𝕒 𝕨𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕧𝕖

[scoundrvls]

𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐄 — don't fall in love with the man sharpening his blade, you can't reach the heavens bleeding out on the floor. it's a long way into the dark when a hellion's got you by the heart. sweet yet sad lullabies, don't look straight into his eyes. don't fall for the monster in that maze even if he'd love you forever if you met his gaze.

independent & selective 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄. strong content warnings apply: graphic descriptions, body horror, violence, gore, & substance abuse.

( carrd - wip )    ( starter call )    ( thread tracker )       

𝐕𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝚂: @honorhunt / @aniimvs 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙻 𝙺𝙾𝙼𝙱𝙰𝚃: @delugenal / @riptile 𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁: @hellmartyr / @stalkvr

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘

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[warrued]

             her boots smacked against durasteel as the medical officer ran through the halls, the groans and thunder of a ship caught in the midst of battle all around her.     unease curdled her brief breakfast.     she much rather have solid earth beneath her feet during a battle than risk the side of a ship caving in and sucking them all into space.

             but no one always gets what they want.

             pivoting around a corner, a familiar set of armor came into view and she allowed herself the briefest of rests.             ❝  i hope you’re keeping out of trouble.  ❞             dark brown gaze sparkled with the briefest touch of amusement as she smiled up at him.     the subtle warmth of reassurance tied with his presence settled the nausea of her nerves.              ❝  apparently they’ve set up a casualty collection point nearer the battery, so you can guess where i’m-  ❞

             the corridor exploded in a blast swiftly muffled by the roar of escaping atmosphere, boots suddenly sliding along the deck from the force of the rush.      her wide eyes turned to fives only to see his form flying toward her, the impact sending them both hurtling upwards into a corner as the nearest set of doors slammed shut behind them.

             connie sunk her head onto his breastplate with a gasp of a sigh.      ( another day, another near death experience. )

96﹕ sender tackles receiver out of the way of danger .          ╱     @scoundrvls​

[scoundrvls]

to deliver the terrible news to his favorite medic: staying out of trouble was something a trooper did when he wasn’t a proud member of the 501st. in fact, any clone who suffered from the knack of finding only in trouble usually found himself sporting a particular shade of blue. even their favorite jedi possessed a similar talent. and someone somewhere in the chain of command had a great sense of humor because the smaller of those jedi was orange and blue. see, there was a pattern. or maybe it was a curse —

      the trooper only wanted to lighten the mood, to make her smile before she lost the ability again.

      but smiles had no place in war.

      he felt the brink of danger before the calm was shattered. helmet quirked over his shoulder as if he heard something. preternatural electricity reverberated through his spine. militarized intuition spurred him, his reflexes those of a machine as he raced the boom.

      sound was sucked into realspace along with a mass of loose material. fives threw himself between connie and the airborne debris just in time for them both to be ripped off their feet. the force of the discharge saved them from joining the other debris, although the landing felt liked it loosened bones.

      cobalt luck struck again. still, it felt like his brain had been dribbled. groaning, he reflexively cradled his head, willing the walls to stop spinning before the calorie pack he scarfed this morning came back to say hi.

      the stench of burning plasteel soldering flesh assaulted his filters. pungent, close, once again threatening the contents of his last meal. immediately, the trooper probed his companion for shrapnel where it shouldn’t be or bones discovering new angles to stick.

      kriff, the tension in muscles drained enough for a sigh of relief when it turned out the wound was his. smoke rose from a sizzling indent in his bicep where armor was reduced to black, glistening ichor.

      half laugh, half sigh. ❝ sounds like things are going well. ❞

      relief was short lived. ❝ doc ? ❞ her gasp startled him, ❝ doc ? ❞ her weight pitched against him frightened him. anxiety rippled through the trooper’s modulator. his good arm enveloped her shoulders. ❝ connie ? ❞

[lionthought]

her years of service to alderaan felt like a different life. 

never again would she be a teenaged wonder with gritted teeth, staring down dignitaries and senators and imperials alike with the pure fire and very nearly careless pomp only a young person with immense responsibility could carry. often as if her very life couldn’t have ended at a moment’s notice.

strange to think she used to believe her parents would outlive her. now leia organa couldn’t seem to die as she campaigned to pull others from the brink of certain peril. peril that blinked steadily at her from a stack of datapads that held one paragraph of poor news after another. 

bail used to say she was destined for greatness. and greatness, apparently, meant rising up against an empire in the name of every soul lost to tyranny. it was more fulfilling than possessing every credit or precious jewel the galaxy had to offer. harder and more strapped, certainly, but better.

it was one thing to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was capable of almost anything without her parents by her side. doing almost anything without them was another matter entirely. the grief still kept her in its grasp, draping softly like the clothes on her back with every move, each decision. sometimes the weight of her hood was enough to fool leia into thinking bail's hand was once more resting on her shoulder, her mother's arm slipping around her waist not far behind.

but those touches were only dreams, and leia's purpose still rested within the stack of kriffing datapads and the ricochets of rebels on every side from every wall and holotable in view. all of whom were strong, determined, and purposeful to the end. yet they needed her to help pilot the course of their rebellion. she was never solitary in this endeavor, though her mind often positioned her otherwise. then a wild lando appearing from the depths of the base assured her of the truth.

❝ i look forward to the day you realize you're just as much of a rebel, too. and when you do, i'd like to be there to hear it. ❞ wild card that he was, leia trusted him. didn't mind that he knew it, either. they'd grappled a long path to trust after cloud city, but lando's nearly tireless efforts to find han and his support for luke — and tangentially, her — could not be discounted. now, she was cheered by the knowledge that they'd become friends. his presence, in that regard, was enough encouragement to straighten her posture and take a deeper breath than she had in hours. it was a sigh, but it would serve.

       ❝ thank you, lando. one day, if i'm lucky, the rest of high command might think the same. so long as these supply and assistance requests don't get the better of me first. ❞ her smile, though bitter, was genuine as she stood up slowly. one hand came to rest on lando's cape ensconced shoulder where she squeezed her thanks. ❝ if you can spare the time, walk with me. i'd like to pick your brain. ❞

[scoundrvls]

𝐇𝐈𝐌, 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋? perhaps, but not without cause. and usually that cause was self-interest. or maybe this was a matter of perspective. to lando, rebels were ragtag heroes who warred for what was right against the odds. lando had little to do with rags, spared no expense on tags, and always assured the odds were in his favor. as for hero, well, recent events made the gambler question if he might ever deserve being worthy of that title.

      when boba fett showed up in cloud city, lando knew he was being dealt a terrible hand. there was a lot of history between lando and that visor. he wouldn’t call fett evil; that term was too black and white to describe him, fett, or han. they were men who lived by their own internal laws. while lando and han were willing to confer a little wiggle room for a respectable grey area, fett wouldn’t break his code under threat of death. made for a reliably honorable bounty hunter, but not a merciful one.

      when the other helmet arrived, lando was forced to fold.

      ah, he could drown in all the what-ifs, past and future. because, say they did get han back, did a measly rescue really amend for a betrayal so deep? if the cape was on different shoulders, would lando forgive? easy to say yes to speculation. far too easy.

      contrition was the silent slayer of scoundrels. and if the guilt didn’t get him, the wookiee would.

      but such aches were for the calrissian of tomorrow. tonight, he had a princess to entertain.

      the humid air was ablaze with insects. their incessant whirring in heated competition with the hum of electronics. chances of real quiet existing somewhere on base were null if not void, but walks did wonders for troubled minds. ❝ i am at your disposal, general. ❞ thankful that ‘pick your brain’ was less literal in the company of the rebel alliance. lando stood with a calm flourish, extending his arm in a debonair salute to offer her lead.

[scoundrvls]

𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐒 was paying the fetts a visit. gone was the california sunshine, replaced by frustrated coils of dark white and steel blue. with the circular barrier of the archipelago broken, the muertes’ weather was free to roam the pacific. but with freedom came loss. in search of a familiar face, aerial torrents searched for a familiar face. who better than the family who called the deadly gems home for decades.

      the clouds’ rumbles shook the windows as their tears played a rhythm on the glass meant for nublar. if only her remains were not beyond their reach at the bottom of the costa rican sea.

      jango spared the swirling temper a cursory glance as he opened a matte cabinet. inside were three shelves full of mugs. the corner of his mouth twitched as he regarded the absurd collection. in truth, jango never felt old looking in the mirror, but when he stood at the mercy of various sizes, shapes, colors, and vacation destinations, he felt his age creep on his shoulders.

      he selected a vessel. baby pink on the inside with a creamy white exterior. the handle curved like a swan’s neck, painted to match the interior. the end of a mermaid’s tail flared playfully where the handle met the bottom of the cup. seafoam green waves frozen mid-splash surrounded the flippers, gradient ripples painted around it blended the miniature sculpt into the rest of the body.

      there were other sirens at play on the body proper. chasing dolphins, lounging on rocks in a lagoon, teasing pirates by stealing their treasure, carrying the glittering trinkets down, down, down where air-breathing men couldn’t reach. it’d been ailyn’s favorite for spiced hot cocoa before she decided she was too old for mermaids.

      memories of his first granddaughter with her cup that she needed both hands to wield replayed behind a slip of a smile as he ladeled the contents of a stock pot into seashell-colored well.

i felt something loosen in me that shouldn't have loosened . — @nodunkiing / dark & angsty

      jango placed the cup in front of the girl seated at the small table that served as a cozy rendezvous inside the kitchen. steam wafted off chunks of jammy guayaba floating atop the golden liquid. he returned to the cabinet to select another to serve himself with much less ceremony.

      ❝ i wish there was a way to tighten it back up, miss holloway, but it's a scar. ❞ jango joined her at the table, taking a sip of the thin, syrupy drink. bits of fruit bouncing against his upper lip. outside, the rain swelled to an aggravated prestissimo. ❝ at first, you aware of it. the change. rough, textured. it’s all you think about. but give it time, and it settles. then one day, you won’t remember what life was like before it. ❞

      it wasn’t fair. holloway was just one of a growing slew of kids affected by ingen and their hubris. chiefest among them was his own son. alive thanks to the company’s ingenious indiscretion, yet robbed of childhood free of bloodshed. his boy knew how to hold a gun before he ever learned to spell his own name.

      golden tea sluiced the dry taste on the back of his tongue. a knot roughly descended from where it was lodged in his throat. jango told himself it was a clump of seeds despite its bitter similarity to guilt.

      ❝ what happened that day . . . ❞ will shape you. he paused. what could jango say? the day the indominus broke free of her habitat, he’d already been retired for several years. but there’d always been a fett on ingen’s payroll. he was there at the beginning, alongside men like muldoon and wu. the germination of all the tragedies attached to the islands. sorrows that spread like weeds beyond the archipelago and their insidious labs, stealing the steady beat of daily life out from under an unsuspecting world. not just from the humans, but the slumbering titans who’d been at peace in a fossilized womb.

[scoundrvls]

𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐌 under the planet’s whorled, volcanic crust reverberated on the fringes of the senses. unsettling, but not unsurprising. the planet was a hub of destructive activity, both native and alien. a nearby asteroid belt was constantly teased by the planet’s fluctuating gravity, constantly snatching handfuls of flaming rocks to bombard itself on a regular basis. that innate instability turned the thermal activity underfoot into a loose ion cannon never erupted from a fixed point, rather wherever the kriffing thing wished.

      still, life — stubbornly stupid as it was —- found a way to carve out niches in such a bleak setting. the tirade of destruction didn’t dissuade evolution, merely drove it underground ( which meant bane wasn’t keen on meeting the source of the subterranean singing ). made this thermo-blasted piece of rock floating in the middle of an isolated pit in the outer rim a perfect spot for the jedi order’s ancient enemies to flock to.

      one of their temples, originally built more than a thousand metres below. cataclysmic violence had ripped it from its submerged cradle, exposing the geometric cap to the elements. the structure was ancient in the days of the old republic; another three millennia hardly made a dent in the ritualistic symmetry.

i'm not finished with it yet . — @mutatiio as 𝐌𝐀𝐔𝐋 / workaholics

      ❝ that so? ❞ a hiss of air sucked between teeth. blue fingers discarded the gnawed pick cad fixated on for the past several hours. the salivated sliver bounced across the hollow earth, tickling the foot of the temple’s head.

      ❝ you either keep walking or get left behind. ❞ from the corner of his bulbous eyes, cad kept watch. not on his companion, but the sith construct yawning out of its grave. more wary of the dead stones than the bright red zabrak he sensed several steps beyond his shoulder. ❝ it makes no difference to me. ❞

[commandsir]

❝ and you're an overgrown vworkka used to preying on skittermice. fly away now, big bird, or you'll know the real meaning of groundhog day. ❞

[scoundrvls]

❝ says the brat who's died three times. how's it feel to be the canonical equivalent to herpes? ❞

[scoundrvls]

there's nothing noble about working yourself to death . — @commandsir / workaholics

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 that didn’t give a kriff if she was warm were the perfect time for ruminating again on how it all went wrong. starting from the beginning, till the very end that was yet to pass. what would it look like, the ghost of a vengeful soul wondered, when it all caught up to her at last?

      fog so dense it barely surpassed ankle-height. it swirled around the former orderlings in the slow lull of a tired dream. hardly budging as reva slid a hand behind her to lean her weight on. ❝ you’re right, there isn’t. but who said anything about being noble? i’ve got a lot to make up for, and not enough time. ❞

      ❝ i’m not like you, ❞ reva continued with a shaded smile. she never took her eyes off the fire, the way the flames batted the encroaching grey that threatened to smother it. ❝ i didn’t exactly spend a lot of time putting good out into the galaxy to expect a little to find its way back. ❞

[scoundrvls]

too many people rely on me . — @lionthought as 𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐀 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐀 / workaholics

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇: the curse of competency. lando memorized a lot of faces. their names, their connections. if there was someone worth knowing — or worth avoiding — lando calrissian had their dossier on the tip of his tongue. not anywhere on his roster was he aware of being who got along with their talent. a curse associates considered a gift; for themselves chiefly. most didn’t consider how much of a burden being good at something was. especially when that natural knack came with the side effect of deciding who lived and who died.

      that was some weight to tally on the shoulders as rotations stretched into cycles. especially shoulders as young as leia’s, daringly capable be damned. she wasn’t a child playing general, but it didn’t escape him that leia came across as a woman who’d never known a day blissfully unaware of politics. shame the organas didn’t live to see how their daughter had risen in the wake of alderaan’s fall.

      the gambler clicked his teeth as he slid into the seat beside her. propping his elbows onto the surface, he folded his hands together, leaning his weight forward. around them was he electronic blips of their colleagues hard at work. even at this late hour, the jungle humidity kept most people up since the base couldn’t afford to spare any power for air conditioning. so into the early morning the rebels labored. pouring over absconded data streams and promise-less leads, darting from room to room as if being hunted by an invisible isb agent. only when their bodies reached that inevitable exhaustion did any of these quiet heroes drag like dractuvian cave slugs to a mist-dampened cot.

      all too easy to realise that many of these dedicated soldiers would never taste the fruits of their efforts.

      ❝ that’s what happens when you’re good at what you do. people start trusting you to make things happen. get the job done right. especially these — ❞ a polished finger wagged from its perch on the table, indicating the silent bustle. ❝ rebel types. ❞ lando wove his hands together as a mischievous smile cut across from the corner of his lips. ❝ they’ll see the best in you, even when you don’t. ❞

[scoundrvls]

tag, you're it! oh sorry, you're dead ( to sixth 🙃 )

❝ curb your tongue, you twiggy oompa-loompa. you're nothing without your plot armour. ❞

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR WORKAHOLIC CHARACTERS WHO PUSH THEMSELVES TOO HARD *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

there's still a lot of work to be done.

i'm not finished with it yet.

i can't give up just yet.

there's nothing noble about working yourself to death.

you think i can't handle this myself?

there's not enough hours in the day.

i realize you think you have to do this.

working like this helps me think.

i'll sleep when i'm dead.

your work ethic scares me sometimes.

i don't need your help.

do you ever sleep?

they need me.

no matter how hard you work, it won't bring them back.

do you realize how crazy that sounds?

i'm not stopping until this is done.

you need to slow down.

i feel like i'm wasting my life.

have you ever taken a vacation?

i can handle this on my own.

i'm nothing without my work.

you're going to get sick if you keep going like this.

you've proven your point.

you're going to work yourself to death.

there are worse ways to spend a life.

you can't keep going at this pace.

i don't have time to rest.

it needs to be done.

do you have any healthy coping mechanisms, by any chance?

there's no time to waste.

i think it's time for you to take a break.

everything was going great until you stopped me.

i can't sleep yet. not until this is done.

i'm the only one who can do this.

at least let me help you.

if i just focus on my work, i don't have to think about anything else.

i'm not asking you to take a break, i'm telling you.

did you really have to interrupt like that?

i'm not budging.

it's my life's work.

you're not going to convince me otherwise.

when was the last time you slept?

i'll help you finish the job if you promise to get some rest.

you're practically falling asleep standing up.

you can finish this in the morning.

let me get you to bed.

don't you get it? it's over!

working yourself to death isn't going to fix anything.

if i don't do it, no one else will.

i wish you would take some time to rest.

i'm not taking a break, if that's what you're asking.

you just broke my concentration, thank you very much.

i'm not going to bed.

i don't know how to quit.

they're counting on me.

too many people rely on me.

i can't disappoint them.

you need a vacation.

i wish you would just listen to me and slow down.

your eye bags have eye bags.

all right, that's it. i'm putting my foot down.

no more excuses.

what do you get out of this? this overworking thing?

without my work... i'm nothing.

no one else is going to step in.

i don't care about me. i care about them.

we have unfinished business.

if i stop now, it'll be like giving up.

i'm a perfectionist. it's in my nature.

better to pour myself into my work than something else.

i wish you would go easy on yourself.

this is very unhealthy.

[scoundrvls]

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 of her outset was only a mask for the hot blood bubbling under her white skin. palpable heat pounding through organic maroon circuitry. it powered the congealed flesh beneath layers of nightmarish fabric. shin, trapped as a whole. unlike the companion who made up her shadow. a writhing in man-shaped darkness.

it’s better that you don’t get involved . — @lionthought as 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐈 / dark & angsty

      there’s an echo of a body under this steel. phantom muscles angle the helmet, seeking out the human woman’s pale eyes from a narrow void. ❝ if you wish, ❞ what claimed to be marrok’s voice rotted well past a death rattle. unfamiliar ears might mistake for a common disagreement between vocoders and inhuman voices. but the longer the exposure, the more the unrightness creeped into the brain. the metallic edge was a coating of rust on the growl of a restless grave.

      forty-two muscles commanded the human face, and all but the most antagonistic had atrophied in shin hati. but which way the line of jaw rant taut was unnecessary to read her. the eyes marrok lacked said everything.

      the visor disengaged from shin to consider the empty space her master had occupied only moments before. it was arguable how necessary it was for marrok to move the helmet, or was it out of habit. the will to appear life-like. still, baylan skoll’s presence transcended the physical. the swaying cascade of his cloak was beyond sight, but his silhouette in the force remained a solid patch of gloom where he stood.

                                                    ❝ i don't agree. ❞

[skeltrr-deactivated20240630]

used Fives as a guinea pig for a new rendering process I wanted to practice before using it on comms. It was painful, but I learned a lot 🥹

[ofpolitics]

CONTINUED FOR BETA EDITOR ›› ( @scoundrvls )

                    russet gaze lowered briefly to his exaggerated gestures before lifting to meet the mandalorian’s helm, dark brows knitting every so slightly.   yet, truth rang through, his stance reminding her more than a little of not so ideal meeting in a cell block with another man to whom sarcasm was the same as breathing.   stars help her.

                    palms cradling her elbows, the senator rose a single dark brow, her words barely requiring a thought.     ❝  ah, the attenuated ‘margin of error’.  ❞     despite her first reaction, she knew that fact well, her father’s stories of a pacifist reigning over a rekindling sundari still vivid in her memory.   yet, like so many cultures with various threats toward oppression, the empire had destroyed the majority within her lifetime alone, the horror from that fiery night trickling in through the network.

                    nevertheless, his offer received a grimace, leia’s failure to remain diplomatic complete.     ❝  i highly doubt that will ever be the case.  ❞    considering that remained her life with those hired by imperial warlords and crime syndicates — minus stun, add kill — she felt ill inclined, but if something for his time was what he desired…     ❝  if i asked for some information you might have, perhaps with a few credits in return, would you give it?  ❞

[scoundrvls]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐘, a brow inclined at a nonplussed angle. ❝ depends, ❞ aran didn’t mask his skepticism. being contractually obligated to a hutt meant your lips only stayed moving because you knew how to keep them shut. not that a senator as squeaky as the prestigious leia organa was interested in balada’s sketchy entertainment business. but there were other things, perhaps say, like a name on balada’s payroll that the new republic would love to “rehabilitate”. aran doubted the senator was anything but ignorant about who he was and what he could answer. still, aran tal was alive today because he had about as much trust as there were rainy days on tatooine.

      ❝ fire away, senator. i’ll let you know if you bullseye a disclaimer. ❞ credits have two faces. organa’s questions were a solid way of sussing out answers. answers for whether or not her interests, and those of the newly anointed regime she represented, reached as far as vespaara’s eternal twilight.

      ❝ gotta keep my filters clean. boss lady’s a jealous girl. ❞

[astaerion]

HAPPY STAR WARS DAY ♡ may the force be with you!

[scoundrvls]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐇 chewbacca could still smell them. the kids. buried under the rubble that denied their broken remains a peaceful burial. persistent rushes of aggravated wind whipped the long fronds of chewbacca’s mane into a frenzied tach nest as the wookiee desperate dug through the remains of luke’s humble school.

      spoors of adrenaline and fear lingered on the stones despite the sudden end of those entombed. his sensitive olfactory glands were not only keen enough to scent the traces, but produced a taste on the roof of his maw that burned his throat with residual electricity. stinging moisture sprung from the tender membranes around his eyes, blurring chewbacca’s vision to the point of fueling his frustration. the deeper the wookiee dug, the futile it became. with every shift of stone, the more destabilized the precarious nature of the ruins would become, tumbling more broken sections of temple into his freshly excavated cove.

      he could smell them. all of them. all the young, shattered forms beneath, taken too soon. each individual signature that rose from the rubble to his tentative nose lanced chewbacca’s great heart, unable to dig them free of their improper tomb. a failure compounded by the inadmissible lack of a particular scent, the one chewbacca’s was most desperate to find.

                  where was his nephew?

                        where was his ben?

      luke’s school was reduced to scattered contortions. chewbacca searched them all, following his keen senses along a rapidly deteriorating trail from one to another in a mad search for his loved ones. this was the last. and neither his friend nor his hairless cub were there.

      hope that both still lived bundled anxiety for what other fate befell both jedi. chewbacca rose from his knees, abandoning the heap of devastation to draw himself to his full height. the wookiee breathed deep the acrid air and unleashed a bellow that silenced the howling wind. it carried over the hills, through the bordering trees, frightening the flocks of roosting ossus birds into the desaturated sky.

      chewbacca called for luke skywalker and his apprentice. each howl greater than the last, persisting echoes stacking against the brewing gales. he would’ve continued till he choked on soft tissues of his throat turned raw, blistering his wilting cries scarlet — if not for han.

pull yourself together . we have work to do . — @lionthought as 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎

      stunned, the wookiee cut-off mid roar to fix his friend with baffled blue eyes. rendered speechless by the smuggler’s unexpected sharpness, chewbacca chuffed quietly. but no matter how brusque han's tone, the ardent nature of the human face said it all.

[scoundrvls]

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, ❞ din said with a meaningful point at the little boy’s even button nose. the impenetrable promise of shining beskar didn’t counter the caution in his steps as the mandalorian descended into a rill of black water.

      waist high, din audibly shuddered as the stagnant water soaked through the layers of protective material. the innermost lining did its job, protecting his skin from the invasive moisture at the cost of chilling his skin. above him, the tunnel’s low ceiling glowed with shifting waves of cyan. curiously din waded closer. the reflective surface of his viewplate lit up as an outstretched hand closed the distance.

      the glow, revealing itself to be a reactive organism, dispersed with a startle when the mandalorian planted a hand on the stone. plunged into darkness, din remained perfectly still as his helmet’s ocular settings automatically adjusted the sudden lack of light. from his peripherals he watched as the tiny cyan lights peeked between stalactites. curiously the lights returned and swarmed around the intruding hand, outlining the five digit shape in a circlet of brilliant blue.

patu ? — @lionthought as 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔

      din tilted his steel chin over his shoulder, a fond smile pronounced in his voice. ❝ wanna see? ❞

      purposefully, the mandalorian removed his hand and returned to the boulder where’d left his son. with tender hands so accustomed to cradling weaponry, din retrieved grogu and returned to the cluster of bioluminescent beings.

      there was a brief hesitation on the wade back that his glove shielded din from some unseen threat the lifeforms posed. were they poisonous? would they burn grogu’s bare skin? what if the whatever they were secreted something that had penetrated the fibers and was now slowly killing him? a ghoulish end he might now be delivering his son.

      but the twinkling twin mirrors of the boy’s eyes urged the mandalorian forward. a voice in his head reminding him that his place was to protect his foundling from death, not life.

      ❝ not too fast, ❞ instructed din, lifting the young explorer towards the ripples waiting to greet him, ❝ you’ll scare them. ❞

[scoundrvls]

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 was stepping into another world. an artificial one. one made of monitors, data sets, console commands, security cams, and most important of all: plausible deniability. the illusion of control permeated here. a pocket of first world sensibility where man was god so long as the power sheds pumped electricity through the fibrous veins of the island. nothing like the reality beyond the security checkpoints where crunching numbers held no blood against hot breath and hard teeth. out there, men were the most dangerous predators to ever walk the earth with their great minds and great tools. but gods made of flesh were ever so easy to bleed.

      jango fett belonged to that world. he looked and felt out of place in the linoleum halls that housed some of the company’s greatest minds and their works. but he had a singular purpose that kept his heavy boots marching, a stern fix in his jaw. intense brown eyes spared no guarded interest in any of the rooms or white coats he passed. his target: a heavy door with a tiny reinforced window.

      fett jerked open the handle. the ruckus of an ac unit blasting greeted him before any of the occupants. fett said nothing as he entered, his attention squared on an older scientist at a desk. adam skywalker, his white skin drenched in pebbles of sweat, face banded by a stripe of fading sunburn. the inflamed temperature of costa rican dry season had a clear toll on the man but not enough deter his expressive demeanor.

      a peppered brow jumped in askance as jango descended the concrete steps in silence. he didn’t speak but held up a package. skywalker needed nothing else to understand. sweat rumpled locks bounced as adam bobbed his head towards the examination table behind him.

      skywalker was thanked with a curt nod. jango strode to the table, leaned over, and found the little figure he knew he’d find wherever skywalker may roam.

      immediately, fett’s demeanor changed. the hard lines of his expression softened into gentle planes that smoothed even the deepest of his scars. warmth pooled in the contours of a tenderhearted smile as he lowered the package — swathed in bright, colorful paper patterned with handpainted jaguars, toucans, and coatis — into the range of her tiny grasp.

      ❝ here you are, little miss, merry christmas. ❞

a jurassic park christmas for @commandsir