#javelin speeder

[sigismundsghost]

Dark Angels Javelin Speeder

[titanomancy]

Faster! More intense!

[nerdyogre]

Hobby success! I don't need to put Apothecary White on the world eaters at this scale as going straight from Wraith Bone spray to a Nuln Oil wash gives a better effect.

On the painting desk right now:

10 Rhinos, 4 Kratos, and 6 jetbikes that I need to buy yet another frigging book for - since rules for Javelins, Land Speeders and Outriders are in "The Great Slaughter"

[kirnet]

ive had a very specific actium drawing in my head for a while now and i think im finally ready to attempt it 

[fourtykane]

“The Ravenwing cometh on fiery pinions of vengeance!”

- miniatures by Praetorian Painting

[suite43]

PS Neither the egg fic nor the vegan freak have anything to do with M/gastar before you try it. That's all pure Starscream stanning, baby. And one of them is St/rop, the supposedly ""good""" ship LOL.

List of female Transformers Main Complete list Following is a thorough list of the various female Transformers in canon thus far. Many of these characters were Japan-exclusive, featured only in fiction, or exist as limited-run exclusive toys. Female characters who had multiple toys are listed only once. Generation 1 (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Chromia (1) Moonracer (2) Firestar (3) Elita One (4) Greenlight (5) Lancer (6) Arcee (7) Beta (8) An Autobot rebel (9) Paradron Medic (11) Nancy (12) Minerva (13) Clipper (14) Karmen (18) Glyph (20) Road Rage (21) Discharge[1] (22) Windy[1] (23) Vibes (24) Roulette (25) Flareup (32) Flip Sides (34) Rosanna (35) Windrazor (38) Thunderblast (46) Cassiopeia (47) Nautica (51) Windblade (52) Victorion (61) Velocity (63) Javelin (62) Proxima (64) Roadmaster (65) Acceleron (66) Override (69) Rust Dust (70) Pyra Magna (71) Skyburst (72) Stormclash (73) Jumpstream (74) Dust Up (75) Scorpia[1] (76) Eos (80) Lifeline (83) Quickslinger (84) Hotwire[2] (98) Strongarm (99) Slide[2] (104) Crush Bull[2] (107) Oiler[2] (108) Broadside[2] (109) Sky High[2] (110) Circuit[2] (116) Pyra Ignatia Spark[2] (118) Scorchfire (122) Orthia (126) Smashdown[2] (128) Esmeral (15) Lyzack (16) Clio (17) Nightracer (19) Shadow Striker (26) Howlback (31) Flamewar (33) Flip Sides (34) Crasher (39) Freezon[1] (44) Nightracer (49) Slipstream (50) Twirl (54) Nickel (60) Swift (77) Killjoy (79) Blackout[2] (81) Spaceshot[2] (82) Crash Test (85) Trickdiamond (92) Moonheart (93) Megaempress (94) Flowspade (95) Lunaclub (96) Megatronia (100) Buckethead[1] (103) Diveplane[1] (112) Seawave[1] (113) Mindgame (114) Tracer[2] (115) Devastator[2] (117) Cindersaur[2] (125) Shadow Striker (127) Nova Storm[2] (129) Termagax (133) Kaskade (135) Heavywait (138) Tyrannocon Rex (139) Cheesecake robot (10) Roulette and Shadow Striker's sister (27) Path Finder (28) Small Foot (29) Devcon's galpal (30) One of Optimus Prime's rescuees (36) Angela (37) Four members of the Kaon upperclass (40-43) Ma-Grrr (45) Red waitress Transformer (48) Windshear (53) Solus Prime (55) Female protester (56) Lightbright (57) Strafe (58) Mistress of Flame (59) Exocet (67) Vertex (68) Aileron (78) Gnash (86) Slice (87) Thrashclaw (88) Shred (89) A pair of Devisen twins (90-91) Maxima (97) Sieg[3] (101) Kari (102) Anode (105) Lug (106) X-Throttle (111) Rum-Maj (119) Praesidia Magna (120) Fastbreak (121) Crash Test (122) Stardrive (123) Magrada (124) Leviathan (130) Codexa (131) Gauge (132) Lodestar (134) Shutter (136) Sharpclaw (137) Cargohold (140) Half-qualifiers: Alana, turned into a Transformer for a short time. Aunty, female Cybertronian intelligent computer. Combination granny and attack-dog-bots, human-sized drones supposedly based on Transformer technology. One of Maccadam's bartenders Nightbird Overlord, has a female side to him. Some of the "Teletraan" computers like 15 and 10 are female. There appears to be a female design among a group of old generics. Bayonet, the fake female Decepticon disguise of Britt. In the French dub of The Transformers: The Movie, Shrapnel and Starscream are considered female. Shrapnel is also female in the Russian dub. Beast Era (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Airazor (2) Kitte Shūshū (5) Rage (6) Botanica (7) Sonar[1] (13) Crystal Widow (14) Crossblades (15) Stiletto (16) Transmutate[1] (18) Binary (19) Wedge Shape[1] (24) Aura (25) Legend Convoy[1] (26) Stockade[2] (28) Rav (29) Hammerstrike[2] (31) Triceradon[2] (35) Skimmer (36) Nyx (44) Blackarachnia (1) Scylla (3) Antagony (4) Strika (8) Manta Ray[1] (17) Ser-Ket (20) Dead-End[2] (27) Jai-Alai (30) Max-B[2] (32) Gaidora (33) Soundbyte/Soundbite (34) Liftoff (37) Freefall (38) Snarl-blast[2] (39) Vertebreak (43) Skold (45) Libras (9) Virgol (10) Cancix[1] (11) Possibly Sagittarii (12) Dipole (21) Vamp (22) Plasma[2] (23) Deep Blue (40) At least two bridge officers of the Terrastar (41-42) Half-qualifiers: NAVI-ko, female Cybertronian intelligent computer NAVI (Yukikaze), female Cybertronian intelligent computer NAVI (Gung Ho), female Cybertronian

intelligent computer DNAVI, female Cybertronian intelligent computer Medusa, an Intruder-built robot modified with Cybertronian technology Robots in Disguise (2001) (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Optimus Prime[2] (1) Nightcruz[1] (3) Scourge[2] (2) Half-qualifiers: T-AI, female Cybertronian intelligent computer. Unicron Trilogy (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Airazor (5) Arcee (9) Autobot nurses (10) Two Velocitronian band members (11-12) Override[4] (13) Joyride[4] (15) Quickslinger (16) Crystal Widow (24) Treadbolt (33) Chromia (34) Thunderblast (14) Spacewarp (30) Sureshock (1) Combusta (2) Falcia (3) Twirl (4) Sunburn (6) Cliffjumper[1] (7) Ironhide[1] (8) Spiral[1] (9) Offshoot[1] (17) Breakage[1] (18) Kickflip[1] (19) Mudbath[1] (20) Heavy Metal[1] (21) "Disco ball" (22) Road Rebel[1] (23) Guardian Speed[1] (25) Mugen[1] (26) Bingo/Triac[1] (27) Wedge Shape[1] (28) Sprite (29) Boom Tube (31) Windrazor (32) Rán (33) Half-qualifiers: A possible scooterformer Dark Nitro Convoy, evil clone of a character whose gender was switched in translation Red Alert, minimally-altered release of a toy that was female in Japan Midnight Express, unaltered release of a toy that was female in Japan Hourglass, a female character who might be a Cybertronian Bombshell, a female character who might be a Cybertronian Carillon, a female character who might be a Cybertronian Vector Prime, the former multiversal entity who was female in some universes Movie continuity family (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Arcee (1) Elita-One (2) Chromia (4) Perihelion (8) HMS Alliance (9) Windblade (13) Fracture (3) Alice (5) Shadow Striker (6) Override[3] (7) Diabla (10) Howlback (11) Shatter (12) Nightbird Airazor Half-qualifiersJetfire claims to have a mother who may or may not have been a Transformer. Animated (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Sari Sumdac (2) Arcee (3) Elita-1 (4) Red Alert (6) Botanica (8) Flareup (10) Rosanna (11) Glyph (12) Lickety-Split (13) Lightbright (14) Chromia (16) Clipper (17) Quickslinger (18) Kappa Supreme (19) Override Prime (20) Windy (21) Road Rage (25) Flashpoint (26) Minerva (27) Sureshock (28) Nightbeat (29) Sunstreaker (30) Blackarachnia (1) Slipstream (5) Strika (7) Flip Sides (9) Antagony (15) Wingthing (22) Beta (23) Drag Strip (24) Half-qualifiers: Teletran-1, female Cybertronian intelligent computer TransTech (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Blackarachnia (5) Strika (3) Unnamed medic (1) Andromeda (2) Cyclis (4) Sonar (6) Hammerstrike (7) Scorpia (8) Proxima (9) Half-qualifiers: Axiom Nexus News Editor, a 'bot with one male and one female personality Shattered Glass (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Crasher (1) Esmeral (6) Howlback (7) Arcee (2) Andromeda (3) Elita-One (4) Strongarm (8) Windblade (9) Nautica (10) Beta (5) Half-qualifiers: Teletraan-X, female Cybertronian intelligent computer. Aligned continuity family (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Akiba Prime Arc Arcee Arcee Blade Assault Star Brushfire Cameo Catapult Chevalier Chromia Deep Blue Ether Walker Firestar Galaxy Flare Galaxy 'Questrian Glow Matronly Docent Quickshadow Rocket Plume Solus Prime Strongarm Tempest Spin Thunderclap Upkeep Windblade Airachnid Astraea Aurora Speeder Balewing Coldstar Crimson Phantom Cyberwarp Cyclone Dancer Diabla Duststorm Fallen Angel Filch Flamewar Flash Runner Glowstrike Hoverbolt Helter-Skelter Hurricane Hunter Ida Lensflare Metal Thunder Nebula Ripper Night Dancer Overhead Retrofit Rollcage Scatterspike Skyjack Slink Slipstream Spiral Zealot Supernova Flame Variable Star Void Pulse Zizza Ser-Ket Ripclaw Azimuth Cogwheel Elita One Mercury Moonracer Nightra Override Bot Shots (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Buzzclaw (1) Kre-O (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Chromia (1) Arcee (3) Strika (4) Minerva (5) Windblade (6) Paradron Medic (10) Strongarm (12) Skimmer[1] (13) Airachnid (2) Thunderblast (7) Blackarachnia (8) Slipstrike (9) Ida (11) Liftoff[1] (14) Freefall[1] (15) Angry Birds Transformers (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Stella as:Arcee

(1) Airachnid (2) Chromia (4) Novastar (10) Moonracer (11) Greenlight (12) Silver as:Windblade (3) Energon Windblade (5) Elita-One (8) Matilda as:Energon Nautica (6) Nautica (7) Strongarm (9) Zeta as:Nightbird (13) Rosanna (15) Zeta as:Slipstream (14) Cyberverse (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Arcee Chromia Clobber Jazz[3] Windblade Alpha Strike Nova Storm Shadow Striker Skywarp Slipstream Blackarachnia Cosmos Operatus Solus Prime Half-qualifiers: In the Japanese dub of Cyberverse, Thrust was female, and went by the name Red Wing. Acid Storm fluctuates between the male and female Seeker body types in show. Mae Catt would explain this on Twitter as this being "just something Acid Storm likes to do" and that pronouns are "up to Acid Storm". This would imply Acid Storm is non-binary gender fluid, thus they semi-qualify for the list. BotBots (Numbers indicate order of appearance.) Aday Angry Cheese Arctic Guzzlerush Bankshot Big Cantuna Bok Bok Bok-O Bonz-Eye Bot-T-Builder Bottocorrect Bratworst Brock Head Chef Nada Clawsome Crabby Grabby Cuddletooth Dingledeedoo Disaster Master Disgusto Desserto DJ Fudgey Fresh Doctor Flicker Drama Sauce Drillit Yaself Face Ace Fail Polish Fit Ness Monster Flare Devil Flood Jug Fomo Frohawk Frostfetti Frostyface Glam Glare Fancy Flare Glitch Face Goggly Spy P.I. Gold Dexter Goldface Goldiebites Goldie Terrortwirl Goldito Favrito Goldpin Baller Gold Punch Grampiano Grandma Crinkles Grave Rave The Great Mumbo Bumblo Greeny Rex Grrr'illa Grimes Halloween Knight Handy Dandy Hashtagz Hawt Diggity Hawt Mess Highroller Hiptoast Ice Sight Javasaurus Rex Jet Setter Knotzel Latte Spice Whirl Leafmeat Alone Loadoutsky Lolly Licks Lolly Mints Miss Mixed Movie Munchster Ms. Take Must Turd Nanny McBag Nomaste Nope Soap Ol' Tic Toc Ollie Bite Outta Order Overpack Pop N. Lock Pop O' Gold Pressure Punk Professor Scope Rebugnant Roarista Sandy Shades Scribby Sheriff Sugarfeet Shifty Gifty Sippyberry Sippy Slurps Skippy Dippy Disc Slappyhappy Smooth Shaker Smore N' More Sour Wing Starscope Sticky McGee Sugar Saddle Super Bubs Sweet Cheat Technotic Sonic Terror Tale Torch Tidy Trunksky Tricitrustops Tropic Guzzlerush Tutu Puffz Twerple Burple Unilla Icequeencone Venus Frogtrap Vigitente Waddlepop Wasabi Breath Whirlderful Whoopsie Cushion Wristocrat

[theironwarsmith]

Dreadwing Paladin Nalkar Sârnsen

A member of the Order of Broken Claws, veteran of the Rangdan Xenocides and Master of the 74th Chapter.

I'm quite happy with how this guy has come out, especially the checkered pattern. I will flesh out the character at some point in the future though.

I will need to get a bit more information on the First Legion, so I shall be getting some more books.

The plan for the Dreadwing force is to have a small detachment of Ironwing (Excindio-class battle-automata, a tactical squad mounted in a rhino and a Forge Lord with 4 heavily armed servitors). So the elites will be a full Contemptor Talon, a squad of Cataphractii Terminators in a Land Raider and a Veteran squad in a Rhino. The Troops will be two tactical squads in Rhinos, a destroyer squad and interemptor squad (they become troops with the Dreadwing rite of war, the interemptors get a land raider, the destroyers get a Rhino) and two support tacticals (one will be a 5 man plasma gun squad, the other will be a 10 man Volkite Caliver squad and they'd be mounted in Rhinos). The Fast Attack choices will be a land speeder squadron, a Javelin land speeder squadron and a Lightning Strike Fighter. The Heavy Support will be a Arquitor Bombard, a Leviathan Talon (2 of them) and the Excindio-class battle-automata. The Lord of War will be either a Legion Stormblade or a Glaive.

[jangofctts]

Don’t Push Your Luck (Boba Fett x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k wooF

Warnings: smut, language, handjobs, oral (male receiving), fingering, heavy petting, there is SOFT. I REPEAT SOFT FLUFF. but only SOME 

Chapter (1), (2)

a/n: hey y’all...welcome...finally this bITCH IS OUT. thanks to @djxrxn​ WHOMST HAVE BEEN THE MAIN MOTIVATOR BEHIND THIS. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH 💖🥵🤠 

(also lmk if you wanna be tagged or just wanna YELL at me)

It’s impossible not to count down the days, the hours, the seconds leading up to your untimely end. A sleep cycle and half to be exact. A perfect amount of time to finish counting each loose wire and rusty screw holding together this heap of junk—a miracle really, that it’s able to jump to hyperspace, let alone fly.       

You’re no expert on the inner workings of a spacecraft, but your familiarity with Imperial grade cruisers gift you the impeccable skill of deducing that the hiss of air every couple minutes out of the hydraulic piping is not ideal. Nor is the solar light overhead that flickers and hums, skirting the precarious line of exploding in your face or simply plunging the cargo hold into murky darkness. 

At this point you’d take either.  

You sigh, resting the back of your head against the wall as the barbed tendrils of an oncoming headache settles behind your eyes.    

  Between that, the stupid light, and your boredom; it’s enough to make anyone stir crazy. Stars—even the arduous task of talking to Boba Fett is morphing into something akin to craving. Even if his idea of a conversation runs parallel to the art of smug, male pride and snide words meant to pick and prod—it’s better than whatever this is. 

Scoffing, you curl your knees up to your chest and rest your chin over your knee. This is pathetic. 

You should despise him—feel like kicking his teeth in—or helmet—whatever. He aided in the killing of you friend—probably took care of all the other poor souls who even dared to breathe your way too. Boba Fett is a despicable, no good bounty hunter who finds far too much fun in the misfortune of others.  

And yet… 

The task of attaching your hate to the man is proving to be more difficult than you would’ve guessed. You don’t regret what you’ve done with him—far from it in fact—but your tolerance, bordering enjoying his company, is concerning. To say in the least.   

Nothing good will come out of the conflicted ball of knots that settle in your chest, ensnaring your heartstrings into that endless monstrosity. 

Though none of it stops the way your chest constricts, heart skipping a few vital beats at the familiar sound of his spurs resonate through the ship. They chink against the metal pegs of the ladder, boots settling on the ground with a heavy thump. A moment later Boba steps into your line of sight, tattered cloak and chipped armor in all its battered glory. 

He isn’t an immanent threat, but your eyes still track each movement. The rational part of you knows he won’t lash out, but you’re still his quarry and even a wolf with a severed head has the power to bite. No part of you wants to brave the sharp points of his teeth.  

Not even a fraction of his attention is thrown your way as he does his routine inspections of your fellow captured quarries, frozen in their carbonite prisons. You just hope none of them spontaneously reanimate—you’re not too keen on another shipmate. Your little corner is crowded as is and forget sharing your blanket. It’s tattered and smells like dust and mothballs and you have a sneaking suspicion it’s just one of Boba’s old cloaks he outgrew—but you’re thankful for it anyhow. 

You flinch as he punches in a code, the loud grate of metal on metal piercing your ears as the carbonite slabs swing back into their storage space. With an incline of his head, his weighted gaze settles on your person.

“Still nervous?”

You sniff and shake your head. “You just…startled me is all.” 

Boba snorts in disbelief and pads closer. He reaches the toes of your boots and squats, one gloved forearm resting over his knee as the other reaches out to capture a lock of your hair. He twirls it between his fingers and gently tugs, quiet as he studies you behind the visor. The action is familiar—doesn’t scare you as much as it once did, but his closeness still overwhelms. 

“I see you’ve found some courage, gentle Rabbit,” he surmises, untangling his fingers from your hair to tap beneath your chin. “While we’re at it…any last favors I can provide?” 

It’s whiplash—so stupefying it renders your tongue speechless, a heated blush rushing up your cheeks and to the tip of your ears. He snickers and shakes his head, rocking back onto his heels to stand as you sputter for words. 

It’s a joke—a garbage one at your expense. Always at the butt-end of things with no room to snap back. Yet, as he turns on his heel to return to the cockpit—it’s the perfect opportunity. Not the sort of favor he’d be expecting, but a favor nonetheless. 

“Can I—“ He pauses and casts a glance over his shoulder as you muster enough bravery to follow through. “Do you think I could—could sit in the cockpit? Just for a little while…” 

It’s a long-shot—like launching a flimsy javelin at a target no larger than a thumbtack three thousand clicks away. Not happening—more likely to beat a rancor in a fucking wrestling match then sway the bounty hunter’s opinion. Regardless, the question must stun him—the terse silence drags on for an agonizing amount of time, amping up your anxiety tenfold. 

“I’m sorry—I just—I wanted to see the stars one last time,” you mumble, curling into yourself with a wince. “It’s stupid—“     

“It’s hyperspace—not much to look at.” He curtly interrupts. “An asteroid if you’re lucky.” 

Your spirits plummet further—scraping against the dirt like a crashed speeder geared to the highest velocity and headed straight for a brick wall. Maker this was dumb—

“The second you try anything funny—“

You perk up, your spine straightening as he turns swiftly on his heel and marches back. He leans down at the waist, firmly ensnaring your chin between his forefinger and thumb, straining the muscles in your neck. “—you’ll end up in there.” 

He jerks his head over his shoulder at the carbonfreezer. Yeah. No thank you. Absolutely zero interest in becoming a human popsicle. 

“You won’t even notice I’m there,” you breathe, holding your stare steady. “Promise.” 

Boba hums in thought, releases your chin and pats your cheek. He straightens and taps at his vambraces and with a hiss of air the stasis cuffs around your wrists clatter to the floor. You stand and sigh, rubbing at the angry raised lines, just shy from a dark bruise.   

The bounty hunter ushers you towards the ladder, his hand anchored to your shoulder. You stop yourself from scoffing. The action is useless—you’ve got no clever scheme up your sleeve or malicious motive but you can never be too cautious you suppose—not with this line of work.  

You try not to snoop once you clamber up into the second level—but Maker—it’s interesting. There’s a small bunk on the other end of the short corridor, messy blankets thrown on top and a deconstructed blaster that’s seen better days. Gray and off-white undershirts hang off the metal rigging on the bunk and the sight of his laundry is undoubtedly jarring. It’s silly not to think he doesn’t do laundry but—imagining the most feared bounty hunter in the Galaxy washing his tidy whities is hilarious.

“Come on,” Boba urges, nudging your shoulder with his own.

Your tiny smile never falters as he leads you into the domed cockpit, the neon blue of hyperspace reflecting across his chipped armor with miniature streaks of light. He gestures at the co-pilot’s seat tucked beside the com board, a litany of buttons blinking and flashing as you gingerly sit. 

The hinges squeak as the chair spins, your eye catching the mess of beaded and jeweled necklaces that hang on a tiny hook above the board. You recognize a few—Kashyykian ceremonial beads, the glittering coil of pure, refined diamonds from Pantora and the braided strands of bantha leather common on Tatooine. Your fingers drift up and thumb at the carved wooden Wroshyr beads. 

Trophies—

“Don’t touch those.”

You jump and yank your hand back. “So...all I can do is...sit?” 

“Isn’t that what you asked for?” 

You have to agree—there isn’t much to look at. Hyperspace, as fascinating as it is, looses its charm once the vertigo sets in. To be honest—you weren’t expecting to get this far. 

Oh well. 

A change in scenery is always nice. Different loose wires and screws to count…

And the seat spins. Score. 

Boba however, does not share in your bemused sentiments. Your mopey sighing and the constant squeak of loose bearings on your spinny chair is not pleasant to the ear, apparently.   

“If you’re that bored, Rabbit,” he sighs, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder. “You could always put those hands to work.” 

You pause and swipe a finger through the dust between the toggles on the comm board and absentmindedly respond. “I don’t think I’d be much help. I’m not very technically inclined and oh—“

Your cheeks flush when he tilts his head. “You, uh...didn’t mean that sort of work, did you?” 

Boba snorts and crosses his ankle over his knee and rests his helmet on the headrest. The stretched out figure of his body is alluring—fascinating to studying each nick and scratch on his armor without the repercussions of him staring back. His vambraces clink against his cuirass as he laces his fingers together, resting his hands just above his codpiece.      

“Do you need something, Rabbit?” 

You swallow, your eyes flicking back up to a more respectable place for them to linger. “Um..n-no. I’m fine. Just…”

He rolls his head to the side, the shadows from hyperspace carving out the sharp lines of his helmet into an even deeper dramatic cut. You squirm and focus your eyes on the frayed laces of your boots.  

“It’s alright. You can tell me, sweet girl.” His goads, tempting you out onto that slippery slope of desire. 

He uncross his legs and uses the tip of his boot to languidly spin himself around, his knees spread wide in a display of mock easiness. Boba’s thumbs drum against his ammo belt, the quiet, rhythmic tap…tap…tap…the only sound filling the charged silence. It’s the Academy all over again; sat down and scrutinized until you crack—spill every secret until they’re satisfied— and Boba Fett is no different…   

You scramble for words, wrangling your thoughts into something somewhat comprehensive.  “I’m—I—well—“

He cocks his head, light bouncing off the silvery pockmark on his helmet. Boba’s hand idly travels lower, brushes off imaginary dust on his thigh and settles his fingers over the clasps to this codpiece. His thumb flicks it open then closed, all too keen on where your eyes are glued to.    

“You want your hands on my cock again? Is that it?” Boba purrs in amusement. You tongue passes over your lip as you wrench your eyes off of him yet again. 

“There’s no need to be play coy, girl,” Boba snickers, “Tell me.”   

The words jump out of your mouth—no forethought and apparently not an ounce of self control. “Yes—I want...to p-put my hands on you.”  

“On me or my cock?” 

You mouth goes dry as you mumble out a feeble agreement. “Your…cock.”

Boba huffs in self satisfaction. “Come here then.”   

On already shaky legs you stumble out of your seat and plant yourself in front of him. You have no visual confirmation but the hair-raising sensations as his eyes rake down your body sends shivers up your spine. 

Your mouth parts, but before you’re even able to ask what he wants—he beats you to it. 

“Your choice, Rabbit.” 

Not helpful, you think.  

Regardless of the lack of direction, you chew on the inside of your cheek and slowly lower yourself onto your knees, sliding easily between his parted legs. The only indication you know he’s aware you’re there is a quick shift of his hips, settling further into the leather cushion.    

His leg jumps involuntarily as your fingers skim up his knee. If you weren’t interested in receiving a lovely black eye, you’d have the nerve to accuse him of being ticklish. 

Biting the corner of your lip to stave off your coy smile, your hand continues its path up along his inner thigh. There’s a short huff of air that filters through the vocoder as your fingertips reach the codpiece. They brush over the circular dent left by a blaster, curiosity piqued at the strange location. 

You want to ask—but—the thought is fleeting, far more interested in finding the tiny clasps on the side that easily pop open, the offending piece of armor going lax in your grip. You toss it to the side with little hesitation, greeted by the firm outline of his cock filling out the front of his trousers. 

Boba Fett is not a patient man and your lecherous gawking, enough to notice, irks him. With a grunt he snakes his fingers around your hand and presses it against his cock. He rolls his hips, guiding your hand into applying a firmer touch until you’re palming him without the extra help. You give the hardening flesh a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears. 

By the time your hand sweeps up to ease off the heavy ammo belt around his waist, the bulge in his pants is considerable—a fucking pain to maneuver around as you tug down his trousers into a dramatic ‘v’. Boba’s hand, hanging off the arm rest, jerks the moment your fingertips brush along the dark curls, trailing up and taking a hold of his cock with a careful grip.  

He’s heavy in your hand, thicker than the circumference of your forefinger and thumb pressed together, and harder than kriffing durasteel. You can feel his watchful gaze carve a burning path over the contours of your face, drifting to where you hold him. 

He grumbles an inaudible complaint under his breath, curling his fists by his sides. Despite his obvious irritation with your feathery touches, he lets you continue without so much as a grumpy sigh or snippy redirection. You preen at the small victory, delighted you’re able to explore before the short rope of his patience runs thin and snaps. 

A sharp hiss of hair passes through the vocoder as you lightly tug on his cock, mesmerized by the firmness and the searing heat beneath your palm. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the dark flesh, flushed and pulsing as wetness pools at the tip as you pull down the foreskin, exposing the entirety of the wide head.

With your thumb you spread the bead of liquid around, intent on continuing your little exploratory endeavor until Boba shifts and grumbles out an order to stop. 

“Not like that,” he huffs, laying his fingers over yours that hold his cock. “Harder.” 

A fiery blush licks at your cheeks as he squeezes both sets of fingers into a firm fist, leading your hand into the pace he desires. 

It’s rough, much firmer than you’d think would be pleasurable—but you oblige. The wetness that dribbles from the flushed tip lessens the friction but with quick lick over your palm, he glides easily in your hand. Boba’s head rolls back against the headrest, exposing a sliver of brown skin beneath the lip of his helmet. 

It’s not long before your wrist aches—just shy of a couple moments. Luckily enough for you and your poor hand musculature, it doesn’t take more than a handful of minutes—rough and with no real discernible technique other than just fucking into your fist. Boba’s knee jerks as he lifts his head and arches his hips, chest heaving with shallow inhales.    

“Take it in your—in your mouth,” he orders in a rough rasp. His chest heaves as his hand finds purchase in your hair, jerking your head closer to his cock. It stings—Maker, why does he pull so hard? 

With a huff, you listen and part your lips. The tip of his cock slips into your heated mouth, twitching as your tongue rolls against the small slit leaking a near continuous stream of precum. With a couple short tugs and a gentle suck around the head, his fist clenches tight and drags you further down his shaft.

You gag around him, a low grunt rattling through his diaphragm as he cums. It’s warm, thick and fills your mouth, but the heavy weight on the back of your head leaves you no other choice than to swallow. Boba curses, cock still twitching when he lets you up and pulls out of your mouth. You gasp for precious air as you wipe off your lips with your sleeve, sparring a look up at the bounty hunter.   

The reclined figure of his body molds into the chair, a strip of dark skin peeking out from beneath the cowl has his head rests back against the seat. His fingers twitch when you shift, squirming as the twisting heat in your lower stomach festers and grows. 

You watch his throat bob as he speaks, “If you want something...take it.” 

The hard enamel of your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you carefully rock forward, dragging yourself off the ground. It takes a moment to shuck off your pants and perch yourself over his knees after shimming his trousers further down his legs. Boba only bothers to look up with lazy interest once your cunt, soaked and smeared over your inner thighs presses against his upper legs, wetting the muscled limbs. 

You steel your nerves against the sharp analytical gaze through the carved lines of his vizor and give your hips a tentative roll along the length of his softening cock. For all you know he could be asleep—yet you have a sneaking suspicion as to what his eyes are glued to. You’re no idiot.  

Boba’s gloved fingertips skim up your thigh, tempted to go higher but instead they drop back onto the armrests. You chew the inside of your lip, shooing away the urge to frown. Whatever—dwelling upon the quick movement is best left in the dark.

He sucks in a sharp breath of air as you rock your hips for a second time, your slick folds gliding smoothly along his member. It’s a light pressure, no more than a gentle caress so as not to overwhelm—but nonetheless still pleasurable, sating that untamable fire that burns bright in your belly. 

Your eyes drift back to those white gloves, his fists balled and stationary on the armrest. You want them on you. You want to feel his callouses scrape over your skin—one last craving you need to put an end to. 

It’s a risk—a big one. Yet, throwing your worries out the window is easier than your indecisiveness.

Both your hands slowly crawl over the white gloves, cautious in pulling them off as if he were some rabid Nexu ready to bite. He is, in a way and your sneaky little ploy certainly does not go unnoticed. 

Boba jerks his hands up the arm rests. “What makes you think you’re allowed to touch me?”

His tone is scathing—knocks you so far off that small pedestal of bravery you’ve mustered and leaves you wilting. You should’ve known, stopped while you were ahead. Though knowing in the back your mind that something like this would happen, doesn’t take away from the razor sharp embarrassment that cuts through your chest.

Your forearm shoots up to rub away the burning itch of tears that threaten to fall, your head turning away in a mixture of shame and regret. Stupid—

You’re about to retreat, slide off his lap like a miserable pile of goo, but the delicate touch on your chin, coaxing you to face him startles you. Even more so when he tugs at the offending glove and brushes a bare finger down your cheek, a mere whisper against your skin. “You have a soft heart.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he slips the other glove off, settling one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other tentatively slip between your legs and presses against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. 

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him and with a firm hand, he parts your soaking cunt and thrusts two of his fingers inside, grinding the heel of his palm into the little bundle of nerves. 

With a chuckle his hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. “Good little Rabbit—cum on my fingers.”

Your body seizes as white hot heat sears through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a long whine filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around his fingers. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body after your euphoric high. You’re barely conscious of your actions as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. With a satisfied hum, he slips them out, allowing your head to finally rest against his chest.   

His hands are warm around your hips, tracing little patterns into the exposed skin—so light you’re sure you’re imagining it. You chide yourself—there’s no space for these kind of things. Not now.   

The beskar is an uncomfortable thing to lay your cheek on—cold too—yet his soft sigh convinces you to stay put. Just for another second, suspended in a strange intimacy that neither of you should be dipping your toes into. 

A gentle hush encompasses the cockpit, lulling you into a light doze. Though as your eyes struggle to stay open, the subtle inhale before a sentence is spoken keeps them from shutting. You wonder if he’ll muster the courage to speak or if he’ll let the words settle back into that lake teeming with uncovered mysteries and things better left unsaid.     

“What would you do...” The beginning of his words tapers off as if he could pretend you wouldn’t hear it. It’s low, almost...uncertain. Well, as uncertain as Boba Fett could be with a head so full of his arrogance and pride. 

His fingers drift higher up your back, ghostlike and teasingly soft.You hate the goosebumps that are left in the wake of his bare fingertips crawling up your spine. Swallowing, your fingernail taps at the chipped paint and circles the little brand on his cuirass. “Do what?” 

He doesn’t answer right away—chewing on his words like they’ve stuck to the roof of his mouth and don’t intend to leave. He shifts and you’re afraid he’s about to shove you off his lap and storm away, but all he does is clear his throat and settle a palm on your upper back. “If I...if I let you go. What would you do?” 

Your brows furrow, your heart kicking up into a rapid flurry of panic. That’s not fair—that’s not fair of him to say. You look up, your own twisted features staring back at you in the muted spectrum of blacks and grays in his visor. This is a joke—another one of his games to push you over the edge while he gets to bask in his idea of proclaimed hilarity. “That’s not funny.” 

“It’s not supposed to be.” 

You ball your hand into a fist as a tidal wave of resentment, followed with chilly anguish washes over you. Your head spins and battles with opposing opinions and reasons why he should just go through with delivering you to his employer. Be done with it and get his moneys worth without any consequence. 

And yet, there’s a minuscule part of you, sprouting away from the dark cloud of inevitability, that wonders. Wonders if you should fight—convince him you deserve to live, untangle you from the disastrous web the Empire has cast around your limbs with no hope of escape. You sigh and shut your eyes. 

“I’d never escape from the Empire even if you did,” you murmur. “The only time I’d be free is if I were dead.”

                                             <><><><><><><><>

He promised himself that this would never happen. 

Never let his own desires and emotions interfere with a job. 

It’s irresponsible, bad for business and frankly quite stupid. This could cost him his credibility, his credits, his life.  

You don’t double cross your employer—it’s the first rule of business that even a child would understand.   

Boba Fett is cunning and clever; always one step ahead of his enemies. Always methodical, refusing to leave any loose ends that even hint at coming back around to bite him in the ass. He’s convinced himself that a will of iron is necessary—the only way to survive and to grow stronger than those who’ve hurt him—bested him in the game of life.  

Cold, methodical, a legend.   

And you…

You are soft. Gentle and too kind for someone to be caught up in this sort of mess. He shouldn’t be delivering you to Death’s doorstep in exchange for credits. You should be off living on some remote planet, far out of the reaches of the Empire. Away from him. Billions of miles from his bloody fingertips that stain your skin like black ink against a white canvas.  

But you’ve made your choices and he’s made his.    

And none of it soothes the festering storm, with winds more forceful than those on Kamino, that rattle through his ribcage. It tears through his sternum, cuts through the beskar and leaves an open wound—raw and tender that grows tenfold the second your eyes land on him. 

You don’t beg when he hoists you up from the floor, no blubbering tears or last minute bargains to spare your life. Not even as you both reach the loading ramp, one mere tap of the button that would reveal you both to the man waiting on the landing platform. One button and he’d be free of you. You’re braver than most. 

He’ll give you that. 

He shouldn’t have said anything—saved himself from the steady ache that comes with having to look you in the eye. Drives a stake so deep into his chest the second you spare him a precious smile that twinkles like unrefined coaxium and thank him. You’re thanking him for the barest amount of kindness he offered to you on your last days of life. 

Boba isn’t sure who he hates more; himself or you. 

He must be staring too long—committing each soft slope and contour of your cheeks, the freckles, your softly parted lips, to memory—because the gentle nudge to his arm startles him. 

“I’ll be alright,” you grin. You make a poor impression of a blaster with your finger and thumb and mimic the sound of it firing. “One shot to the head and I’m gone.” 

“I know how blasters work.”

You shrug and glance at his hand that hovers over the button. “Then why are you hesitating?”

The million credit answer. One that you both know the answer to. 

“Because you won’t be dying. Not today and not while I’m still alive.”  

                                     <><><><><><><><><><><>

The outfit is garish. 

Too white.

Too clean. 

A color that deceives his true nature and masks what he truly is— a viper laying in wait for unsuspecting prey and witless victims. The smile that curls along the man’s unshaven face is meant to charm, but all it does is unsettle. 

Boba has never once trusted a man who relies solely on the weight of his words rather than his own actions. All that this man has are words. Words, and a flimsy position within the ranks of the Empire. That, and twelve heavily armed Death Troopers that guard him, if you count them as well.  

Orson Krennic. 

A man that’ll get what’s coming to him. Perhaps not Boba’s own plasma bolt through the middle of his finely pressed uniform—but something equally as satisfying.

Grey hairs that escape his hat glint like shards of metal shrapnel in the midday sun, the Director’s smile steady as he speaks. “Took you long enough, bounty hunter.” 

Boba’s teeth clamp onto his tongue, the metallic taste of blood flooding his tastebuds. “Too bad you have to rely on one, Director.” 

Krennic snorts, folds his arms behind his back and saunters closer. “And your bounty? What of her?” 

“Dead.”

[coolyo294]

storm speeders wish they had what the land speeder javelins have 

[doopcafe]

Tartakovsky’s Star Wars Clone Wars: Season 1

Summary: Obi-wan leads an assault on the Banking Clan while Anakin battles fighters in space. 

Comments: This show does two things really well: scale and style. 

One of the primary shortcomings of TCW was the inability to portray a sense of scale. A “blockade” was five ships; an “army” was a hundred soldiers. Here, a blockade is visualized as a galaxy-sized armada of ships, bleeding off the screen in every direction; an army is a continuous mass of soldiers that covers an entire continent. Just absolutely massive quantities of military hardware and droid/manpower are shown. 

Secondly, the style is great. I get that it’s essentially Star Wars: Samurai Jack, but the visual style really makes this fun to watch. OP!Jedi will no-look walk away as explosions erupt behind them, their cloaks dramatically billowing in the wind. Palpatine does the Mr. Burns “evil fingers” motion with obscenely skinny, vile-looking fingers. And so on... There’s a lot to like here. 

Obi-Wan has some ARC troopers who get a few seconds of explanation (compared to zero in TCW) and then plenty of scenes of them being pretty effective at, you know, war stuff. They take out snipers, tanks, accomplish their objectives all to some pretty cool theme music (or, if you prefer, Samuel Kim’s version).

Fish Wars happens, but it’s more enjoyable than a fish named after a brand of tuna. Fisto *giggles* even does like... a DBZ spirit bomb with the Force? And his lightsaber makes steam/bubbles in the water. Somehow this cartoon makes TCW even worse knowing TCW was given a literal playbook and still managed to f— it up, Trump pandemic style, baby. 

Also, this cartoon is completely off the f—ing rails. There’s a armored knight droid that mounts a speeder bike to charge a Republic tank with a javelin. That’s not a joke, that’s literally a scene in this show. Obi-wan learns of this Medieval Ages threat and orders his troops to “mount up” and we get scenes of Obi-wan speeder-bike-jousting with the armored knight. I never knew I needed this in my Star Wars, but here it is. 

The main knight guy is actually pretty interesting because he has more weapons than a Mandalorian and fights against an OP!Jedi well enough to actually be an intimidating opponent and build some tension. Obi-wan kills him, then he turns into the Third Act of Akira and... well, it gets even weirder. 

Speaking of Obi-wan, he’s still quite the pompous, sassy asshole he is in TCW, but here it’s executed in flavors of likability. This isn’t the intolerable TCW!Wan who ceaselessly bickered with Anakin or made an annoyed face whenever he had to do something. 

Oh! And Ventress even has a proper introduction. Also, her voice actress does an appropriately creepy job. 

We end this sequence of “episodes” with Anakin being shown to be a skilled pilot. Gone is the TCW!Anakin who crashes every ship he touches... 

My enjoyment: 4/5 

[lordsofmedrengard]

Is anyone else using funny units for 30K? I’m talking normal Land Speeders, Attack Bikes, Outriders, Breachers, Recon squads, normal Dreadnoughts...

I mean, I get why people stick to Jetbikes and Contemptors and Javelins, since you get their increased abilities for only a very slight increase in cost, but it DOES make people’s armies a bit monotonous. It’s perfectly understandable to want to really show off the advanced technology of the young Imperium, also, but you miss out on entertaining and... rare? Uncommon unit combinations, which is a shame.

[lordsofchemos]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZD2ZbaCipaE

I’m extremely unimpressed by the EC player here.

No modelling on the Land Speeder pilots/gunners, his Chaplains were boring as hell, just a phoenix guard arm on his jetbike chaplain and a normal artificer armoured Praetor without further converting, Cataphractii terminators with I1 weapons without regard for how they affect EC Legion rules, the javelins had Heavy Bolters he tried to sell as Multi-Meltas (just fucking say you're proxying man, don't try to sell them as EC pattern)... He took Fulgrim with the Fire Blade, which is fine, but he put him with a single 5-man squad of Cataphractii? Why??? The Sergeant jetbiker wasn’t the one with the plume, either.

And the match hasn’t even started yet.

[titanomancy]

Plastic Javelin Attack Speeder incoming.

[ordo-scriptus]

Sigismund lead the Imperial Fists against a force of White Scars today - the blades of Ebon Keshig met the storm shields of the Huscarls, Lascannon teams hurled Land Speeders and Javelins from the air, and bikers vomited twin-linked plasma death over Breacher siege squads. It was a hugely close game, the White Scars were reduced to a single Praetor on a single wound at the end of their second turn, only for an armoured rush of terminators and bikers to swarm in from reserve. The game went to six turns, and the Imperial Fists barely scraped a victory at the end - thanks almost entirely to a single Assault Marine sergeant that scored me two victory points by breaking into the enemy's lines on the last turn! #warhammercommunity #horusheresy #hardforheresy #sigismund #siegeofterra #imperialfists #whitescars #imperialfists30k #warhammer30k #30k #hobbystreak #hobbystreakday76 (at Wakefield) https://www.instagram.com/ordo.scriptus/p/CZQU_sxNJRu/?utm_medium=tumblr

[sigismundsghost]

World Eaters Javelin Speeder.

[artswaps]

Dude. Pardon the intrusio but... platonic kallura. It's my favourite thing. Like I'm not a writer and I'm terrible at character analysis but they legit seem like such a sporty power couple. Like all I want for them is to just bond over altean and Earth sports??? And like just getting into random competitions and they're ridiculously even?? Like??? Take a speeder each and just go out for a race?? I'm all about that. And then they'll relax in the altean space pool!❤

NO PARDONS NECESSARY I live for platonic content like this. 

TBH I feel like Allura would wipe the floor with Keith if they went up against each other in any physical sport, (with short-distance running being the exception, I can see them being fairly evenly matched in that department. Though Allura probably has more stamina for long-distance). I mean, this is the girl who tossed Shiro down a hallway like he was nothing, and who is apparently trained to a much higher level than the gladiator they all faced off against in Some Assembly Required. They’d compete anyway because it’s fun and they both enjoy the physical activity, but… sorry Keith, you’re no Altean. (I’d like to think that with as much training as he’s put in since the beginning, he could at least give her a run for her money if they ever sparred, but I don’t think he or any of the other Paladins are really at Allura’s level in combat as of yet.)

But give them both a speeder and they’ll outrace everyone. Keith is someone who loves flying, feeling the wind in his hair, going as fast as he can, and taking stupid risks cos he knows he can pull it off. Look at how much he was enjoying himself in episode 1 when they were all escaping the Garrison on that hoverbike. That boy flew straight off a cliff and was grinning the whole time. What a legend.

We haven’t seen much of Allura letting loose in the same way, and she’s (probably) not as experienced a pilot, but if ever she’s given the chance to just cut herself some slack and enjoy herself for once, then I really think she’d appreciate flying in a similar way to Keith. She’d love the freedom of it, the excitement, the rush you get from going at a break-neck speed through open terrain until the wind is stinging your skin and anything in your peripheral vision is just a blur. 

I adore the idea of them racing each other like that, neck-and-neck and laughing, not really caring who wins in the end because it’s just fun. I think Keith would really appreciate having someone who feels the same way about flying as he does. Obviously both of them are very mission-oriented and have a strong sense of duty, but Keith also loves piloting in of itself. He’s a natural at it, he was practically born to fly. Obviously we don’t know for sure if Allura’s had any previous experience in the same way, but the way she’s taken so quickly to piloting Blue I have a feeling it’s kinda the same for her. And I think it would be great for Allura if she allowed herself to drop some of the burden she’s always putting on her shoulders enough to have fun once in a while.  

I also love your idea of them learning about sports from each other’s home worlds. I don’t feel like Keith was much of a team-sport player; he’d prefer more independent sports like some track and field, probably running/sprinting/cross country, fencing, maybe some kind of martial arts, maybe swimming (though imo Lance is the real swimming star of team Voltron). He’d still explain to Allura the more popular team sports as well as he’s able though, because she’d be interested.

I can see Allura being really good at something more controlled that takes a lot of technique and form as well as strength, like javelin or discus. If they had any sports like that on Altea then that’d probably be what she participated in. Athletic-type stuff, too. I can also totally imagine Altea team sports being a lot more brutal or high-stakes than any Earth equivalents. The rules are probably a lot more complicated, too. 

(Of course, I’m saying all of this with practically no knowledge about how sports work myself lmao.)

And like… Keith and Allura working together during team sports is a scary thought. You called them a “sporty power couple” and I think that’s pretty goddamn accurate… they’d be a terrifying, unstoppable force. Imagine a beach episode or something where the team decides to play volleyball. If Keith and Allura were on the same team, I can totally see it turning into something very similar to that super intense game from Avatar TLAB with the Fire Nation kids.

Yeah. Awesome. 

Also, if there’s anything I love more than platonic Kallura, it’s platonic Kallurance. Keith and Lance already have that super-competitive friendship going on that once ended in both of them crashing their lions into the ground rather than forfeit a game of chicken to each other. I’d like to think Allura has a bit more sense than that, but if ever that rivalry turns into light-hearted competition rather than just trying to show each other up, than the thought of all three of them racing each other around on speeders is just.... it’s real good. They have fun.