder, faster, that he began to really fuck you. With every thrust, your pain turned more and more into pleasure, a white-hot ball tightening within your belly until it felt as if liquid fire was seeping through every inch of your body. If this was what being fucked was like, you never wanted it to end.

  “ Stars , princess… you’re so kriffing tight . The tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked… you’re going to make me cum soon…” Fett groaned, and you let out a keening wail in response, focused only on the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, his glans bumping that same spongy spot inside you that his fingers had seemed to find immediately, the obscene slap of his thighs colliding with yours again and again and again. You could hear your own juices sloshing against his cock’s pounding, a squelching that only became louder and wetter as your movements continued. 

  Neither one of you lasted very long. Combined with Boba’s slow, deep strokes into your pussy, and his fingers dancing over your clit, helping you along towards yet another climax, you found yourself hoarsely shouting his name over and over again, your nails raking red slashes down his back in pure ecstasy. Fett lifted up your hips into his hands, arching your bottom off the cot, his angle becoming impossibly deeper, and you shrieked aloud. You wondered if the durasteel walls of the Slave I were soundproof, but found that you didn’t care. You didn’t care whether the entirety of Cloud City heard Boba Fett fucking you - you wanted them to. This was happening , you had manifested this for yourself through nothing but determination, and if the whole colony heard you being claimed by the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter, so be it.

  “Cum for me, girl. That’s it, let go… cum all over my cock, like you’ve always wanted to…” Fett urged you, his own voice shaking as he frantically worked your clit with his fingers, his thrusts becoming manic and sloppy. You could tell he was getting close - you could feel his cock twitching violently inside of you, preparing to shoot his load up into you. Your own orgasm hit you unexpectedly, just one expertly angled stroke from Fett’s length, a circular grind of his hips, and your vision instantly blacked out. You felt as if a thermal detonator had gone off in your pussy, and all sound seemed to go out of the room. Your mouth was gaping open, you knew you were screaming at the top of your lungs, but all you could hear was a high-pitched static noise, you were so far gone. You didn’t even hear Fett’s answering groan as he spilled his seed inside of you moments later, the clamping of your walls around his cock proving to be too much for him to withstand. The feeling of him emptying his balls within you was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and only served to bring your peak to a new height. You could feel him pulsating, your cunt milking him for all that it was worth, his hot spunk filling you up, marking you where no one else ever had before.

  The next thing you remembered was lying in Boba Fett’s arms, weeping openly into the crook of his neck. You weren’t sure if you had momentarily passed out from the pleasure, but you had no memory of him flipping you over so that you were lying atop him, draped across his broad chest, his cock still sheathed within you, a strong but pleasant ache settled deep between your thighs - a lingering effect of your lost virginity. Fett, despite all of his cultivated roughness, let you cry it out, one arm thrown lazily across your waist, his free hand cupping the back of your head. His fingers scratched at your scalp, and you could have sworn you heard him murmuring softly in a guttural tongue, possibly that Mando’a he occasionally spoke in - the idea that he may’ve been trying to comfort you in his own awkward way only made you cry harder. Your sobs finally ebbed away into sniffles and quiet hiccups after a short while, and Fett slowly rolled you off of him, his cock leaving you with a wet squelch that gave your oversensitive clit a jolt and left you feeling sore and empty. You laid on the bed and watched Boba Fett’s cum ooze out from between your legs and onto the blankets, stained pink from your breaking in, and you flushed as he rose and stood at the foot of the cot, cleaning both your arousals from his softening cock with a cloth he’d retrieved from a compartment hidden in the wall. You wished you could have kept his cum inside of you forever, in a way, although you supposed the bruises his mouth and fingers had left on your skin would serve as reminders as well. You still couldn’t believe the night events had really happened, after so long.

  “Are you alright, girl? You came quite hard. I thought you were going to break my cock right off, the way you were clenching me. How do you feel, now that you’ve been properly fucked?” His tone was one of gentle teasing, and he glanced back over his shoulder at you, a smirk upon his pouty lips. 

  “That… that was incredible. I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t believe I just got fucked by Boba Fett .” You replied, and hid your face in your hands, embarrassed as soon as the words had tumbled from your mouth. Fett, good-natured and relaxed after a satisfying fuck, snorted and shook his head. He sauntered past the cot on his way to the ‘fresher and patted your thigh as if to assure you that ‘ Yes, you sweet little fool, all of your wildest dreams have come true.’ He didn’t think he’d ever understand these beings who sought him out as part of their bizarre fantasies, but he didn’t care - it got him laid, and sometimes the temporary company was even enjoyable. This hopeless romantic of a virgin - well, former virgin - had been one of the better ones. As he took one last glance at you before the door slid shut, as you nodded off in his bed, Fett found himself feeling glad he hadn’t rejected your advances, as he’d originally been planning to do. It was a shame he couldn’t keep you around a while longer - you were easy to please, and so eager to learn - but there was business to be done tomorrow, and it was nothing that an innocent girl like you should be caught up in. 

  Not this time, anyway.

  -

  The first light of dawn was just beginning to emerge over the swirling mists of tibanna gas that enclosed Cloud City, and you were in a panic. You’d been awakened from your blissed out slumber by the incessant bleating of your comlink, buried within the confines of your purse, which lay in a heap along with your clothing on the durasteel floor of Boba Fett’s transport, the Slave I . Jumping up from the cot and wincing at the sharp sting radiating from between your legs, you’d rifled through your belongings until you’d uncovered the damn contraption. Pressing the button on the side, a scrawl of Aurebesh sprang into being, and your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Dank farrik. Your roommate.

  ‘Where are you?’ The urgency of the message was clear, having been sent thrice over the past half hour. You’d be surprised if they hadn’t already raised the alarm, that the Wing Guard wasn’t already out combing the city for you. They’d begged you to be home by dawn, and by the sound of the traffic outside, it was more around the time of the typical morning commute, a full hour or so later.

  You had to leave. Now .

  There was no sign of Boba Fett.

  You didn’t remember falling asleep after your tryst the previous night, but you had a vague memory of Fett waking you in the night and ordering you into the ‘fresher to urinate, and you’d been alone in the pilot’s quarters when the comm had begun chirping later on, fully waking you up. It didn’t look like anyone else had joined you on the cot overnight, and as you’d scrambled to scoop up your bag and don last night’s outfit - you were pretty sure your dress was inside out, but you found yourself beyond caring - and descend the ladder leading back into the cockpit area, you’d discovered where Fett had gone. He sat motionless in the pilot’s chair, fully armored and helmeted, studying a holo of what appeared to be the inner passageways of the Administrator’s Palace that was being projected from the ship’s dash, emanating a flickering, ghostly blue light in the early morning rays visible through the viewport. You stopped short across from the chair, and although Fett’s head didn’t turn even a hair, you knew he was watching you, wondering what you were doing.

  “I have to go. I was supposed to be home by now and my roommate’s going to kill me.” You explained briefly, then dashed towards the ramp leading to the docking bay outside. You felt as if you had become part of a child's bedtime story, a maiden whose jewel-encrusted gown would disintegrate to rags, whose enchanted ship would transform back into a jogan fruit if she didn’t return home by the stroke of midnight. This was all over too soon. As you rushed down the platform, you wondered whether Fett would say anything or if that would be it, if he would just watch you run off into the sunrise and consider his work done. You’d made it just beyond the confines of the ship’s overhang when you heard the telltale sound of spurs from behind you, slow and methodical steps. You stumbled to a halt and turned back to face the Slave I. Boba Fett stood there motionlessly, observing you.

  “Tell me, sarad’ika. Was it everything you've dreamed of?” The helmeted figure asked slyly, standing on the boarding ramp of his imposing, mottled ship, one hand resting casually on the overstuffed utility belt at his waist, the other dangling free at his side. You felt yourself flush at his question, knowing he was most likely grinning lecherously underneath his Mandalorian armor, but you still nodded, shifting your weight anxiously from one foot to the other. His gaze still penetrated your very soul from behind that black, T-shaped visor, made you feel so vulnerable.

  “Yes. And more. I… I don’t know what to say, other than… thank you.” You softly replied. You wondered, foolishly, if he was expecting payment for his services. Did he consider his conquest of you to be a job of sorts? Your answer came with a sharp gesture of his hand, cutting a quick line across the morning air between the two of you.

  “Then don’t say anything.” With a barely perceptible nod, Fett turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the confines of his ship. Something about watching him walk away from you made your heart hurt, although you doubted you would ever be able to explain why. You wondered whether you could make something more of this, something long-term and lasting, perhaps beyond your better judgement. You wanted to feel his mouth on yours again, and still felt his presence inside of you, the throb left behind by his considerable length filling you, and you already knew that you’d never want anyone else. You were addicted. You stepped forward, back towards the Slave I and its retreating owner, hopeful. If Rystáll Sant could do it, why couldn’t you?

  “Boba, wait. ” 

  Fett’s form stilled, halfway up the ramp, and he turned to face you once more, the dented helmet cocked to one side, obviously intrigued as to what you had to say. You had a feeling he knew what was coming and your stomach somersaulted at the thought, but you heard the words leave your mouth anyway, heard the pining in your voice despite your best efforts to sound neutral, unattached.

  “When can I see you again?” 

  ‘ Fierfek, you stupid girl. Now he’ll think you’ve gone and fallen in love with him, just because he was your first fuck …’ Your mind swam, and you wished you could rewind time, seal your mouth shut, take back the words as soon as you had spoken them, until you saw that Fett was sauntering down the ramp towards you. You froze, every muscle in your body turning to ice, as he strode towards you, coming to a stop directly in front of you. He was close enough that you could have reached out and placed your hands on his chest, thrown your arms around his neck, but you found you didn’t have the courage.

  “You can’t.” Fett answered you brusquely, emotionlessly, and you felt like he had slapped you across the face. You weren’t sure what exactly you’d been expecting when he’d approached you. The bounty hunter deftly reached out and cupped your chin between his index finger and thumb, pinching the skin in his grip and holding your gaze level with his. That visor was so dark, but you were so close you still could've sworn that you could see his face through the darkened T-shape, and that he was smiling . He released his grip and tapped the underside of your chin with his fingers, in an oddly playful manner. “Run along, little one. Go home. You don’t want to get into any more trouble now, do you?”

  With that, he whirled back around, cape flapping on his shoulder, marching solemnly back into the blackness concealing the innards of the Slave I. The ramp closed behind him with an anticlimactic hiss , and Boba Fett was gone from your life, just as quickly as he had entered it.

  Your ‘walk of shame’ back to your apartment felt more like a victory march, and when you walked into your living quarters, your roommate rushed towards you and demanded to know what had happened, where you had been, if you were okay. You only gave them a knowing smile. Maybe someday you’d share the story of your night with Boba Fett, but for now, you thought you’d let them try to put the pieces together on their own.

  Later that evening, when Baron Calrissian announced the Imperial takeover of Cloud City and the evacuation orders were given, as you packed a bag full of necessities and boarded a transport out of the city and listened to the whispered rumors that Han Solo had been frozen in carbonite and abducted from the Administrator’s Palace by a mercenary wearing Mandalorian armor, you couldn’t help but smile. 

  ‘Well, kriff. He’s actually done it.’ You thought smugly, grinning to yourself amidst a sea of panic. You hoped Boba Fett had been able to escape off-world with his bounty before the Wing Guard had sealed the docking bays, but you didn’t think you truly had anything to worry about. There was a reason why he was considered the best in the business. 

  Boba Fett had done it. 

  Right after he’d done you.

[the-beskar-alchemist]

Alright....*cracks knuckles*.....I have things to SAY 

- Okay Din having the baby help him fix a part of the ship he can't reach? That's fitting honestly. He's tiny, he can crawl into the area Din needs to reach, but can't because they're still in space and he can't very well access the particular spot from outside (I'm assuming it's one of those areas only accessible via a hatch from the roof or something). - Also......OMG THE BABY HELPING DIN AND DIN BEING SO PATIENT HE'S SUCH A DAD - I have to wonder about the baby's pain threshold, he seemed only mildly inconvenienced from getting electrocuted (and for some reason I kept thinking about Tito from Oliver and Company fucking around with the wiring in the limo and getting shocked) - CHIN ACTION CHIN ACTION CHIN ACTION......(I truly do NOT understand the fuss over it being Pedro VS Brenden Wayne in the suit, does it really matter???? You're only seeing his chin, not his whole face, calm down) - Din honey broth/soup can only take you so far, TRUST ME, you can't make meals off of flavored liquid, you'll just be hungry again an hour later. It's NO WONDER that kid kept inhaling the eggs lol......BUT....at the same time it's only logical that Din's resources are stuff that's easily frozen/stored and can just be heated without any prep work.  The stuff the baby seems to crave tends to be things that would require a way to preserve/store large amounts of food and the Crest isn't built for that sort of thing (I'm thinking about making a slight analysis post about the ship at some point) - The fact that the old covert hideout is empty (save for black-market dealers) tells me that the Armorer is long gone and it's unlikely that anyone would know where she went (I noticed people bringing this up, that neither Cara/Greef checked on her), let's be real: They probably thought it wasn't their place to go poking around a Mandalorian covert just because they're friends with one of them, ESPECIALLY if the mutual friend isn't even around to vouch for their presence - Even though G*na has ruined any chance of me enjoying her as a person, I still appreciate her character as a separate thing. She continues to be badass, and I loved the fighting techniques she implemented in the sewers. - Yeah that crest is sputtering like an old beat-up pickup truck, just barely running - I really love that Karga spoke in such an affectionate manner to the baby. I know that Din tries to talk to him, but the way he does it is reminiscent of two adults talking. Karga actually talks to the baby like he's a child, no baby-talk but definitely with a higher pitch in his voice (the equivalent of the customer-service voice when you think about it) - SOMETHING FISHY ABOUT BEADY-EYED ALIEN DUDE. NO ME GUSTA - ONE OF THE SCHOOL CHILDREN REALLY DOES LOOK LIKE LITTLE REY - I felt like Din was experiencing separation-anxiety about leaving the baby, but I also feel like part of his hesitancy was an immediate reaction to the children whispering and laughing at the baby. I'm sure they weren't trying to appear cruel or anything, but it makes me wonder if he was having a minor flashback of having an experience like that and how it affected him - YODITO YOU PRECIOUS LITTLE SHIT YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE SOMEONE ELSES FOOD - I truly don't think that Karga/Cara see Din as anything less than a good friend, but I really wish they wouldn't treat him like his presence is only valid so long as he's helpful (LET THE MAN TAKE A BREAK) - WHY DOES THE IMPERIAL BASE LOOK LIKE THE PORT FOR A CABLE ON A CPU?? - I really don't like G*na's approach to acting where she thinks she has to sound as tough as possible in order to make her character more appealing/stronger - There are two separate comparison discussions you can take from the infiltration scenes: 1) It's a contrast to S1E6 where Din infiltrates a prison ship with the mercenaries and he's forced to follow their lead, OR 2) Din was awkwardly following the other Mandalorian's in the last episode, but with Karga/Cara he's confidant and even takes the lead - Imperial architecture be like: OSHA???? NEVER HEARD OF HER - I think it's important to note that, while Din is ready and willing to hunt down the Mythrol again if necessary without remorse, he still thought of him enough to keep him from falling down the lava shaft - Din's "I don't like this" had me in my feels a bit, usually he's so nonchalant in trying to act like nothing bothers him but he felt comfortable enough to express his unease in front of his friends - Okay the fact that they're vaguely referencing midi-chlorians, and it looks like this lab is a branch in Palpatine's cloning scheme, makes it seem like they're starting to tie into the movie franchise, but not outright.....it's a "just the tip" situation it seems. I'd honestly prefer they didn't delve to far into the movie canon, I feel the show will lose it's heart if they do. - Pershing mentioned "the volunteer", which has me curious about the kind of person that would allow themselves to be tested for what Gideon has planned. It's possible we're getting another major/unique character in the works.  Pershing could've just referenced test subjects in general, but he mentioned a specific one, so that has me wondering what other players are on the board. - That whole chase scene was nerve-wracking - DIN TO THE RESCUE DIN TO THE RESCUE - OMG THE BABY WAVING HIS ARMS LIKE HE'S ON A ROLLERCOASTER - DIN BABY YOU MAKE FLYING THE CREST LOOK SO SEXY - Din was all "Look what I did! Did you see that???" wanting to show off to the baby.....and then baby went BLEEEEEEGH.......AND THEN DIN WIPED IT WITH HIS CAPE???? He's such a DAD - The scene with Cara and officer talking about her losses was kind of emotional. G*na's acting is so wooden, it was honestly a combination of the music and the other actor's performance that seemed to get me, but more importantly its the fact that Cara is such a 3-dimensional character, that has so much potential, but she's being made superficial because of the portrayal - Also......she says she's not a "joiner", but she's eyeing that badge very closely, like she's contemplating a career switch. Perhaps there's a chance we may get revenge-driven Cara joining the New Republic in the future? - I'm glad they didn't actually show where the device is planted, it really adds to the suspense, I prefer a little mystery over having too much explained - Moff Gideon standing amongst the dark troopers like Saruman in the basement of Isengard where they bred the Uruk-hai army in LotR, this guy is pulling out all the stops to be ready to take on a singular Mandalorian and his friends. Does he think that Din will get Mandalorian reinforcements and therefore he needs the numbers? Are they stormtroopers or some form of droids, like the battle droids in S1? They're build kind of "human", and the attendees were using blasts of cold air like what would be used in a cryo-chamber, but what if they're not human? What if they are humanoids? Cyborgs? - It's interesting to think about what types of vessels/hosts Gideon would rely on for midi-chlorian testing. Obviously not just anyone can handle the transfusion, so would he require modifications to some extent to make the host more susceptible? Until next time!!!

[gerec]

Gerec’s Favorite Fics - 2020

A little early, but here’s a list of my favorite fics from this past year in no particular order. Hope you enjoy them as much I did! :D :D :D

Time the Preserver by MaxRobespierre

“Erik,” says the old man, looking directly at him, and, ah. Yes. That was why Erik stopped on his way back to the motel. His name, and the look in the old man’s eyes. He’s seen that look before, that depth of mourning. It’s not a look he likes to think about.

an empty hearth by Ireliss 

The nighttime city, shrouded in fog.

(Logan works for Shaw, guarding his pretty young boyfriend. They grow closer than they should.)

Self-acceptance as an act of survival by winter_hiems

Charles and Erik get temporarily swapped into each other’s bodies.

Charles seems to be handling it.

He isn’t.

Four Funerals & A Wedding by midrashic

Four people who mourned Erik Lehnsherr, and one who didn't.

The Last Love Song & Testament of Charles F. Xavier by midrashic

When Erik is accused of domestic terrorism, Charles has no choice but to marry him to keep him out of jail.

The Marriage Bargain by kianspo

Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson's hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo

While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

linger like a tattoo kiss by ikeracity 

Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Suddenly There'll Be a Blizzard (Let It Snow Remix) by kianspo

Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Once Upon a Time in the West by lachatblanche

Logan meets young, bright-eyed Francis in the run-down town of Charity while on the hunt for the notorious bank-robbers, the Xavier siblings, never for a moment dreaming that Charles Xavier is much nearer than he thinks ...

follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly by specficslut (homosociality)

Dr. Sebastian Shaw loves his job testing runaway omegas for fertility. Today, a boy named Erik is in the back of his medical van.

deeper than swords (the sun and stars remix) by specficslut (homosociality)

Erik has been traded to a foreign king for a chest of gold and a hundred bushels of grain. In Westchester, he must learn to start a new life... and navigate the roles that have been thrust upon him, whether concubine or courtesan, consort or slave.

The Shared Dream by TurtleTotem

Charles's cryo-pod malfunctions and wakes him up a century before everyone else. Will he spend the rest of his life alone on a ship full of sleepers? (A Passengers AU.)

Mr & Mr. Xavier-Lehnsherr by JackyJango

If you ask his late sister, she'd probably say that Charles had always had the hots for the bad boys.

Maybe it's true. Maybe that's how Charles had ended up willingly in their marriage bed. Maybe it's the ease with which Erik fights that had drawn Charles to him-- the confidence with which he uses his body to ensure maximum destruction, the fluidity with which he flares phasers as though they were an extension of his arm. Maybe Charles had been attracted to the grace with which Erik wielded his physical form in a way Charles would never be able to in his field of work. Maybe it's the aura that swirls around Erik for being the best mercenary on the planet. Or, maybe it’s just the roguishly handsome figure Erik cuts in a leather jacket and aviators with a cigarette caught loosely between his thin lips. The thing is, Charles doesn't know. And that's a tad antithetical coming from a man who had made knowing everything his job.

OR

A Mr & Mrs Smith AU in Space!

We'll Show Them All by kaydeefalls

Pacific Rim AU. Ten years later, the monsters are back, and newly-instated Marshall Charles Xavier needs to pull a team together to prepare for the coming war. That means finding his talented sister a Drift-compatible copilot -- even if that turns out to be his old flame Erik.

Just One More Question by BelgianReader2, g33kyclassic

Erik meets Charles at Pub Quiz League and it is hate at first sight. But, his team does need a new member and Moira is insistent that Charles is just what they need.

Erik is not happy about Charles, despite his trivia skill. Can time change his opinion? What about an unexpected revelation or two?

To the tune of our souls by hllfire

Erik, the drummer and one of the lead singers of the band known as The Brotherhood, writes a song after being inspired by the words of a university professor called Charles Xavier — another big name in the mutant community, much like Erik himself — and he wants Charles' speech to be in his song.

The only problem is that Charles Xavier doesn't seem to agree with Erik's idea.

A Tale of Two Captains by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik

Charles Xavier had wanted to be on the ocean as far back as he could remember. He could remember toddling toward the shipyards as an infant, being snatched away by scolding parents just before he could touch the gleaming vessels. As he grew older, his attention never wavered from the prospect of living life on the seas. At twenty-one years of age, Charles and his ship had its first run-in with pirates, and he saw fit to protect his title and vessel as fiercely as he knew how.

Aka: a one-shot of Erik the pirate trying to ransom Charles the captain, but finding that Charles is a little hard not to get attached to.

I'm a bullet by Isolee (WIP) Since mother - since the house - since Cain - He's adapted. He can do anything. Now he wants something, and he suspects he might even deserve it. Or - Charles is sort-of a sex addict, and Erik is his married-with-family supervisor at Uni.

I'll Take You Down (The Only Road I've Ever Been Down) by kianspo 

Tony and Emma are trying to help Charles get over a bad relationship. Many bad relationships, in fact, as Charles has the worst taste in men. They dare him to get 'cured' by sleeping with someone 'normal', having no idea that that normal guy just happens to be someone Charles has been crushing on for a while...

All We Are We Are by kianspo 

Charles's boyfriend breaks up with him days before the holidays. Not willing to ruin anyone else's festive mood, Charles hides this fact from his sister and his friends, and retreats into the family mansion, letting the world move on without him. He's flirting with depression when a one-time ex and a long-term friend surprises him. Long-kept secrets are revealed, and it turns out, Charles hasn't been paying attention to the right things.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

Carry Me Home (A Din Djarin/Reader Fic)

Summary: Din and Reader find themselves on a jungle planet hunting a bounty, but nothing goes as planned, and secrets are shared.

***Based off this line from a previous fic in this series: "Then the mysterious bounty hunter told you his name one day when you were trying to hold his femoral artery together with nothing but bacta gel and hope."

No spoilers. Set in Season 1 between Episode 6 (The Prisoner) & Episode 7 (The Reckoning)

Pairings: Din Djarin/Reader; Din Djarin/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, gore, & violence. Brief mentions of past slavery. 

A/N: In true Star Wars fashion, I'm just writing shit out of order lol. But the idea for this fic kept bugging me, so i just had to get it out on the page. 

You don't need to read the previous fics to understand this one, though (since the others are set in s2.) I have some more ideas for out of order stories, too, so I'll most likely be continuing this series.But let me know if you'd be interested in a fic from Din's POV! I think that could be fun, but if y'all are digging Reader POV, I'll stick to that.

And in case anyone cares, the title is taken from the lyrics of Arcade by Duncan Lawrence, which I was listening to on repeat as I wrote this. 

As always, I’ve posted this piece on Ao3, but I’ll paste the text below. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763814

I’ll also include the links to the other two fics here: 

The Sea Like Glass Ch 1: Here

The Sea Like Glass Ch 2 (includes smut): Here

“Dank farrik!” you hissed as the wire in front of you sparked and sent a jolt of electricity through your already singed fingers. Not for the first time, you wished you could wear your gloves, but some of the pieces that needed repairing were too small to feel through the bulky material, so you could do nothing more than sacrifice your flesh for the cause.

Didn’t make it hurt less, though. You sucked the smarting tips into your mouth, glaring at the trashed circuit board in front of you, but the ruined hardware only crackled in response.

If you were back in Hanger 3-5 in Mos Eisley, you would have probably trashed the whole part and dug through Peli’s stock for a replacement, or gone down to the market and haggled for something newer, but you weren’t on Tatooine. You were smack dab in the middle of a jungle planetoid you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was up to you to get the Razor Crest running again on what you had available.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot.

You sighed as you sat back on your haunches, using the back of your wrist to swipe at the sweat trailing down your temple. The pre-Empire ship towered over you as you dug into her innards, having pried off one of the semi-melted lower side panels to access the appropriate circuits. Your thin tank top was already drenched, and the hair sticking to the back of your neck kept giving you phantom itches. You wanted nothing more than to tie it up completely, but you always felt naked when your nape was exposed. You weren’t necessarily ashamed of the scar there, or the past connected to it, since it wasn’t your fault you were born into shackles, but… still. It was a… personal story to tell, and you weren’t sure you were ready to share it with your new boss.

Well, “new” was relative. You’d been employed on the Razor Crest for several months now, but you didn’t know much more about the Mandalorian than you did when you’d first set foot onto his ship. You knew he was a bounty hunter, from a race of legendary warriors. You knew he had a partially sordid, and dangerous, past if your encounter with Ran and his crew of mercenaries was any indication. You knew the green baby was his ward, or foundling as he called it, and Mando was tasked with returning the little guy to his people. And you knew his Creed forbid him from removing his helmet.

That was about it. The Mandalorian didn’t talk much, but it didn’t particularly bother you. You’d always been a quieter person, and after years of Peli’s constant chattering, you were kind of relieved for the silence.

Most of the time, anyway.

“How’s it looking?”

You gasped in alarm, jolting yourself off balance and falling back onto your ass in the dirt.

“Maker, Mando,” you panted as you craned your neck back to stare up at the bounty hunter. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me when I’m working on electrics?”

The impervious mask of the Mandalorian stared down at you silently, blotting out the sweltering sun and providing you a modicum of relief. A moment passed, then two, and you shifted uneasily under his unblinking gaze.

“I thought you heard me approach,” he said finally, his modulated voice flat and unaffected, but he didn’t move from where he was looming over you.

“Well, I didn’t,” you grumbled as you flopped your head forward and popped your neck, stretching your legs out in the dirt.

The tight leggings you wore ended not too far past your knees, so your shins were streaked with the red soil of this planetoid. The dirt didn’t bother you, but the heat sure did. It was different than Tatooine’s dry desert. This heat was oppressive, stifling, almost cloying, and every time you took a deep breath, a small part of your brain panicked, images of drowning flashing through your mind even though you knew it was irrational. You were just grateful your clothes didn’t look a fraction as hot as the Mandalorian’s all black get-up and what had to be twenty-five kilos of armor.

“So,” the bounty hunter said after a few more moments of silence, interrupted only by the call of exotic birds in the canopy, “how are things looking?”

“Honestly?” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the ground, dusting the red dirt off your hands but not even bothering with your pants. “Not good. The bounty’s guns must have grazed us when we were still outside orbit, and entering the atmosphere certainly didn’t help matters. Some of the side paneling has been melted beyond repair, and a lot of the wiring is fried, too.”

“Can you get it flying?” Mando asked, crossing his arms over his chest and making his silhouette all the more imposing. The sun glinted off his silver beskar, and you squinted in the glare.

“Maybe.” You pursed your lips and averted your gaze, turning back to stare at the charred panels and sparking wires. Sweat trickled down your neck, and you reached back to cup your nape, feeling the bounty hunter’s eyes on you.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes.”

“You’re not paying me at all if you can’t even catch that quarry,” you snorted before your brain could catch up to your mouth.

You froze when the words finally registered, nails digging into the back of your neck. Stupid. Your mouth always did get the better of you. You used to mouth-off to your former owner until he backhanded you into silence, and now you’re starting shit with a bounty hunter you’d seen kill half a dozen men in just as many seconds.

Stupid.

You waited for Mando to say something, staring at the Razor Crest without even seeing it, and even if you didn’t really believe he’d hurt you for a simple off-handed comment, your body didn’t get the message. Muscle memory was a hard thing to forget, and every fiber in you braced for the blow.

The birds chittered in the towering blue-green canopy above your head as sweat poured from every single one of your pores, and you were just about to come out of your skin when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“Well, to catch the quarry, I need my ship to fly,” he said, and when you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you discovered he’d somehow moved further away from you, like he took several steps back.

Was he… giving you space?

His tone was still flat, but after several months spent in close proximity with the bounty hunter, you were now able to parse out several different minor inflections in his modulated voice. You were by no means an expert, but you knew for a fact he didn’t sound angry in this moment. When he was angry, his voice took on a softer, menacing quality. The few times you’d heard it—thankfully never directed at you—every hair on your body stood on end, and the lizard part of your brain had screamed to run and not stop running until you were in a completely different star system.

This wasn’t anger. This was… something else. You almost wanted to say… amusement, but that would have been crazy.

Still, the tension bled out of your shoulders like sand through a sieve, and you dropped your arms as you turned to face the Mandalorian fully again.

“Alright, this is the best I can do,” you said. “I can get her flying again, I think I can even get her shielded enough to withstand leaving the atmosphere when we’re done here, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“How much time?” he asked.

You glanced over your shoulder again at the damage, did some calculations in your head, and added some padding to give yourself a margin for error. Then you turned back to the bounty hunter.

“At least two days,” you replied, confident in your abilities. “Anything less, and we risk blowing ourselves to the Inner Core and back when I go to start her up.”

“Hmm.” Mando stared at you for a moment and then shifted to gaze into the jungle. “The bounty will most likely be off planet by then.”

“I don’t think so,” you contradicted him, and your heart actually skipped a beat when the T of his visor turned to look at you. There was something nerve-wracking about staring into the dark, reflective glass, but then you noticed your red-streaked appearance, and you cringed self-consciously as you looked away.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because,” you started, stooping down to pick up the tablet beside your tool bag, “when I first came out here and saw the damage, I was afraid we’d end up in this situation. But then I remembered that the quarry’s ship took more damage than we did in our little space battle. I know for a fact we landed at least one solid hit, I saw it myself.”

“And?”

“Well,” you said as you tapped at the screen, “given the make and model of his vessel, and the location of where we struck the ship, I was able to deduce that we most likely damaged his engines. If his engines are damaged, then there is a maximum distance he could have gone before he would have been forced to land, or even crash landed. With all this information, plus the fact that I knew the general location of where we lost visual of him when we entered the atmosphere, I’ve estimated the quarry can’t be farther than five klicks from our current coordinates. And with his entry trajectory, he’s most likely in this triangulated area three and a half klicks to the west, which should be easily reachable on foot.”

You turned the map on the tablet to face the Mandalorian, and he stepped forward to take the device from you. His gloved fingers brushed across your singed ones, remnant electricity shooting through your veins, and you stifled a flinch as you dropped your arm.

Mando studied the map for a long moment, cocking his head and zooming in to get a better look. You shifted uneasily in the silence, scuffing the tip of your boot into the red soil, but then the bounty hunter finally looked back up at you.

“When did you have time to do this?” he asked, and he actually sounded… impressed. “You were out here for less than ten minutes after we landed.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You shrugged as your cheeks flushed with heat, but you blamed the sweltering sun overhead and the soup-like air.

“I didn’t realize you were so good with numbers,” he said, his helmet staring directly at you.

“Numbers are easy,” you replied, shrugging again as you raised your hand to chew nervously on your nails, but you stopped yourself when you saw the crimson dirt still caked on your skin. “They don’t lie, once you understand the rules.”

“Did Peli teach you how to do this?” he inquired, and you were surprised by all these questions. Most of the time, the bounty hunter asked you one-or-two-word questions and expected one-or-two-word answers. You couldn’t figure out why this situation was any different, but you found yourself responding anyway.

“Partially,” you explained, and you wondered how you could phrase your answer to be vague but satisfactory. “She… taught me a lot of the specifics for bigger jobs like ships and larger machines, but I’ve always been good at numbers and tinkering.”

That seemed good enough. You didn’t think it was relevant that you first started tinkering because your former owner used to lock you in his shop’s basement with broken droids when you misbehaved, and putting the discarded machines back together kept you from going crazy when your punishments lasted days. You also didn’t think it relevant that when your former owner found out and realized he could profit off your skills, you fine-tuned your abilities to become indispensable. The bastard still hit you occasionally, and his other slaves weren’t treated any better, but you had to admit, him locking you in the basement all those years had saved your life. If you hadn’t cultivated the skills you had, Peli wouldn’t have bought you at auction when the bastard bit the sand, and she wouldn’t have dug out your transmitter chip and effectively freed you the moment you walked into Hanger 3-5. The tiny woman had said she needed an apprentice, not a slave, and so that was what you became. Now, you were a mechanic in your own right, and a damn good one if you did say so yourself. Mando just didn’t need to know how you’d gotten there.

The bounty hunter seemed to think the same thing, too, because he nodded once before he looked back at the tablet.

“This is good work,” he said, and something in your chest preened at his words before you squashed it down. “If these calculations are correct—”

“They are,” you interjected before you could stop yourself.

“Then I think I can set out on foot, find the quarry, and bring him back tomorrow just as you’re finishing the repairs,” Mando went on, and he glanced up at you again. “Does that time frame sound right to you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Should work for me, but it could take you a little longer. I’m unfamiliar with this terrain, and there are too many other variables, like jungle beasts or indigenous species, for me to be sure.”

“The terrain won’t be a problem,” the Mandalorian said as he handed you the tablet back. “And neither will any beasts or natives.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the bounty hunter but didn’t contradict his confidence. “Alright. Then, yes, I should have the ship up and running by the time you get back. Are you leaving now?”

“Once I grab some supplies,” Mando replied before he paused and seemed to consider you. “Will you be… okay until I return?”

It was a familiar question, albeit still surprising. The Mandalorian was a stoic, usually silent warrior, literally a wall of beskar steel. You’d seen him kill men as easy as breathing, and he threw each bounty into carbonite without an ounce of remorse.

And yet, every time he had to leave the ship alone, he asked you if you would be alright until he got back. The question and concern would have made no sense… if you hadn’t seen the bounty hunter interact with his foundling. He tried to hide it, but he treated the little green baby so gently you knew there had to be a warm, beating heart beneath all that beskar. You just never expected any tenderness to be aimed at you, so it drew you up short every time.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I’ll be fine. Besides—”

You trailed off as you felt something touch your lower leg, and when you looked down, big brown eyes set in a little green face blinked back up at you. Then little green hands lifted in your direction, and you laughed as you swooped down, picked him up, and set him on your hip.

“Besides,” you continued, still chuckling as you booped the child on the nose and left a smudge of red dirt behind, “I’ll have this little guy to keep me company. Right, kid?”

The baby cooed and reached out, his three tiny fingers settling on the bridge of your nose as he tried to boop you back. When he withdrew his hand, though, his skin was dyed black.

“Huh?” You frowned at the slick ooze on his fingers, your eyes crossing as you tried to bring his hand into focus. “What’s on your hand there, bud?”

“It’s grease,” Mando supplied.

“What?” you asked as you turned your head to the bounty hunter.

“Grease,” he repeated, and he touched the intersection on the glass T of his visor, right over where the bridge of his nose would sit. “You’ve got some just there.”

“Oh.” You blushed, your hand flying up to cover your face. Not only were you covered in dirt and sweat, but grease now, too. Typical. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you knew,” the Mandalorian said, but there was that faint undercurrent in his voice that you were sure was amusement now. “Don’t you have any rags?”

“I did,” you muttered as you tried to rub at your face with your shoulder, “but I had to throw most of them out after that oil leak we had on the moon we left about a week ago. It’s fine. I’m already a mess anyhow, and I’m just going to get dirtier as I fix up the ship.”

Mando seemed to stare at you intensely for a moment, and you had the feeling he was taking in just how filthy your clothes were. You could read nothing from his body language, though, and since he wasn’t speaking, there was nothing to infer from his voice, either. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck, and you suddenly felt naked in your tank top and leggings. You shifted the child in your arms a little to bring him more in front of you and block more of you from view, but the effort was useless because Mando was abruptly spinning on heel and marching toward the ship’s ramp.

“I’m going to gather supplies,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “Don’t let the kid touch any of the wires.”

And then he was gone, his cape flapping behind him as he disappeared into the bowels of the Razor Crest.

“Okay, bye,” you muttered, and you frowned after him before looking down at the kid and lowering your voice. “Your dad’s a little weird, you know that?”

The child blinked up at you and then seemed to nod his head in solemn agreement.

You laughed and kissed the top of his head even though you knew you were toeing a dangerous line here. You knew you were just the ship mechanic, the hired help, but you and the foundling had spent a lot of time together when the Mandalorian was out hunting bounties, and you couldn’t help loving the adorable baby like he was your own. He was mischievous and always looking to put things in his mouth that he shouldn’t, but something about his presence was calming, soothing. Plus, those big brown eyes were to die for. You weren’t even that surprised the kid had managed to wiggle his way under Mando’s beskar. It had only been a few months, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it came down to it, you would give your life to save this child.

Which was wildly inappropriate, but you chose to ignore that fact.

“It’s just gonna be the two of us again for a bit, little man,” you told the foundling, turning back to face the Razor Crest. “But we’re gonna have some fun, yeah? Do you want to help me fix up the ship?”

The child gurgled into your ear and patted your cheek, which you took as an affirmative.

“Alright,” you laughed as you set him on a large root right next to your tool bag. You dug around until you found a tool you would need eventually, and then you handed it to the kid. “Here, hold this until I need it, okay? But don’t put it in your mouth.”

The foundling seemed to pout at that last bit, but he dutifully wrapped his three little fingers around the tool and held it firmly.

“Thank you.” You smiled. Then you turned back to the ship, put your hands on your hips, and furrowed your brow. “Now, where to start?”

You spent the next ten minutes assessing what was completely ruined, what was salvageable, and what you had on hand that wasn’t necessary and could possibly be retrofitted to fix the damage. The skeletal beginnings of a plan were already forming in your mind by the time the Mandalorian was clomping down the ramp again. You set down the tablet you’d been tapping away at and picked up the child once more, and the foundling babbled as he waved around the tool he was still holding.

“Be careful with that,” you chuckled, and you craned your head back to avoid getting smacked in the temple. “I’ll need it soon, so keep holding onto it.”

The child cooed and then shifted to wave the tool at the bounty hunter as he approached.

“Putting the kid to work now?” Mando asked as he stopped a few feet away. The crescent-shaped hilt of his favored Amban rifle jutted out over his left shoulder, and a small bag was slung over his right, probably filled with spare ammo, cuffs for the bounty, and possibly some food. You’d never personally seen the Mandalorian eat, though, and a part of you was convinced he didn’t, even if you rationally knew that wasn’t possible.

“Nah, I’m just teaching him a thing or two,” you said as you settled the foundling more soundly on your hip. “You’re never too young to learn something new, and on the plus side, being my little helper keeps him out of trouble. For the most part, anyway.”

“Thank you for watching him,” the bounty hunter said, tilting his visor down minutely to stare at the child, who grinned a gummy grin and waved the silver tool again. “I know it isn’t exactly what I hired you for—”

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you glanced down to smile at the kid. “He’s pretty good company, and some of Peli’s droids have given me more trouble than he does. It’s really no problem.”

“Well, regardless,” Mando replied as his visor returned to studying you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded, flushing again under his scrutiny. Then you cleared your throat and gestured at the bag on his back. “All ready?”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter said. “Days are longer here, but the sun will set eventually, and I want to try and find the quarry before moonrise. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow before sunset.”

“Good luck, then,” you told him, and you lifted your chin with confidence. “I should have the ship ready when you return.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his helmet.

The baby suddenly burst out babbling something, and you glanced down to see him reaching out with his free hand toward the Mandalorian. His three little fingers made grabby motions, and the bounty hunter sighed.

“Listen to her while I’m gone, okay?” Mando murmured as he stepped closer into your personal bubble and held out his finger for the foundling to latch on to.

The child cooed, swinging the Mandalorian’s finger from side to side, and the breath stilled in your lungs as the bounty hunter’s glove brushed the edge of your mouth. You smelled something like leather and smoke, probably blaster residue, but then Mando was stepping back again, and the baby was forced to drop his finger.

“Keep alert,” he addressed you as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. “We’re pretty far from any civilization out here, so I don’t think you should encounter anyone, but don’t assume you’re safe. And get inside the ship once the sun sets. The jungle will be more dangerous at night. I’ll have my comlink on me, but it’s affected by proximity, so you most likely won’t be able to contact me until I’m on my way back.”

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you said, and you patted the blaster he’d given you that was almost permanently attached to your hip. “I can defend myself if need be, and I have no desire to be caught outside after dark. We’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. Either way, he seemed to compose himself because he nodded once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“We’ll keep a weather eye on the horizon.” You smiled. “Try not to die of heat stroke.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said dryly, but after one more moment of staring at you and the foundling, he turned on heel and marched off into the jungle without another word. The multi-colored trees swallowed him almost instantly, and suddenly you were alone.

The child cooed sadly as he stared after the Mandalorian, and he turned his big brown eyes on you as if to say, Where’d he go?

“Don’t worry, bud,” you said, turning back to the ship. “He’ll be fine and back before you know it. Now, let’s take a look at those power converters, shall we?”

You set the foundling down beside your tool bag again, but you couldn’t help glancing over your shoulder in the direction the bounty hunter had disappeared in.

He’ll be fine and back before you know it, you repeated silently to yourself.

~~~~~

Two days later, you were starting to doubt the validity of your statements.

The sun had set and risen twice, and there was still no sign of Mando. Now, the celestial orb was steadily making its way across the horizon for the third time, and you sat on the ramp of the ship and glared up at the chattering canopy.

The child was down for a nap in the hammock the Mandalorian had set up in his own bunk, and your eyes burned with a similar exhaustion, but the anxiety slowly mounting in you made it impossible to sleep. The past two days had passed uneventfully. You’d spent every hour of sunlight you had at your disposal patching together the ship, and since days were longer on this planetoid, you estimated you’d spent over seventy-two hours getting the Razor Crest in working order again.

And you’d done it. It wasn’t perfect, but the ship could fly, and you were ninety-eight percent certain it would withstand leaving the atmosphere.

Now, all that was missing was the Mandalorian and his bounty.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you grumbled under your breath as you dragged your singed, cut-up, and bandaged fingers through your hair. “Where the Maker are you?”

The chittering birds and critters in the underbrush didn’t have an answer for you, and you huffed out an aggravated breath as another bead of sweat dripped into your eyes.

By your estimate, there were about six hours left before the sun set again. Part of you, the illogical, irrational part, wanted to charge into the jungle in search of the Mandalorian. You had a general direction and location he should be in. Maybe you could find him.

But the rational side of your brain thankfully pointed out all the problems with that plan. For one, leaving the ship unattended was dangerous. You hadn’t seen anyone in the past two days, but that didn’t mean you were alone in the jungle, and now that the ship could fly again, someone could potentially walk right in and steal the vessel if you weren’t here to stop them.

Then there was the issue of the foundling. Sometimes, Mando took you and the kid along with him when he was hunting a bounty in a more populated area, but he was always there to protect the two of you if something went wrong. What happened if you brought the child with you into the jungle and you couldn’t protect him? And you couldn’t exactly leave him behind. Someone could steal both the child and the Razor Crest in that scenario.

The most compelling reason to stay with the ship, though, was Mando himself. Before he left, he’d confidently declared that neither the jungle itself nor the beasts or peoples therein would pose any problem for him. If he was wrong, and these things had posed a problem for the bounty hunter, what luck did you have of doing something he could not?

Anddddd that’s where the irrational side of you chimed in again with, Well, if he did run into an issue, he could need your help, so you should go look for him.

It was a vicious cycle, and your head was pounding with how fast it was running in circles.

You groaned as you dropped your face into your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets.

“Fine,” you sighed into the darkness. “I’ll give him until morning.”

If the Mandalorian hadn’t returned by then, you’d start up the ship and fly over the area you’d triangulated for him. If you couldn’t find him from the air… well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

~~~~~

You huffed in irritation as you tossed and turned in Mando’s bunk that night. You turned one way, rolled another, but then you found yourself with your nose buried in his pillow, and you instantly flipped back over, face hot with embarrassment even though it was dark and you were practically alone. You weren’t sure if he slept with his helmet on when he was alone in the closed confines of the bunk, but either way, the small space smelled of him intensely. You tried not to put words to his scent, told yourself it was inappropriate and he was your boss, a Mandalorian to boot, and you had no room or right to think of him in any way other than strictly professional… but that apparently didn’t work because you knew he smelled like the cheap soap from the fresher, and the rest was a blend of smoke, leather, and metal, the degrees of which varied by the day and yet was still always uniquely him.

You knew you were playing a losing game even just having these thoughts, but you somehow couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop yourself. Ever since Mando stepped between you and Ran’s crew all those months ago, blocking you with his body, a startling, protective rage in every inch of his armored silhouette, this little voice had come to life in the back of your head and wouldn’t shut the kriff up.

What if? the little voice whispered. What if it’s not just you having these thoughts? What if you could have him in more than just your dreams and fantasies in the darkness of this bunk?

Usually, you shoved the voice into the deep, dark recesses of your thoughts and recited equations until it grew quiet. You knew that was nothing but wishful thinking at best and delusion at worst. The Mandalorian was just that: a warrior closed off from the world by a shell of silver beskar. He cared for the foundling, yes, but that was entirely different and bore no correlation to the bounty hunter’s relationship with you. There was little he could possibly want from a former slave turned mechanic, aside from your skills, of course, so you clenched your eyes closed and tried to take shallow breaths through your mouth, but nothing you did could get his scent out of your nose, your memory.

You sighed for the umpteenth time and rolled to face the wall of the bunk.

When the bounty hunter was on the ship, the two of you usually slept in shifts so you could share the bunk, though sometimes the Mandalorian slept upright in the cockpit. It had been his idea originally. You’d been fine with a thin sleeping mat on the floor of the cargo bay, but he’d insisted in his strange, stoic, nonchalant way. So, you shared, and when it was just you and the kid on the ship, the two of you had the run of the place.

The child was currently in the hammock above your head, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t asleep, either. Every so often, he’d gurgle or make some other noise, and more than once you peeked up to find big brown eyes staring down at you in the dimness. You wondered if he could sense your anxiety, and you shifted so you could glare past your feet, out of the bunk, and at the closed ramp door.

You wanted to be angry with Mando, but by the time the sun set a few hours ago, you’d moved past that anger and straight into worry. The bounty hunter had never been gone this long before without contact, and your gut told you something was wrong and wouldn’t let you sleep. You wished you could blame your insomnia completely on your concern, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

As if on cue, a sudden, piercing shriek echoed through the ship, and all the muscles in your body locked up on reflex.

The child gasped and made a worried noise as he poked his head over the edge of his hammock and stared down at you, and you tried to plaster on a fake, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, reaching up to gently rock the foundling. “The ship’s closed and locked up. They can’t get us in here.”

The baby made an unconvinced sound, but he settled back into his bed without any further argument.

You sighed as you continued to rock the child, and you did your best not to flinch when another high-pitched screech sounded outside the ship.

You weren’t entirely sure what “they” were, but you knew they were nocturnal and carnivorous. And hungry. The past two mornings, you’d found bloody animal remains torn to bits and strewn along the edges of the clearing the Razor Crest was parked in like gory, crimson confetti. You’d kept the child practically glued to your side during the days because of this, but nothing ever attacked you during the day. They just circled the ship incessantly at night, howling and screeching and keeping you from finding a moment’s peace or rest. They hadn’t outright attacked the ship yet, but you were ready for it, your borrowed blaster a cold and heavy weight tucked under your pillow.

Reaching for it now, you curled your fingers around the familiar hilt and tried to block out the crescendoing, bloodthirsty shrieks of the mysterious jungle beasts.

You didn’t know how or when, but you must have dozed off at some point because all of the sudden, you jolted awake with a panicked gasp.

The bunk was dark and close around you, but since you’d left the door open at your feet, it wasn’t claustrophobic. Your vision was still blurry with sleep, so you swiped at your eyes with the back of your left wrist as you scrambled into a seated position. In your right hand you grasped the blaster, and you pointed it blindly in front of you, toward the rear of the ship.

You couldn’t remember what had woken you up, but it had been something. Your heart pounded a frantic tattoo into the underside of your ribcage, your arm shaking minutely with adrenaline. The ramp was still closed in front of you, so it hadn’t been Mando opening the door and returning. You squinted in the darkness but couldn’t see anything beyond shadows and vague shapes in pale, muted moonlight. It must have still been night, then.

You strained your ears, listening for the howling, but it was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The jungle beasts usually didn’t go silent until right before dawn, but it was dark enough in the ship that you estimated it was still the middle of the night.

Where had they gone?

Your heart rose up into your throat, sweat beading at every one of your pores, and your mouth was so dry that your throat clicked when you swallowed.

The child made a noise of inquiry above you, barely louder than a breath, but it still made you jump all the same. Your gaze darted upward to find brown eyes staring down at you, but they were wide in an alarmed sort of way. One three-fingered hand poked over the edge of the hammock, making grabby motions at you, and the noise he made this time was more urgent, louder.

Had he heard something, too?

“What is it, little guy?” you whispered, reaching up with your free hand and awkwardly grappling him from his sling-bed.

He tumbled gently into your lap with a soft “oof,” but almost immediately he was standing up, turning around, and frantically patting at your cheek.

“What?” you asked with a frown.

He babbled and continued to tap the side of your face, and his noises grew increasingly distressed until he was grunting with frustration.

Then his tiny palm actually slapped down right across your ear canal so hard that both of your ears rang, and you hissed as you jerked your head back.

“Kriff, what was that fo—” you started to ask, but another hiss cut you off, and this one wasn’t from you.

Your heart stuttered, eyes skipping over the child’s head and out into the cargo bay, and your right hand tightened around the blaster you’d lowered to your side.

But there was nothing there. Nothing moved in the shadowy ship beyond you, and you frowned, thinking your mind was playing tricks on your startled and sleep-addled mind, but then the hiss came again.

And this time, you recognized it.

“Oh, pfassk!” you cursed as you craned around and shoved your hand under the pillow. Your fingers scrambled wildly across the sheet but encountered nothing, and you growled in aggravation, shifting the child off your lap and coming onto your hands and knees. You tossed the pillow over your shoulder in a fit of frustration, and your right hand slapped at the wall around your head until the bunk light came on.

You squinted in the flood of harsh light, the child gurgling behind you, but when your vision cleared, you spotted the thumb-sized comlink off the edge of the cot, shoved up into the far corner of the bunk. You lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around the small device, and the words were falling out of your mouth before you were even sure you had hit the button.

“Mando?” you called into the comlink, cringing when your loud voice echoed back to you in the close confines of the bunk. “Mando, can you hear me?”

Mild static crackled back for a moment as you huddled around the tiny communicator, but then a louder burst of static—the hiss from earlier—exploded to life.

And you were sure you heard Mando’s voice in there.

“Mando!” you shouted as you heart did its best imitation of a speeder, and you cupped both hands around the comlink like that would help him hear you better. “Mando, it’s me! I’m here. Can you hear me?”

Another burst of static. Then…

Mando yelled your name, clear as day, followed by a scream of what sounded like “help” and a chorus of familiar howling, and your stomach bottomed out inside of you.

“Mando!” You were gripping the communicator so hard you were afraid you were going to break it. “Mando, where are you? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. You sat there frozen for a full minute, ears straining to the point of ringing, but only quiet static crackled back at you.

“Dank farrik!” you cursed, punching the side of your fist into the bunk wall.

The child cooed at you, brown eyes big with concern, and he put his tiny hand on your knee as you raked a shaking hand through your hair.

Your chest heaved up and down as you fought for breath, your mind spinning off into a million directions at once.

Mando was in trouble. Mando needed your help. He was fighting jungle beasts, and he was far enough away that you couldn’t hear the shrieking with your own ears, but close enough that he could partially reach you over the comlink. You had to do something. You had to go help him.

But what about the child? What about the ship? You couldn’t take the Razor Crest. It was pitch black outside, and you wouldn’t be able to see Mando below the thick, dark canopy. You had to go on foot.

And you had to take the kid with you.

“Come on,” you said as you tucked the communicator into your pocket, grabbed the foundling and blaster, and scooted to the edge of the bunk. Your boots were on the ground below you, and you shoved your feet in them blindly, tying the laces in three deft movements.

Then you were on your feet, turning on the cargo lights, and jogging the child over to his floating silver carrier. You grabbed the spare remote on top of it, pressing the button and watching the top slide open with a hiss. Then you set the foundling down inside of it, and in the same motion you were tucking the remote into your pocket, turning on heel, and striding for the armory.

Another button press, followed by the hiss of hydraulics, and you were left staring at several walls of guns and weaponry. Some of them you knew. Mando had even taught you how to shoot a few, but those were typically smaller blasters.

And based on those howling screeches, you needed something with more of a kick.

Your eyes skipped over the blaster pistols since you already had the one on your hip, and after a moment’s indecision, your gaze settled on a midsized rifle you’d shot once before. You hadn’t been very good at it, only hit four of the ten targets Mando set out, and you remember it being very heavy.

But it was better than nothing, and you needed something to fight back against the dark jungle.

So, you took the rifle down and looped it around your shoulder, pursing your lips as the strap dug into your skin. You spent a moment checking the power cell and gas canister, and even though both were full, you still stuck a few spares into a belt that you wrapped around your hips. You also added a few grenades to your arsenal, both explosive and ones set to stun, plus a pair of Mando’s vibroknives, as a last defense measure. If you were being honest, if the rifle and grenades failed you, you probably wouldn’t live long enough to use the knives, but it made you feel better to clip their sheaths unto your belt.

The rifle and belt weighed you down with an extra five to six kilos, but you had lugged far heavier burdens through Tatooine’s desert, so you knew you could handle it.

The last two things you grabbed were the head lamp you typically wore when working under or inside ships and the cuff you’d programmed to work the twin lights—along with a variety of other tasks aboard the Razor Crest—resting at each of your temples. The cuff was a haphazard creation of yours made of old leather, metal, and glass, but it worked and was comfortable, which was all that mattered. It also had a small magnetic slot that was specifically meant for the remote of the foundling’s floating carrier, so you fished that out of your pocket and felt it snap into place with a satisfying click.

You were armed and ready now. All you had to do was move.

“Mando,” you said as you stuck the comlink in your ear and synced it to your cuff, which had a built-in frequency booster. You were already moving toward the ramp, tapping at your wrist and listening to the foundling’s carrier humming after you. The rifle felt heavy as you maneuvered it into your slick palms, and your heart hammered a war song in your ears. “Mando, I’m coming for you. Just hold on, okay?”

Static crackled in your ear, and your chest began to heave up and down as adrenaline flooded through you.

“Okay, little man, you’re going to take a nap, alright?” you said as you looked down at the child in his pod, your voice shaking even though you tried to stop it. “And when you wake up, your dad will be back with us.”

He cooed up at you with a fearful expression on his face, but you only spared a moment to press a kiss to his head before you were tapping at your wrist again. The lid of the pod started to hiss close as the ramp of the ship began to clank open, and you slid your finger onto the rifle’s trigger as the door slowly lowered before you.

The ramp finally thudded to the jungle floor, and you took a moment to stare out into the foreboding darkness. The moon was pale and wan in the purple-tinted sky, and all you could see were shadows along the edges of the clearing. Your eyes darted back and forth, every muscle in your body locked and braced for an attack, but nothing happened. Nothing moved save the indigo clouds over head, and the only sound you heard was the muted chirps and hums of insects.

“Okay, come on, quit stalling,” you muttered to yourself even though your heart felt like it was about to roll off your tongue. “Mando doesn’t have time for this.”

At the sound of his name—or at least, the only name you had ever known the bounty hunter by—some of the fear inside you vanished, and you were suddenly jogging down the ramp without further thought. The child’s carrier trailed after you quietly, and you jabbed at your wrist to close and lock up the Razor Crest.

You spared half a glance over your shoulder to make sure the ramp was secured, and then you looked down at your cuff. Mando’s comlink had a built in GPS transmitter, but its range was limited. However, if he was close enough to briefly contact you…

A dot flickered in and out on the grungy screen on your wrist, and you spun in a circle to figure out which direction had the strongest connection. The dot flared brightly when you angled toward the west, and you started running before you even had a plan.

You crashed through the underbrush with the child’s pod hot on your heels, and the thick, humid air sawed in and out of your heaving lungs as you gasped for breath. The lights at your temples provided enough illumination to see several steps ahead of you but not much else, and you tripped and careened over root and vine as you tried not to lose your grip on the rifle.

The good news was the dot on your read-out was no longer flickering, and it was now a strong red point about a kilometer ahead of you.

The bad news?

The jungle was no longer quiet around you.

As your feet pounded into the red soil and carried you forward, static crackled loudly in your ear, and the howling returned, faint at first but growing closer. Shivers wracked your sweat-slicked spine, and every fiber of your being was screaming to run the other way.

But you couldn’t. Because now you could hear Mando grunting and shouting over the comlink, clearer and clearer with each step, and as you vaulted over a protruding root in your path, you distinctly heard a roar of rage directly ahead of you.

You would have shouted his name if there was any breath left in your lungs, but instead you just lowered your head and sprinted as fast as you could.

The howling was nearly deafening now, echoing all around you, seeming to come from every shadow in the jungle. Your ears rang with the soul-piercing shrieks, and the cacophony was so disorienting, you tripped over your own feet and crashed into the dirt.

“Kriff!” you gasped, your knees and palms stinging as you skidded to a halt. Dots danced in front of your eyes as you panted harshly, and the rifle knocked painfully against your sternum.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the child’s pod come to a stop several feet away, the silver orb glinting in the pale moonlight barely filtering through the canopy.

Then you saw something else shift in the shadows behind the floating carrier.

At first, you thought it was your swimming vision, but then the weak lights of your headlamp reflected off several glinting eyes, and the breath stalled in your lungs.

A guttural, wet growl echoed out of the bushes beyond the foundling’s pod, and in the next instant the beast was lunging forward, vaulting over the carrier in one bound.

You yelped as you scrambled backward, fumbling for the rifle’s trigger, and you got the barrel up just in time to block a bifurcated jaw of gnashing fangs. The beast let out a piercing shriek as it snapped at your face, and the familiar sound nearly popped your eardrum at this proximity, but the pain barely even registered as you wedged your legs up under the creature’s chest and heaved it off you.

The beast let out a high-pitched yip as it smacked into a tree trunk, but you didn’t give it the chance to regain its feet. In one swift movement, you brought the rifle up, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

The blaster must have been set on full-auto because a continuous stream of energy screamed out of the weapon, and the barrel jerked upward with the recoil. Bolts of energy shredded through the vines and branches overhead, and some kind of bat-bird creature screeched as it dove out of the canopy and swooped over you. It thankfully wasn’t trying to attack, merely flee, and the avian-beast cawed angrily as it disappeared into the jungle.

“P-Pfassk,” you panted, your voice as jittery as your racing pulse. Still, you scrambled to your feet, with the smoking rifle held tight in your shaking grasp, and you stared wide-eyed at the corpse of the beast that had attacked you.

The thing was almost two meters long, and six disjointed looking limbs jutted out from underneath it. Your would-be-killer looked vaguely canine yet also insect-like, with its long snout and what looked like scaled plates along its spine. The combination made your stomach churn. The blaster had carved smoldering holes into most of the creature’s flesh, but the uncharred remains were blackish-purple, mottled with spots of blue and green that matched the jungle’s underbrush. The beast was entirely hairless and slick-looking like an oil spill, and its bifurcated maw hung open to reveal rows of rotted black fangs. Two pairs of pale white eyes stared blindly up at the dark sky, and purplish blood seeped out around the carcass to stain the jungle floor.

Bile rose in your throat, but before you could even process your fear, terror, and revulsion, a very human sounding scream echoed through the dark night, and you whipped your head in the direction it had come from.

“Mando,” you breathed, and you spared the dead beast one last glance before you took off running again, every sense on high alert.

You didn’t dare blink as you crashed through the underbrush, and you pushed your aching limbs as fast as they would go. The din of snarling and howling was so loud now it was rattling your teeth, and all of the sudden you were stumbling out of the thick tree line and into a small clearing.

A clearing riddled with bodies, both living and dead.

Your brain stuttered as it tried to assess the scene before you. The canopy overhead was broken in a perfect circle, so the moonlight here was strong and bright after the deep shadows of the jungle, and it illuminated everything perfectly. The Mandalorian stood in the center of the carnage, half collapsed against a rotten log twice as tall as he was. Carcasses of the canine-like beasts were piled up in mounds around the clearing, some shot but some charred into blackened skeletons, and the stench of burnt flesh invaded your nose and sat heavy on the back of your tongue.

For every dead beast, though, there were two more still snarling, and boy, were they pissed.

The pack of creatures prowled in a semi-circle before the bounty hunter, all their attention centered on him, and they growled and snapped their bifurcated jaws in his direction. They didn’t seem to want to attack him head on, and a moment later you saw why.

One of the beasts must have reached its breaking point, because with the same piercing shriek that had kept you up the past two nights, it lunged for the Mandalorian, the moonlight glinting off the armored plates along its spine.

The poor bastard never made it.

While the creature was still in mid-air, Mando jerked his wrist up, and a blast of flames roared out of his vambrace. The beast screeched as it was swallowed by the inferno, and its charred corpse crashed to the ground at Mando’s feet a moment later. The remainder of the pack snarled in fury as they paced in front of the bounty hunter, but you felt your throat tighten with fear.

The flamethrower was obviously a great weapon at repelling these creatures, but judging by the radius on that last spurt of fire, you estimated Mando had enough fuel for one, maybe two more attacks.

And there were dozens of the beasts left.

What were you going to do?

You heaved for breath as your eyes darted around the clearing, trying to look for a solution, but you knew the answer was obvious: you were going to have to fight.

You blindly tapped at your wrist, and a moment later the child’s carrier rose up above your head and nestled against the lowest branch of the tree you were standing under. You didn’t know if the beasts could climb, but the pod was made of a strong, reinforced metal, so as long as the creatures didn’t notice the kid, he should be fine.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

Maker, you were going to regret this, weren’t you?

You didn’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

“Hey!” you shouted as you stepped further into the clearing, one of your hands dropping to the belt on your waist.

The chorus of snarls and growls tapered off for a moment as the pack whipped around in unison to face you, and the saliva evaporated in your mouth as you stared at the dozens of glowing white eyes.

At the sound of your voice, you could see Mando jerk upright in your peripherals, but you didn’t dare tear your eyes off the pack as they started to stalk toward you. Sweat dripped down your face and trickled along your spine as you palmed a cold, heavy orb in your right hand, and you watched the distance between you and the creatures shrink bit by bit.

Mando shouted your name, but you ignored him.

“Yeah, that’s right!” you yelled at the beasts instead. “You guys hungry? Why don’t you come and get me?”

“What are you doing?” Mando roared, but you still didn’t pay him any mind as you tracked the pack. There were maybe three dozen left alive, and they bared their black fangs at you as they drew closer and closer.

Twenty meters… fifteen… ten…

Now.

“Take this!” You heaved your arm back, aimed at the beast in the center of the pack’s line, and threw with all your might, and the creature yelped as the stun grenade struck him in the skull.

A moment later, a web of electricity exploded out of the orb and arced through half of the pack, and the poor bastards screeched and screamed as they fell spasming to the jungle floor. The beasts on the edges snarled as they jumped away from their sparking brethren, and you saw some of the canine-monsters retreat into the shadows of the clearing.

This was your chance.

You darted forward the moment you had a clear path to take, and you vaulted over the pack’s twitching bodies in three swift strides. When you landed on the other side of them, you spun around and faced the fallen creatures as they whined and spasmed on the ground. Then you lifted your rifle, aimed haphazardly, and pulled the trigger. You swept the barrel from side to side for a moment, energy bolts tearing and searing through flesh, but then you whirled back around and sprinted toward the Mandalorian’s prone form.

He was propped up against the log with his legs splayed out in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when you saw the dark stain of blood on the ground beneath his right thigh. His Amban rifle lay beside him, but since he wasn’t using it, you assumed he was out of ammo. The bounty hunter listed heavily onto what you first thought was a rock of some kind, but as you skidded to a stop in front of him, you realized the lump was the body of another humanoid, except it didn’t look to be breathing.

“Mando!” you gasped as you crouched down in front of him. “Maker, w-what happened—”

“What are you doing here?” he cut you off with a snarl, and the absolute rage in his voice drew you up short.

You gaped at his visor, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-What… you called—”

“I didn’t call you, he did, right before they tore out his throat,” Mando growled and shoved the prone form beside him.

The body flopped over with a thud, and you stifled a gag when you realized the poor bastard had been eviscerated. He was torn open from gut to gullet, intestines and innards gleaming wetly in the dark, and his bulging black eyes stared up unseeingly at the moon.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you breathed in horror. “What happened?”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet up to look at you, but then his gaze seemed to shift over your shoulder, and he was suddenly latching onto your wrist with an iron grip and tugging you forward.

“Watch out!” he shouted as you tripped over his legs and landed on the other side of him, and a moment later you heard and felt the roar of flames at your back as another beast met a smoldering end.

You scrambled up onto your knees and whirled around, rifle held at the ready, but there were only the two new dead creatures sprawled at Mando’s feet. Their corpses smoked as their blackened flesh crackled, and this time you weren’t successful in stifling your gag. You dry-heaved off to the side, tears blurring your vision, but when the chorus of bone-chilling howls started up again, you blinked away the tears and clenched your rifle in a white-knuckled grip.

“We gotta get out of here,” you panted, your eyes darting from place to place as you tried to track the beasts slithering through the shadows.

“Can’t,” Mando grunted, and all of the sudden, you realized his voice sounded off, slurred.

You whipped back around to face the bounty hunter, and your gaze immediately fell to the dark stain under his leg. It had grown since you’d first seen it, and then you realized a haphazard tourniquet was lashed around the top of his leg, right above the metal plate that covered the front of his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Mando’s head jerked up and down in an unsteady nod. “Just… happened. One of them got me… when I was trying to save the bounty. Pretty sure they nicked my femoral.”

His words were softer and definitely slurred now, and panic rose up in your throat like a burning coal.

“Then we need to get back to the Razor Crest now,” you said as you reached for his shoulders, but the Mandalorian sluggishly shoved you away.

“I’ll… only slow you down,” he grunted. “The bounty and I… are easy meals. The pack should stay to finish us off while you make a break for the sh—”

“No,” you cut him off, and the snarl in your voice surprised even you. “No, Mando. I’m not leaving you to die. We’re only a kilometer away from the Razor Crest. I have extra power cells and grenades. We can make it.”

Mando’s head thunked back against the log he leaned on as he stared up at you, and even if you couldn’t see the face underneath the visor, you could see the resignation in every inch of him.

And it ignited a fury in you unlike anything you had ever known.

“So, what?” you growled, bending down to bare your teeth in his face. “You’re just gonna sit here and die? What about the kid? You just gonna abandon him?”

You’re just going to abandon me? you didn’t say, but the words rattled against the backs of your clenched teeth.

“He’ll… have you,” Mando said, and suddenly his gloved hand reached up as if to touch your face, but he didn’t seem to have the strength, and the tip of his index finger barely grazed the edge of your jaw. His touch left behind a warm streak on your skin, and you didn’t have to look to know it was blood.

“That’s not good enough,” you snarled before you stooped down and grabbed the ends of his makeshift tourniquet, yanking tightly on both ends until Mando groaned in pain and latched onto your shoulders.

He murmured your name, his modulator crackling in your ear, but you ignored him as you looped his spent Amban rifle over his shoulder and shifted to slide your left arm behind his back, throwing his right arm over your shoulders. You took two deep breaths to brace yourself, and then you dug your fingers into his waist as you tried to leverage the both of you onto your feet.

It was nearly impossible. The Mandalorian had to weigh nearly ninety kilos in his beskar, and with the added weight of the weapons and grenades you carried, you could feel the muscles in your legs, core, and back scream at the strain.

“Dank… farrik,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, but you managed to get the two of you upright, even if Mando was practically limp against you. Still, you had to leverage your back against the log behind you to keep from collapsing.

“We’ll never make it… back to the ship like this,” Mando panted, his cold helmet brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Shut up,” you gritted out, listening to the howling beasts closing in again like they could sense your weakness. “I refuse to leave you behind. So, unless you want to kill us both, you need to get your ass in gear, Mando. I can keep them off our backs as we go, but you need to walk with me. Understand?”

“Cyare,” he slurred, and the unfamiliar word sounded pained as his helmet thunked into your temple. “I… don’t want you to die.”

“Then walk,” you grunted as you tightened your grip on his waist and lurched forward a step.

Mando staggered behind you, half draped over your back, but you widened your stance and refused to go down.

“Please… Mando,” you panted, shoving the barrel of your rifle into the loamy red soil to act as a crutch. “Help me save us. Just… just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Wait,” the Mandalorian said, and he actually lifted his head off your shoulder. “The bounty…”

“The bounty’s dead,” you grunted as your eyes darted to the trees again. You could see the sinuous shapes of the pack weaving between the towering trunks, but they kept their distance for the moment. They’d lost more than half of their numbers by your estimate, and you prayed to the Maker they would just give up, but you knew that would be way too convenient for your life.

“The puck… said dead or alive,” Mando sighed, his arm weighing down on the nape of your neck like a yoke, and it reminded you of the slave’s collar you once wore.

“I can’t carry both of you back, Mando,” you growled in frustration. “I can barely drag you.”

“Don’t need the whole body,” he clarified. “Just… the head. It’s… a big bounty.”

You groaned as you glanced down at the quarry’s corpse, and then you tilted your head back to try and look at Mando.

“Can you stand by yourself for a minute?” you asked.

“Maybe,” Mando grunted, but he shifted his weight off you bit by bit and leaned up against the tall log at your backs. His boots slid a few inches in the blood-soaked dirt as he almost collapsed, but he dug his gloved fingers into the rigid bark and stood there shaking.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes,” you parroted his words from days ago back at him in an attempt to take his mind off the pain, and it seemed to work because he actually huffed out a strained-sounding chuckle.

“Hurry,” he panted, and you nodded as you quickly stepped away from him, stood over the bounty’s corpse, and shoved the barrel of your rifle between his shoulder and neck.

It was so dark, and you were running on so much adrenaline you couldn’t even be sure of what species the man used to be, but you pushed the thought away as you took a deep breath and held down the trigger.

The rifle screeched as it tore through flesh like a hot knife through butter, and you tried to ignore the feeling of lukewarm blood splattering across your lower legs. Moments later, the jittery, rapid-fire motions of the gun ceased, and the bounty’s head rolled away from the smoldering stump of his neck.

Bile rose up in your throat again, but you swallowed it down as you picked up the decapitated head and started punching buttons on your cuff.

Instantly, you heard the familiar hum of the child’s pod drone closer and closer, and behind you Mando inhaled sharply as the jungle dogs yipped in curiosity from the shadows.

“You brought the kid?” he growled.

“Well, it wasn’t like you left me much kriffing choice, but you can fire me later for child endangerment,” you snapped as the carrier floated down to stop in front of you. Then you turned to the Mandalorian and held out your bloodied hand. “I need your fibercord whip. Eject it.”

Mando didn’t even question you, he just did as he was bid. Within moments, you had the thin but strong wire wound up in your palm, and then you started the gory process of wrapping it securely around the bounty’s bloody head. Your stomach churned at the slick warm goo covering your skin, but you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth as you tapped at your wrist again.

The child’s pod opened with a hiss, and you made sure to lower the decapitated head so it was below the carrier and out of the foundling’s line of sight.

“Hey there, bud,” you said as you leaned down and tucked the end of the fibercord into the interior of the pod near the hinges. “Look who I found.”

The foundling cooed and gurgled happily when he caught sight of the Mandalorian, and he lifted his arms and made grabby motions at the bounty hunter.

“Not yet,” you said as you stepped forward and blocked Mando from view. “First, we need to get back to the ship, so I need to close you up again. Don’t worry about anything you hear, though, okay? I promise we’ll be fine.”

The child murmured a soft sound as you bent down and kissed his wrinkled brow, but then you tapped at your wrist, and the pod closed with another hiss, locking the wire with the dangling head in place. You keyed in a few more commands, and the carrier rose up high above you, hovering at least six meters off the ground. Blood dripped from the severed stump of the quarry’s neck as it dangled from the pod, and you flinched when a speck of it landed on your cheek. It might be disgusting, but this way, the child and the remainder of the bounty would hopefully be out of reach of any of the beasts, and you could focus all your energy on getting you and Mando back to the Razor Crest.

“Alright.” You tore your gaze away from the silver pod and shifted your grasp on the rifle, wedging the stock against your right shoulder as tight as you could. You knew your aim would be abysmal since you were going have to shoot one handed while dragging Mando, but you hoped the full-auto setting would grant you some leeway. “Let’s go.”

“You really should—” the Mandalorian started, but you clicked your tongue to cut him off.

“That wasn’t a request,” you said as you sidled up against the bounty hunter and double checked that his tourniquet was secure.

“Fine.” He reluctantly draped his right arm over your shoulder, and you wrapped your left one around his waist. Then the two of you pushed off the log at your backs, and you staggered forward several steps, trying not to trip on any dead jungle dogs.

Mando’s cold beskar felt like it was burning you wherever it brushed against your bare, hot flesh, and he groaned in your ear as he practically dragged his injured leg behind him. The agony of his voice made you want to stop and sprint forward all at the same time, but you settled for stumbling several more steps.

“That’s it,” you panted in encouragement. “One step at a time.”

The pack howled and shrieked as you painstakingly shuffled your way across the clearing, but you haphazardly aimed your rifle into the jungle and held down the trigger. Rapid-fire bolts of energy careened into the darkness, illuminating white eyes and flashes of twining vines and snarling beasts, but several yowls echoed through the night, so you knew you’d hit at least some of them.

“Mando,” you gritted out as you neared the tree line. “I need you to hit my cuff. There’s a button on the side that will turn up my headlamp. I want it at maximum. Since these bastards are nocturnal, I’m guessing they don’t like the light.”

The Mandalorian grunted something that sounded like an affirmative, and then his left hand was swatting blindly at your cuff. After fumbling for a moment, his thick, gloved fingers encircled your wrist, his thumb brushing faintly over your thudding pulse point.

Your feet nearly tangled beneath you, but then Mando found the button on your cuff, and he pressed on it until the lights at your temple were bright enough to blind. The beams of white light cut through the oppressive darkness of the jungle, and the canine creatures yelped in pain as they darted back into the shadows. You swung your gaze back and forth, your lamp dragging over the scenery like a burning laser, and the beasts whimpered as their tails disappeared into the bushes.

“Come on,” you groaned as you dragged Mando forward, and the two of you finally stumbled into the thick of the trees.

You didn’t know how much time passed as you and the Mandalorian struggled back to the ship. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes hours. The moon appeared frozen in the sky above your head, and more than once you had the thought that you were already dead, and this was some messed up version of an afterlife where you were tortured for eternity.

In the end, though, you knew you were alive.

If you weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Left,” Mando slurred in your ear, half draped over your back, and your feet stuttered as you swung both of you around to the left.

The rifle screeched as it fired off into the darkness, followed by the yelps of dying dogs, and you hissed as the stock dug into your already sore shoulder. The pack snarled and gurgled as they encircled you, but they were hesitant now that you’d killed a majority of them. You wondered why they just didn’t give up, but you realized they could most likely sense you weakening, slowing.

Sweat ran in rivers down your face and spine, and every tendon in your body felt like it was on the edge of snapping. You could tell Mando was trying to take some of his weight off you, but he was becoming more and more unsteady with each step, his breath jagged and uneven as it rasped out of his helmet. He probably wouldn’t remain conscious for much longer, and if he passed out before you reached the ship, you were both dead. You couldn’t fully carry him, and you would not even entertain the idea of leaving him, so it was all or nothing.

Either you both reached the ship together, or neither of you did.

But, as you glanced up at the child’s pod hovering high over your head, you knew the second choice wasn’t really an option. The kid needed you. Needed both of you.

So, you were going to kriffing live, even if you had to break your body down to achieve your goal.

“Come on,” you encouraged as you stumbled over a tree root. “Come on, Mando. We’re almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

You had no idea if you were almost there or not. The homing beacon on your cuff was beeping steadily, but with all the howling, and the blood pounding through your ears, you couldn’t approximate how close you were to the Razor Crest.

“I’m… trying,” Mando mumbled, lifting his head just slightly. “B-Behind us.”

You cursed under your breath, letting the rifle dangle against your chest as you fumbled at your waist. Your fingers curled around a cold, metal orb, and you clicked the button in its center before you lobbed the grenade over your shoulder with all the strength you had left, which wasn’t much.

Then you staggered forward a little faster, dragging the bounty hunter behind you, and five seconds later, you heard the stun grenade go off, followed by the crackling of static and the yelping of beasts.

“That’s my last… stun grenade,” you panted, and the hair on your arms stood on end with all the electricity in the moist air. “I have some explosive ones… but…”

“But we’re not fast enough to get out of range in time,” Mando finished for you, his helmet bumping into the crown of your head as he sagged a little more.

“Yeah,” you huffed, but then a crunch to your right had you whirling and firing in one motion.

The canine yipped and screeched as the energy bolts tore through its chest mid-lunge, and it crashed into the ground at your feet as you staggered into a tree. The bark scraped painfully across your bare shoulder blades, and Mando groaned as you almost lost your grip on him.

“No,” you growled, tightening your arm around the bounty hunter and tugging you both upright. “Dank… farrik!”

The muscles in your arm burned hotly from the strain of keeping the Mandalorian on his feet, and you bit through your tongue to keep from crying out, the metallic taste of blood coating your teeth and whetting your parched mouth.

You stumbled forward blindly as you tried to work through the pain, but all the sudden, the claustrophobic darkness caused by the towering trees lessened a few degrees. You thought you were hallucinating it at first, but then you lifted your head a fraction and realized the trees were thinning out ahead of you.

And the beacon in your cuff was beeping like mad.

You were almost there. The Razor Crest was so close.

Of course, that’s when the snarling behind you reached new frantic heights, and you knew the pack was gearing up for one final assault.

“Mando, listen to me,” you gasped as you shifted to shove him against a tree, using your palm to keep him rooted at the sternum and on his feet.

He groaned as he listed there, mumbling something that didn’t sound like it was in Basic, but he remained upright, so you seized the opportunity to jab at the screen on your wrist. A moment later, the child’s pod swooped down from where it had been hovering near the canopy, and the bounty’s head dragged against the jungle floor with a dull crunch. You tweaked the carrier’s settings half blind, one eye on the encroaching darkness and the beasts therein, and then you grabbed the floating orb and shoved it against Mando’s gut.

“Ugh,” the bounty hunter grunted, his feet starting to slide out from under him.

“No, lean forward,” you rushed out, grabbing one of his shoulders and tugging him toward you.

Mando moaned as he collapsed onto the child’s pod, but since you’d cranked up the carrier’s power output to the max, the bounty hunter didn’t crash to the ground. Instead, he hung there half suspended, the pod whirling angrily from his added weight, his feet limp and dragging behind him.

“Mando,” you said as you tapped the side of his helmet, eyes still on the shadowy trees. “Mando, I need you to hold onto that pod as tight as you can, okay? Can you hear me?”

“Hear… you,” the Mandalorian just barely breathed, and you saw his arms wrap around the bottom of the silver carrier.

“Hold on like your life depends on it,” you instructed as you tapped at your wrist again. “Because it does.”

“What—” he started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish the question because the pod was suddenly surging forward, in the direction of the ship. The bounty’s head and Mando’s feet dragged loudly against the ground, but with one last jolt of power, the pod lifted away from the jungle floor and began to float away.

The pod would probably have just enough power to get Mando back to the ship before it died, but that was fine. That was just what you needed.

The jungle dogs howled and shrieked as they watched the Mandalorian drifting away through the trees, but as you listened to them start to skirt around you in his direction, you finally gripped the rifle with two hands and aimed into the dark.

Then you pulled the trigger, full-auto, and the shrieking of the energy bolts collided with the screeching of the canines and crescendoed into a deafening cacophony. You sprayed the jungle in wide sweeps as you slowly started to walk backward toward the Razor Crest, the rifle stock jolting into your shoulder in time with your racing heart. You just needed to give Mando time to reach the ship. You had programmed the pod to open the ramp at a certain distance, so they would just fly on into the cargo bay, and it would close behind them. Once they were safe, you could make a break for it and—

Suddenly, one of the shadows broke away from the trunk directly to your right, and you turned too late to see it was a slavering beast, its bifurcated jaw wide open and aimed for your throat.

“Ahh!” You stumbled back, trying to crane away from those jagged black fangs, but your feet got tangled up beneath you, and you came crashing down. A root slammed into one of your rear ribs so hard you heard and felt the snap as the bone gave, but you didn’t even have time to register that pain before the jungle dog smashed into your chest.

You instinctively shoved your arms outward, wedging the rifle between those deadly, snapping jaws. One of the beast’s jagged fangs scraped down your forearm as you tried to keep the bastard from swallowing you whole, and you screamed in fury and pain as blood spilled from your rending flesh.

Then you brought your knee up and smashed it as hard as you could into the jungle dog’s ribcage, and this time you felt its rib snap, and grim satisfaction burned like a wildfire through your blood. The warmth filled your limbs until you thought you would burst into flame, and you kicked the beast again and again as it yipped.

You were just starting to think you had the upper hand when the creature’s jaw started to close with a creaking sound of bone on metal, and your eyes widened in horror as the canine jerked its head back, taking your rifle with it. Then its bifurcated jaw snapped close with a horrible crunch, and the rifle shattered into shards of metal and sparks.

The beast roared in pain and rage as it tossed the remains of your rifle aside, but now you were acting on pure survival instinct, not thought, not logic, and you were already wrenching two grenades and a vibroknife off your belt when the nightmare dog finally settled its four milky white eyes on your face.

“Eat this, you bastard,” you snarled as its terrible jaws, rowed with serrated teeth, descended on you.

Then with one hand you stabbed the vibroknife into its neck just above the shoulder, and with the other you activated the grenades and shoved both of them down the jungle dog’s throat.

Warm blood sprayed down on you like humid rainfall, and you twisted the blade in to the hilt, feeling as it tore through flesh in a jittery fashion. The creature gagged and gurgled as its throat muscles convulsed around your other wrist for just an instant, but then you yanked your arms back with all your might, teeth catching on your elbow again, before you crashed into the dirt.

You were scrambling up in the next instant, barely listening to the creature heaving and choking behind you as you staggered forward into a clumsy sprint.

The rest of the pack howled at your back, but you were flat out running now, and you could see the Razor Crest through the trees. The pounding of paws on dirt sounded at your heels, and you couldn’t tell if you were gasping for breath or sobbing as you tore the final grenades off your belt, activated them, and let them fall through your numb fingers.

In the next instant, you broke through the tree line, and you could see the ramp of the Razor Crest, closing. You slapped at your wrist blindly as you sprinted as fast as you could, lungs heaving to the point of seizures, legs at the point of collapse. You didn’t know if the dogs were still right behind you, but the grenades…

You must have finally hit the right command because the ramp suddenly shuddered before it started to lower again, and you were ten meters away when the grenades went off like dominoes falling.

The first two explosions—of the grenades you shoved into the jungle dog—only shook the ground hard enough to make you stumble forward, but then the rest of them detonated much closer, and the combined shockwave hit you moments later and catapulted you into the air.

Thankfully, the ramp was just low enough that you scraped over it and crashed into the ship, smashing into a bulkhead with a dull crunch. The howling shrieks of dying dogs reached you through the ringing in your ears, and you felt a wave of heat hit you as the grenades engulfed the jungle trees. You curled into a ball on the cargo bay floor, your back to the ramp, and you just barely had the presence of mind to tap at your wrist one last time. A moment later, you heard the whirling of the ramp closing, and when it clanked shut a moment later, you rolled over onto your back and stared blindly above you.

You could just barely hear the roar of the building wildfire outside the ship, and the screeching of the jungle dogs died down within seconds. Your entire body—your lungs, your heart—heaved up and down as adrenaline pulsed through you like a bad hit of spice, and your ears ached in the relative silence.

Then the child cooed, and Mando groaned weakly, and you jolted upright like you had just been struck by lightning.

“Mando,” you rasped, flipping over onto your raw hands and bruised knees.

The bounty hunter half-sat, half-sprawled on the floor at the foot of his bunk. The foundling’s pod lay askew on the ground in front of the fresher like it had crash landed there when it finally died, but the child stood unharmed beside the Mandalorian.

Who was currently bleeding out on the floor of the cargo bay.

“Kriff!” You scrambled forward when you saw the spreading stain of blood below his leg, and as you drew closer, you realized his tourniquet must have been loosened when he collapsed.        

The Mandalorian barely even seemed conscious at this point. His chest stirred only slightly beneath his beskar chest plate, and if it weren’t for the soft groans he was exhaling, you would have thought him dead.

“Mando!” you shouted as you shakily rose onto your feet and staggered the rest of the way to the fresher. Your hands were shaking as you tore one of the storage compartments open in search of a med kit, and your voice cracked when you said his name again. “Mando! Stay with me. We made it back. We’re on the ship. Just stay with me for a few more moments. Please.”

You crashed down onto your knees beside the bounty hunter, tearing the med kit open with bloody hands and broken nails. His helmeted head lolled onto the edge of the bunk behind him, and you could barely hear his raspy breaths through the modulator.

The child stood between Mando’s splayed boots, eyes large and frightened, but you couldn’t pay him any mind right now. Your frantic gaze darted between the bacta gel patch in your hand and Mando’s bleeding leg, and even though it felt crazy, you set the patch down for a moment and reached for the last vibroknife on your belt.

Suddenly, Mando jerked awake with a gasp, and you reached out without thinking, pressing your left palm over his heart and feeling his faint, fluttering pulse.

“Mando, I’m right here,” you murmured soothingly. “Keep breathing for me.”

The Mandalorian muttered your name as his head lolled toward you.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m here,” you said, rising up on your knees and leaning over him. The vibroknife glimmered in your hand, looking like a real-life glitch, but you shook off the unsettling feeling and fixed your eyes on Mando’s visor.

“Mesh’la,” the Mandalorian slurred. The word was soft and elongated to the point of sounding like gibberish, but his hand settled firmly on the wrist you still had pressed to his heart, like he was talking directly to you.

In any other situation, your own heart would be fluttering with a feeling you didn’t want to name, but as the bounty hunter’s blood started to soak into the knees of your pants, all you could feel was dread.

“I need you to stay still, okay?” you said as you dropped your hand from his chest to grip the top of his injured thigh. “I need to cut your pants away from the wound.”

“O… kay,” he muttered, and his hand fell to settle over yours again on his leg like he was grounding himself by touching you.

“Nice and easy,” you cooed, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes so you could see to cut through his pants and not his flesh. “I’ll have that bacta patch on in just a moment. Why don’t you talk to me, huh? Mando, talk to me. Tell me something. J-Just stay awake.”

“Aw…ake,” he whispered, but it sounded like he was just repeating you now, barely clinging to consciousness.

Your hand shook as you slowly sawed through the blood-soaked fabric, and an aborted sob rose in your throat. But you shoved your hysteria down, down, down, you had no time for it, you had to stay level-headed, steady-handed, Mando was counting on you, Mando was dying.

“Mando,” you choked as you finally pulled the cloth away from his wound. Three parallel gashes, each nearly five centimeters deep, ran from his hip crease and nearly all the way to his knee, and blood pulsed sluggishly from the wounds in crimson gobs. “Oh, Maker, Mando.”

You dropped the vibroknife with a loud clang as you lunged for the bacta patch, and out of your peripherals you could see the child waddling closer, standing in between the Mandalorian’s knees, the hem of his little robe slowly staining scarlet. You didn’t have the heart or the strength to shove the child away now, so instead you focused on settling the bacta patch over the bounty hunter’s grisly injuries.

Mando twitched and inhaled sharply as the bacta adhered to his skin, and you sent up a million prayers to the Maker that you had administered aid in time.

“There y-you go,” you sniffled, unable to stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks now. “I got the patch on, Mando. You’re going t-to be okay. You… you have to be okay. Do you hear me, Mando?”

You felt like a glitching holotape repeating his name over and over, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You wanted, no needed, him to stay awake, and every time you said his name, he seemed to jerk a little, like he’d been recalled from a long distance at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, there was only the faint, raspy wheeze of the Mandalorian’s breath through his helmet, but then he suddenly mumbled something.

“What?” You shuffled closer, slipping in blood. You practically had your ear pressed against his visor. “What was that, Mando? Say it again. Come on, talk to me, Mando.”

“Not… Mando.”

The words were stilted, sluggish, and you frowned in confusion. “Huh? I-I don’t understand.”

“My… name isn’t… Mando,” the bounty hunter struggled out, and his helmet tilted forward a fraction like he had lifted his head and was looking right at you. “It’s… Din. Din Djarin.”

The shock you felt was muted, distant and removed, like a crack that formed deep in the heart of a glacier, buried beneath the adrenaline, horror, and helplessness warring within you.

“Din,” you breathed, and the word somehow tasted like the exact moment Peli dug out your transmitter chip. It tasted like freedom, like infinite possibility, and you didn’t understand why.

Mando—no, Din, Din Djarin—exhaled heavily as his head thunked back against the bunk, and even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell his eyes were slipping closed. “I… wanted at least someone to know before I—”

“No,” you cut him off vehemently, reaching out to cradle the sides of his helmet like you were cupping his face. “No, you’re not going to die. Not now. Not when… no, do you hear me, Din Djarin? I will not allow you to die. Not when I worked my ass off to fix this ship and drag you back onto it by the skin of my kriffing teeth.”

“Mmmm.” Din’s head lolled in your grasp, the weight of him growing heavier and heavier. “I knew I would like the way… you say my name.”

Oh, Maker. He was nonsensical now, and terror gripped you by the throat and squeezed.

“Then stay awake, Din,” you begged, and your heart felt like it was on the edge of a great precipice. “Stay awake for me.”

“’m so… tired,” he sighed.

“I know,” you breathed as you guided his head back to rest against the bunk, and you couldn’t speak above a whisper because your voice was thick with tears. “I know, but just listen to my voice, Din. Just—”

You trailed off as the child suddenly waddled into your line of sight, and you dropped your gaze slightly to find him standing between the Mandalorian’s thighs, right next to the bacta covered wounds. The foundling stared up at the bounty hunter with a furrowed, seemingly determined expression, and then he closed his big brown eyes as he reached for Din’s leg.

“Oh, buddy, don’t,” you started, reaching out to stop him, but Din—Maker, his name felt delicious and forbidden even in your mind—weakly placed his hand on your wrist to stop you.

“It’s… okay,” he panted. “He can help.”

“Help?” You frowned down at the child. How could he help? Was this one of the “powers” the bounty hunter had vaguely mentioned before? You thought the foundling’s ability dealt with physically moving things, not healing, but honestly you could do for a miracle right about now.

The child gurgled a small noise as his three fingers settled over Din’s wound, and the Mandalorian inhaled sharply at the same time that you felt… something. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like the very air shifted, became magnetic, charged somehow. The air stilled in your lungs as you feared even the barest breath would fracture this fragile spell you were bearing witness to, and you watched with wide eyes as the gashes on the bounty hunter’s legs began to close right in front of you.

Bacta worked fast… but not that fast.

Several still, endless seconds passed as the foundling healed the Mandalorian, but then just as soon as it began, the moment ended. The atmosphere snapped almost tangibly, time jolted back into motion, and the child suddenly started to pitch backward.

“Oh!” you gasped as you lunged forward, your hands cupping the baby and bringing him close to your body. The foundling’s eyes were closed, his face slack, but his little chest still moved up and down with breath.

“He’s okay.”

You snapped your head up, more tears spilling down your cheeks with the motion.

Din was sitting up a little straighter, and his helmet looked squarely at you. His voice sounded stronger, too, and you gaped at him in bewilderment.

“He’s okay,” the Mandalorian repeated when you continued to blink at him. “He usually… tires himself out when he uses his powers.”

“I d-didn’t know he could do that,” you breathed, and your tongue felt like a disembodied lump of flesh in your mouth. “I… wait, how do you feel? A-Are you okay?”

You suddenly realized how close you still were to the bounty hunter, practically kneeling in his lap, but you ignored this as your eyes darted back to his leg. It was a little hard to tell through the dried blood and blue bacta, but it looked like the three gashes had closed altogether, leaving behind faint pink lines.

“I’ll survive,” the bounty hunter sighed, thunking his head back against the bunk again, but he tilted it to the side to regard you still. “Thanks to you.”

“I-I’m not the one who just healed you with magic,” you stuttered incredulously as your cheeks flared hot, and you cuddled the child against your chest even though you realized you knew almost nothing about the apparently powerful foundling.

“No,” Mando said evenly, “but you did charge out into a dark, unknown, dangerous jungle, fight off a pack of wild dogs, and drag both me and the bounty back safely.”

“Well,” you snorted with an edge of hysteria in your voice, and you gestured to the discarded head that lay sprawled against the corner of the fresher. “I don’t know if I’d say he got here safely.”

Maker, you felt a little crazy, hollowed out and wrung dry by the sheer amount of emotions you’d just experienced in a span of a few minutes.

“I’m serious,” the Mandalorian replied. “You… saved my life. I am in your debt.”

“I-I’m not one for debts.” You shook your head to try and clear it, dropping your gaze to the foundling’s face, nuzzled against your sternum. “I don’t like to owe anyone or be owed. You’ve stuck your neck out for me before, so let’s just call it even… Din.”

You saw the bounty hunter freeze out of the corner of your eye, and you bit your cheek until you tasted blood.

You should have known that was too much to ask for.

“Sorry,” you muttered, peeking up at the Mandalorian through your lashes. “You… mentioned your name when you were—”

“I remember,” Mando said, cutting you off, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression hidden as always and his voice pitched in a way you didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, feeling the adrenaline starting to drain out of you and be replaced by every ache and pain you had ignored in lieu of survival. “Of course, I can just forget about it. You weren’t exactly in your right mind, after all. I’ll just… using ‘Mando’ is fine for me.”

The Mandalorian’s visor stared you down unflinchingly for what felt like an eternity. Then…

“You can… use my name, if you like,” he said haltingly, then quickly amended himself. “But only when we’re alone, on the ship. I… my name could be a dangerous thing in the hands of my enemies.”

You blinked in shock at the bounty hunter.

“A-Are you sure?” you asked, and you tried to keep the hope out of your voice, but you knew you failed miserably. “O-Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You’d thought giving up his name had just been a delusional, dying declaration, and you didn’t want him to regret it. What you said had been true enough. You were fine using “Mando,” even if the traitorous feelings buried deep in your chest said otherwise.

“I’m sure.” The bounty hunter nodded minutely. “I… trust you.”

The admission flooded your whole body with warmth, and goosebumps broke out across your skin. You’d known the Mandalorian trusted you, he wouldn’t have left his ship or his foundling in your care otherwise, but hearing him say the words felt like something out of a dream.

“Okay, then.” You smiled, heart thudding against where the child was pressed into your chest. “Din.”

At the sound of his name, the tension in the Mandalorian’s worn body seemed to bleed out of him entirely, and he sighed as his helmet fell back again.

“Let’s get off this Maker-forsaken planet,” he grumbled.

“I second that,” you chuckled dryly before you slowly clambered to your feet, careful not to slip in Din’s tacky blood or jostle the sleeping baby in your arms. You very gingerly leaned over the prone Mandalorian to set the foundling in his hammock, but you hissed when the movement jarred the bruised or fractured rib in your back.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked below you, and he was so close you could feel the rumble of his modulated voice against the bare skin of your stomach, your tank top having lifted up a fraction.

“Nothing.” You took a quick step backward, trying to put distance between you and the bounty hunter, but now that he was no longer actively dying, you were starting to realize you were a little more beat up then you’d previously thought.

The moment you stepped back on your right leg, your hamstring seized up, and when you went to grab at it, you realized your fingers were a little numb. You glanced down and saw fresh blood dripping down your forearm—your blood, not Mando’s—and the sight of the wound seemed to flip a switch in your brain because a moment later, pain crashed over you like a wave.

“Dank farrik,” Mando cursed lowly as he tried to shove himself up.

“No, no, no, no,” you babbled, holding out your less injured left hand in a gesture to stop him. “Don’t get up so fast.”

“You’re hurt,” he grunted, and you could practically hear the scowl in his voice as he tilted his helmet back to stare at you. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you stressed, even though you could still taste blood on the back of your tongue. “Also, you seriously have no room to talk. You were literally just bleeding out less than five minutes ago.”

“How much bacta do we have left?” he asked, completely ignoring your statement. “We should take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“Maker, you’re not even listening to me, are you?” You rolled your eyes as you leaned your shoulder against the bulkhead, but when the Mandalorian started to get up again, you held your hand out once more. “Alright! Alright. Let me at least set the coordinates to meet up with the client and get the ship in the air. I’m pretty sure the jungle is burning down around us as we speak anyway, so the sooner we lift off, the better.”

Din stared up at you silently for a moment like he wanted to argue.

“It will take me two minutes, max,” you reasoned with him. “I won’t pass out or die in that time frame, okay?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “Just… be careful climbing up there.”

“I’ll try my best,” you snorted, wincing when pain flared through your body, but you still slowly made your way to the ladder.

It took you way longer to climb five rungs than it should have, but you thought not falling back into the cargo bay was a feat in itself, given how every muscle in your arms and legs twitched in pain. The blood pouring down your arm also did nothing to help your grip, nor did your scraped up palms, but you still made it into the cockpit relatively unscathed.

Dawn was just breaking beyond the windows, but you could barely see it through the black smoke that hung thick in the air. Guilt sat heavy in your chest as you saw the charred trees and the birds fleeing the flames overhead, but you told yourself you did what you had to in order to survive.

And it wasn’t like you were walking away scot-free, either. Your arm pounded painfully in time with your slowing pulse, and every time you took a deep breath, you became a little surer that the rib in your back was, in fact, broken.

You punched in the client’s rendezvous coordinates without sitting in the pilot’s chair since you knew if you sat down now there was no way you were getting back up. While you waited for the Razor Crest to power up, you cringed at the blood you were dripping all over the floor, but there was nothing for it at this point. The whole ship would need a thorough scrub down the next time you made a pit stop, but that was a future-you problem. Right now, you were mainly focused on getting off this planetoid and out into orbit without crashing and burning.

You held your breath as the pre-Empire ship rose up above the now smoldering jungle, but no warning alarms or messages sounded. The Razor Crest glided steadily upward, and you leaned heavily on the control panel as you breeched first the clouds and then the atmosphere. Entering orbit rattled the ship and you more than you cared for, but nothing broke off or burst into flame, and before you knew it, you were drifting through the familiar black void of space.

“Thank the kriffing Maker,” you sighed as the autopilot took over, and then you turned and shuffled back to the ladder, exhaustion starting to make the edges of your vision go fuzzy.

Or maybe that was blood loss?

You were a little less graceful with the descent than you were with the ascent, but you at least landed on your feet before you nearly collapsed into the fresher.

“Careful,” Mando’s modulated voice murmured, and suddenly his bare hand was on your left, uninjured elbow, skin against warm skin.

“What are… you doing up?” You frowned as you studied the Mandalorian, trying to make sense of what you were seeing as he led you to sit in the open mouth of his bunk.

“I told you,” he said, reaching over and grabbing another med kit from the fresher. “We need to take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“You should be resting,” you grumbled, but you were too tired to put any real heat behind your voice.

“I’m fine,” Din parroted your earlier proclamation back at you. “The kid did a thorough job.”

Then the bounty hunter sat on a crate before you, a crate that hadn’t been there before, and you realized he was no longer wearing a majority of his beskar, save the ever-present helmet, of course. Instead, a faded but clean pair of duraweave clothes covered his body, and the bloodied outfit you’d basically sliced off him was piled up between his feet. It also looked like he had haphazardly tried to mop up some of his blood with the dirty clothes, and you wondered if you’d been up in the cockpit longer than you thought.

“Hey,” you chuckled suddenly, and you distantly noted that your voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. “Looks like I’ll have some new rags after all.”

You giggled a little loopily as you gestured to the Mandalorian’s blood-soaked clothes and then to the blood and dirt your outfit was also currently coated in, but Mando didn’t seem as amused as you were.

“Let me see your arm,” he said as his helmet stared at you impassively, but then he paused and added, “Please.”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tried to argue as you held out your injured limb, but since it was still actively dripping blood, your words didn’t carry much weight. Then the bounty hunter gingerly gripped your wrist with tentative fingers, and you hissed through your teeth as pain lanced up your arm.

“Osik,” Din cursed in a language you didn’t recognize, slowly rotating your arm to take in the extent of the damage. “Did one of those dogs get you? The bastard almost flayed you to the bone in some spots.”

“Yeah, well I shoved two grenades down his throat, so I think we’re even,” you gritted out.

Din froze and lifted his head, your blood, sweat, and dirt-streaked face reflecting back at you from his visor. “You what?” 

He must have really been on death’s door if he didn’t notice or remember you literally blowing the jungle dogs to Tatooine and back, but you just shook your head.

“Story time later,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. “Bacta time now, please.”

“Right.” Mando jerked back into action, and in the next moment he was shifting into medic-droid mode.

Few words were shared between you two as the Mandalorian tended to your bumps and scrapes. Beside the deep lacerations on your forearm, your palms and knees were scraped bloody from tripping your way through a dangerous jungle in the dead of night. Your upper back was in the same condition since you’d been wearing a tank top when you decided to grapple with blood-thirsty hounds, and when Din accidentally brushed against your lower back, a small whimper squeezed out between your clenched teeth.

“This rib is probably broken,” the bounty hunter said, and there was a heavy quality to his quiet voice.

“Thought as much,” you grunted, trying to sit up straight without breathing too deeply. “Too bad we don’t have a full bacta tank to soak in.”

“I could always… drop you back off on Tatooine,” Mando muttered. “With the payment that I owe you, of course. Should be enough to pay for a full treatment and then some.”

You froze sitting there in the doorway of his bunk. The Mandalorian wasn’t looking at you, too busy double checking the bandage he’d wrapped over the bacta on your forearm, but you could see how rigid his body was as he awaited your answer.

“Do you… want to drop me back off on Tatooine?” you asked hesitantly, the breath shallow in your lungs. You could hear the child snoring softly in the hammock directly behind your head, and the thought of leaving him opened a dark pit inside you.

And that was nothing to say of the thought of leaving the Mandalorian. Of leaving… Din.

Now that you knew his name, the feelings you had done your best to ignore came surging up to the surface, that little voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He told you his name. He trusts you. He wants you here. Maybe he wants you for more than just your skills.

You shoved the thoughts away as quickly as they cropped up, but that didn’t stop something small and fragile from unfurling in your chest. You almost wanted to call it hope.

“I—” Mando started, stopped, fidgeted on his crate, and then sighed as he scooted back a little to stretch out his injured leg. “No, I don’t want to do that. You’re a talented mechanic and… good company. I’ve… enjoyed having you on my crew.”

“Oh.” You blushed as the breath whooshed out of your lungs, leaving you feeling lightheaded and buoyant. “T-Thank you. Current circumstances notwithstanding, I’ve enjoyed being on your crew, too. A-And not just for the payment. Seeing new worlds, as dangerous as they are, was something I never thought I’d get to experience. So, even if the price to pay is a few bumps and scrapes, I think that’s a fair deal.”

“You have a skewed idea of ‘fair,’” the Mandalorian chuckled dryly as he reached down beside him, picked up a pair of his gloves, and slipped them back on.

“No kriff,” you snorted, the scar on the nape of your neck tingling. “But it works out in your favor, so I wouldn’t question it too much.”

“Fine.” Din held up his hands, but then he lowered them to his knees and cocked his head at you.

“What?” you asked when he didn’t say anything for a full minute. His gaze made your skin prickle even if you couldn’t see his eyes, and with each passing moment, you grew acutely more and more aware of how dirty and disheveled you looked and felt.

“Nothing,” he said, fingers flexing against his knees. “Just… thank you. Again. For saving me, the kid, the bounty, and the ship.” 

You fidgeted in discomfort. You didn’t know what to do with praise and compliments, having never really received them before, so you shrugged your shoulders as you picked at the bandage on your arm.

“I told you, we’re even,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” he argued, and something about his tone told you he wasn’t going to let this go. “So, how about this: after we drop off this bounty with the client, you can pick the next planet we stop on.”

“Really?” Your eyes flicked up to the bounty hunter and widened. He’d never let you pick a destination before. You’d always just been along for the ride.

Mando nodded. “And make a list of parts and stuff you need to keep the ship running. We’ll stock up wherever we stop off next.”

“Okay.” You grinned as your heart did a little jig in your chest, and you stuck out your bacta-wrapped hand to shake on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Din Djarin.”

His name rolled off your tongue like a grain of sand spiraling down a dune, picking up momentum as it went, and it sent a shiver of pleasure straight down your spine. You knew you were playing a losing game with your own heart here, but as you stared into Mando’s visor, you also knew there was no stopping yourself now. You would just have to deal with the future heartbreak.  

The Mandalorian tentatively reached out and grasped your fingers in his gloved ones.

“Deal,” he rumbled back.

“Good.” You nodded as a yawn cracked open your jaw, and you reached up to cover your gaping mouth and scratch your nose. “Now, given the client’s rendezvous coordinates, we should have a few days of rest before we reach our destination, and if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to start right now by taking a well-deserved nap.”

You made to stand up, but Din gently placed his hand on your shoulder to keep you seated on the edge of the bunk.

“Take the cot,” he said as he nodded behind you. “I’m going up to the cockpit to send a message to the client anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you murmured around another yawn.

“I’m sure,” he said, but then his gloved fingers were suddenly ghosting over the bridge of your nose. “By the way, you’ve got a little grease right here. Just thought you should know.”

You went cross-eyed as you tried to draw his finger into focus, but when he stepped back, you noticed the fingertips of his glove were shiny, and glancing down at the hand you used to shake his revealed that your palm bore the same black sheen.

“Hey, this is your grease,” you muttered indignantly, but then Din was pressing gently on your shoulder, guiding you to lay back on the cot, and you went willingly.

“Get some rest,” he said, turning off the bunk lights. “We’ll worry about cleaning up later.”

You tried to grumble something, but exhaustion was starting to tug at your limbs and eyelids, and your body unwound bit by bit as you buried your face in the bounty hunter’s pillow with no remorse.

A moment later, Mando’s boots were clomping up the ladder to the cockpit, but he left some of the cargo bay lights on and the door to the bunk open, like he somehow knew you were afraid of the dark.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips, but you spiraled into sleep before you could fully process the thought.

[mortallyclearwonderland]

Star Wars Alien Species - Rodian

Located on the border between the Mid Rim and the Outer Rim Territories, and the second orbit in the five-planet Tyrius system, the planet Rodia was in a region of the galaxy that had been very busy throughout history. The primary world in the Savareen sector at grid square R-16 on the Standard Galactic Grid, Rodia was situated close to the Corellian Run super-hyperroute, which gave travellers a clear route all the way throughout the galaxy. A hotbed of life with a hot and humid climate and breathable atmosphere, Rodia was mostly covered in water, including the vast Wesessa Sea. The majority of the planet's solid landmasses that were not submerged were covered in unworkable swamps, thick forests and jungles, with colder regions to the north and south of the planet.

The Rodians built their cities on waterways and protected them with environmental shields, bubble domes that surrounded all habitation structures and allowed entry and exit for vehicles and vessels. These domes also protected from the extreme temperatures of the planet.

Rodia was originally inhabited by rock-dwelling lizards which developed tools and weapons to aid in their survival. Over time, these evolved into the sentient Rodian species, who became brutal hunters to survive among the planet's dangerous wildlife. As they developed advanced technology, they began to exterminate the planet's other lifeforms at an increasingly rapid rate. Eventually, all of the predators that threatened the Rodians were driven to extinction, and the Rodians began to hunt one another, finding or inventing excuses for war and laying waste to their homeworld's environment in the process.

As Rodian society developed and their technology improved, the leader of the most powerful clan, the Soammei clan, eventually proclaimed himself Inta'si'rin'na, or Grand Protector of the Rodians. Through the rest of Rodian history, the title of Grand Protector shifted from clan to clan as loyalties and power shifted. Grand Protectors ruled all of Rodia as dictators.

When scouts from the Galactic Republic arrived on Rodia, the planet's ecosystem was on the verge of being damaged beyond repair. The Rodians hunted the new arrivals down until their Grand Protector, recognizing the possibility of new prey to hunt off-world, called a halt to the violence. A new policy was implemented; the Grand Protector declared that the best hunters, as proven by success in various gladiatorial contests and hunts on Rodia, would be allowed to leave the planet for work as bounty hunters, mercenaries, slavers or similar occupations. The Grand Protector's Hunters' Guild, or Goa-Ato, instituted annual awards (or Atiang) for the best hunters, with such categories as "Best Shot", "Longest Trail", or "Most Notorious Capture."

The Rodians eventually joined the Republic, fascinated by its starships and weapons. By 15,000 BBY, Rodia was within space that was considered well-explored, and over time, the services of Rodian trackers became a popular export. Demand for weapons led to increased industrialization, especially around the megalopolis of Equator City. Rodian dramas also gained popularity; Rodian Theater began as a simple series of staged fights, encouraged by Grand Protector Harido Kavila as a way for Rodians to burn off their aggression, but over time it developed into a vibrant, though violent, theatrical tradition. Though actors were barred from directly seeking political power at home, drama also became an acceptable way for dissident elements to challenge established ideas. Some Rodians illegally left their homeworld in search of refuge from clan feuds, traveling the galaxy freely and finding work in a variety of professions, from peaceful merchants and technicians to arms dealers and criminal henchmen. While the Rodian authorities treated off-world born Rodians as though they were alien galactic citizens, illegal emigrants were generally not allowed to return to Rodia, though some used forged or legitimate documents to claim off-world status.

During the Great Sith War, an alliance of Sith and Mandalorians won a victory at Rodia. During the Mandalorian Wars Rodia remained neutral, but during the Jedi Civil War it was drawn into the full-scale conflict. Sith forces attempted to destroy the planet using the massive firepower of the Star Forge fleet, hoping to deny the Galactic Republic its greatest source of scouts and explorers. But the Jedi uncovered the plot and signaled the Republic fleet for help. The Battle of Rodia was an important battle of the Jedi Civil War, and after the Republic drove away the Sith fleet, Rodia officially joined the war on the Republic side, though individual Rodian mercenaries still worked for the Sith and other factions. Following the Great Galactic War, Rodia was annexed by the Sith Empire under the partial Treaty of Coruscant. This was received with much bitterness and outrage by the Rodian ambassador Mareesh who saw this as a betrayal by the Republic.

During the last days of the Republic, the planet was represented in the Galactic Senate by Onaconda Farr, who was later appointed to the Loyalist Committee as the Separatist Crisis worsened. At some point during the Clone Wars, he betrayed his old friend Senator Padmé Amidala by luring her to Rodia and into the clutches of her old enemy, the Trade Federation viceroy, Nute Gunray, in exchange for the shipment of supplies, which the Republic had failed to deliver, to his planet. He later realized his mistake and helped her escape. Rodia thereafter remained loyal to the Republic, although it was near the front lines of combat and scarred by famine. Rodia was never directly threatened by the Confederacy of Independent Systems, although negotiators were frequently sent by Count Dooku to the city of Iskaayuma. Later during the war, Farr bribed Ronet Coorr to divert naval forces from Iseno to Rodia rather than to Duro, resulting in Duro being taken by the Confederacy of Independent Systems in Operation Durge's Lance. Farr was forced to resign in disgrace.

After the Clone Wars concluded in 19 BBY, the Galactic Republic was reorganized into the Galactic Empire. Rodia and its population were spared enslavement under the new regime due to the Empire's demand for bounty hunters. In 17 BBY, Rodia experienced an internal coup when Navik the Red of the Chattza Clan conquered his rivals in a series of fierce campaigns that spanned several star systems. After achieving victory, he named himself Grand Protector and made his home city of Iskaayuma the new seat of government. Under Navik's rule, Rodia became a freer trading port and an emerging economic power. Navik also tightened restrictions on emigration and built ties with Black Sun and the Galactic Empire. Navik ruthlessly persecuted his rivals, sentencing the entire Tetsu Clan to death. Even Tetsu refugees outside Rodia, such as Greedo the Elder and his family, were pursued by Chattza hunters. When the New Republic came into power, Navik represented Rodia in the Senate until the planet was invaded and conquered by the Yuuzhan Vong during their invasion.

During their invasion of the galaxy, the Yuuzhan Vong invaded Rodia to cut off the rimward portion of the Corellian Run. As on many worlds, the Yuuzhan Vong conquerors began enslaving the population. The alien invaders planned to forge their Rodian captives into deadly warbeasts, under the direction of Master Shaper Taug Molou. He took his Rodian experimental subjects apart on a cellular level, reassembling their genetic code with bits from other creatures. This experiment resulted in the creation of the Vagh Rodiek, mindless warbeasts that moved on crab-like legs with sharp half-meter long scythes of bone in place of arms. The Rodian natural head-spines were mutated into razor-sharp quills. Rodia itself was terraformed, with freighter-sized, leathery blossoms looming over the landscape.

The few Rodians who managed to flee Rodia found themselves refugees from persecution. Most however, hid in the jungle and launched guerrilla attacks against Yuuzhan Vong patrols. After that war, Rodia was represented in the Galactic Alliance Senate by Moog Ulur. Yuuzhan Vong terraforming made Rodia one of the most dangerous planets in the galaxy, filling its jungles with previously-unknown deadly predators. In a practice seen on Daluuj and other worlds, the Yuuzhan Vong also moved to Rodia, forming one of the largest known Yuuzhan Vong populations in the galaxy. Over the next hundred years, the Rodians had reveled in the new dangers onworld and became even greater hunters than before. Under the Sith Empire led by Darth Krayt, the planet claimed more Jedi bounties than any other, earning itself a favorable treatment from Darth Krayt.

For what many would consider a vicious and bloodthirsty species, Rodians were renowned for their drama. Rodian Theater began as a simple series of staged fights, encouraged by Grand Protector Harido Kavila as a way for his people to burn off their aggression. Over time, it developed into a vibrant—albeit violent—theatrical tradition. Though not as honored a profession as hunting, each clan had at least one troupe of actors that performed clan legends. Because actors were barred from directly seeking political power at home, drama became an acceptable way for dissident elements to challenge established ideas.

Rodians normally had green skin, allowing them to blend in with the vegetation of their jungle world. However, variations in pigment were not uncommon, which ranged from disfiguring birthmarks to discoloration of the entire body. This was distinctive among the race and gave rise to descriptive appellations such as "Navik the Red" and "Jannik the White." Another notable characteristic of the Rodians were their hands. Possessing long, dexterous, sucker-tipped fingers, this trait denoted an arboreal lifestyle, which allowed the Rodians to grip trees and rocky inclines. A ridge of flexible spines crested their skulls, differing in volume, length, and even color. Instead of spines, some Rodians also grew hair. This was more common among females, though some males also grew it, as exemplified by Evo the Blue. Females were also physically distinguished by their breasts and mammary glands. Off-world females, however, oftentimes would shave their hair and wear loose-fitting clothing in an attempt to disguise their gender. Some females, though, would proudly flaunt their femininity if they knew it would work to their advantage.

Rodians exuded a pungent, musky aroma, some smelling stronger than others. This scent was an oily pheromone excretion that served to moisturize the skin and attract potential mates. Most Humans and Diollans found the scent to be particularly overwhelming and likened it to the "odor of animal droppings on the bottom of your boot." This was not the case with all species, however, as evidenced by the unsavory use of Greedo's pheromones; a Tatooine bartender by the name of Wuher ground up Greedo's body to use in the creation of a perfect Hutt liquor. Many would assume that all Rodians smelled the same, however Rodians themselves could differentiate the scent. The scent distinguished identity, communicating to Rodians an individual's family heritage and breeding. One Rodian's smell from a feuding clan could send a rival clan member into a warring frenzy.

Rodians, as other species, were subject to aging. As he grew older, Wald's antennae began to sag, and gray patches appeared on his snout.

A typical Rodian stands at 1.6 meters or 5.3 feet tall and weighs 60 kilograms or 132 pounds.

Rodians age at the following stages:

1 - 12 Child

13 - 15 Young Adult

16 - 35 Adult

36 - 49 Middle Age

50 - 59 Old

Examples of Names: Andoorni, Beedo, Chido, Doda, Greedo, Greeata, Kelko, Navik, Neela, Neesh, Wald.

Language: Rodians speak, read, and write both Rodese and Basic, and many learn to speak Huttese as well. Rodians possessed a wide vocal range and had been known to make hooting noises. Basic-speaking Rodians had a unique accent, due to their tendency to lisp, and their difficulty pronouncing certain syllables containing "r," "l," or "s" sounds.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Graves, the Outlaw build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Jason Chan. Made for Riot Games.)

Blam blam?

Honestly I made Twisted Fate awhile ago so Graves was on my To Do list. It does also help that he has become a bit of a main character in the Tales of Runeterra shorts, being featured in both the Bilgewater and Bandle City short. And his place in the League meta certainly helps too.

But truthfully most of the builds I make are rather spur of the moment. Graves was just one I had a sudden bit of inspiration to do, which is why he’s up now.

GOALS

Hope you weren't planning to die of natural causes - Two barrels of Destiny should be enough to blow the brains out of anyone who stands in your way, or any other squishy bits.

I ain't got time to bleed - Who has more armor? The woman riding a horse made of literal metal, or the guy with a shotgun who did a bunch of Wave Dashes?

Lights out - To keep foes in place you’re going to need to smoke them out... Smoke them in?

RACE

Because I’m sick of constantly making Variant Humans I’m still going for Eberron Dragonmarks. Nothing really makes sense for Graves except for the Mark of Passage. Your Dexterity increases by 2 and you can increase any ability of your choice by 1: bump up that Constitution for a bit more bulk in the jungle.

You have Courier’s Speed for 5 extra feet of movement and Intuitive Motion to drive land vehicles or make Acrobatics checks. But of course the main feature we’re here for is Magical Passage to cast Misty Step once per Long Rest. Since we won’t be getting Misty Step from elsewhere we’ll finally have an accurate cooldown for Flash!

If Dragonmarks aren’t an option: Variant Human with either the Crossbow Expert feat or the Fey Touched feat works fine.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - DEX is the “shoot gun” stat, as well as your AC stat among other things. Turns out we’ll have to shoot our gun a lot.

14; CHARISMA - Graves has a gruff charm to him, and while Fate is the one who usually does the talking that doesn’t mean Graves is incapable of doing so.

13; CONSTITUTION - You’re deceptively tanky for a Markman, though that mostly comes from Grit.

12; STRENGTH - You’re also a fairly large man, and New Destiny is a heavy gun.

10; WISDOM - You can tell when folk are lying but you’re a little dense.

8; INTELLIGENCE - But if the Legends of Runeterra shorts have shown anything it’s that you’re only really getting by on dumb luck and determination.

BACKGROUND

LoL wiki says you’re a mercenary, but you tend to work alone (or sometimes with your partner Tobias) so Urban Bounty Hunter makes a lot more sense for finding the scum of Bilgewater. Insight is nice but I’d also grab Intimidation instead of Persuasion or Deception, because you don’t play nice. You also get some tool proficiencies: I’m sure your partner taught you how to play with Cards and Dice, if only to cheat you out of your money.

But what we’re mainly here for is the Ear to the Ground feature, letting you keep in contact with Bilgewater’s underbelly to know who needs a blasting. These connections can get you a contact for bounty work anywhere you may go.

(Artwork by Kelly Aleshire. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - FIGHTER 1

If Fighter is the fastest way to learn how to shoot a gun then you must fight! Fighters get two proficiencies from the Fighter list: Athletics and Acrobatics will help you with all that “jungling” stuff.

You also get a Fighting Style and you may be surprised to hear but we’re going for Archery to shoot your gun better, and you also get Second Wind for some refillable potions.

Honestly the most interesting thing to talk about with Fighter levels is what you’re going to grab for a weapon. If you’ve got an Artificer who can give you a cool (Heavy) Crossbow then feel free to grab that, but for the most part we’ll be using Hand Crossbows to recreate the range limitations of Graves’ shotgun.

LEVEL 2 - FIGHTER 2

You’ve got two barrels on your gun so you should shoot both of them in a round thanks to Action Surge. Get another action on your turn! Yup that’s all she wrote chief.

LEVEL 3 - FIGHTER 3

Third level Fighters get to choose their Martial Archetype and Graves is simple, boring, but effective. Feel free to take something more fun (or just use the Dark Tides of Bilgewater Renegade subclass tbh) but it’s about time I crack out the good ol’ Champion Fighter! Buy a Collector for an Improved Critical range of either 19 or 20! That’s 10% crit chance! But any ADC main will tell you that 10% crit still isn’t much crit.

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 4

4th level Fighters get our first Ability Score Improvement but being able to shoot good is more important. Grab Crossbow Expert to shoot in melee, reload quickly in a fight, and shoot with your Bonus Action after shooting!

LEVEL 5 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack to Blam and then Blam again. These two Blams are separate from your Crossbow Expert Blam which is also separate from Action Surge, allowing you to Blam another two times meaning by level 5 you can already Blam up to 5 times in one round!

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 6 - SORCERER 1

What? Did you really think that we wouldn’t have any spellcaster levels? Sorry to say it but there’s no easy way for a martial character to shoot out a smoke cloud or Wave Dash enough to survive a sniper rifle shot in the head.

We’ll be going for the Clockwork Soul since your gun is certainly mechanical in nature, and it’s certainly the soul of your character. As a Clockwork Sorcerer you can use your reaction to Restore Balance and negate either Advantage or Disadvantage a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, regaining all expended uses at the end of a Long Rest. I’d flavor this more as your skill from years in the business letting you steady your aim or dodge out of the way of a foe who thinks they have the upper hand.

You know what helps with getting the upper hand? Spellcasting, especially with extra spells from Clockwork Magic. The extra spells you can get can be from the Abjuration or Transmutation schools, and can be from the Wizard, Warlock, or Sorcerer spell list. This means you can grab Shield for some Grit AC, and Absorb Elements for some Magic Resistance as well. You also get 4 cantrips and 2 more leveled spells:

CANTRIPS

Mind Sliver will serve as your Challenging Smite, weakening enemies and damaging them.

Message will help you keep in team chat with TF.

Prestidigitation will let you do all sorts of minor tricks with your bullets and gas canisters.

Mending will help you fix up your outfit after getting in scuff.

SPELLS

Fog Cloud will serve as your Smoke Screen, obviously.

To shoot out some Galeforce projectiles, grab Magic Missile to execute! (Note: Magic Missile will not actually execute.)

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 1

I COULDN’T HELP IT I’M SORRY. Warlock levels give us an easy way to have spells ready with just a short rest. First level Warlocks can choose their Patron at level 1 and for a bit more lethality take the Genie Patron. You can choose your Genie Kind and a Djinni will give a couple of benefits: for one your Genie’s Vessel will let you do Thunder damage equal to your Proficiency bonus once per turn thanks to Genie’s Wrath. You also have Bottled Respite for a safe place to rest and store the two guns and three knives you are expected to stick onto your gun.

You also get Pact Magic which is like regular spell slots but they come back after a Short Rest. Thunderwave is a good way to give yourself some space with shotgun knockback, and is on your Warlock spell list since you took the Djinni patron! And Hex is just good to Smite a foe to do more damage to them.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get their second Pact Magic slot, which is the main reason we need at least 2 levels in Warlock. But you also get Eldritch Invocations: Devil’s Sight will let you see through the dark with your dumb human eyes. And to play dress up Mask of Many Faces will let you put on some skins!

You can also learn another first level spell from the Warlock list: honestly there isn’t much I want, so I guess you can grab Armor of Agathys for some Thornmail.

(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - FIGHTER 6

Back to Fighterman, take me by the hand for Ability Scores and, +2 to Dexterity man.

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 7

7th level Champions are Remarkable Athletes, letting them add half their proficiency bonus to any STR, DEX, or CON check made which you aren’t already proficient in. Unfortunately you have proficiency in Athletics and Acrobatics but at least this buffs your Slight of Hand and Stealth. And since Initiative is a DEX check, this ability improves that too!

Oh and you can also increase the distance of a running long jump by a number of feet equal to your Strength modifier. A whole extra foot of jumping distance!

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 8

Hey more Ability Score Improvements! Cap off that Dexterity, and also put 1 in Charisma for later.

LEVEL 12 - FIGHTER 9

9th level Fighters get a QSS for Indomitable, rerolling a failed save to potentially succeed! Are you going to succeed any mental saving throws? Probably not, but you’ve got a good chance for Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution. And you can use this for Death Saves too!

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - FIGHTER 10

10th level Champions get a whole Additional Fighting Style! Wowie! Take Defense for a bit more Grit in a teamfight.

LEVEL 14 - FIGHTER 11

11th level Fighters get an extra Extra Attack, letting them attack 3 times in a round. This means 4 attacks with Crossbow Expert and 7 if you Action Surge!

LEVEL 15 - FIGHTER 12

12th level Fighters get another Ability Score Improvement, and you know what’s better than one Flash? Two Flashes! Grab the Fey Touched Feat to increase your Charisma by 1, get another once-per-day use of the Misty Step spell, and also grab the Heroism spell for a bit more grit that you can cast with your first level slots.

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 16 - FIGHTER 13

13th level Fighters get another use of Indomitable. That’s two rerolls on any failed save! Wow I know basic math!

LEVEL 17 - FIGHTER 14

14th level means another Ability Score Improvement: more Charisma means better Definitely-Not-Spells. But feel free to get something like Sharpshooter or another more practical feat, as the only spells you really have which rely on Charisma are Mind Sliver and Thunderwave.

LEVEL 18 - FIGHTER 15

15th level Champions finally grab their Infinity Edge for a Superior Critical on an 18, 19, or 20! 15% crit chance!

LEVEL 19 - FIGHTER 16

16th level means another Ability Score Improvement: either cap off your Charisma or grab some better feats. Build flexibility is important. "Got any bright ideas?"

LEVEL 20 - FIGHTER 17

Our last level is the 17th level of Fighter for one more use of Indomitable (making it 3 uses total) as well as an extra use of Action Surge! You can’t Action Surge twice in the same turn but you can Action Surge two turns in a row to really put the DPS out!

FINAL BUILD

PROS

I like my enemies two ways: dead, or about to be - Your shots are as reliable as they are deadly. 4 shots per turn thanks to Crossbow Expert’s Bonus Action, all of which have a whopping +13 to hit! Not to mention Genie’s Wrath giving you a flat +6 damage every turn and Superior Critical allowing you to crit 15% of the time.

Let's settle the score - A little bit of magic never hurt anyone. A few Misty Steps and a few more Shields can keep you out of danger, and spells like Hex can let you up your DPS. Even Fog Cloud (while admittedly situational) can still give you cover for either an attack or an escape.

Easy, partner - All that magic along with Fighter abilities and Fighter hit die means that you’re sturdier than most, with plenty of ways to shrug off attacks or boost yourself up after getting hit.

CONS

Who's in the dark now? - Making a specific point of dumping both Intelligence and Wisdom leaves you very lacking in social encounters. It also means that you’ll have a lot of trouble with spells. Even Hold Person can really hinder you.

Everyone's a hero... till you shoot off a leg or two - Champion isn’t exactly the most exciting class and this is well-known, but unfortunately Graves isn’t exactly the most exciting champion. Trust me I’d love to make him a Battle Master, Arcane Archer, Samurai, or Renegade (Dark Tides of Bilgewater.) But Graves is a big man with big crits and not much else.

Go ahead; I like moving targets - One more level in Warlock would’ve given you Misty Steps that come back after a Short Rest, as well as the Darkness spell which is arguably stronger than Fog Cloud. It would’ve also given you your Pact Boon, all of which are very strong. Honestly while the 17th level of Fighter is stronger if you know that you aren’t going to get to level 20 I’d definitely recommend a third Warlock level for the reasons I just said.

But of course anyone can win if they can just wave their hands around to send giant flaming rocks out of the sky. You prove that all you need to win a fight is a big gun, good aim, and a whole lotta grit. Put one between their eyes and a hundred more into their chest, and don’t mind any potential Collateral Damage. Just watch out for traps and stay clear of Yordles; wouldn’t want to be featured in another animated short.

(Artwork by Xu “Crow God” Cheng. Made for Riot Games.)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Direct approach not needed

Humans are weird: Direct approach not needed

For seven years the Human/Iltick war had been raging across the cosmos. Planets had fallen, reconquered, sacked, reinforced, pillaged, burned, and then rebuilt countless times all the while the space between the two galactic empires became an ever increasing grave yard of destroyed vessels.

Humans said it started when an Iltick security detail murdered a diplomatic mission, while Iltick said they were protecting themselves from hired mercenaries. In the end the who and the why didn’t matter anymore, only how it would end.

Aboard the Iltick flagship Crimson Prow, commander Gnarl would ensure that it was the Iltick that would emerge victorious.

Gnarl had learned through his spy networks that a human strike force had split off from their main fleet in a desperate gamble to strike at the Iltick homeworld. By making of series of random jumps that bypassed the advanced warning network employed by their alien foes, the humans had planned to emerge upon the unsuspecting Iltick forces and overwhelm their birth planet and strike a crippling morale blow to their foe.

To that end Gnarl had amassed a fleet of battleships, war spheres, heavy cruisers, and whatever other fleet fairing vessels that were within reach. This armada now circled the Iltick homeworld like rings of iron and patiently waited for their foe to wander into their trap.

Several days had passed since the spy networks warning when the human fleet finally arrived. Gnarl was sitting in his command throne when the first of the enemy vessels broke from their transition and returned to real space.

Unlike the Iltick vessels whose metal hulls had been carved from solid metal rather than pieced together the human vessels were ugly and bulky. Gun emplacements appeared across their decks like spuds of an overly ripe vegetable while the bridge held reinforced glass instead of being solid metal.

One by one the vessels began appearing, all the while the Iltick fleet began amassing to meet their foe. The Iltick held station above their worlds capital Jova and known well in advance that the humans would most likely strike it from orbit. Powerful shields had been erected on the planets surface  ensuring that even if the humans tried to bombard it nothing would get through.

As the final human vessel arrive the final numbers appear to be 30 human vessels built around a core of three battleships, and 123 Iltick vessels.

Gnarl watched as the smaller human vessels, mostly light cruisers and destroyers, rapidly began their attempts to form a battle line. Gnarl imagined the sheer terror and surprise going through the human captains as they realized their sneak attack had become a death trap for them.

On board his vessel and many other Iltick ships were camera crews who were recording the events as they unfolded which would then be turned into propaganda videos. Not wishing to prolong the battle and risk a potential setback that would reflect badly, Gnarl ordered his full force to assault the now formed human battle line.

Swarms of missiles and energy bursts shot out towards the human strike force as the swarm of Iltick vessels rushed in. Most had been repelled by activate shields, but some struck home and a human destroy erupted into a fireball after an energy lance struck the aft reactor before the shields could be fully raised.

Uncoordinated return fire greeted the onrushing Iltick as individual ships began picking their own targets and opening fire. Gnarl smiled at this now finding proof of the humans fear. Had they been of sound mind they would have grouped their shots to overwhelm the shields and fully destroy enemy vessels, but by targeting so many different ships at once the vast majority of the return fire was likewise being deflected by Iltick shields.

As the two forces closed the combat increased in intensity. While his sub commanders were laughing and smiling at the coming victory something was bothering Gnarl. Throughout the entire battle so far the human battleships had yet to fire a single shot.

Gnarl rose from his seat and strode to the tactical display. Looking at the placement of the enemy vessels, Gnarl noticed that rather than a standard battle line the human vessels had formed a protective perimeter around the battleships. He looked up from the display to the visual link and saw a human cruiser move out of line to place itself between an energy burst shot that had been aiming for the battleships in the rear. The cruiser’s shields flared and then shattered under the attack and the starboard gun emplacements melted away from the super heated energy.

Gnarl’s eyes widened as he gained a somewhat insight into the enemy plans. The enemy destroyers and cruisers were nothing to them for it was their battleships that held whatever key was needed for their victory. So much so that they were willing to sacrifice their own vessels and comrades to protect it.

Just as Gnarl saw the danger the human battleships guns finally fired. Their massive barrels had slowly traversed silently in the cold void of space before releasing a blind blast of light.

Gnarl braced for an impact that would be his last, but nothing came. He opened his eyes to see that he was still among the living and that none of his ships had been destroyed in the salvo. Smiling at his good fortune, Gnarl shouted commands for all Iltick vessels to target the human battleships.

A second salvo was fired and this time luck had run out for some unlucky Iltick. A warsphere took a round straight to the core and it simply imploded like a popped children’s balloon. Debris from the shattered sphere impacted surrounding Iltick ships causing secondary explosions which only seemed to urge Gnarl’s previous orders even more.

The third salvo was unleashed just as the Iltick ships met the human battle line head on and attempted to pass through it. Some ships colliding with each other while others unleashed devastating broadsides from point blank range. It was here that the human resolve for the battle finally broke and one by one the human vessels broke off and began jumping away.

While none of the battleships had been damaged before they jumped away, several more destroyers and cruisers vanished under a hail of fire before the last of the active human vessels retreated.

Over the communication links Gnarl could hear the cheers and praise being issued by the crew members of the Iltick fleet as what had been intended as a devastating blow against the Iltick had been turned into a black mark of defeat for the humans. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (8 hours later)

The massed throngs of Iltick citizens crowding the plaza made Gnarl feel claustrophobic as he stood behind the stage waiting to be introduced.

Following the battle he had performed a standard mop up operation of the remaining enemy vessels, but aside from a few strange energy readings the enemy fleet was entirely dead.

Gnarl had then been summoned by the Iltick high command to appear at a celebration at the capital he had saved from the human invaders.

With the energy shield down the night sky was glittering with countless stars and running lights of orbiting ships. Gnarl looked up and though some would say he was mad he tried to pick out the lights of his flagship which was no doubt watching over him as an honor guard.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder Gnarl looked down to see a stage hand motioning him to the stage as the speaker had just announced his name. The cheers of the crowd were loud enough to make the buttons of Gnarl’s parade uniform vibrate as he stepped on to the stage.

He waved his hand and smiled sheepishly to the crowd as he approached the podium, the effect somehow making the crowd cheer louder than before. Gnarl reached the podium and looked out over the crowds as his chest swelled with pride. Seeing the support of his people there was nay a doubt in his heart nor his mind of their inevitable victory over the treacherous humans and that one day soon the Iltick flag would wave high over their miserable dirt pile of a world.

As the crowds cheers began dying down Gnarl prepared to deliver his rehearsed opening remarks honoring his crew and those that had lost their lives in battle.

He had barely uttered the first syllable when the first warhead struck the city and his world turned to white.......   ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (8 hours earlier)

Marcus saw the Radiance move out of line and take the energy burst meant for his ship full on. He could nearly feel the aches and pains the tortured vessel must be going through.

“Weapons master Frig!” He shouted between issuing commands to the rest of his fleet. “We need those firing solutions five minutes ago!”

Not even bothering to look up from her console weapons master Frig continued performing calculations. “The planet’s data does not match the files we were given!” she angrily shouted back as she dashed from console to console. Th enemy shots were starting to find their home against the battleships shields and as she dashed she had to catch herself with each impact shudder that ran through the ship. “One wrong miscalculation and this entire operation was for nothing!”

Though Marcus wanted to challenge the weapons master she was right. Rather than arguing a point he couldn’t win he tapped the command keys of his ear mounted com device.

“This is Admiral Marcus of the Retribution hailing the Talwar and Deutschland, respond.”

“This is captain Anika of Talwar, good for go.”

“This is captain Emil of Deutschland, go to receive.”

“Prepare to receive targeting data for your main guns. Do not fire until you have the data, repeat, do not fire until you have the data.” “Roger. holding for data.” came both replied.

The viewport lit up as another destroyers shields were overwhelmed and torn to ribbons. The closeness of the explosion sent a shock wave through the Retribution and knocked Marcus off his feet.

He unsteadily regained his footing as the wall of enemy ships had now decided that a headlong rush was the best tactic.

“Weapons master!” he shouted as he found his way back to his command chair.

Frig’s hand shot a thumbs up as she reached the final terminal. “Uploading data now!”

From his command chair a screen of data began streaming in which was then fed down to the gunner crews not only aboard his ship but to the Deutschland and Talwar as well. As the ships gun icons flashed green one by one Marcus thrust out his arm and shouted “Fire!”

Though the void could not hear the roar of the guns the crew of the Retribution could feel the mighty ships weapons vibrate the entire ship as they spat burning fury towards their foe.

“Reload and fire!”

The command wasn’t necessary for Marcus to shout, but now at the peak of the battle it was all he could do. Days of calculated jumps and maneuvers had all led to this climatic battle that would decide the fate of the war.

“Belay that!” Frig shouted. “Enemy warsphere is blocking trajectory! I must recalculate around it!”

“Belay that belay that!” Marcus shouted over her. “We do not have time to wait, they’ll be on us in minutes!”

The enemy vessels had redoubled their efforts to close the gap and the shield wall the destroyers and cruisers were providing was steadily being chipped away.

“Talwar, Deutschland; wait until after the warsphere has been destroyed then fire your next two salvos. After our third the strike force is to break orbit and make for the rendezvous point!”

A chorus of replies came in as the Retribution fired its second salvo and utterly destroyed the enemy warsphere.

The following salvos from the other battleships easily passed through the gap now opened by the absent warsphere. As the three warships reloaded for their third and final salvo the enemy fleet was now mixing within the battle line. All Marcus could do was pray that the plan would work and that those who had died had not died in vain... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (8 hours later)

High in orbit, circling the planet for the last several hours since the battle had ended, the warheads fired from the battleships had slowly begun their descent.

Fired from hard shells rather than from rockets, the shells had bypassed the energy scanners of the enemy fleet that had scoured the battlefield after the human fleet had fled. The radiation signatures being the only give away but were thankfully masked by the debris clouds.

Carried by the planets gravity along specifically calculated routes, the shells flown around the planet several times before impacting at their target location.

The capital city had their shields deployed during the entire battle and for several hours after in case of falling debris, but with the passage of time the shields had been deactivated and thus allowing the warheads to impact the capital directly.

Space ships were designed to in some cases withstand warhead explosions if done correctly; the capital city was not.

The rain of warheads dotted the entire city reducing what had once been the nerve center of the greatest threat to humanity to a irradiated pile of waste and the once proud cheers from across their empire were turned into cries of despair as the wrath of humanity was brought to bear.