#twi’lek smuggler

[ladydancing]

My Charlie’s Angels of Star Wars. The ladies of The Dancing Lady, my Star Wars OCs, former bounty hunter Tizz Uuram, smuggler Aola Beck, and former Jedi Rania Chera. An amazing commission done by @somewillwin

[bluemilkandcookies]

A'ster the smuggler

[clonethoughts]

Daesha, my beloved

Finally got the courage to post my art again (it’s been 2 years asdfgjhllkgj)

[click for better quality]

[melhyan]

"Force's Child", A SWTOR oc drawing

Another day, another repost from my old acc @wackyart !!

This time, we’ve got a doodle of my beloved Yana, a Jedi Knight Twi’lek girlie from SWTOR, because if there’s one thing I’m gonna do, it’s hyperfixate on characters I love lmao😌 Lekku physics? Who needs ‘em! Lightsabers? Fashion accessories! Jedi Code? Optional guidelines!😂

I am currently rushing like a smuggler with contraband before Christmas trying to sort my art, repost my stuff, and finish ALL the things. Do I have full, polished pieces ready? Not yet. Do I have endless doodles and chaotic scribbles? Absolutely. ✏️✨

Fear not, my friends—I’ll be posting these and more ASAP! The plan is simple: pull an all-nighter fueled by sheer determination, way too much caffeine, and a cough that makes me sound like a dying protocol droid. Am I still sick? Yes. Is my head pounding? Also yes. But will I let that stop me? ABSOLUTELY NOT.💀

Stay tuned for more, and may the Force (or coffee) be with me!!!☕

[Do not repost/ do not use without permission]

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 12

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, canon-typical violence, peril, angst, mild possessive language, Din speaks Mando'a

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

A couple hours after sunset in the Karthakk system, Din Djarin settled himself into a booth in the back corner of a cantina. It was a dingy spot – its hard-packed dirt floors ensured that everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, cloudy liquor bottles and seedy patrons included – but that was to be expected on a backwater planet like Lok. A remote, desert planet infested with all manner of underworld scum and not much else, the fact that there were actual tables at which to sit was about the best he could have hoped for.

His quarry was one of those underworld scum, a notable Weequay smuggler called Kevok Toklelq. Over the last several days, Din had managed to narrow down his location to this district of Nym’s Stronghold, and all of the local intelligence he had gathered indicated that this nameless cantina was a popular place to do business, that anyone with any kind of pull on this world could be found exchanging credits and trading merchandise while bellied up to the bar. To the bounty hunter, it sounded like precisely the place he needed to be if he wanted to put eyes on his target.

Din had stopped in earlier to scope out the place and get a lay of the land before he made his move, and the booth he had selected was perfectly situated for his needs. From his corner, he could easily observe both the door and the bar, and the ambient orange lighting from the back bar left the edges of the establishment almost entirely in shadow, lending him an air of anonymity that otherwise might have been difficult to achieve in head-to-toe beskar’gam. As it was, all that was left for him to do was melt into those shadows and watch as the cantina filled up around him.

As he had expected, the crowd grew as the night deepened. To anyone who might have glanced his way, the Mandalorian was the picture of nonchalance, but behind the impenetrable surface of his helmet, he was focused, vigilant, intent only on finding his quarry. The crush of bodies was loud now, laughing and shouting and slinging insults over the sound of music pouring from a jukebox in the corner, but somehow Din cut through all of it. He held the image of the Weequay’s leathery, hard-eyed visage in his mind, and he waited.

So absorbed was he in this task, scanning the faces of each and every patron as they entered the bar, that he almost didn’t notice the young Twi’lek waitress approach his table.

“Evening, honey. Anything I can get for you?” she prompted. Her pale blue skin shone faintly in the dim lighting, and a warm, flirtatious smile quirked the corners of her lips.

The Mandalorian drew his head back, startled, before schooling his body language back into something closer to indifference. Leaning back into the cushion of the booth casually, he replied, “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

The girl arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been here a while. You sure there’s…nothing you need?”

He watched as her dark, hooded eyes traced over his form, her gaze settling on his black visor, then his shoulders, then his chest in quick succession. Her cheeks flushed in poorly-concealed interest, and Din fought the urge to fidget under her gaze.

This sort of thing happened occasionally. He knew that others found his stature appealing, that the bulk of his armor, the mystery of his helmet, and the legends of Mandalorian ferocity sometimes inspired intrigue rather than intimidation. As a younger man, he had found the attention flattering. Puzzling at times, but flattering. He certainly had been guilty of taking advantage of that interest on more than one occasion – a man had needs. But that had been years ago. It felt like a different lifetime since he last had felt the urge to indulge in that way.

It had been a life before he had anyone other than himself to consider, a life before his commitment to the Nevarro covert. A life before Grogu.  

You, of course, were the glaring exception.

The bounty hunter burned for you, fierce and desperate, with an intensity that he might have found embarrassing if it weren’t so all-consuming. His control dangling by a thread that grew thinner with each passing day, there was no room left in him for shame. Even in the aftermath of your argument, the days spent in hyperspace traveling from Trevi IV to Lok had been torturous. He could hardly bear the proximity, the nearness of you – always within reach and yet never touching. Not how he wanted, how he needed. It was driving him mad.

No. If he were to have you, it would not be an indulgence. It would be…cataclysmic.

Before his thoughts could travel too far down that path, however, Din wrenched his attention back to the matter at hand. He had promised himself that he would keep you as far from his mind as possible while on this hunt. His quarry was a dangerous man. Toklelq was well-connected in the Outer Rim smuggling networks, a friend of the Pirate Nation, and a skilled fighter. It had been some time since Din had faced an opponent of this caliber; he refused to allow himself any distractions.

“Nothing, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend,” he said. The half-truth came easily, and he watched as something like disappointment colored the Twi’s expression. However, she recovered quickly and instead offered him a coy, practiced smile.

“All right, honey,” she demurred, heavy-lidded eyes giving him a final once-over. “Well, if you change your mind, you can find me at the bar. I’ll be here all night.” She slipped into the crowd then, and the bounty hunter caught himself smirking behind his visor in return. The girl’s choice of target had been off tonight, but he appreciated the tenacity.

It reminded him of you.

___

Just before midnight, Kevok Toklelq entered the cantina.

From his dim corner booth, Din watched as he swaggered through the door, a female Theelin on his arm and two other male Weequay close on his heels. He was precisely as his bounty puck had depicted him – his long hair tied back in a series of ponytails wrapped in dusky red fabric, his sharp eyes partially visible through a pair of yellow-tinted glasses, his expression cool and arrogant. With how frequently the Mandalorian had studied it over the last several days, he would recognize that face anywhere.

The group approached the bar first, appearing to order a round of drinks before seeking out a table right in the center of the venue, but their progress to their seats was slowed multiple times by Toklelq stopping to converse with other patrons. His reception, however, was mixed. Some appeared uncomfortable at the smuggler’s attention, their bodies stiff and their laughter forced as though they had hoped not to see him that night. Others, however, greeted him warmly, clasping his forearm or cuffing him on the shoulder in comradery. Din made note of each of them regardless, mentally cataloging them in his mind.

If a fight broke out while attempting to take his quarry into custody, it might be useful to know just how many enemies he would be up against.

The bounty hunter hoped that could be avoided. Teklolq, according to his research, was a known tabac smoker. At some point during the night, he would need to step outside with his pack of cigarras, and Din would follow so that any confrontation might happen outside the crowded cantina. It was possible that some of his companions might accompany him, of course, but even if he didn’t go alone, Din was confident that he could handle a handful of drunken smugglers. Now that he had eyes on his target, he needed only to wait for the right window of opportunity to strike.

Of course, nothing was ever quite so simple.

About an hour after the group in question arrived, something in the air…shifted. As though they had been waiting for some cue that only they could perceive, the Mandalorian watched with apprehension as his quarry’s companions one by one began to drift away from the table.

One of the other male Weequay was the first to leave, offering Teklolq something like a salute before ducking into the press of the surrounding crowd. He looked to be heading toward the exit, but when Din attempted to track his movements, he lost him almost immediately to the faceless mob of bodies that seemed to pack every square inch of the cantina. He never appeared by the exit, seemingly having vanished into thin air somewhere between the table and the door.

Then the Theelin woman rose from her seat. She pressed a lingering kiss to one of the many horns jutting from Teklolq’s lower jaw, and a moment later, she was gone, melting into the throng just as stealthily as her companion but in the opposite direction. Din cursed under his breath as he watched her bright orange hair be swallowed in the masses, the heat of her biosignature becoming instantly indistinguishable from the rest. Like her companion, she never reappeared.

It was only when the last of his target’s escort, the other Weequay male, kicked back from the table and rose to his feet that the bounty hunter felt a sinking sensation in his gut – the tug of his intuition, an undefinable feeling that something had truly gone awry.

On instinct alone, Din’s gaze snapped to Teklolq. If he had managed to sneak away while Din was too preoccupied with his colleagues…

But no, the smuggler had not escaped. Instead, he was staring directly back at him, meeting the Mandalorian’s eyes through the milling crowd, the dusty haze, the long, dark shadows. And he was smiling.  

___

Through dimly-lit streets, down grimy alleyways, past cantinas and brothels and abandoned warehouses, Din Djarin ran.

“Razor Crest! Come in, Razor Crest!”

Streaks of blue blaster fire zinged past, lighting up the night in flashes of cold flame and splitting the atmosphere around him with the reek of ozone and carbon. One round ricocheted off his breastplate, sparking and skittering away harmlessly, barely a blip on the surface of his armor. Another flew ineffectually past the left side of his helmet, mere centimeters away from hitting its mark, but the Mandalorian didn’t so much as flinch. Yet another arced wildly and collided with a pile of crates stacked high against the side of a building, blasting it to smithereens. Scraps of wood and metal shrapnel flung into his path, crunching under the heavy pounding of his boots, pinging off his beskar.  

His quarry’s aim was getting worse. And Din was gaining on him.

“Razor Crest! Come in!”

The moment he had locked eyes with Teklolq, Din had known that whatever plan he might have had to bring him in without any casualties had suddenly become obsolete. He had watched with senses on high alert as his target stood from the table and downed the remainder of his drink, and he could have sworn he saw the smuggler wink at him from behind his thick-framed, yellow-tinted glasses before making his way toward the door.

It had felt like an invitation, like a dare, and the Mandalorian felt his hackles rise instantly.

He had never backed down from a challenge in his life. He certainly wasn’t about to start now.

The night beyond the cantina was deep and dark, the streetlights in his part of Nym’s Stronghold few and far between. Din had taken one step, then two beyond the little pool of light cast by the cantina’s open doorway, and as though he had summoned them from the shadows themselves, he immediately had been met with the business end of four blasters all trained in his direction.

A Weequay thug had stared him down from each side, their bony chins jutted out in defiance, ice in their eyes. Behind him, the Theelin woman had slinked forward and waved the barrel of her compact blaster pistol inches from his shoulder blades. And with a smile still twisting his thin, hard lips, his target had emerged directly in front of him.

“I’m here for Kevok Teklolq,” the bounty hunter had said, neither raising his hands in surrender nor reaching for his blaster. “I have no quarrel with the rest of you. Lower your weapons and stand aside, and no harm will come to you.”

He hadn’t truly expected them to surrender, but he couldn’t imagine not offering the small mercy. As long as he got his quarry in the end.  

As it was, three corpses lay crumpled outside the cantina now, smoking in the aftermath of his whistling birds, leaking blood into the dirt. And his quarry was several meters ahead of him, running at full tilt, dangerously close to getting away.

“Razor Crest reads you, Mando – what’s going on?”

Stars, it was good to hear your voice. You sounded groggy, as though he had pulled you from sleep, and for a reckless moment, Din allowed himself to picture you. He could see it so clearly – your cheeks flushed and your clothes mussed, your hair loose around your shoulders as you pushed it out of your face and tried to wake up enough to concentrate. The image buried itself in his chest, warm and bright, easing his breath, soothing his racing heart.

“Quarry gave me the slip. I’m in pursuit,” he panted in reply. He clutched his comm link in one hand and his blaster in the other as he returned fire, legs pumping all the harder as he tried desperately to close the distance between him and Teklolq even further. “He’s headed for the yards – he’s going to run.”

“We going after him?” you asked after a beat. The warm fuzz of sleep coloring your voice had evaporated.

He fired again at the smuggler’s retreating form, and his shot seemed to graze the outside of the other man’s thigh. Teklolq howled in pain and stumbled, but in an instant, he was on his feet again. The fumble didn’t last long enough for the Mandalorian to catch up, and still, he remained just out of range for Din to use his grappling wire or his flamethrower. Loosing a colorful curse in Mando’a, the bounty hunter jammed his thumb down on the comm link’s sending button once more.

“Absolutely.”

Your reply was quicker this time, curt and efficient. “Understood. One second – let me get to the helm…” A handful of seconds passed, and then, “Okay. Deactivating ground defenses, starting preflight checks, extending the port gangplank.”

A thrill of pride shot through him at that, making the ache in his muscles and the burn in his lungs all but disappear. Even if Teklolq made it to the shipyards, even if he somehow managed to get in the air without Din taking him out, he wouldn’t be getting away. Because Din had back-up. Din had you.

“That’s my girl.”

___

It took every ounce of strength at your disposal to keep your eyes on the flight controls, to keep your mind on the engine read-outs and your ears tuned into the sound of the port-side ramp dropping. Those words, spoken in that deep, warm voice, strained and breathless, throat tight with exertion… Those words would be your undoing if you allowed yourself even a moment to think about them.

His girl. He had called you his girl.

Goosebumps broke out across your body at how perfectly, undeniably right that felt. You were still clad in your sleep clothes, your feet bare and cold on the metal deck plating, but you had never been more awake. Your very cells responded to the phrase – the fondness, the intimacy, the possessiveness of it. You couldn’t deny that it frightened you; the idea of belonging to anyone was a tender topic. But something about it, something about the fact that it was Mando and not anyone else…

It felt safe. Natural. As easy as breathing. You were his girl, and you were so tired of pretending like you weren’t.

Before you could allow the realization to sit with you any further, however, your comm link sputtered back to life once more.

“Haar’chak!” Mando swore. Grogu, still half asleep but now strapped into one of the co-pilot chairs, whined at the sound of his guardian’s voice in distress, and you reached behind you to pat him comfortingly on the head.

“What’s your status, Mando?”

When he replied, his words came in short bursts, sharp and strained. “I have a visual on the bounty’s ship. He’s taking off. Now.”

Your hands had already found their way to the scanner controls before he had finished speaking. “What’s he flying?” you asked, taking broad readings of the entire spaceport, small though it was.

A pause, and then, “An A-24 Sleuth.”

You adjusted the scanners in response. “Dank farrik,” you murmured to yourself, this time not bothering to broadcast your concern over the comm link. You had worked on a handful of Sleuths in your career, and there were few vessels that could match them for speed and stealth. If the quarry managed to get it out of the atmosphere, the Razor Crest would have a difficult time keeping pace with it. If he made it out of the Karthakk system, Mando’s hunt would need to begin again from scratch.

As though the Crest had heard your apprehension, the scanners beeped at you, and you watched as the monitor before you shifted from a view of the surrounding spaceport to one of a long, narrow vessel about 150 meters away rising slowly into the air.

“I’ve got him on scanners,” you said into the comm link’s receiver. “How far out are you?”

A gruff, modulated exhale crackled through the connection. “…about 30 seconds.”

Even though you knew he couldn’t see you, you nodded to yourself as you ran through your mental checklist one final time. Everything was in place for a quick take-off, and you had locked the scanners onto the Sleuth so it would remain in your sights even as it began its ascent through the arid atmosphere.

“Acknowledged, we’re ready to pursue once you’re inside.”

You sat in silence for those 30 seconds, Grogu keeping vigil with you, your hand hovering anxiously over the switch that would retract the landing gear. Taking a deep breath to center yourself, you realized that you had never been in a chase like this before. Although it had barely begun, you already found it oddly exhilarating. You had never thought of yourself as someone who might enjoy being under this particular kind of pressure, but that didn’t change the fact that the racing heart behind your ribcage wasn’t unwelcome.

Did you find Mando’s job…exciting?

The sound of heavy boots thundering up the durasteel ramp and rocketing into the cargo hold interrupted that train of thought. Mando had flung himself onboard at top speed.

“I’m good, get us in the air!” he shouted from the base of the ladder – unnecessarily, as you already had it in progress. In the span of about three seconds, the twin engines turned over with a rumble, the landing gear lifted back up into the ship’s underbelly, and by the time the port gangplank had folded back into place, the Razor Crest was already making its ascent.

Mando, also, was still moving quickly. One moment, you heard him panting against the rungs of the ladder, as though he had paused to lean there for a moment and collect himself. The next, you felt his looming presence behind you, the breadth of his shoulders suddenly taking up a ridiculous amount of space in the cockpit.

You threw a glance at him over your shoulder from your perch in his pilot’s chair, your gaze tracking up and down his form, assessing, scanning for injuries. “The Sleuth just broke the atmosphere, we’re right behind him.”

Thankfully, he didn’t appear harmed, just a bit winded.

The bounty hunter nodded once, letting out a rather vocal sigh. “Well done. Keep on him,” he replied, pointing out the transparisteel viewport to where you could just barely make out the glow of the quarry’s engines against the blackness of space, growing closer by the second as the Crest followed him into orbit.

You felt your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You don’t want the helm?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the controls spread out before you in your current seat.

“No. I think you’ve got it handled.” He dropped heavily into the other copilot chair – your favorite chair, you noticed with a thrill – and turned slightly to face his own set of knobs and switches. “Give me weapons control.”

You couldn’t fight the grin that bloomed across your face at that. “Yes, sir.”

Unfortunately, your good humor ended almost as soon as it had begun. As you began to chart a course in pursuit of the Sleuth, a glaring warning appeared on your navigational readout – an asteroid belt, stretching dense and wide across the star system, wrapping itself around the yellow sun almost exactly halfway between the system’s two habitable planets, Lok and Maramere.

In any other situation, you would have taken the Razor Crest out of its way to circumvent it. As it was, you doubted the quarry was going to take the extra time. If either of your two ships wanted to get out into open space, you were going to have go through it.

If your read-outs were correct, the quarry had come to the same conclusion. He was headed straight for the heart of the asteroid belt.

And he was powering up his weapons.

“Mando?” Apprehension colored your voice as your deflector readings spiked, dust and debris from merely the outer edges of the thing already making navigation a challenge.

“I know, I see it,” he acknowledged. “Charging blaster cannons. Follow him in.”

Your heartrate spiked at the instruction, but you obeyed all the same. You were a good pilot, you told yourself as you poured on the sublight power, closing the distance between the Crest and the Sleuth as fast as you dared. You could chase a dangerous smuggler flying one of the nimblest ships in existence through an asteroid belt and not end up splattered across the surface of a spinning hunk of rock.

Right?

You cursed colorfully as a bolt of energy exploded from the Sleuth’s aft laser cannons, missing the belly your gunship by a hairsbreadth.

“Returning fire,” Mando called out, and the Razor Crest’s twin heavy repeating blaster cannons roared to life, loosing a volley across the smuggler’s tail just as both ships breeched the asteroid belt.  

And just like that, you had no more space in your mind for trepidation. There was only the Crest, the quarry, and the twisting, lurching lumps of space rock through which both of you wove.

Keep the Sleuth in sight. Don’t crash. Dodge that attack. Don’t crash. Get closer. Help Mando line up his shots. Give him a nice, wide window. Don’t crash.

Don’t. Crash.

You felt yourself sink into your body, your grip firm and sure on the joysticks, controlling your pitch and your altitude and your speed through intuition and muscle memory. You blocked out everything else, allowing all other thoughts and sensations to roll off of you like rainwater on a leaf. A part of you wondered if this was how Mando felt when he was in combat – if he could feel all his other thoughts vacating his brain and leaving him only with what he needed in that exact moment, what had been trained into him since he was a child. Just him and his weapons, an extension of his body, doing what they were best at.

In that moment, the Razor Crest was an extension of your body. And it was beautiful.

The Sleuth careened through the slalom at breakneck speeds, firing round after round, landing some, missing others. You kept the Razor Crest on its tail as though the two ships were connected by a wire, following every arc, every dive, every spin. From his position behind you, Mando gave as good as he got – firing the blaster cannons at every opportunity, wearing down the quarry’s shields blow by blow – and Grogu simply giggled, his hands in the air as though enjoying the dips and banks like an amusement park ride.

It seemed to you that you might be evenly matched, that this battle might be decided not by skill or agility or firepower but by one party simply waiting for the other to make a mistake. But as the density of the asteroids around you started to thin, as both ships drew closer to coming out on the other side, it became apparent that the quarry had been holding out on you. The moment it was not quite so taxed by its own maneuvering, the Sleuth released a deluge of laser fire.

The Razor Crest shook with the impact, nearly sending you out of your chair and throwing Grogu against his seatbelts before the artificial gravity could compensate for the disruption, and an alarm sounded on the console to your left.

Your deflector shields had suffered heavy damage. The ones mounted to the front of your port engine had been completely knocked out. One more shot and –

The Sleuth fired again, and you banked the ship sharply to the right to try to avoid it, but it wasn’t enough. The shot landed, and your felt the Crest shudder and seize.

“Direct hit to the port engine,” Mando warned, his voice tight. Grogu cooed worriedly in response.

“Shit,” you swore. Something not unlike rage burned in your chest at the sight of smoke streaming behind the ship – your ship – as you banked again to avoid another volley, this time to the left.

“How’s she looking?”

Your attention darted briefly to the engine readouts, the ones you knew like you knew the veins on the back of your hand, the ones you had worked so hard during your first weeks aboard the Razor Crest to optimize. It had been damn fine work. And now it was smoking.

You wanted to punch someone.

“Output is down 47 percent,” you replied after a moment. “I can compensate, but if we take another hit like that, I’ll have to take it offline or risk overloading the reactor.”

The Crest wasn’t designed to run on one engine. Redirecting power from other systems to the reactor was a stop-gap measure. It might be what you needed to give Mando enough time to take out the Sleuth, but…

“Bring us in closer,” the Mandalorian ordered. “I have an idea.”

Your eyes widened, and you fought the urge to glare over your shoulder at him incredulously. Getting much closer to the other ship than you already were was a risky move. One erratic choice, one unpredictable dive or spin by the Sleuth could mean a collision. The margin for error was miniscule. Did he know what he was asking? Did he know just how much he was gambling?

Even in the fraction of a second that it took you to process that thought, it was as though Mando could sense your indecision. “Just trust me, cyare,” he added, his words curt but not unkind.

Of course, you did, and he knew it. Just like he knew that saying so would spur you forward. Banishing your worries from your mind, you poured on the power, and the Razor Crest shot forward. The aft end of the Sleuth dominated the view out of the cockpit, drowning out the surrounding blackness of space. You squinted against the glare of its engines, suddenly so close you swore you could almost see inside them.

“Be ready,” Mando quipped, and before you could ask what for, the twin blaster cannons flared to life, and a thick, black plume of smoke exploded from the Sleuth’s engines.

You didn’t think – you simply reacted. White-knuckle gripping the joystick controls, you pulled back hard, effectively throwing on the brakes and sending the Crest careening upward before it could run right into the quarry’s now-limping vessel.

“Direct hit,” you confirmed, bringing the ship back around again. Satisfaction had a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you skimmed through the scanner readings displayed in front of you. “His engine nacelles are ruptured. He’s lost light speed capabilities, and he’s leaking coolant. He’s going down.”

You felt Mando’s sharp nod behind you. “He’ll try for an emergency landing on Maramere.”

Your eyes skipped to your navigational readouts, doing a few quick calculations in your head. “…Confirmed, Sleuth is adjusting course for Maramere. He’s coming in hot.”

“Follow him down,” the bounty hunter ordered. “If he somehow manages to touch down on a land mass, I want to be right behind him.”

Quirking your brow, you risked a glance at him, meeting his glinting black visor with your gaze. “A land mass?” you echoed.

“Maramere is almost completely aquatic.”

You swallowed thickly at the thought. How terrifying that would be – to evade capture only then to crash land into a never-ending ocean, your ship helpless against the crush of the waves as you sank beneath the surface.

You couldn’t lie to yourself. You had found the chase thrilling, and the surge of gratification you had felt at the sight of the Sleuth diving hard toward Maramere, belching black smoke and glowing with the unforgiving friction of the planet’s atmosphere, had been almost addictive. It was an incredible rush, escaping your own destruction, watching someone else’s.

You didn’t want this man to die…did you?

A wave of nausea rolled over you, but you tamped it down, forcing those thoughts as far away as you could manage. The Razor Crest. That was where your focus was needed now. You could reckon with your own morality later.

You plotted a descent pattern just behind the Sleuth’s, modulating your angle just enough to reduce the drag from the atmosphere without widening the gap between the two ships. As the old gunship dropped into the mesosphere, you turned your attention to the navigational computer.

“Based on his current approach speed and trajectory, he’s going to crash…here,” you said, gesturing for Mando to peek over your shoulder at the monitor before you. “On land, but barely. It looks like an archipelago in the northern hemisphere.” On the topographical map the ship’s computer had generated, a sparse chain of islands freckled the surface of the never-ending sea.

The bounty hunter studied the readout for a moment then nodded once. “When he does, see if you can put us down about 100 meters from the crash site. I’ll need to go see if I can pull anything from the wreckage as proof of death.”

“You think…” The words caught in your throat, and you coughed into your fist to clear it. “You think the impact will kill him, then? Even if he doesn’t land in the water?”

He seemed to weigh his response carefully before he spoke, but when he did, his voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “With the speed he’s dropping in at, I think he’d be lucky to make it to the surface in one piece, let alone when he hits the ground.” He met your gaze then, really looking at you for the first time since he came barreling back onto the ship. “This will be the first time I’ve brought in a dead quarry since you’ve been with me. You doing okay?”

The unexpected question made you smile faintly, and your heart throbbed in your chest with fondness for this man, somehow continuing to surprise you with his kindness even all these months later. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” you replied. “I think I am okay. Which admittedly is freaking me out a little. I’m trying not to think about it too hard.”

A breathy, rasping sound, unmistakably a laugh, filtered through Mando’s helmet at that. “I appreciate the honesty,” he chuckled.

Before you could speak on it any further, however, an alarm blared from the console to your right, and the monitor for the navigational computer switched from a birds-eye view of the archipelago to a live feed of the Sleuth. It had lost several panels of its hull on the way down through the atmosphere, its engine chassis were still spewing black filth in a stream behind it, and its thrusters were coughing and sputtering as the quarry tried to keep it in the air as long as possible.

The island chain was in view now, but only barely. It was the middle of the night on Maramere, the ocean waves were high and wild, and it was pouring rain. The only thing that indicated that you were anywhere near land was the silhouette of tall, dense trees against the black sky, outlined in cloudy moonlight, and they were getting bigger with every moment that passed.

“30 seconds to impact,” you said, your eyes jumping between the scanner readouts and viewport.

The Sleuth wobbled dangerously, its underbelly dragging along the tops of the trees of one island, sending splinters of wood and vegetation spraying everywhere, overshooting its first landing attempt, heading for the next island over.

“20 seconds. 10.”

Durasteel scraps and engine oil poured into the choppy water, and just as it passed over the rocky shoreline of the next closest island, the Sleuth’s thrusters flickered out one final time.

Your heart in your throat, you watched through the rain-streaked cockpit window as the quarry’s vessel dropped the final few feet out of the sky and burst into flames.

Behind you, you heard Mando release a breath. Grogu, however, was silent. “100 meters from the crash site,” the bounty hunter reiterated. His tone was inscrutable, somewhere between relief and resignation. “See if you can keep us upwind of the fire.”

You nodded once in acknowledgement and adjusted your grip on the flight controls, throwing on the reverse thrusters to bring the Crest into a gentle drop. The ship’s headlights combined with the column of flame rising from the remains of the Sleuth illuminated the island’s coastline enough that you were able to make the landing by sight even with the rain, and suddenly, what had begun as one of the more thrilling experiences of your life had come to a rather somber ending.

However, as the Razor Crest’s landing gear finally touched down on the jagged, rocky surface of the shoreline, a flash of movement from the decimated vessel caught your eye.

“Wait. Mando, is that – ” You gestured for the Mandalorian to follow your gaze, pointing emphatically out the viewport.

And it was. The dark silhouette of a man – hunched over oddly and limping but very much alive, tumbling from the flames onto the gravel below.

“He survived,” Mando breathed, seemingly unable to look away, his gaze locked forward as he watched the injured quarry stagger to his feet, tamp out a fire on the shoulder of his flight jacket, and begin stumbling toward the tree line. “The skanah is still fucking running.”

The bounty hunter lurched to his feet then, moving out of the cockpit and down the ladder with a swiftness that made him almost impossible to follow. You tried anyway, and although Grogu squealed from his seat strapped into the copilot’s chair, you paid him no heed. You would come right back for him. And if you didn’t, at least you knew he would be safe there until either you or Mando made it back –

By the time you made it down into the cargo hold, Mando had already flung open his weapons cabinet and was arming himself to the teeth – additional blaster cartridges threaded into his bandolier, thermal detonators added to his utility belt. Once he was satisfied with his load-out, he gave his blaster a quick once-over and brought his fist down on the control panel next to the rear exit, bringing out the gangplank.

You didn’t wait for his request or his approval. Instead, you simply darted over to the bunk where you had left your brown cargo pants in a crumpled pile on the floor. You roughly tugged them up over your hips, zipping them closed over your sleep shorts and shoving your bare feet into your boots as quickly as you could manage. When you reached into the weapons cabinet to grab your own blaster, however, you felt a gloved hand clamp around your wrist.

“No. Stay on the ship,” the Mandalorian commanded, and you felt your eyebrows fly to meet your hairline.

“What if you need back-up?” you replied, refusing to drop your hand. “This guy is slippery, Mando, maybe if there’s two of us – ”

“What? You’ll shoot him, gotabor’ika? Hm?”

Your cheeks burned at the not-so-subtle taunt, and you yanked your wrist out of his grip. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, we’re in this one together now, and that man is dangerous. You can’t just go out there in the dark on your own – ”

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” he growled, crowding into  your space, forcing you to tilt your chin up if you wanted to keep your eyes on his visor. “You will stay. On. The. Ship. That’s how this works. I capture the bounties. You protect my kid.”

You faltered a bit at the mention of Grogu, who you could still hear whining in the cockpit, and it was as though the bounty hunter could see your resolve beginning to buckle. You might have begun to protest again, but it hardly mattered. Holding your eye contact with an intensity that ought to have been intimidating, Mando closed the remaining distance between you and brought his hand to the side of your neck, and with demanding force, he tucked his orange-tipped thumb under your jaw and angled your face to up his. You felt your breath leave your lungs at the contact, but before you could even begin to process it, he was resting the forehead of his helmet against yours.

The beskar was cold against your heated skin. Your eyelids fluttered of their own accord, almost closing completely as your heartrate spiked. The warmth of his body bled into yours, and you found yourself bringing your own hands up to clutch at his breastplate lest your knees suddenly give out from under you. He’d never touched you like this before – with intention, with such single-minded focus and something not unlike desperation boiling under the surface.

“Please. Promise me,” Mando whispered, and you swore that you could hear not only the modulated version of his voice through his helmet but also his real voice, his natural voice, like an echo that would have been lost had you not been so impossibly close. “Keep yourself safe. Keep Grogu safe. My sweet, fierce girl.”

You swallowed heavily and fought the urge to allow your eyes slide closed, to permit yourself to simply savor this moment for as long as he would allow it. Instead, you brought your fingers up to his neck, threading them through the folds of his cape, the high neck of his cowl. Stars, he was so warm there – so vital and real and alive.

You wondered then if he knew what this did to you. If he knew you would do anything he asked if only he asked you like this, with this body pressed against yours, his hands on your skin.

A moment of silence stretched between you, marked only by the sound of your breaths and his, both heavy and labored.

“Fine,” you said, digging your fingers into the back of his neck with an urgency you couldn’t disguise. “But you have to keep yourself safe, too. Keep yourself safe…for me.”

You felt him gulp beneath your touch, his throat working against your fingertips in a way that made you blush. “I’ll do everything I can, cyare.” He took a deep breath, his chest expanding against yours, and then, “If I’m not back by sunrise – ”

“Don’t,” you murmured, biting back a whimper at the thought. You knew he couldn’t promise you anything. You knew every time he walked out the door, he took his life into his own hands. But you couldn’t bear the thought…

“It’s all right,” you said. “Go. We’ll be here when you get back.”

Maker, how many times had you watched this man leave you? How many times had you prayed to every deity ever imagined in the cosmos that he would return to you, safe?

Why was this time so much harder?

You couldn’t make your hands release him. He had to take the first step back.

Releasing his grip on your neck, he almost threw his body away from yours, increasing the space between you like he was ripping off a bandage. You stayed rooted to the spot as he backed out of the cargo hold, as he retreated into the pouring rain and the blackness beyond, and giving you one last, long look, the Mandalorian drew his blaster from the holster at his hip and ran off, disappearing into the forest beyond the shoreline.

___

Mando'a Translations:

beskar'gam - armor haar'chak - damn it! cyare - beloved skanah - a very hated person, on the same level as calling someone a "fucker"

[arc-misadventures]

You would be…?

Blake: A Jedi…

Jaune: Hmm?

Blake: If you were in, Star Wars, you would be a, Jedi.

Jaune: I would?

Blake: Yeah, you’re already a knight in shining armour. You’d just exchange your armour for robes, and your sword for a lightsaber. Simple as that.

Jaune: Well, depending on the time, I could be a, Jedi General, fighting on the frontline against the, Sith. Jedi Generals sometimes wore armour. So…?

Blake: That’s right, you could be the Jedi General trying to turn me, a devious Sith Lord to the light side as I try to tempt you to the dark side.

Jaune: Oh, that sounds fun. Do you want a happy end, or tragic end to this little romance story?

Blake: What would those be?

Jaune: Well the happy end is where you are turned to the light side, and we can live on as a happy couple. Possibly living secretively depending on the Jedi codes views on marriage in this era.

Blake: Makes sense. What would it be like if it was tragic?

Jaune: Well, either I had to kill you because I would not turn to the dark side so we end up fighting to the death. Or, I sacrificed myself to save you, which broke your heart, but it brought you back to the light side.

Blake: Tragic. It would pull at the heartstrings, and have more of an impact in it.

Jaune: Agreed. But, if you want a more happier story then it would be me as the, Jedi, and you as a Twi’Lek smuggler trying to seduce me.

Blake: Why a Twi’Lek?

Jaune: Similar comparisons could be made to, Faunas, and Twi’Lek sufferings. That, and there isn’t any form of cat people in, Star Wars, so…

Blake: Fair.

Jaune: Also natural handlebars.

Blake: …?

Blake: Oh!

Blake: Oh nice~!

Jaune: Thank you. Thank you very much.

Blake: So, Jaune; how long would it take you to braid my hair into pigtails?

Jaune: Not long, why?

Blake: Well, I want to know what it’s like to have, ‘natural handlebars.’ So~?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Turn around, and hold still. I’ll be done as soon as I can!

Blake: Purrfect~!

[commander-sarahs-art]

I recently went on a binge of drawing all of my SWTOR Era OC’s for the first time in like 3 years!

In order it’s

Yvette Costel- Human Smuggler

Isabel Alaraan- Human Jedi Master

Mera Baline- Miraluka Jedi Consular

Selin’Ebrul’Abegian (Neb)- Chiss Imperial Agent

Aurena Ty’Zel- Half Sith, Sith Warrior

Yenndahlia Vixlaz- Mirialan Sith Inquisitor

Vyli’i Herlianaada- Twi’lek Bounty Hunter

Khalani Artuuma- Mirialan Republic Trooper

Aara Lok- Mandalorian Bounty Hunter

[aeskanera]

Old Republic Based OCs

None of the links work! Pinning as a sort of overview and also for my own reference while I work on it

General overview

OC tag

Revan: Zyta

Felicyta Nave Zyta Vane • Bonadanian Deralian • haunted by…blank memories • charismatic, protective, passionate •

Exile: Lexie

Lexie Angerell • Zeltron • haunted by…thousands • compassionate, steadfast, fun-loving •

Alliance Commander: Taea

Taea Gorgo • Iridonian Zabrak • haunted by…judgements • sharp, confident, tenacious •

Knight: Mydha

Mydha Dais-Lu • Grizmallti • haunted by…others’ expectations • stubborn, hopeful, valiant •

Warrior: Asha

Asha Kûsk • Pureblooded Ziost Sith • haunted by…betrayals • loyal, disciplined, sardonic •

Trooper: Nuala

Nuala Croí • Corellian • haunted by…the sound of gunfire and explosions, even when she knows it’s not real • spirited, courageous, inspiring •

Agent: Riassa

Paiiri’as’sabosen, a.k.a. Riassa • Csillan Chiss • haunted by…shame for her family • intelligent, pensive, perfectionist •

Consular: Rakiya

Rakiya Ighazi • Mirialan • haunted by…temptations • poised, insightful, inquisitive •

Inquisitor: Ulla

Ulla Kallig • Dromund Kaas Imperial • haunted by…only those she allows to haunt her. no one else will have power over her ever again • cunning, regal, focused •

Smuggler: Paavy

Paavyk’atanu a.k.a. Paavy Katanu • Rylothian Twi’lek • haunted by…a yearning for adventure • daring, nimble, charming •

Hunter: Lyna

Lyna Fe’Queg • Rattatakian Human • haunted by…the lesson of self-preservation • hard-boiled, fierce, honorable •

[blackberry-command-cap]

SWTOR OC catalog 🧀🧀

yea ok I don't have energy for fancy formatting but have some rambling descriptions (I guess it's fine tho bc if I gave introductions in real life it would not be any more coherant (more often than not I go to introduce someone and turns out I had their name wrong for WEEKS) )

but yes here are all my SWTOR OCs

Ga’eon Kachymov AKA Glen Iruusi AKA Lord Srije Narakati AKA TBD (Yes I like coming up with names why do you ask)

tagged oc: worst sith ever (+ anxiety)

Male Mirialan Sith Warrior. Complete cinnamon roll and worst possible person to be a Sith (affectionate). Baras took advantage of his inclination to trust (AKA gullibility) and messed him up big time. Anxiety and Imposter Syndrome made worse by the constant threat of death. But he’s got Vette and the Force and his love for plants, so it'll probably be okay?

Hopefully going to end up married to Jaesa Willsaam (but in my head she’s a totally different person) with two+ Mandalorian kids but either of them could definitely mess that up between here and the end of the class story.

Currently playing through Corellia (home stretch let's goooo)

A’la’zena AKA Cipher Nine

tagged oc: a'la'zena

Female Twi’lek Agent. My best attempt at Chaotic Good. Arrogant, contrary and despises feeling controlled more than anything else (Act II was nearly enough to turn her genocidal and it probably would have succeeded if not for bugboi). Always does the right thing but by her standards, not anyone else’s. Enjoys luxury and partying with her BFF Kaliyo. After Act III, took the Black Codex and disappeared. Now she runs a grassroots Space Illuminati 2.0: Chaotic Good version. Yes, it’s probably going to fail spectacularly. Yes, she’s pink. Don’t tell her.

Happily married to her emotional support bug with one adopted kid who will have no hope of a normal childhood. Shae’zena’s sister.

Currently done with the class story, with no intention of doing the expansions and plans to do a second playthrough.

Master Periflynn AKA the Bar’san’thor AKA area man officially so done with this

tagged oc: periflynn (tired)

Male human Consular (HC him as near human species that lives far longer). Practical above all else and duty bound to the Jedi. The only sane person in the entire Republic and very tired of dealing with everyone else’s messes. There to get things done and has no patience for pointless rhetoric or stupid people. Please stop putting him in management.

Proficient deadpan snarker, slicer, mechanic, and swoop bike pilot. Geeks out about software with Theran Cedrex. Nadia drags him to all the important ceremonies he’s supposed to appear at. Despises impractical ceremonial robes more than anything.

Diligently following the Jedi “no romantic attachments” policy and completely fine with that.

Currently done with the class story, with plans to play through the expansions at some point.

Captain Shae’zena

tagged oc: chaotic woke ✌️☮️🌼

Female Twi’lek Smuggler. Biggest ray of sunshine ever who also kicks butt. Flower child california hippie vibes. Takes nothing seriously except when innocent people are getting hurt, and then she's deadly serious. Founder of the Feminism Brigade; supports #killiklivesmatter

Largely exists because all my other OCs are very polite and serious, and I wanted at least one chill snarker who can say all the things that the others would think but not say.

Corso Riggs and *sigh* Doc currently under consideration for the position of bf. Depends on whether he (either of them) learns to respect her or not. Theron is also a definite possibility :D

Currently on Alderaan, with plans to play through at least KOTET.

Other, less developed OCs/OCs I may or may not actually play

Ffeud - Male Chiss Agent. Manipulative bastard who also somehow exudes the overwhelming impression that he is a trustworthy friend who would never lie to you and never did anything wrong. Unclear how he does it, because every aspect of that impression is completely wrong. Potentially force sensitive? A’la’zena immediately hates his guts.

Valkerie Beausoleil - Female Human Inquisitor. Literally and figuratively the black sheep of the Beausoleil family due to her ✨raven black hair✨ and strong force sensitivity. Disowned by her family, she becomes Sith anyway, determined to free the Empire from the rule of old complacent traditionalists set in their ways.

[ryehouses]

Any Boba POV? 😍

i have. so much. boba POV. i am bad at math and they're scattered across several documents, but last time i counted it was something like 80k of just. miscellaneous boba.

so, here's one from very early on, ft. fennec being exasperated and boba starting to figure out this whole crime boss thing!

in which fennec has an idea. 

“If it keeps going like this,” said Fennec, flopping down on the wide stone steps of an empty house in the Gleaning of Mos Eisley, settling tiredly down next to Boba, “you’re going to be dead before the month is out, you know.” 

Boba grunted. She was exaggerating. He could make it another two or three months, probably. The assassins that the Hutts had been sending hadn’t been that good. 

Fennec sighed and handed Boba a scrap of cloth, which he gratefully pressed against the shallow wound in his side. 

“That need stitches?” Fennec asked. 

Boba shook his head. “Just bacta,” he said. This particular assassin – a sharp-faced young Zabrak woman who had come at Boba around the corner of an alley with a knife – had scored a lucky hit just past the edge of Boba’s cuirass, but Boba’d moved faster than she had expected him too, and he’d turned her aside before she’d managed to stick him properly. 

“You sure?” 

Boba rolled his eyes, since Fennec couldn’t see through his buc’ye to catch him doing it. “Yeah, I’m sure. Quit worrying about it.” 

Fennec snorted. “No,” she said, implacable as always. She looked past Boba to where the Zabrak woman lay cooling in the street, sand already beginning to collect against her body. “How’d she get the drop on you? She’s about as big as you are.” 

“She didn’t get the drop on me,” Boba grumbled back, pressing harder against the wound on his side. It really wasn’t deep; he could feel the flow of blood slowing already. “She just – got lucky.” 

The flat look Fennec shot Boba scored him deeper than the would-be assassin’s knife. Fennec was, as usual, mostly right; the Zabrak had surprised Boba, and she shouldn’t have been able to. 

“You’re slipping,” said Fennec, frankly. 

“You’re slipping,” Boba shot back. Fennec had been a few dozen yards behind Boba when the Zabrak’d jumped for him, and she was usually just off his left side. 

Fennec just shrugged. “A bit,” she admitted. “And I think you’re getting even less sleep than I am, so. At this rate, someone is going to get the drop on you, probably within the month, and that’ll be the end of it.” 

“Optimistic, aren’t you?” 

Fennec spread her hands. She didn’t try to justify her thinking and didn’t really have to, anyway – Boba understood. “We’re stretched too thin, boss,” she said. 

That was an understatement. Back in Jabba’s day, Tatooine had been packed with every sort of skug-sucking lowlife – Boba and Fennec included – eager to get on a syndicate boss’s payroll. Jabba’d had no shortage of guards to flank his every move or hunters to clear the streets any time he’d wanted to visit Mos Eisley. 

Bib Fortuna, however, had been an idiot incapable of running a cantina on Canto Bight, let alone a syndicate, so by the time Boba and Fennec had come back to Tatooine with plans of their own, the only beings left in the palace had been a handful of terrified slaves, one battered silver protocol droid and three spice smugglers that Fennec had run out before they’d even thought to offer Boba their services. 

Boba had let the slaves go and had scrapped the droid. He and Fennec had still had a few contacts in Mos Eisley who’d been willing enough to sign on, most of them friends from the bad old days under Jabba. Kasyyk, Theran, Ay-Two and his human partner Zero. One of the Twi’Lek women Fortuna’d been keeping around had signed on, which had been a pleasant surprise, but that left Boba with an outfit he could count with two hands, and a crew of seven wasn’t big enough to run much of anything, let alone a piece – now an admittedly very small piece, but still – of the Hutt empire. 

Kark the Hutts anyway, Boba thought, irritated. He was pretty sure that it was a Hutt who’d been sending the assassins after him, though he and Fennec hadn’t been able to figure out which Hutt it was yet. 

Fennec kept muttering about building a network of spies, but Boba rather thought they should figure out how to walk down the street in Mos Eisley – Boba’s city – without getting stabbed first. 

“Yeah,” Boba said, answering Fennec. “I know.” 

Fennec’s mouth pulled down. Not in defeat or even in annoyance, but in concentration. She was thinking. Boba, still bleeding, let her think. He’d been up all night the past week trying to figure out the same problem. 

Jabba’s forces – his army of bounty hunters and smugglers and guards and legbreakers, his dancing girls and his bartenders, his clerks and accountants and fixers and thugs – had either died with him at the Pit of Carkoon, like Boba’d been supposed to, had drifted off towards other, more profitable work, like Fennec, or had been chewed up and spat out by the galaxy and its endless, grinding gears. Fortuna’d gotten a lot of the old outfit killed. There was hardly anyone left, let alone anyone who could be trusted not to accept a handful of peggats from the Hutts and put a knife in Boba’s back while he was sleeping. 

Fennec’s got more recent knowledge than me, though. 

Boba had spent the better part of the last five years with the Spotted Anooba far out in the desert, away from all of this. Fennec had been here. 

“We’ve only just started digging around under the palace,” Fennec said, after a minute. “There’s – there’s not a lot of credits down there, but there’s plenty of other assets. You could raise a tidy pile of clink. Hire some mercs, maybe. At least until we get some cargo moving in and out.” 

Boba relaxed a bit. “Thought of that,” Boba admitted. “But is there enough down there to win in a bidding war, d’you think? Mercs are hutuun’yc. If we put up a few hundred thousand credits, only for Gardulla or Gorga to put up a few million – ” 

“Alright,” Fennec said, tilting her head. “Fair point.” Then she narrowed her eyes, which usually meant that she’d gotten an idea. “So we need more muscle – and more brains, Boba, I don’t care how much you like Kasyyk – and we need someone who can’t be bought or bribed.” 

“Good luck finding someone like that on Tatooine,” Boba replied. He let the comment about Kasyyk slide. Fennec was just annoyed that Kasyyk, not expecting a known assassin to show up at his door, had tossed Fennec through said door and into the wall behind it.

“We don’t have to just look on Tatooine,” Fennec pointed out. 

Boba snorted. “You’ve got time to go wandering around Nar Shaddaa?” 

“Not Nar Shaddaa either,” said Fennec. 

The wound in Boba’s side was starting to throb now, the flow of blood slowing but the ache of an injury setting in. He gritted his teeth. “Say what you mean,” he said. Boba could trust Fennec to do that, if he asked. 

Fennec shot Boba a slightly-less dire look. Her idea was a good one, then. 

“Who do we know,” Fennec said, propping her elbows up on her knees, “that’s a good fighter, a good hunter and can’t be bought? Who would probably try to punch whoever thought to buy him out of a contract he’d already taken, Hutt or not?” 

Boba blinked. “You don’t mean Djarin,” he said. 

“Of course I mean Djarin,” Fennec said. “Unless you know any other loca bounty hunters. Djarin’s good. He got me, you know.” 

“I know he’s good,” Boba replied, confused. Djarin’s skill wasn’t at question. “But he’s not the syndicate-joining type, Shand.” 

“What, you think he’s the crusading type?” Boba and Fennec had left Djarin on a light cruiser with Bo-Katan Kryze and a pair of her fanatics. Boba didn’t know what Kryze wanted to do next and he didn’t care, either, as long as she did it on the opposite end of the galaxy, but he’d assumed that Djarin would band up with her. That was what Mandalorians did, after all. They stuck with their own. 

“Well,” Boba admitted, “he did take on the Empire.” 

“To get his kid back,” Fennec disagreed. “He’s no Rebellion hero or resistance fighter, Boba. He’s murishani. Like you.” 

“You think we’ve got enough clink lying around to keep him?” Boba asked, still skeptical. Djarin had been – tolerable. Competent. He had kept his word and had been only faintly surprised when Boba’d kept his, which had been a nice change from most of Boba’s interactions with other Mandalorians. “I don’t know if he’ll want to fight, Fenn. He took a few good hits on that cruiser.” 

Djarin’d been hurt badly enough to need a dip in a bacta tank. Boba’d seen him out of the bacta, but that had been a few weeks ago. He didn’t know what Djarin was up to now. 

A trained Mandalorian’s a good asset, though, Boba thought, grudgingly. Fennec was right about that. Djarin was a skilled hunter. And he had connections on Tatooine that Boba didn’t have. Djarin had saved that one town, with the Marshal who’d been wearing Boba’s armor. The ahra of Tatooine moved through Mos Pelgo. 

If Djarin could be convinced – if he accepted a contract – 

Fennec gave Boba one of her knowing half-smiles. She reached into her coat, then pulled out a lump of dark grey metal, and slid it to Boba. 

One hand still pressed to his side, Boba picked up what she’d offered him, and raised his eyebrows. 

“Beskar,” he said. He didn’t have to touch the metal bare-handed to know what it was. He would recognize beskar blind. His body knew it, even if he’d never been offered any. Even if he’d had to take what little he had. “Where’d you get this?” 

“Where do you think?” Fennec replied. “The worm had a great big pile of it in one of his little treasure-caves. Worth a bit more than a peggat to a Mandalorian, don’t you think?” 

Boba stared at the beskar ingot for a second, some of his exhaustion dropping away. He was glad that he’d found Fennec in the desert. She did have a unique way of approaching a problem. “Alright,” Boba said, curling a hand over the metal. “That’s not a bad idea.” 

[ladydancing]

A Twi'lek smuggler and Captain of the Dancing Lady, Aola Beck. This was done by @jun-c

Name: Aola Beck

Species: Twi’lek

Gender: Female

Trade: Smuggler

Age: 29

Alignment: Former Freedom Fighter / Anti-Empire / Anti-Hutt

Weapons: DL-44 Blaster, Multiple Weapons

Abilities: Pilot, Weapons Expert

Wanted by the Empire for Smuggling

Wanted by the Hutts for Theft, Escaping Slavery

[zelsisi]

SWTOR OC Masterlist

So I mentioned I'm making a Masterlist for my SWTOR OCs and here is the short version so far. I'll be flushing them out but pls don't be afraid to ask about any of them or strike up a conversation with me about them xD

Zelsisi - Female Twi’lek Consular (Shadow)

Trist’ain - Male Human Knight (Guardian)

Tobani - Female Human (Echani) Consular (Shadow)

Sehi’ni - Male Human Knight (Sentinel)

Ly’cate - Male Human Warrior (Marauder)

Evilen - Female Human Bounty Hunter (Mercenary)

Klerori - Female Zabrak Trooper (Vanguard)

Pevram - Male Zabrak Trooper (Commando)

Nefertiti Anke - Female Twi’lek Consular (Shadow)

Anjarsa Tass - Female Twi’lek Inquisitor (Assassin)

Arthika - Female Togruta Smuggler (Operative)

Eshino - Male Mirialan Bounty Hunter (Operative)

Yanthessa - Female Mirialan Inquisitor (Assassin)

Lystelin Ceerialla - Female Mirialan Consular (Shadow)

Zelrive - Male Mirialan Knight (Sentinel)

Tilrolo Akriasian - Male Sith Pureblood Warrior (Assassin)

Sona Rhi - Male Cathar Inquisitor (Sorcerer)

Pandora Bracha - Female Chiss Agent (Operative)

Zilrisa - Female Miraluka Knight (Shadow)

Zeyun - Male Miraluka Consular (Shadow)

Physta Bahe - Female Sith Pureblood Consular (Sage)

Ludent Rist - Male Human Smuggler (Operative)

Plorma’por’oamuttu (Aporo) - Male Chiss Agent (Gunslinger)

Veymas - Female Rattataki Bounty Hunter (Vanguard)

Xalnott - Male Twi'lek Trooper (Powertech)

Elektrani - Female Human (Echani) Warrior (Sorcerer)

Esth'er Vall - Female Human Knight (Shadow)

Markus Vall - Male Human Inquisitor (Juggernaut)

Myasara Vall - Female Human Bounty Hunter (Sniper)

[fantasm-legacy]

Twi’lek doodles from work

My bbys from L to R:

Okuula Crowlee (Trooper), Naarimi (Inquisitor)

Eiyrinne Yago (Agent), Zaro Prismriver (Bounty Hunter), Razo Prismriver (Smuggler)

[swtorpadawan]

Tension

Author’s Notes: Sexual content ahead, albeit fairly SFW. Someone sent me a prompt.

The tension had been building for weeks.

Her victory over the Voidwolf at Corellia – and the ‘conclusion’ of her entanglements with Rogun the Butcher – had led to many new opportunities for Captain Bas’riish and her crew aboard the Kikalekki's Gambit.

Her decision to dissolve the smuggler’s fleet the ‘Wolf had assembled – after unleashing it on the Imperials at Corellia – had further built on that tension.

Exiled queens looking to fund planetary revolutions hated to leave money on the table.

In the absence of daily attempts on her life, it had also meant that Bas’riish was finding herself increasingly distracted concerning her first mate and chief engineer.

To that end, with a few moments to catch her breath while they were docked at Port Nowhere, she’d made her way back to the ship’s engine room… and immediately caught her breath at the sight of the protruding posterior of her quarry.

Bas’riish licked her lips as she gazed down at the woman who currently had her head and upper body stuck inside an engine vent. Those tight pants she was wearing accentuated everything.

“You overworked the fuel injectors again.” The rebuke from within the vent came before the lovely green Twi’lek captain could start breathing again. “I told you before that would gunk up the sub-light drives.”

Risha Drayen had no doubt heard her walking in across the floor panels. Hell, she probably could tell which member of their crew it was just from their footfalls.  

Clever bitch. Bas’riish smirked, continuing to gaze at the engineer’s butt.

“Sorry about that.” She finally spoke. “We had to rush to make the deadline on that shipment.”

She tilted her head.

“You need any help in there?”

A long sigh could be heard from the vent.

“Just hand me that power calibrator, alright?”

Her lips impishly smirked as Bas’riish picked up the tool, sliding it into the outstretched hand… and then taking that hand in hers.  

“My hand?” the irritated voice came again.

Bas felt her own voice grow softer.

“Got a minute?”

Another sigh escaped the vent.

“Sure. Hold on.”

Bas’riish finally released the hand as Risha ducked her head and backed out of the vent.

Damn. Bas’riish thought to herself as the engineer pulled off her goggles. Even sweaty and tired, her tank top clinging to her body (and showing off no small amount of cleavage), Risha was still incredibly beautiful.

And the tension in both women had been slowly building up for a long while.

“What’s up?” Risha asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bas’riish swallowed again. Shavit. She never felt nervous. Why was this situation any different from the countless others she’d been through?

Because she knew Risha. She cared about Risha. She trusted Risha.

And right now, she wanted Risha.  

“You’ve been working hard.” She began.

Risha rolled her eyes.

“Thanks for noticing.”

“…. And we’ve both been through a lot. These last few weeks.” She reached her hand up and gently caressed Risha’s cheek. ”You’ve put up with a lot from me.”

Risha’s eyes widened for half a second but then she closed her eyes and let out yet another sigh. Where the first two sighs communicated frustration, this one reflected something else entirely.

“So.” She leaned in. “I was wondering if I could buy you a drink.”

Risha’s eyes opened and she swallowed. The engineer slash exiled noble slash criminal mastermind usually acted so much wiser and more knowledgeable than her years would suggest, but right now, the look in her lovely brown eyes was younger and vulnerable than Bas had ever seen her.

“I could go for something.” She whispered, leaning in towards Bas’riish.

Their lips met. Soft. Inviting. Comforting.

Hands soon followed. And then much more.

Regardless of what else happened, the two women were going to work through their tension.

[roamingswtor]

stupid meme i made for my twi’lek smuggler that romances Theron and Arcann

[dark-star-exe]

The Stardance Legacy (outdated, need to update at some point)

(my SWTOR characters cuz this game has me in a chokehold. inspired by @/shabre-legacy !)

mainly on Star Forge, in the process of moving some to Satele Shan

characters with a * next to their name are co-owned with my bestie ♡ ( @amalthea-s-youngblood )

under the cut cuz this shit is LONG

Multiple/Undecided Origin

Datura Asmodai

Gen II

He/They/She

Half-Cathar Half-Human 

Youngest of the Trio’s Kids

Origin: Smuggler/Imperial Agent? (help i have too many clones of him)

(Canon story is a weird mix of smuggler and imperial agent but he's not imperial whatsoever and Guss is there)

Age at beginning of class story: 19

Combat Style(s): Operative/Mercenary 

Sexuality: Bi or Pan idk

Love interest(s): Kaliyo (toxic ex), Theron Shan (canon), Theron Shan + Guss Tuno (deciding if that's canon or not)

Has an Imperial accent, but hides it around most people. Hates being mistaken for an imp.

Joined Yvette’s pirate crew after an unfortunate string of events.

☆

Sith Inquisitors

Saathiel Frostsong

Gen I

He/Him

Human Cyborg

Younger brother to Helena Frostsong

Age at beginning of class story: Unknown 

Combat Style(s): Assassin/Sage

Sexuality: Unlabeled 

Love interest(s): Eros Asmodai + Twyla Radek

Children: Yvette Lux (adopted), Iggwilv Lux (adopted), Patchouli Radek, Datura Asmodai.

Him and his partners faked their deaths to raise their children in secret, away from both the Sith and the Jedi. Though some of their children joined the Jedi when they got older anyway.

☆

Twyla Radek *

Gen I

She/Her

Human 

Age at the beginning of class story: Unknown

Combat Style(s): Marauder

Sexuality: who knows, definitely likes dudes.

Love interest(s): Saathiel Frostsong + Eros Asmodai

Children: Yvette Lux (adopted), Iggwilv Lux (adopted), Patchouli Radek, Datura Asmodai.

Her and her partners faked their deaths to raise their children in secret, away from both the Sith and the Jedi. Though some of their children joined the Jedi when they got older anyway.

☆

Bounty Hunters

Kythereia Asmodai

Gen 0

She/Her

Cathar

Combat Style(s): Vanguard

Sexuality: probably straight

Children: Yanis Asmodai, Artemi Asmodai, Eros Asmodai.

Mandalorian

☆

Kisha Sakari

Gen II

She/Her

Togruta

Combat Style(s): Powertech/Commando

Sexuality: undecided 

Ex-Mando and a pyromaniac.

Oleander and Datura found her on Nar Shaddaa and Kisha kinda just looked at these two dumbasses and went “i’m your big sister now.” and they went “okay cool wanna join our pirate crew?” and the rest was history.

☆

Xarai Orith

Gen III

They/She

Hybrid Mirialan

Eldest of Iggwilv and Kren's children.

Combat Style(s): Scoundrel

Sexuality: Unknown

☆

Val’entina Rux *

Gen III

She/Her

Hybrid Human with Cybernetic Implants (Cyborg in game)

Combat Style(s): Mercenary

Youngest of the Rux Siblings

Was apart of her mom’s pirate crew but went off to do her own thing at some point ig?? (idk we haven’t figured her out yet lol)

Tiny Tina from Borderlands 2/3 vibes

☆

Jedi Knights

Eros Asmodai

Gen I

He/They

Cathar

Age at beginning of class story: late teens/early 20s

Combat Style(s): Sorcerer/Sentinel

Sexuality: Bi

Love interest(s): Saathiel Frostsong + Twyla Radek

Children: Yvette Lux (adopted), Iggwilv Lux (adopted), Patchouli Radek, Datura Asmodai.

Brother-In-Law and best friend of Iskra Osiris

Him and his partners faked their deaths to raise their children in secret, away from both the Sith and the Jedi. Though some of their children joined the Jedi when they got older anyway.

Unlike his children, he did not join the Jedi willingly.

☆

Igg’wilv Lux *

Gen II

She/Her

Half-Twi’lek Half-Human

Identical twin to Yvette. Younger twin.

Age at beginning of class story: 17

Combat Style(s): Sage

Sexuality: Straight 

Love Interest(s): Kren Orith 

Children: Xarai Orith, Adari Orith.

Her and Yvette are better at hiding their Imperial accents than their younger siblings. The accent only comes out when deeply afraid, upset, etc.

☆

Jedi Consulars

Patchouli Radek

Gen II

She/They

Human

Younger than the twins, older than Datura.

Age at beginning of class story: 18-19

Combat Style(s): Guardian 

Sexuality: Lesbian

Love interest(s): Lana Beniko

Has an Imperial accent, but doesn’t hide it. She believes her actions are enough to prove that she isn’t Imperial. And calmly corrects those who mistake her for one.

☆

Andari Orith

Gen III

She/Her

Hybrid Mirialan

Youngest of Iggwilv and Kren's children.

Combat Style(s): Shadow

Sexuality: Unknown

Albino (will look more like it once i get her dark side up)

☆

Smugglers

Yv’ette Lux *

Gen II

She/Her

Half-Twi'lek Half-Human

Identical twin to Iggwilv. Eldest of the Trio’s kids.

Age at beginning of class story: 22

Combat Style(s): Sniper

Sexuality: Bi

Love interest(s): Corso Riggs

Children: Igor Rux, Tamara Rux, Winona Rux, Valentina Rux.

Leader of an infamous pirate crew. Corso is her second in command, Datura is third.

Her and Iggwilv are better at hiding their Imperial accents than their younger siblings. The accent only comes out when deeply afraid, upset, etc.

☆

Oleander Quinzel

Gen II

He/They

Twi’lek 

Age at beginning of class story: 18-21

Combat Style(s): Scoundrel

Sexuality: Bi or Pan idk

Love Interest(s): undecided 

Childhood best friend of Datura, they reconnected as adults and joined Yvette’s pirate crew.

☆

Igor Rux *

Gen III

He/Him

Hybrid Human

Combat Style(s): Sniper

Twin to Tamara. Eldest of the Rux Siblings

A part of his mom’s pirate crew

☆

Tamara Rux *

Gen III

She/Her

Hybrid Human

Combat Style(s): Gunslinger

Twin to Igor. Second Eldest of the Rux Siblings

A part of her mom’s pirate crew

☆

Troopers

Kren Or'ith *

Gen II

He/Him

Mirialan

Combat Style(s): Vanguard

sexuality unknown, probably straight.

Love interest(s): Iggwilv Lux 

Children: Xarai Orith, Adari Orith.

☆

Winona Rux *

Gen III

She/Her

Hybrid Human

Age at beginning of class story: somewhere between 19-24

Combat Style: Commando

Sexuality: unknown 

Love interest(s): probably Aric Jorgan

Middle Child of the Rux Siblings

Was a part of her mom’s pirate crew, but enlisted in the military cuz the imperials would not stop fucking with her farm and her crew. Still considers herself a pirate.

☆

Not connected to any of the other characters

Hekate Atropos

Sith Warrior

She/Her

Twi’lek

Age at the beginning of class story: early 20s

Combat Style(s): Marauder

Sexuality: undecided 

undecided love interest 

☆

Atatsh'ior'izzet

Core name "Shiori"

Imperial Agent

She/Her

Chiss

Sniper

☆

Side characters that i might transfer to another server.

Helena Frostsong [ deceased ]

Smuggler

Gen I

She/Her

Human Cyborg

Older sister to Saathiel Frostsong

Scoundrel

Was adopted by Guenevere Arke as a young teen after being seperated from her younger brother, parted ways after a falling out with Wynne.

Died protecting her twin nieces when they were kids.

☆

Iskra Osiris

moved to Satele Shan

Gen I

She/Her

Mirialan

Combat Style(s): Mercenary

Straight

Sister-In-Law and best friend of Eros Asmodai

☆

Severina Veritas

Sith Warrior

Gen I

She/Her

Sith Pureblood

Age at the beginning of class story: early/mid 20s

Combat Style(s): Juggernaut/Marauder

Sexuality: Lesbian or Bi, undecided.

Love interest(s): Wynne Maddox (past)

☆

Gwenevere Arke [status unknown ]

deleted, might remake her.

Bounty Hunter 

Gen 0

She/Her

Chiss 

Commando

Age: late 50s-mid 60s

Adoptive mother to Wynne Maddox and Helena Frostsong.

Disappeared after Wynne’s death

☆

Wynne Maddox [ deceased ]

moved to Satele Shan

Imperial Agent

Gen I

She/Her

Rattataki Cyborg (implants removed)

Sniper

Age at beginning of class story: unknown, started story at the same time as Saathiel.

Sexuality: Lesbian or Bi, undecided.

Adopted daughter of Guenevere Arke

Died trying to kill Saathiel

Side characters that i’ve since deleted cuz i never played them and i needed character slots. (might remake them in another server)

| Yanis Asmodai - Trooper - Vanguard - Eros’ older brother - Iskra’s husband |

| Artemi Asmodai - Bounty Hunter - Pyrotech - Eros’ older sister - Yanis’ younger sister |

I'll add onto this as my friend and i make more characters!