#cradossk

[comicwaren]

From Star Wars: Jango Fett #004, “Trail of Lost Hope, Part 4”

Art by Luke Ross and Nolan Woodard

Written by Ethan Sacks

[mayxthexforce]

Thinking about Cradossk, who allowed his first-hatched son to consume the eggs of his siblings without giving them a chance at fighting for their lives. Craddosk, who taught Bossk that the Wookiees were evil and had to be killed because "They eat Trandoshan eggs", but traded one of his own eggs with a Wookiee in exchange for rum. Cradossk, who told Bossk that he had killed his own siblings, all of them, when he'd traded one to the Wookiees. Cradossk, who abused Bossk and taught him nothing but hatred, theft and bloodlust, only to become the Guild Master and preach about honor and respect among peers. Cradossk who, upon being questioned by his own son about how the Guild should remain neutral to the galaxy's situation and take any job not just the ones offered by the Empire, decided that his son should die and challenged him to a fight to the death. Cradossk who met his end at the hands and jaws of his own son.

And thinking about Bossk, who didn't feel worthy of his sister's instant forgiveness despite having been merely a baby when he attacked her. Bossk, who kept his promise to never hunt Wookiees again because he had honor. Bossk, who was willing to learn from others even if their teachings directly clashed with his beliefs, even if both stances couldn't coexist and he was forced to question everything he believed in. Bossk, who expected nothing in exchange for taking Boba under his wing and making sure he could survive in the constant, merciless mess that was the galaxy. Bossk, who protected Boba like a father, but not like Cradossk.

[i-have-zero-social-skills]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Agen Kolar, Shmi Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Mace Windu, Kit Fisto, Saesee Tiin, Ahsoka Tano (cameo), Ezra Bridger (Cameo), Original Clawdite Character (Cameo), Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Cradossk (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Infant Anakin Skywalker, Time Travel, The World Between Worlds (Star Wars), Hyperspace Travel (Star Wars), Dehumanization, Slave Trade, Slavery, Planet Alderaan (Star Wars), Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Misunderstandings, Fix-It, POV Alternating, Planet Nal Hutta (Star Wars), Planet Nanth’ri (Star Wars), Planet Gyndine (Star Wars), Minor Character Death Series: Part 3 of Time Travel AU Featuring Mace, Kit, Agen, and Saesee Summary:

After several weeks of searching, Agen finally locates Anakin Skywalker and his mother, two months after Anakin was born. He thinks his mission is over now, but there is one more problem he has to solve. Cradossk has been hired by Darth Sidious to kidnap Anakin Skywalker, and Agen has to get Anakin to Coruscant while being pursued by Cradossk.

[yama-uba]

Okay, interiors created by Midjourney with my help (Headhunters Guild and Lizards)

I think the interiors of the Bounty Hunters Guild in its heyday were breathtaking. I liked the old ideas that the Guild's head office is like a huge closed luxury club where you can get an order for an award, rent a room, rent a storage cell, get highly qualified medical care, visit an armorer, a gunsmith, a spaceship service center, a fitness center.

And they also have a real spa center, a nursery for breeding and training hunting beasts, a shooting range, trails for learning extreme driving, as well as all kinds of catering establishments (from modest eateries to gourmet restaurants with live music) to use them as a neutral territory for meetings and cooperation.

And all this receives money from only one source and exists only for the purpose of service and convenience of bounty hunters. A whole city that exists on "blood money".

What happened after Bossk inherited this mega-corporation in the "traditional" way for their people, you all know better than me.

The closer we get to the office of the Guildmaster, Monsieur Cradossk, the more gold becomes in his favorite art-deco. He enjoys teasing the smug human aristocracy who look down on everything from their Coruscant. The whole head office seems to be saying "Look, I'm a dumb nouveau riche lizard, but I have more power and money in this galaxy than you have combined."

This is the waiting room in front of the Guildmaster's office. Better not make sudden movements - the security system will not appreciate it.

How can you find this place? 

Okay, now it's the turn of the Guildmaster's house. I think the art deco style is, in principle, characteristic of the Trandoshan culture - it is very difficult to make something elegant if 2/3 of the length of your finger is a claw. This is what middle-class houses on the planet Hsskhor look like in a traditional style.

And this is what one of the many houses of the Guildmaster looks like. You can fantasize that it could be the same house from different perspectives.

A bit of Egyptian, Mesopotamian and Olmec vibe~

Despite the fact that most of the house goes deep underground, the facade must be monumental. The house should have such an effect that any trandoshan woman flipping through the dating catalog will say "Damn, I want to fight to the death with my bare hands with fifty other brides in the arena of this place for the honor of laying their eggs in this guy's nest!".

Bossk grew up in a roughly similar house.

A huge fireplace in the center of the room, which heats all the stone floors, walls and furniture, is a mandatory attribute of any room, not even a residential one.

And, of course, a special room for soaking the old skin during molting.

However, I was unable to describe the interior of The Hound's Tooth to Journey. The neural network was constantly drawing small strange spaces that did not look like converted spaces of the space track.

The interiors were too illogical. And the whole space was more like corridors.

I'll try to explain this to Jorni another time, but for now just look at the sketches.

These must have been huge tanks for sublight propulsion powered by hydrogen. They were supposed to go on both sides of the corridor and look like a tunnel in the oceanarium. During parties, Bossk drains fuel from them and fills them with water to launch hired dancers into transparent tanks. Aquariums with live beauties. West Coast Customs style.

And this is the cargo bay floor, where the taxidermy laboratory and leather workshop is located, because of which everything stinks of formalin. Looks like reptile skin is in vogue now...

As well as stuffed wookiees in arthouse style...

It's all drawn by Midjourney, it's all yours and Midjourney's.

[alistairs-raven]

My entry for Day 1 of @bountyhunterweek 

Monday: A Tough Day’s Work - Fan creations involving the guild, cantinas, hunts and bounties

When Cad Bane left the guild he fought the guild master, Cradossk (father of Bossk), choosing to spare him despite the trandoshan’s wishes. But what if he didn’t?

-----

colored pencils

[sheena-isa-punkrocker]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bossk/Cradossk Characters: Bossk (Star Wars), Cradossk (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Father-Son Relationship, Verbal Abuse, Abandonment, Childhood Trauma, there are some good moments, but alot of bad ones, dont expect cradossk winning father of the year award, Non-Linear Narrative Summary:

Bossk and Cradossk have never had the best relationship with each other. Between Cradossk's verbal abuse and Bossk's rebellious ways, things between father and son were bound to corrode. These chapters reflect the highs and lows of their relationship over the course of their lifetimes.

Each chapter is a stand alone moment between both father and son though some chapters may focus on only one of them. The events that take place are non-linear except they generally take place before TCW

---------------------------------------------------------------

I don’t think I ever shared my Bossk fanfic here so might as well do it now lol

Hopefully I can write more chapters for this soon 

[some-serendipity-snail]

Thus Always to Tyrants (1/5)

Chapter One: Through Valley & Vale

Word Count: ~5k

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, some “x (ambiguous)reader”, Major Character Death, Implied Child Abuse, Traumatic Flashbacks, Past Child Neglect, Emotional Manipulation

Summary: Bossk confronts his past.

Here’s the fic link!

[manicpixiedreamsaren]

maybe the reason bossk didn't completely hate boba was because he understood the "i was really only created in my fathers image and my whole life is surrounded by trying to live up to him" bc we all know cradossk was a whole bitch when it came to raising bossk

[sinisterexaggerator]

Cad Bane has a “Code of Honor”

“If ya’ gonna kill ‘im, doit like’a man.”

I also think this may extend to innocent people, such as say a beautiful woman in distress. >;)   RUNNING WITH THIS IDEA ( for purpose of fanfiction)

Another instance, from Wookieepedia:

“Although Bane had kept a low profile while dealing with the Hutts, he attracted the attention of the Guild's leader, Cradossk, who was outraged that an independent hunter had claimed bounties promised to the Guild. Seeking to put a stop to Bane's interference with Guild contracts, Cradossk arranged a meeting with Bane on the planet Ord Mantell. There, Cradossk attempted to trap and kill Bane, who outmaneuvered his rival but chose not to murder him for alleged professional reasons.”

TO CLARIFY!  

“Rako” was a good enough hunter that it would be disrespectful to just let him die as simply as that - it was cheating according to Bane. He deserved to “die like a man” thus the scene that followed where Dooku made Eval fight him “hand to hand.” He was ALSO repaying the favor. Obi-Wan saved Bane as Rako from Anakin Skywalker.

Cad Bane will do ANYTHING for credits, even kidnapping children, but I don’t think he’s a COLD-BLOODED MURDERER just for sport ( unless we’re talking Jedi or Imperial Soldiers. ) - it always serves a purpose.

[sporadicthingcollection]

99 Problems: Entry #20 (Cad Bane x F!Reader)

Summary: Bane thinks he can handle his liquor better than you. He thinks wrong.

Pairing: Cad Bane/F!Reader

Rating: 🌶️ Semi-explicit 🌶️

Word Count: ~3.2k

Warnings: Drunk rambles, nudity, cuddles, Bane gets his clock cleaned

<;&lt;< | masterpost | >>>

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list1.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE A PAIN IN THE ASS AND I SHOULD TURN YOU IN

#20: I CAN'T OUTDRINK YOU

---

Bane’s never been to Nayshin, but he’s heard it’s nice -- lots of green, lots of quiet industry, lots of friendly people. Barring the criminals, of course.

It’s also a dry system, which is why Bane is dumping his stash down the ‘fresher sink. He’s not heartbroken. It’s mostly rotgut -- handles you can find on the bottom shelf of every liquor store in the galaxy. He lets other people buy him the nice stuff.

Which is what you no doubt have. Knowing your expensive tastes, you’ll be more disappointed about dumping your liquor down the drain.

He slides down the ladder into the Rashoon Breeze and rounds the corner into the galley. “Comin’ up on Nayshin, girlie. If ya need t’ hide yer booze, I got some smugglin’ compartments.”

“Won’t be necessary!”

You’re seated at the booth, a collection of glass bottles on the table before you. Gin, absinthe, jogancello, you’ve got it all. You’ve got your legs kicked up as you swirl a tumbler of pink liquid in one hand, a holopad in the other. A queen amongst her castle of glass.

You give him a little smile. “I’ve been at this since we went into hyperspace,” you say, raising the cup to him.

He’s only slightly offended. “And ya didn’t invite me?” he says, sliding into the booth across from you.

Your smile widens. You slide an empty glass across the table to him. “Didn’t wanna disturb your beauty sleep.”

“Ya should’ve. Too much an’ I’ll outshine ya.” Bane grabs a bottle of what looks like whiskey. His brows shoot up as he examines the label. “Dis is fancy stuff. Ya sure ya don’t wanna hide it?”

You toss your drink back and pour yourself another glass. “I’ve already hidden the really special stuff. Go wild.”

Well, who is he to say no to an invitation like that?

---

Three drinks in and he’s feeling a little buzzed. Enough to let his tongue loosen up. Regale you with some tales -- embellished, of course, but mostly true.

You wince, laugh, and gasp in all the right places. You’ve got your chin in your hands as he finishes up the one about Cradossk biting a chunk out of shoulder.

“Dey told me t’ spend a week in de bacta tank, but I had places t’ be.” He picks up the whiskey bottle to pour himself another, but it’s empty, to his disappointment. “Ya got any more o' dis?”

You shake your head, but slide a corked bottle of green liquid towards him. “Give this a try. You’ll like it.”

Grabbing the bottle, he pulls the cork out with his teeth -- he notices you blush a little as he does -- and takes a swig. It doesn’t taste like liquor at all, just herbs and flowers and a pleasant burn.

“It’s Alsakan chartreuse,” you say. “You can have it... for another story.”

He sits back down. “I’ve done enough talkin’. You tell me a story.”

---

The whole bottle is gone, and he’s on his back, sprawled out horizontally in the booth with his feet hanging over the edge. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s your pretty voice, maybe it’s because he can see up your dress from this angle, but you’re telling a story about university drama involving your roommate’s boyfriend and he’s hanging on to your every word.

“An’ he did dat right after gettin’ back from Corellia?” he asks.

You nod. “Mmhmm. She had worse taste in men than I did.”

“Whadda jerk.” He tips the bottle, and a few drops come out. It's just as well. "Should prolly go get us landed."

“Not staying for the revenge?” Glass clinks together as you pour yourself another drink. “I got him discharged, ruined his gravball card collection, and broke up his parents’ marriage.”

He sits bolt upright. “Ya did what?”

You slide another bottle towards him. “Sit tight and promise you won’t think any less of me.”

---

To make a long ramble of a story short, you planted deathsticks in his room, dumped tooka-cat piss on his card collection, and sexted his father who then got caught by his mother. Standard revenge stuff. He stopped actually listening a while ago.

He can’t remember when he scooted over to your side of the booth. It must have happened between wine bottles, because one second he’s holding a red one and now he’s holding a white.

But he must have at some point, because his head is in your lap and you’re looking down at him as you speak. Your blue hair frames your face perfectly, and the way the little bow of your lips move makes his heart flutter.

“Yer pretty,” he slurs. “Too pretty t’ be slummin’ it wit’ me.”

You pause and stare down at him, brows raised. “Oh?” you ask, your little lips curling into a circle. “Maybe I like slumming it with you.”

A hoarse little chuckle escapes him. “Why? I’m mean t’ ya, I take yer money, ‘n’ I drink yer booze. Ain’t eggsackly a good man.”

You have such pretty lips. He wants to kiss them, but they’re so far away. “Maybe I don’t want a good man. Maybe I want an interesting one.”

You lift your hand and place it on his scalp, gently stroking. It’s warm and soft, and he presses up into it. “Then yer a dumber bitch den I thought ya were.”

You laugh. Sweet Maker above, you’re beautiful when you laugh. Your hair bounces, your eyes smile, you get little dimples on your cheeks. “I can leave if you want me to.”

A jolt of panic rocks him. He tries to sit up, but the ship spins and he falls back into your lap. “D-Don’t. Don’t go.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “But you just told me I’m too good for you.”

He reaches a hand up to touch your cheek. Even beneath the thick calluses on his fingertips, he can feel how soft it is, how warm. How sweet and good and wonderful. “Y’are. I just-- Yer--” Why’s his throat so dry? “I like havin’ ya ‘round, girlie.”

Humanoid eyes are so beautiful. Glittery, shiny, expressive. You can say so much with your eyes. Right now, they’re amused. “You just like me for the pussy,” you say.

“I mean, yeah, but...” He takes another pull. “Yer... Yer clever ‘n’ smart ‘n’ pretty ‘n’ ya can take care o’ yerself...”

He babbles. He knows he’s babbling. But he’s got a belly full of booze and he doesn’t care. He likes you for more than just the sex and he wants to tell you everything.

How he can’t wait to talk to you in the mornings, to trade barbs and banter.

How he appreciates you making lunch for him in the afternoon. You cook so well and it’s so much better than the rations he usually eats.

How he enjoys watching you fiddle with your locks while he cleans his blasters in the evenings. Companionable silence as you both focus.

How he wishes there was enough room in his bunk to squeeze you in so he could fall asleep next to you, face buried in your hair, arms gripping you tight. Or how he wishes you’d invite him to stay the night in your big, soft bed, tangled up and sprawled out all at once.

Bane’s addled mind acknowledges what his sober mind refuses to even consider. He likes you a lot more than he lets on. Hells, he might like you more than that. He--

--manages to spill the remainder of the wine all over his face. He sputters and chokes and spits and, in the process of trying to breathe, rolls off your lap and onto the floor.

At least it’s a clean floor.

He’s spent enough time with you at this point to pick up on your Zeltrian interjections. He’s pretty sure that “Pergatroia!” means something like ‘holy shit.’

You help peel him off the floor. His hat falls off in the process, and you put it on the table. “I’m putting you to bed,” you say.

He gives a weak grunt in response. “Sounds good t’ me.”

===

You are Irno Favara. And you’re not sure what just happened.

Well, that’s an exaggeration. You know exactly what just happened. You forgot that most other sentients don’t also have two livers and literally drank Cad Bane, legendary bounty hunter and legendary hardass, under the table.

And he may have almost told you that he loves you. Maybe.

Now you’re pulling him up the ladder with the help of his chatty droid. You’ve got your hands on his forearms and are hauling him upwards while Todo’s in charge of his legs.

“C’mon, you palooka,” you grumble.

Bane shoots you a bleary glare. “Whadja call me?”

“I believe she called you a palooka, sir,” Todo says. “Zeltrian slang for--”

You cut him off. No need to have an insult explained. “Todo, shut up and help me.” You tighten your grip on Bane’s wrists. “One, two, three--”

You neglect to mention that you usually go on ‘go,’ and Todo’s sudden boost sends Bane sprawling on top of you.

At least he’s up the ladder.

Todo pokes his head up. “My apologies! Are you alright?”

“I’ve got a big blue lump on me, but besides that, I’m just ginchy.” You expect Bane to be annoyed, but he doesn’t move. “Bane?”

You poke his shoulder, and he lets out a low snore.

Gods damn it all.... “Wake up. I’m not spending the night on the floor.”

He snuffles a bit. “But s’comfy,” he says, starting to snake his arms around you.

Nope. Nope. If he does that, you’re pinned.

Grabbing his shoulders, you slough him off and wriggle out from under him. He grumbles, but doesn’t resist as you haul him to his feet. With you under one arm and Todo under the other, you drag him to his quarters.

“He’s usually much more cognizant of his alcohol intake,” Todo says. “I haven’t seen him this inebriated in a long time.”

“Didn’t take him for the chatty type when he’s loaded,” you say.

The droid is silent for a moment. “He’s not. He’s usually quite snappish.”

Bane lets out another snore. You make a note to not drink with non-Zelties ever again.

You open the door to his quarters with a hip-check to the panel and heft him inside. The scrape of the metal stirs him a bit, and he’s able to push you and Todo away.

“I can put myself t’ bed. Don’t need both o’ ya nannyin’ me...” he grumbles. He stands there for a second, tottering, then slooooowly tips backwards.

You catch him and push him forward onto the bunk. “Strip,” you order him, “unless you want your bed to stink of booze for the foreseeable future.”

He tries to smirk at you, but with how his eyes are lidded, it just looks comical. He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it on the floor. Opening his arms to you, he curls his fingers. “C’mere, fullua,” he purrs. “Help yer man outta his clothes.”

Your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. With a huff, you start undoing his shirt buttons. “You’re not my man.”

He barks a laugh as pulls his arms from the shirt. “Ain’t I? We drink, we fuck, ya put me t’ bed...” He lets out a little hic and tosses the shirt aside. “Sounds like yer my woman.”

The idea makes you blush, but... "You're making an awful lot of assumptions," you say, grabbing ahold of his boot.

He pulls his foot out as he hiccups again. “Ya know I’m right. I’m always right.”

He removes the other boot himself and, after a contemplative pause, motions for you to step aside. You do so, and he hucks the footwear at Todo. You’re mildly horrified, but the droid dodges easily and lets out an irritated huff.

“Well, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He exits the cabin. The door slams shut behind him.

Bane lets out a wheezing chuckle. “‘Bout time ya read de room!” he calls after him. “Now c’mere--”

He grabs your wrist with one hand and tries to pull you into his lap while he undoes his trousers with the other. The glimpse of the head of his cock makes your mouth water, but you jerk away. “I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk.”

Bane sticks out his lower lip and pouts. Pouts. “Why de kriff not?” He yanks his legs out of his trousers and kicks them away, leaving him buck naked before you. “I’m ready an’ willin’. Take me fer a ride.”

He is indeed hard. Pulsing in his palm, his ridges fully swollen up green, the tip nice and shiny-smooth. He leans back on one elbow, idly pumping his cock as he gazes at you. His red eyes glow slightly in the dim light, just barely illuminating his lazy smile.

You clench your jaw so hard your teeth hurt. “No,” you state firmly.

His smile vanishes into a scowl. “Stick in de mud,” he grumbles. His abdomen flexes as he swings his sinewy legs into the bunk, crossing his arms in a pout.

Ugh. You’re going to need an ice cold shower now. Might as well get that over with so your hair’s dry before bed. “Good night, Bane,” you say, turning.

You’ve barely made half a step when Bane lunges forward to grab your wrist. Not pulling you, just stopping you.

Maybe it’s the lack of light, maybe it’s the angle, maybe it’s just the alcohol, but his gaze looks... forlorn. His lips twitch slightly before he speaks. “...stay.”

“I’m not--”

“I won’t do anythin’. I swear,” he says. “Jus’... Jus’ keep me company, izrin. Fer tonight.”

You stare at him hard. “No funny business?” He shakes his head, but you frown. “I don’t trust you.”

He chuckles. “Ya shouldn’t. I'm a bad, bad man, fullua,” he says. “But I’ll be good fer once."

...oh, who could say no to that?

Bane watches intently as you lift the hem of your dress over your head and shimmy out of it, laying it carefully across a chair. Your stockings come next, then your panties.

You shiver in the cool air. “Scoot over.”

He breaks into a wide, genuine grin. Wriggling to the side, he slips under his blankets and opens them to you.

His sheets are softer than you’d expected, the pillow fluffier, and the blankets heavier. For someone so concerned with credits, he spared no expense with his bedding. You’ll be nice and cozy here.

You don’t plan on tucking yourself right against him, but he’s yanked you into his embrace before you can stop him. Your back to his chest, one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, his ankles entangling with yours.

He murmurs something into your neck. A warm puff of air containing three little words that make your heart leap into your throat.

You crane your neck to look at him. “You mean that?” you whisper.

He gives a groggy grunt in the affirmative.

Your cheeks burn. Your belly churns. There’s no way you’re getting any sleep now.

===

Bane, once again, wakes up feeling like a bantha stamped his head. And also like he’s cuddling a cloud of perfume. Warm and soft and flower-scented...

Clearly, he’s having a very pleasant dream. He settles back in to finish it when a high-pitched peep reaches his ears, and the cloud tightens its grip on him.

His eyes fly open and his vision is filled with bright, vivid pink.

Oh. It's you.

He’s curled up tight against you, his head against your breasts, his legs tangled up in yours. He cranes his neck to look at you. Your hair is mussed and your makeup smudged, but not the way it usually looks after he’s had his way with you. It just looks... bleary. Like you slept in it.

You open your eyes slightly, and smile at him. “Morning, darling,” you hum.

His heart flips and a very loud, very urgent alarm bell rattles through his mind. RUN. GO. LEAVE.

He untangles himself from you and kicks the blanket off to sit up. Swinging his legs over the edge of his bunk, he grabs his coat from the floor and pulls it on.

You sit fully up and put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?” you ask, sitting forward.

Even through the leathers, your touch burns like frostbite. He swats your hand away. “Leave me alone an’ get outta here.”

The hurt on your face stings. He ignores it and grabs your wrist to haul you upright. “Out. Now,” he growls, pushing you towards the door.

“But--!” He slams the panel, but before he can shove you out, you wedge yourself in the doorframe. “Do you remember what you did last night?!”

Thinking too hard hurts. “Did we fuck?”

“No, but you tried to get me to fuck you--” He vaguely remembers that. “--and then you invited me to sleep with you--” No recollection there, but the evidence suggests your truthfulness.

Your next words hit him like a fully-loaded freighter with broken inertial compensators. “--and then you said you loved me,” you say gently.

Oh. Shit. So he did say that out loud.

Shit.

He reacts quickly. “The fuck I did,” he spits.

Your expression changes from something soft to one filled with rage. “I heard you! I know what you said!”

“Ya heard wrong.” He hopes you haven’t picked up on his tells by now. “Ya need ta get yer hearin’ checked--”

Pain explodes across his jaw as his neck wrenches to the side. He nearly collides with the doorframe, just barely managing to get his palm up in time. When he looks back at you, you're cradling your balled fist as you scowl.

“Don’t lie to me, Cad Bane,” you hiss.

He bares his teeth at you. “Been doin’ dat from jump, li’l lady,” he growls. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out that long string of pearls he took from you all those months ago. He waves them in your face, a crooked grin stretching across his lips. “Unless y’already forgot how dis whole mess got started?”

He expects anger, rage, frustration, anything to flash across your face. Instead, something close to wonder widens your eyes and parts your pretty lips oh-so-slightly.

“You kept them?” you ask in a small, astonished voice.

...fuck.

===

Bane punches the panel and slams the door in your face before you can get another word in.

You’re still mad. You know what you heard, even if he’s being a pigheaded asshole about it. But the fact that he still keeps those pearls in his pocket is all the proof you need.

And so help you Maker, you’re going to make him admit it if it’s the last thing you do.

===

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list2.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE KIND OF USEFUL AND I SHOULD KEEP YOU AROUND

#20: I LOVE YOU

#20: YOU MAKE A GOOD PILLOW

---

⬅⬅⬅ | "Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[thebountyfucker]

1, 3, 13 for Cad Bane

1. Their physical weak spots

I think Cad doesn't have too many weak spots... or at least, he'd never admit that he does. I think as he gets older, his joints start to hurt (knees, fingers, back) mostly because he was so hard on them. Also, obviously, his head has a cybernetic plate now so... I guess I'd count that too. 3. Scars or painful spots

He's got tons of scars. He's got a few on his face, claw marks on his chest (from Cradossk), a few blaster wounds here and there. I don't think any of them cause him pain. I think his most painful place would be his head. 13. What gets them flustered A big bouquet of flowers and a bottle of his favorite liquor would get him all blushy, though he'd try to hide it.

[mayxthexforce]

kilindi. what's life working for cradossk like?? do you plan on escaping him??

SEND MY MUSE ANONS!!

"Unpredictable. I've dealt with Trandoshans before, but he has to be the one I like the least. There hasn't been a single day I've spent around him where he hasn't made sure to remind me that I'm only alive because of him, because he saved me, because he allows it. I know what he's capable of, I've seen him rip through his own allies before because of some perceived threat. Keeping my head down only helps so much. Life working for him is a mix of doing everything I can to not make him feel challenged, while also doing everything I can to avoid looking like I'm ignoring him.

I've entertained the thought. But as for plans... it's complicated. He leads the bounty hunters guild, he could have them all after me if he so wished to– and that's without mentioning Bossk. Either way, if I had the chance, I would like to think I would take it."

[i-have-zero-social-skills]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Agen Kolar, Shmi Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker, Mace Windu, Kit Fisto, Saesee Tiin, Ahsoka Tano (cameo), Ezra Bridger (Cameo), Original Clawdite Character (Cameo), Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Cradossk (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Infant Anakin Skywalker, Planet Karazak (Star Wars), Time Travel, The World Between Worlds (Star Wars), Hyperspace Travel (Star Wars), Dehumanization, Slave Trade, Slavery, Planet Alderaan (Star Wars), Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Misunderstandings, Fix-It, Planet Herdessa (Star Wars) Series: Part 3 of Time Travel AU Featuring Mace, Kit, Agen, and Saesee Summary:

After several weeks of searching, Agen finally locates Anakin Skywalker and his mother, two months after Anakin was born. He thinks his mission is over now, but there is one more problem he has to solve. Cradossk has been hired by Darth Sidious to kidnap Anakin Skywalker, and Agen has to get Anakin to Coruscant while being pursued by Cradossk.

[yama-uba]

Mr. Roth's apartments by Midjourney

He is also "Payback", he is also "Dengar".

An amazing person who is able to simultaneously be a well-known media personality (which implies the title of the best racer in his league) in the galaxy, but at the same time remain not caught by law enforcement agencies (and Interpol) bounty hunter.

Well, what would Michael Schumacher's house look like a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? And at the same time, he is also Batman on the contrary - instead of dressing up in a latex suit at night and beating mentally ill people half to death, he fulfills those orders for which the first 50 lines in the bounty hunter rating are squeamish, but this is still dangerous for hunters-juniors.

Expensive design solutions and just a drop of the owner's individuality should be felt here. Mr. Roth doesn't have much time, he often even spends the night either on the race track... or on a mission.

Glass floors, walls and a pool for a true adrenaline connoisseur. Height is about 40-70 floors above the surface of Corellia.

Jorny doesn't know what speeders look like, so here's a collection of bikes.

But the main decoration of this penthouse is the night metropolis.

And a transparent pool for those who are bored with life, where at any moment you can run into death, both during the hunt and during the race. Most likely, the danger is indifferent even to ropejumping. Well, what else can make a person with a successful life take up bounty hunting? Only drug addiction to adrenaline!

And it looks like a country house of a hunter leading a double life.

By the way, it always seemed to me that between Dengar and Lutts there is a vibe of parental relationships. Well, Lutts treats him like the father he never had... and a source of freebies. And Payback quickly resigned himself to the fact that the girl, whom he became a patron, once congratulated him on his father's day. True, he considers this relationship as an older brother and younger sister. If he finds out that everyone considers him the same age as Bane, Orra and Cradossk, it will completely bury his self-respect.

However, Lutts had already settled into one of the servants' quarters in Roth's house. And it looks like this:

Dengar: Honey, how do you even find something here? Lutts: I just know that nothing ever gets lost from here ... and then I buy a new one. ... And then I find the old item I'm looking for.

[dissociativedaydream]

Soft - Part 3

Pairing: Bossk x Vertani!reader (read more about Vertani here)

Word Count: ~2.4K

Tags: NSFW (18+), brief mentions of alcohol, a dash of protective!Bossk, talks about family building, illusion to breeding kink, unprotected PiV, double penetration (both in V), brief mention of cum eating

A/N: so I have a headcanon that Trandoshans make noises like some lizards do to indicate their needs/emotions, I bring it up here toward the end so I wanted to address it

<- Part 2

NSFW below the cut

“No, the agreement was you could come but you stay on the ship.”

It had been months since your father kidnapped you from the apartment you had shared with Bossk on Tattoine. With the help of Latts you were able to convince your husband to let you follow along on jobs. He still insisted on continuing to pay rent in case you one day decided that you wanted to stay behind.

So the fact you were starting to ask to actually help with jobs was annoying him.

Latts and Dengar, the human man that joined your pickup, enjoyed the fact that you were annoying the normally stoic Trandoshan. It was evident now as Latts giggled and Dengar smirked while gathering his gear.

“Please. I can be helpful.” You pouted.

He huffed. “This isn’t a discussion about you being helpful. I don’t want you in danger.”

You continued to pout as he nuzzled your hair before following the other two bounty hunters off the ship. Boba hadn’t come on this one, something about them being able to do the job without him. He was sprouting into quite the leader.

To pass the time you took inventory and tidied up the ship. For someone that was a bachelor up until recently, Bossk kept his ship pretty well organized and clean. That meant you quickly ran out of ways to keep yourself busy. You grabbed the datapad that Bossk had gotten you for situations like this.

Settling into the copilot chair you read up on the planet you were currently on, some backwater jungle planet. You lost track of time, only looking up when you heard the group return. They all sounded like they were in good spirits so hopefully, that means the job went well.

“Hey wifey!” Latts Razzi swept into the cockpit with her standard smirk. “We’re going to go get drinks so celebrate, want to come?”

You all but jump out of your seat, “yes please, I’m so bored.”

Latts giggled holding out a hand to you. You wrapped your arms around each other’s shoulders and walked to where the boys were waiting just outside the ship.

Bossk clicked his tongue as you two appeared. “Making a move Latts?”

“It’s tempting,” Latts leaned her head into the side of yours as you two giggled.

Your husband extended an arm to you and you moved to embrace him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, a rare occurrence for him. While Latts was joking, maybe he was a little nervous. Or the job paid a lot. You didn’t really care, you enjoyed the extra affection. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as your group walked to the closest bar.

The bar was crowded, only a few seats were open at the bar counter. People stared at your odd group as you walked to the seats, Bossk’s grip on you tightened as someone whistles. There were only the two open seats and Bossk all but pushed you down into one, Latts sitting in the other. He took a territorial stance behind you two, glancing over his shoulder.

You followed his gaze to a group of Trandoshans, surprisingly you recognized one of them as Cradossk, his father.

Leaning in you whisper so that only he and Latts could hear you, “what is he doing here?”

“There was a liiiittle competition for the bounty.” Latts admitted, an uneasy grin on her face. “They’re not super happy about it.”

You grasped Bossk’s shoulder, his muscles were tense. “Maybe we should wait to celebrate until we’re back on Tattoine.”

Dengar snorted behind you, “I doubt they’ll actually try anything. Cradossk wouldn’t stop asking about you when we bumped into him in the middle of the job.”

You quirked your brow at him, “why?”

Before he could respond Bossk growled, effectively cutting him off. You frown, turning to your husband. His face was scrunched, his already intimidating appearance looking downright frightening. Well, frightening to other people.

“If you think I’m not going to get the answer eventually, then you don’t realize who you married.” You grumbled, squeezing his shoulder.

His face relaxed slightly, a breathy chuckle leaving him. “I know. Let’s get a drink then get going.”

~

“Are you going to tell me what your dad was asking or am I going to have to annoy it out of you?” You mumbled into the collar of your husband’s nightshirt.

You’d made it back to Tattoine that afternoon, the three bounty hunters going to report to Boba while you headed back to your and Bossk’s apartment. He’d stayed away until it was late, no doubt hoping to avoid this very situation. Unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn as hell.

He grumbled in response, the low noise rattling his chest. “Can’t this wait?”

You rolled your eyes before moving so you were face to face with the Trandoshan. He refused to make eye contact, instead opting to stare at the ceiling. Sighing you traced a finger down his chest, with his muscle relaxed he was softer than he looked.

“You’re hoping I’ll forget.” You smirked. “If you don’t want me to keep asking, then you’ll have to just tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

He was quiet and still for a moment, if it wasn’t for his blinking eyes you’d think he fell asleep.

“He wanted to know if you were expecting yet.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, obviously not wanting to have this conversation.

“Oh,” you reply.

You weren’t really surprised. Both Trandoshans and Vertani had a heavy focus on families and a baby would solidify your marriage. It was odd that Bossk was so reluctant to tell you something so normal to both your people.

While you wanted answers, you were reluctant to push. You liked to annoy him with little things, this didn’t seem little to him. Instead, you snuggled back into his side.

“That’s it?” Bossk interrupted the silence.

You hummed, “yeah.”

He pushed you back slightly so he could sit up, you propped yourself up on an elbow to watch him stretch.

“What do you think about it?” He asked, standing to gaze out the window blinds.

This was the most fidgety you’d ever seen him in the last year you’d been together. Normally he was the definition of either stoic or angry. It was making you a little nervous.

Nevertheless, you answered. “I would like a family but it’s not the end of the world if we don’t have one.”

Bossk didn’t react for a few minutes. You laid back down, tracing patterns on the blankets, waiting for him to respond. Finally, he moved but instead of speaking, he moved to hover over you, caging you to the bed.

“Pretty relax answer for someone trying to figure out my cycle.” He chuckled.

You felt your cheeks flush. He was half right.

“Sort of,” you admit.

He says nothing as he leans down, tongue lolling out of his mouth before he licks a stripe up your neck.

“Continue.” His voice resumes its relaxed grumble.

You sighed. “I thought maybe my cycle would sync with yours if I was around you more.”

His eyes snap up to yours, a mischievous glint in them.

“You should have told me, little wife,” he clicked his tongue in pretentious chastising. “Pheromones would fix that right up.”

Pheromones, duh, why didn’t you think of that? Bossk often let you know he could tell what emotion you were feeling through your scent, it made sense pheromones would be a factor.

“I didn’t know how you would take it.” Your second admission caused him to look at you skeptically.

“Isn’t communication key my little wife? Why wouldn’t I want to give you exactly what you want?” His voice is almost a purr as a hand moves down your chest, pausing over your breast. “What my girl wants, she gets.”

His words went straight to your core, surprised at his words.

“What about you? What do you want?” You asked.

Bossk’s hand moves down and lingers on your stomach, thumb stroking the fabric of your shirt lightly. He looks up at you pointedly.

“Noted,” you breathe, somewhat surprised.

You guess you shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like either of you had been careful with sex but explicitly saying it changed things, made it real. He shifted, hand moving down to the crotch of his pants to adjust himself and drawing your attention to the straining fabric. Raising one of your brows you smirk at him.

“So pheromones, huh?” You giggled.

He shot you a warning look before pulling his shirt off, discarding it on the floor.

“I won’t be gentle when I fuck you while in rut.” He growled.

You giggle, “you’re usually gentle? Pretty sure the bruises on my hips beg to differ.”

He leaned down, nuzzling your neck before licking it again, this time with his sharp teeth grazing over your pulse point as well.

“That’s nothing little wife,” he murmured against your skin.

“Show me.”

The growl that erupted from your husband’s throat went straight to your core and admittedly startled you momentarily. He grabbed your shirt, the sound of ripping fabric the only sound in the room as his claws tore it easily. His tongue teased across your breasts, his saliva leaving a warm trail across your skin. He trailed his tongue up your neck and chin, nipping your skin lightly as he went. A strong hand trailed down your naked body, grabbing your underwear, nearly ripping it too.

“Uh uh, these are the ones you like.” You interrupted his movement.

He grumbled but conceded, they were his favorite, he carefully moved the fabric over your hips before his tongue was between your legs. Bossk’s tongue pushed inside you, a content grumble in his throat as he tasted you. His claws dragged up your thighs causing you to hiss at the sting. He paused, glancing up at you checking that you were okay. When you nod he acknowledges it with a flick of his tongue, hitting a soft spot inside you.

You moan loudly, his claws digging into the meat of your thighs in response. He’d stated on a few occasions that he enjoyed the variety of noises you made, especially in the bedroom.

“You know,” you murmured. “This isn’t very different from normal.”

His reply chuckle was deep in his throat, “Let me enjoy you little wife, I missed your taste.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, squeezing his head between your thighs to be a brat. He growled in response, nipping your thigh with sharp teeth.

“Ow!” You recoiled, seeing red pinpricks where his teeth pierced your skin.

“That’s a taste of what you wanted me to show you little wife. Do you still want it?” He murmured before licking across the small wound.

You thought for a moment, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you to the point of genuine pain. Not that you entirely hated the pain either. All you knew right now is his tongue felt really good as it soothed your skin which caused you to whimper.

Bossk groaned, pulling his pants down. He reached down grabbing his cocks in one hand and started stroking himself, groaning at his own touch. You whimpered in disappointment and pouted.

Chuckling Bossk clicked his tongue, “want something?”

You reached down between your legs, touching your neglected clit. He grumbled, watching as you traced tight circles around the sensitive nerve. Pushing your hand away, he lined his cocks up with your entrance.

“Ready to try?” He asked softly.

You nod nervously, up until now you’d only taken one at a time. But you knew during his rut his amped up body would only be satisfied if you could take both.

He rubbed the heads of his cock through your folds, adding your juices to his, “Breathe little wife.”

Bossk eased into you slowly, you winced at the stretch and a whispered chorus of curse words left your lips. He moaned loudly as he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

His cocks left no area inside of you untouched, you’d never felt so full. You looked down your abdomen slightly swollen from the intrusion. Bossk was still other than his claws digging into the sheets with an audible tearing noise. His hips rocked slightly, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Bossk groaned something in Dosh as he almost collapsed on you, his hips pulling back slightly before snapping into you again. You gasped loudly, you could feel yourself clench around him though his cocks didn’t allow for much movement.

“You’re so tight little wife,” he moaned before licking up your neck. “I could cum just like this.”

To emphasize his point he pulled hips back nearly all the way, just leaving the heads inside, before pushing back into you. You gasped again, each movement he made pressed pleasure up your core, the growing pressure of your orgasm coiling tightly in your belly.

He grasps your hips, pushing his flush against yours rocking so that his cocks pressed against the one spot he knew would unravel you quickly. You wrapped your legs around him as he pulls back just slightly before snapping hips back to press into just the right spot, hard. Your thighs shake as you feel the tension from your belly spread heat up your spine and down your legs, another thrust hitting just the right spot caused a shockwave of pleasure to flood your body.

Your pussy clenched around his cocks, Bossk swearing before he shuddered, his own orgasm hitting him as his cum flooding your pussy. As he pulled out you could feel the mixture of your juices drip from you and he leaned back to admire his handiwork.

You dropped your head down to the bed, feeling sore and more than exhausted. Bossk spreads your legs, mindful of pushing you too much as you hiss. He dips his head down, tongue running over your slit, tasting the two of you. You’d normally would have made a smart ass comment but his tongue soothed the sting that the stretch of his cocks left you with and you didn’t want him to stop.

He moved again to rest his head on your stomach the rest of his body still resting between your legs. You reached down stroking his face, earning a sleepy but content sounding grumble from your husband.

“You did good little wife,” he mumbled, “now go to sleep.”

You shift slightly, centering his head on your stomach before you stretch and close your eyes. Bossk made a quiet clicking noise, a noise you’d heard a few times when he was overly content, it was a welcomed noise as you drifted off to sleep.

[honorhunt]

𝐈𝐓’𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐁𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 and into the belly of the judicial arcology. here on his own volition with no escort of guards ready to stun him into submission gave him a chance to absorb the architecture. of course, it had changed drastically since the day he was brought to hearing chamber b-23, charged with acts of terrorism against the sovereignty of the grand republic. once the headquarters of the office of criminal investigations, its imperial successor had taken over with the same austere template as the rest of the galaxy. gone was the classic roundel, replaced by thick-bodied clone. the stellar spokes were filled in, turning the cog’s once open borders into a girthy parapet. the concord flair too was decidedly missing from the troopers patrolling the reflective floors. their voices were now varied in the static of comm chatter, each an individual with a lineage that went beyond one man.

      but it wasn’t the desire to relive childhood memories that brought him to the foyer of ioci. it wasn’t vader who summoned him either or any of the more daring grey suits who only pursed their lips at his presence rather than turning up their pruned noses. it was a different decorated kowakian who swore to make a trip to coruscant worthwhile. one who introduced herself as —

      ❝ boba fett, i presume. ❞

      evenly placed heel clicks followed the stodgy greeting. a woman dressed in pearly grey approached him, her hands clasped behind her back. her face was an interesting mixture that stood out among her narrow-boned colleagues. it was round along the edges with bashful cheekbones that hid under a bruise-y flush. she had more circumference than features. especially since the center of her face was greedy, gathering her brows, nose, and mouth into a permanently pinched expression.

      ❝ i’m inspector holsher smeck. ❞

      ❝ my condolences. ❞

      what little eye the woman had receded into the folds of her lids, ❝ are you familiar with who or what fulcrum is? ❞

      ❝ holonet’s free. ❞

      the inspector’s nostrils flared. somehow, her spine stiffened further, becoming an unnaturally straight line as her beady gaze dug around the reflection in his visor. ❝ is this how you address your clients, bounty hunter? ❞

      her likeness on the narrow viewplate creased with a nearly imperceptible twitch. ❝ unless they have cape, ❞ he retorted dryly.

      ❝ lord vader appears to value your skills. ❞

      ❝ he has a cape. ❞

      silence — a long silence. a bead of sweat slipped down the perimeter of her perfectly smooth temple.

      ❝ i’m curious, fett, have i done something to offend you? ❞ he could hear smeck’s teeth grinding as she spoke, ❝ or are you always this professional? ❞

      ❝ the ioci has the guild in its pocket. yet here i am instead of one of cradossk’s lackeys. i’m not cheap, inspector, and your agency’s got a taste for mystery meat. ❞

      that struck a cord. her chin dipped as she reluctantly meted out a reply, ❝ our associates want nothing to do with this job. ❞

      ❝ hunting ghosts doesn’t pay bills. ❞

      ❝ it’s pays five hundred thousand, mister fett. ❞

      that sum would’ve grabbed any other bounty hunter by the entrepreneurial throat. alas, boba scoffed, ❝ same as nothing. no one, not even the hutts, knows who they are. ❞

      smeck produced the projector she’d been holding behind her back. the grainy blue holo was somewhat washed out by the overwhelming white of the rotunda’s walls, but the symbol displayed was clear cut. perfect symmetry, two parallel lines that peaked in opposite directions in the middle, creating a vertical horizon for twin diamonds that mirrored twins suns forever caught at dusk and dawn.

      the stalwart face of the mandalorian helm was a saving grace. it disguised the young man beneath’s sudden fixation. the outline bore a heavy familiarity that pressed down on his chest, trapping any commentary he might’ve had for the now mistakenly triumphant inspector.

      boba’s initial thought was that the symbol bore an uncanny resemblance to an iron heart. the design as abstract yet deliberate enough to be mandalorian, but the conclusion didn’t settle neatly. instead it stirred something else. the young hunter had seen this before, seen it and knew it well. like the face of an old friend.

      only problem was fetts didn’t have friends.

      ❝ this is fulcrum’s mark. or mark associated with him, at least. a reliable source can guarantee that much. ❞ smeck paused, her eyes eagerly searching for something legible in the hunter’s hidden gaze. encouraged by his silence, the inspector continued, her voice bolstered with bloated confidence, ❝ we have a dossier of everything we know. i will give it to you if you accept the contract. five hundred thousand, fett. you will be given two hundred thousand upfront — which is generous i might add — and a peace-keeping certificate so that you may act on the empire’s behalf. within reason. ❞

      fulcrum, a word synonymous with a perpetual migraine in the imperial lexicon. since the early years of the palpatine’s regime, the iio and the isb chased a shadow down dead ends with the persistence of mad men. there was just enough information out there about the mysterious partisan to clock the mi proximity sensors. but no matter how vicious the agency got or how aggressive their tactics became, their sleek black jaws always clamped down on thin air.

      even the galaxy’s underbelly fared little better which was disturbingly impressive. nothing escaped the gravity well of the criminal rumor mill. there was too many hungry eyes and itchy ears that would sell their own mothers for a crumb, yet greed’s ceaseless ambition couldn’t conjure miracles. even some of the most infamous brokers inistsed fulcrum was a hoax. some rebel left hand distracting the isb from the efforts of the right. so, imperial intelligence gnawed dry bones, devoid of all their usual suspects.

      now the best minds the empire could hire were handing him the boot-scrapings they managed to collect over the past eight years in hopes that the brawn would accomplish what the brain couldn’t.

      ❝ any abuse of privileges during your employment will result in a conviction of treason, and thus execution. am i understood? ❞ silence. ❝ am i understood, bounty hunter? ❞ a deafening nothing. ❝ fett! ❞

      boba’s scrutiny never left the holo, ❝ crystal. ❞

      more than a month had passed since fett’s visit to coruscant. being the one to authorize his certificate, smeck got bold. she supplied him with side gigs to ❝ keep him busy ❞ while he tantalized one of the galaxy’s most elusive secrets with every trick he had. quiet hours on slave i were passed pouring over the information the imps provided and bloodsoaked discoveries of his own. fulcrum didn’t leave much of a trail, but eyes inhabited every corner of the galaxy. there was always a witness. getting them to talk was straightforward: some desired credits, others answered to violence.

      sleep, however, was replaced fulcrum’s symbol. a captive audience, in the cockpit, on his bed. his eyes traced over the planes. boba had seen it before. the helmet’s databank was no help, but he knew it. like a face.

      but from where?

      the bounty hunter was closing in on his answer. weeks of relentless prowling, now he was finally at the summit. the phantom’s signature was the center of his rangefinder’s display. a humanoid shape, wrapped in wild shapes the infrared struggled to decipher. a moment later, the hunter pounced on his long-awaited prey, carbine raised.

      ❝ you’re worth a lot dead, fulcrum. do as i say, and i might let you live a little longer. ❞ a well placed threat, spoken before the universe collapsed.

      fett’s heart was the first to go. revelation held it in its fist and crushed it to a pulp that drowned the bottom of his chest. his blaster dropped as his muscles slackened, lips parted by a breathless whimper.

                                          ❝ ashla? ❞

      the ghost of fulcrum felt more flesh and blood than the name draped across his tongue. it fell like an unanswered prayer, anchoring the bounty hunter where he stood.

i’d really rather talk about this at another time that’s not now . — @commandsir

      fulcrum’s mark. he knew it like a face. it aligned perfectly. the natural circlet beneath the spires of white and blue that crowned the vivid eyes deeper than the endless depths that haunted his dreams.