#mod [ryl]

[jakey-beefed-it]

Thanks to my wife and her ability to track down and install mods, I was able to make a pretty credible Ryl in BG3, complete with cat ears, tail, and cool overcoat. Gonna go Rogue/Warlock to best represent her tabletop ideal.

[melaniemonth]

hii everyone!! i'm mod ryl (they/them) and i'm working the last prompt, melabration! that's your day to show everyone your melanie designs, and i can't wait to see what everyone comes up with. if you have any questions about this prompt or the event feel free to shoot us an ask!

today is officially one day before the event starts, and tomorrow is admiral day! let's get started!

[thewalkingboxes]

this user loves dwight, long live the crossbow badass

[quinntamsin]

“We must prepare for war.”

The bombing of Sanctuary has begun the war, and the death of people in Freetown has marked the first series of casualties. The Pyke Syndicate is moving on to Tatooine in a similar fashion to how mining companies use to strongarm their own workers during the Union days.

The House of Fett sits in the ruins of Sanctuary and discuss the war. The Mods convince Boba to stay a while. Cad meets wit the local leader of the Pykes and Mok Shaiz the ever naive starter of all this bullshit. And yes, I blame that Ithorian asshole for a lot of this damage. We learn that duh, the Pykes killed the Tusken Tribe. I think we are getting definitely getting a nice lead up to how truly malicious Cad Bane can be.

THe showdown between him and Bane goes down how we assumed and suddenly his Gotra is completely wiped out bit by bit. The Gamoreans fall and we see the Mods losing members as the Aqualish break the treaty. Santo is overtaken. Fennec saves the Mods and we get a nice little comment about Manners.

Ah yes, good old fashion Mandalorian honor. Our local Twi’lek spineless nominates himself for tribute and reads a nice little fuck you offer. We get an old fashioned Mando’ade level assault via some fucking jet packs and we watch beskar save everyone’s life. THe Pykes lose many, but their numbes are great as our two fighers are saved by an armored speeder from freetown. The Qeequaq bartender has brought some damn backup, and in come the fucking mods.

Love this fight so much and enter mother fucking Krrsantan. God, that wookie had a time putting so many Trandhoshans in the ground he probably should have his own necklace of some nice Trando teeth. And then the Pykes bring in what are obviously a newly updated destroyer droid on Ryl Spice! Holy shit if only the CIS had these others in the Clone Wars.

Boba flies off and leaves Din to protect the retreating gotra and luckly our brave brave mando stands alone. These fight scenes really show how we should be getting more Star Wars shows that focus on the non-JEDI aspect of the story. Seriously, less Space Wizards and more fucking Twi’leks please!

The Scorpanek (yup sounds like another Colicoid creation) gets its ass handed to it by the fucking rancor. Gods, I have wanted to see someone ride a a bloody Rancor for damn years. My Dathomiri heart sings to see it.

Yup, Boba just became PEAK MANDO’ADE! Can we get a basilisk droid please!

Meanwhile, the Freetowners and the Mods decide to make their stand. The droid doesn’t stand a chance bagainst bigboia nd the combined might of the Fett Gotra. Nor does it stand a chance against our beloved bigboi! This kid has spunk I tellz ye!

We see the people of Tatooine driving back the Pykes back and it all comes down to him and Bane (who used a flamethrower to throw off bigboi). And the true malice of Bane is revealed as the redeyed Duros prepares to end it all. And yet the fool wasn’t aware of Fett’s Gaffi stick and see’s his end finally come. The greatest fucking Bounty Hunter in all of the known Galaxy other than Fett is now dead.

Bane’s death solidifies the fall of the Pykes and their influence on the city. The Rancor meanwhile is terrorizing the city as he’s been sent beserk because of all the shots and Din tries his best to get a hold of Boba’s mount. Instead, Grogu appears to use the force to put bigboi to sleep, annd thenhe snuggles with it. This seems like a fitting end especially with Shand assassinating all of our traitorous family leaders and finally killing that damn Ithorian.

The Gotra meets once again and we see them gathering as the towners of Mos Espa now show respect to their new Daimyo. Meanwhile, Grogu bugs his dead so they can go really - really fast!

Hottakes:

Did I sense gay chemistry between a certain mod and a freetowner?

Papa Weequay taking the small blaster was...so amazing.

Cad Bane has this evil big duros energy, dark side BDE if you will.

The Pykes killing the Tuskens was kind of...obviously really. I hope we get to see some of them survive, aka Warleader who was my favorite char from thsi entire series.

Conclusion:

The Book of Boba Fett perhaps only feels right if you know Boba’s story. If you watched him from Attack of the Clones all the way THROUGH Clone Wars. This poor kid has tried hard to get revenge and define his family. For years he rolled with the abusive and manipulative Aura Sing before he struck out on his own. Finally, after years we get a story that puts a new hard chapter in one of the best damn Mandalorians to ever grace our vision.

And yes, fuck the Armorer, Fett’s a Mandalorian. If you follow the Codes of Honor you are Mando’ade!

[reneeofthestars]

Nerra Voa Numa

** I’m so excited to finally share the fic I wrote for “Found: A Clone Wars Zine”!! This was such an amazing project to be a part of, and I’m so thankful to the mods for allowing me to participate. **

***Leftover sales for the zine are currently open, so check out @foundaclonewarszine if you are interested in purchasing one of these amazing zines!***

Click “Keep Reading” to stay on Tumblr, or read it on AO3 

*     *     *

The bustle of the spaceport felt oddly comforting. Boil squinted against the harsh Rylothian sunlight as he stepped off the hoverbus, letting himself be jostled along by the crowd. Food carts tempted him with sweet aromas, pilots called for cargo or passengers, engines roared and sputtered on the landing platforms, droids and beings alike called and beeped and whistled.

The debarkation processes for civilian freighters and transports were far less organized than those the Grand Army of the Republic had used, but it had a liveliness to it, an energy that reminded Boil of the anticipation that had filled him the first time he watched the oceans of Kamino shrink into a cloudy sphere before vanishing altogether in the blur of hyperspace.

He hadn’t felt that excitement in years.  When the Imperial troops loaded into the cruisers – that is, the Star Destroyers – it was like watching some parody of Boil and his fellow soldiers. The clones set out under orders to drive back the mindless Separatist droids and defend the citizens, and their focus was palatable. The stormtroopers were commanded to instill order – even when there was no disorder to be found – and their energy felt…wrong.  

Boil had worn the stormtrooper armor for years as he trained new recruits. He remembered how civilians had looked at the clone troopers when they came to the cities during the war – yes, there had been skepticism and dismissal; but there had also been relief, friendliness, appreciation. As a stormtrooper, he only felt positive emotions from a select few Core Worlds. Everywhere else, the civvies looked uneasy, mistrustful, even scared.

But he had been able to chalk those feelings up to the vast changes in the galaxy. The war had begun and ended so suddenly; residual turmoil was expected. He went on as he always had: a soldier following orders.

And he had fellow clones in the ranks that he spent time with. They mostly kept to themselves; the natural-born recruits viewed them as either superiors or inferiors. They had quietly complained about the degraded plastoid armor and inefficient helmets, reminisced old battles, spoken to each other like only brothers could. But one by one, they died in skirmishes with criminals, or were forced into retirement by their superiors, until Boil was the last clone at the Arkanis Imperial Academy. He’d never been without a brother before, and the loneliness had almost swallowed him whole.

He had known it was only a matter of time, but that hadn’t stopped the swooping sensation in his gut the day his supervisory officer told him to clear out his bunk and come to her office. He’d signed the discharge doc absently, writing his nickname without thinking. The officer had scowled and ordered him to resign it with his birth number.

And now, here he was: a clone on Ryloth with a limited credit supply, a bag of clothes, his old armor, and no idea what he was supposed to do now.

A passing Rodian caught his eye and frowned, like she was trying to figure out if she knew him. Boil ducked his head and hurried on, securing his headwrap closer to his face, trying to obscure it best he could. It had been ten years since the end of the war, and most civilians seemed to have already forgotten its existence. But there was still an impression that the clones were somehow responsible for the hardships of the war, which could lead to…problems. Boil ran a gloved hand over his face. Getting a job would be difficult.

Maybe he could be a mechanic. Or a mercenary. Or maybe a bodyguard. He’d have to find a place to buy a good blaster – the Empire hadn’t let him take his standard-issue blaster with him. Outside of war, he wasn’t sure what he could actually do. Maybe –

“Nerra.”

Boil froze. The voice was high and feminine, coming from somewhere off to his right. It was said quietly, almost absently, but it struck him to the core. He had a flash of a ghost town in a canyon, a small girl calling after him –

He spun around.

A young, teal-skinned Twi’lek woman was walking past, pushing a hovercrate brimming with electronic scrap. She wasn’t looking at him; she focused on the crowd in front of her, shooing away vendors that got too close.

Boil felt his breath catch, turning to tell Waxer – but no, Waxer had died years ago, what was he thinking?

He didn’t recall stepping forward. All he knew was tripping over his own feet as he hurried after her. “Ex – excuse me? Ma’am!”

She kept walking.

“Ma’am? Ma’am!” Why were his hands shaking? He stumbled to a stop. “Numa?”

She jerked to a halt, whipping around to face him, her head-tails swinging. Her eyes widened. “What did you say?” she demanded in heavily accented Basic.

“I – ” Boil faltered. “You called me ‘nerra’.”

The woman’s face flushed a darker teal. “It’s – it’s just an old habit. I didn’t mean to –”

“No, you – you called me ‘nerra’ when I was here. During the war. Me and Waxer.”

She fell silent. Her wide brown eyes were streaked with violet, taking in his face, his height, his orange-marked greaves visible just below his oversized poncho. Very quietly, she asked, “Boil?”

He laughed. It had been so long since anyone called him by his nickname. He wasn’t sure why it happened, but his knees gave out.

And then she was there, little Numa, alive and healthy, if still a little too thin, kneeling in front of him, her hands holding onto his shoulders as he shook.

“You’re alive,” he gasped. “I’m so glad – you’re alive. So many people died – so many we couldn’t save…”

“Shh.” She looked around, apprehensive. The crowd had parted for them, and Boil realized he was attracting stares. “Come with me. I’ll help you.”

“No, it’s – it’s alright,” he grunted, fighting to pull himself together. The last thing he wanted was a patrol of stormtroopers to see him like this. “I don’t know – what came over me. I just – I’m glad you’re alright, that’s all. I’ll be going –”

“No,” Numa said fiercely. “You helped me. You helped my people. It’s my turn to help you.”

Boil let Numa pull him to his feet, surprised by her strength. Wordlessly, he took the hovercrate from her. She hesitated before nodding slightly and leading him through the winding streets. He wiped his face with the cloth of the headwrap, embarrassed.

He followed her into the residential quarter, the chaos of the spaceport fading away behind them. It was a quiet area, save for the wind whistling through the rocks around them. The homes had been hewn into the stone; they were much better-kept than the village he and Waxer had found Numa in all those years ago. Adult Twi’leks chatted outside of homes as children chased each other. Several of them called out to Numa, throwing Boil curious looks. He kept his head bowed.

Finally, Numa had him park the hovercrate along the side of a particular building. She tossed a large rough blanket on top of it, camouflaging it with the stone. That caught his attention. He looked at Numa sharply, but she either didn’t notice or chose not to respond.

“Uncle Nilim!” she called, leading the way inside the house. The entry room opened into a sparsely decorated common area, with cushions and seats arranged around an outdated holoprojector.

An aging, blue-skinned Twi’lek man appeared from an interior room. It took him a moment to see Boil, then recoiled when he did. He held a frantic arm out to Numa, crying something in Ryl.

She said something very quickly in reply, her lekku twisting and gesturing, and Boil remembered a lesson on Kamino in his childhood; Twi’leks used their head-tails to communicate in tandem with their oral language. He’d never paid attention before. It was like the hand signals he’d used with other clones.

The man still looked skeptical; he skirted the edge of the room before approaching. He and Boil stared at each other for a long time before the Twi’lek finally gave a small nod. “You are older. But it is you.” He pronounced every word deliberately, with great care. He seemed to be practicing his Basic.

“And it’s you,” Boil responded, realization dawning on him. Numa had run to this man when Ghost Company had liberated her village. Boil had always assumed he was her father. But she called him ‘uncle’…

The man smiled. He placed a hand on his heart as he bowed his head. “Nilimb’ryl. Nilim Bril,” he introduced himself. “I am honored to finally meet you, Nerra.”

“My name is Boil. Uh, thank you,” Boil said hastily, bowing his head too.

Nilim gestured towards the common area, and Boil followed the two Twi’leks as they sat on some plump cushions. Boil mimicked them, grunting as he lowered himself to the seat. He was getting old.

“I told you we would meet again someday,” Numa said, beaming as she nudged her uncle. She looked to Boil, sitting forward eagerly on her cushion. “And where is the other? Waxer?”

The air rushed from Boil’s lungs. It never got any easier.  

He didn’t need to say anything. Numa’s face fell. She extended an arm and touched his shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“He’d be glad you’re okay.” Boil forced a smile. “He always wondered if the war left you alone once we liberated the planet. It sounds ridiculous, cuz we only knew you for a day…but you left a big impact on him. On both of us.”

He set his pack down and reached inside. Nilim shrank away, reflexively grabbing his niece’s arm. “It’s alright,” Boil said quickly, holding up his hands. “I don’t have a blaster. I just want to show Numa something.” He didn’t move until Nilim nodded.

Boil moved his assorted belongings aside until his hand closed around his helmet. He hadn’t worn it since the war, but he’d been allowed to keep his armor, and the detail on the bucket was still intact. He stared at the visor, his reflection gazing back at him.

“When we found you, Waxer realized you might think we were droids, so he took his bucket off so’s not to scare you.”

“I did think that,” she admitted. “I remember being scared – I thought the droids were going to take me too. Then when I saw his face – ” she laughed. “I’d never actually met a Human before, so I wondered where his lekku were.”

“And when I took mine off, you pointed at us both and said ‘nerra’.” Boil was quiet for a moment. “He didn’t want to leave you behind. I did. If it had been up to me, I would have left you there, to continue my mission. Waxer was always a better man than me.” He hung his head, grip tight on the helmet.

“You’re a soldier,” Numa answered, her voice soft. “Sometimes you have to make hard calls. But you made the choice to help me. And you saved me. You saved all of us.”

Boil chuckled. “Heh. Well you saved us, too. Those two-legged insects would’ve eaten us if you hadn’t gotten us outta there.” He lifted the helmet from his pack and handed it to her.

She took it, her brow creasing as she examined the cartoonish figure painted on the side. Waxer had painstakingly added the decal to both their helmets.

Discomfort settled on him as Numa silently stared at the drawing of herself. “We both wanted to remember you,” he offered awkwardly. “When the war started, we knew we were fighting for the Republic, but it was just an idea. It’s not like we’d ever lived in it, or knew why it was better than the Separatists. But we saw what happened to the civilians caught in the middle. Waxer wanted us to remember who we were really fighting for. For you, and for people like you.”

Numa remained silent, her expression unreadable, her lekku still.

Nerves fluttered in Boil’s gut. He cleared his throat and tried to explain. “Our armor was the one thing that was our own. We never had possessions – we moved around too much, and it’s not like we had much shore leave. So, we clones started painting our armor to make it our own. Different colors for different companies, accents for battles, tally marks for fallen brothers… everyone was different.” He fiddled with the hem of his pack, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “It was the best way we had of honoring people. We always said our armor showed who we were, and who made us that way.”

Numa said nothing. Carefully, she set the helmet beside her. She stood abruptly and hurried from the room, refusing to look at him.

Something caught in Boil’s throat and he gulped, rocking forward on his cushion to stand, but Nilim laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Give her a moment,” he advised.

Boil slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“People end up where they need to be.”

What a strange thought. It reminded Boil of something a Jedi would say. A flash of – anger? shame? – shot through him before dissipating as quickly as it came. Keeping his voice low, Boil looked at Nilim. “Where are her parents?”

Nilim’s gaze drifted, his smile slipping away. “My brother and his wife were killed in the attack in Nabat. I have raised Numa since their passing.”

“I’m sorry,” Boil said. The only family he’d ever known were his brothers. He didn’t know what it felt like to have parents – or to lose them – but he imagined the pain was the same. A wave of guilt drove him to his feet. “I’d better get going. I’m only making things worse.”

The Twi’lek’s eyes widened, startled. “Numa will not want you to go. You are welcomed here.”

“I’m a clone,” he said gruffly. “I’m not welcomed anywhere.”

“Stay.”

Numa stood in the doorway, cradling something decorative. The whites of her eyes looked vaguely red, and her mouth was held in a thin line. She shifted from foot to foot, looking almost apprehensive.

“This is a Kalikori,” Numa said, holding the decorative piece reverently.

“It is a totem,” Nilim explained, “passed down the line of a Twi’lek family.”

“It honors all who have come before. It is our way of remembering our family.” She held it out to Boil, and he took it gingerly.

It was a long series of intricately carved figures, arranged in a T-shape with charms and carvings hanging from the points. Stone, wood, metal, and clay pieces were engraved with symbols and shapes. It was easy to see that great care had been put into creating it.

At the bottom of one of the strands were two small orange and white blocks joined by a teal rectangle with some sort of script chiseled into it. Boil’s mouth went dry, a prickling sensation springing up behind his eyes. “What does that say?”

“Nerra voa Numa,” she answered quietly, watching him closely. “Brothers and Sister.”

Tears spilled from his eyes as Boil held the Kalikori tightly to his chest. His shoulders shook and his breaths turned to gasps and sobs. He turned his face away, ashamed. He hadn’t cried like this since he’d learned of Waxer’s death.

Hands rested on both of his shoulders as he wept; one large and calloused, one slight and gentle.

“Boil.” Numa paused, taking a deep breath. “For the last ten years, every time I saw a clone, I would say ‘Nerra’, hoping that one of them would react to it the way you did. I’ve wanted to find you ever since you left. I don’t want you to leave again.”

“We added you to the Kalikori years ago,” Nilim murmured. “You have been a part of us all this time. You have a home here, if you wish.”

The words stuck in Boil’s throat. “I…I need to think on it.” He dashed a hand across his eyes, fighting to steady his breathing. He handed the Kalikori back to Numa, and she gently set it down.

“Of course.” Nilim squeezed his shoulder. “And while you think, I will be making lunch. You are hungry?”

“Thank you,” Boil said, successfully distracted by the idea of a home-cooked meal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything that wasn’t rations or Imperial-regulated meals.

Nilim left the room. Boil and Numa sat in near-silence as Boil worked to control his breathing. The tears kept falling, but they were drying, which he was grateful for; Numa was watching. From the other room, he heard Nilim shuffling about, cookware scraping together as he worked. Once he trusted himself to speak, Boil pitched his voice low. “Numa, why did you hide those electronic components?”

She looked to him appraisingly, and suddenly she seemed much older, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was no longer the frightened child that had trailed behind him all those years ago.

“Because beneath those electronic components are blasters for Syndulla’s resistance. The Free Ryloth Movement never truly dissipated. The war never ended here.”

Between them, the Kalikori and his helmet rested side-by-side. “I want to help you.”

She beamed, and before Boil could move, she’d thrown her arms around him tightly. He started in surprise before returning the hug.

When she drew back, her eyes were dancing. “I’ll message Cham and let him know you’re with us. Not a word to Uncle Nilim, though. He’s not on board with me being in the resistance yet.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad you’re with us, brother. There’s much work to be done.”

[tehlaen]

Unrestrained

[[tl;dr: Teh’laen, age 15, meets her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime.]]

She probably should have been more scared, Teh’laen reflected; the imaginatively-named Killers were one of the most brutal gangs in this particular region of Nar Shaddaa’s Undercity, the seediest part of a world known for lawlessness, violence and depravity.

Trouble was, it was all just too much fun. With their initial plan for a clean getaway a smoldering pile of wreckage, Teh’laen found herself elbows deep in the control panel of a speeder left unattended--quite carelessly, she thought--on one of the sector’s countless impromptu landing pads.

“Any time now, sis!” Rai’laen shouted over her shoulder as she snapped off three hastily-aimed blaster bolts at the pursuing Killers.

“Yelling doesn’t make this go any faster,” the younger of the two siblings muttered around the circuit board clamped between her teeth.

“Should I just start walking?” the older Twi’lek shot back, her voice strained but still marked by an undercurrent of exhilaration.

“You can if you want,” Teh’laen quipped, snapping the console cover back into place and grinning triumphantly. “But I think this is faster.”

The speeder roared to life and Teh’laen dropped into the pilot’s seat. Rai’laen fired blindly as she dashed from cover to their borrowed transport. Her steps faltered as she saw the wild grin on her sister’s face.

“Oh, no.”

Whatever unease she might have felt at the prospect of her sister’s flying, the Killers were a much more pressing issue. Cursing in Ryl--the language the two had grown up speaking on the Twi’lek homeworld of Ryloth--Rai tossed her bag of stolen goods into the back seat of the speeder and hopped in.

The vehicle was airborne and roaring into the flow of traffic before butt met seat.

Her fingers scrambled for the restraints, and she buckled herself in, her lips moving in a silent, frantic prayer. Rai’s lekku--the two fleshy, prehensile “braintails” protruding from the back of the skull that were the trademark of the Twi’lek species--curled around her neck and shoulders in a self-comforting gesture. The vibrant, verdant hue of her complexion paled to a sickly yellowish green as her sister stood the speeder on its wing and roared through the gap between two fully-loaded garbage scows that outweighed their vehicle by a factor of a hundred when empty.

If her little sister noticed her anxiety, she gave no sign of it: Teh’laen’s crimson skin--the result of a rare genetic mutation--flushed a rich scarlet with excitement, and her lips peeled back in a feral grin that showed off her sharply-pointed teeth. Despite the wind whipping over the top of the windscreen of the open-topped speeder, her amethyst eyes were opened wide, darting rapidly to take in every detail of their course and environs.

“I wish you wouldn’t enjoy this so much!” Rai’laen shouted over the noise of the wind and the indignant honking of the other craft that theirs leapfrogged, cut off, or simply forced to swerve out of their way to avoid a collision.

Teh’laen spared a glance for her sister, her predatory grin softening to a warm smile. “Enjoying it this much is what makes me so good at it! If you’d rather I be glum and mediocre, I can always pull over and let our friends catch up!”

The elder Va’shuvrk sister sighed wearily, not bothering to respond. Instead, she twisted in her seat, craning her neck to spot their pursuers. After a few minutes--a few minutes during which she likely was glad for the distraction so that she wasn’t forced to see how close they came to a fiery end--she turned back to her sister. “I think we lost them.”

“Probably.”

When Teh made no move to throttle down from their current breakneck speed, Rai sighed. “That means you can slow down.”

Her only answer was a mischievous grin.

To say that the rest of the flight was “uneventful” would be grossly inaccurate, but they saw no further sign of the gang members whose clubhouse they’d just burgled. As they neared the sector where they were currently resting their heads, Rai’laen turned to her sister. “Let me off on that pad and ditch the speeder, and I’ll meet you at home.”

Teh nodded, taking one hand off the controls to take her sister and accomplice’s hand. Their fingers intertwined and they each squeezed tightly, an identical smile on each Twi’lek’s face. They each extended one lekku and hooked them together as Teh nodded. “Right. Love you, Rai. Be careful.”

Rai’laen grinned wryly and popped the release on her safety harness. “I’d tell you to be careful, but you never listen to me anyway.” She nimbly hopped out, slinging the bulging rucksack with their spoils over one shoulder.

The speeder was off the deck as soon as she was out, but Teh’laen circled overhead until her sister disappeared from sight. Banking tightly, she angled out and away, looking for a discrete spot to set the repulsorcraft down. She found one, a few levels up and a couple kilometers distant.

With practiced ease, she eliminated any evidence of her and her sister. An idea occurred to her, and she grinned, popping the control console back off. She dug her datapad out of the pocket on her thigh and ran a cable from one of its many aftermarket mods to the vehicle’s onboard computer. Erasing its last flight-path was child’s play; implanting a plethora of fake records was only marginally more difficult. Just for good measure, she programmed the auto-nav to fly it over half the hemisphere before returning to the pad where they’d first found it.

Feeling more than a little smug, Teh’laen glanced around, looking for landmarks to help her get her bearings. She’d ended up about a thirty minute walk from home--if she went straight there. Having just ripped off a gang of professional sadists, however, warranted a bit more caution when making her way to the tenement where her sister was likely already waiting for her.

The resulting meandering route was how she ended up sneaking through back-alleys in a neighborhood she’d never visited before. She was, in truth, quite lost, and she fought down a growing panic as she realized she had no idea where she was or how to get home. That preoccupation distracted her enough that she didn’t bother to check before she rounded the corner into a small corridor running behind a cantina that was disreputable looking even by the standards of the Smuggler’s Moon.

Teh came a few centimeters from breaking her nose against the shoulderblades of a wildly gesticulating Nikto. Heart pounding, the teenager wheeled back around the corner and listened to the man berate a battered-looking astromech droid. After waiting a few seconds to make sure she hadn’t been spotted, she peeked her head around the corner.

“Worthless scrap heap! I never shoulda taken you as collateral for that spice-junkie’s tab. What in the name of the Void’s wrong with you?”

The droid bleated in response, its vocabulary limited to whistles, beeps, boops and blats. The bar owner threw up his arms in frustration. “Whazzat supposed to mean?! I don’t know what you’re saying!”

Teh'laen had never really given it much thought, but if asked, she most likely would have said that droids couldn't "sigh". And yet she had the unshakeable feeling that that was exactly what the little astromech's response was. One of the compartments on the droid’s barrel-like chassis snapped open, and a manipulator arm unfolded itself. The mechanical “fingers” pointed at the aged restraining bolt affixed to the droid’s cylindrical head, and a high-pitched keen issued from the droid. The pitch fell rapidly, and when it reached its nadir, the sound collapsed into discordant static. The fingers of the droid’s appendage snapped apart, and Teh’laen slapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle at the pantomimed explosion.

It took several more repetitions--point/whistle/static/boom--for the slow-witted proprietor to reach the same realization. “Your restraining bolt’s malfunctioning?”

The answering ding-ding-ding from the droid was, Teh had to admit, an eerily accurate imitation of a Club Vertica slotmachine jackpot.

“Shoulda taken you apart and sold you for spares,” the man grumbled testily as he knelt by the droid and pulled a multitool from his filthy apron. “You’re no good for serving, can’t even keep the damned machines running! Coulda recouped my losses from that slime-sucker’s tab and saved myself a headache in the bargain.

The droid may have bitten its tongue, figuratively speaking, but behind the man’s back,  Teh’laen was seething. She was barely half a second from stepping out to give the Nikto what-for when the restraining bolt popped off. The barkeep fumbled in an apron pocket for a replacement, and in the second and a half his eyes left the droid, another of the various hatches sprang open.

“Wha--”

A blue-white arc connected the Nikto and the droid’s electroprobe for a split-second, and he sprawled backward in a twitching heap.

The astromech bleated triumphantly--and perhaps a little mockingly--as it lurched into motion, cutting around the dazed barkeep. Eyes wide, Teh’laen stepped half out from hiding, beckoning frantically for the escapee to follow.

The little droid’s wheels spun and slipped on the garbage coating the floor of the alley, slowing it just long enough for the enraged NIkto to struggle to his feet, spitting and cursing in half a dozen languages. Moving surprisingly fast for his bulk, he stepped into the astromech’s path and gripped its head in both hands. With a wrenching twist, he threw the fugitive droid against the wall, where it toppled helplessly onto its side and lowed like a wounded ronto.

The Nikto’s features twisted in wicked glee as he pulled a tiny holdout blaster. At that range, even an underpowered weapon like that would destroy the droid, and all knew it.

“Looks like I'll be selling you for scrap anyway,” he crowed, aiming squarely at the droid’s central core. “Most of you, anyw--”

In essence, Teh’laen’s stunstick was really just a scaled up version of the electroprobe the droid had employed in its unsuccessful escape attempt. It did, however, dump quite a bit more energy into her target’s body, and she had aimed quite precisely for his spine. The Nikto was unconscious before he hit the ground, and the Twi’lek leapt nimbly over his prostrate form and rushed to the droid.

She grunted and strained to right the droid. “We gotta go, little guy! I dunno how long til he comes around and I don’t plan on waiting around to time it.”

The answering tone was distinctly skeptical. Teh took a step back and rolled her eyes as she shifted from foot to foot. “Look, I’m not trying to… droid-nap you or whatever. I just saved your life. If you wanna stick around to get vaped, cool, nice knowing you. I’ve got places to be, though, by which I mean really anywhere that’s not here.”

She turned for the end of the alley, then paused as an idea occurred to her. “You’re an astromech, right? You do navigation?”

At the droid’s reluctant affirmative, she smiled. “I wanna get home, and you wanna get away. How about we help each other?”

Teh’laen crouched, her lips split in a grin, and she held out one hand to the droid. After a moment’s hesitation, the fingers of the manipulator arm gently grasped hers. The two sealed their agreement with a single-pump handshake, then the Twi’lek sprang to her feet looking pleased.

“Good then!” She gave the droid the location of the tenements, and the two set off in the direction it indicated. Their progress was slow, limited both by Teh’laen’s attempts at stealth and the astromech’s aging drive motor.

During a brief respite, Teh turned to the droid. “There was absolutely nothing wrong with your restraining bolt, was there?”

The whistles and beeps came too fast for her to follow, but she caught what she thought was the gist of it. She snickered. “Yeah, didn’t think so. You are one sneaky little womp-weasel, aren’t you?” Her hand settled affectionately on the droid’s head. “You know, I’d really like to call you something other than ‘droid’ or ‘hey you’ or ‘womp-weasel.’ You got a name?”

The indignant bleat accompanied a swift half-spin of the head. Teh’laen’s gloved fingers were abruptly resting on a rusting, almost illegible plaque. With the perpetual gloom of the Undercity making it impossible to read, the Twi’lek tugged her gloe off and ran her fingers over the etched alphanumeric sequence.

“Ess-Six Vee-Eight? That’s a designation, not a name. How about Essix?”

She had to guess at what the bleated reply meant, but she shrugged anyway. “Sure, it’s not much different, but it’s yours. That’s what makes it different.”

Essix’s low, soft whistle was the last sound he made for the last leg of their trip home.

Rai’laen’s relief was palpable, and would have been even if she hadn’t made it perfectly, tactilely clear by hurling herself at her younger sister and wrapping her in an almost uncomfortably tight hug. Teh’laen smiled and hugged her back, pressing her forehead to her sister’s. “It’s okay, Rai! I’m okay. Really. I’m sorry for being late, I just got, um. Well. I guess you could say I got lost.”

“I expected you an hour ago, Teh.” The green-skinned Twi’lek scrubbed tears from her eyes. “I tried your comlink, but you still had it switched off.”

Teh shrugged and waited for Essix to trundle inside behind her, then closed the door to the tiny apartment the two currently shared. “Yeah, well, I was busy making sure no one could find me. It worked so well I couldn’t even find myself, so… Well done, I guess?”

Her older sister glowered at her. “Not funny, Teh. I was worried sick, and all so you could, what? Bring home a stray droid?”

Teh’laen drew herself up to her full height; even at six years younger than Rai, she still had a couple of centimeters’ advantage. “He’s not a stray, Rai. And he helped me get home, so the least you can do is say ‘thank you’.”

Rai muttered under her breath as she turned back to the tiny food-prep unit, “I’m not thanking your pet.”

Teh’laen set her jaw and folded her arms across her chest. “He’s not my pet. He’s my partner.”

The other Twi’lek’s incredulous “What?!” overlapped with the droid’s questioning whistle. Teh’laen shrugged and turned to face Essix. “If he wants to be, I mean. What do you say, Essix?”

The astromech’s head swiveled, his optical receptor focusing first on Teh’laen, then her sister, back to Teh, then the door. After a moment’s pause, he gave a quiet--yet somehow definitive--beep in the affirmative.

Teh’laen grinned triumphantly, planting her fists on her hips. “Well, since that’s settled, c’mon. Essix, this is Rai’laen, my sister; Rai, this is Essix.”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed and she drew in a deep breath, clearly on the verge of a protest. Emotions warred on her face, then she capitulated and gave both a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Essix. Welcome to the family.” She peered at the astromech, then turned to regard Teh’laen. “You can’t just walk around with a stolen droid, Teh. You need to disguise him, make sure he won’t be recognized.”

The gleam in the red-skinned Twi’lek’s amethyst eyes and the corresponding toothy grin were the same expression she wore during their escape from the Killers. “I’ve got just the thing. Wait here.”

The teenager ran into the tiny dwelling’s only other room, and both sister and partner cringed at the clanging and crashing sounds. Teh’laen emerged a minute later, carrying the shell of a deactivated, partially deconstructed probe droid. “What do you say, Essix? Ever wanted to fly?”

[chrkrose]

It's always helpful when the TSDF mods pop in to the C@ryl thread to assure any asshole that's stirring shit for a bunch of people that don't even feel they're allowed venture outside that thread, to just keep on stirring, it's totally cool 👍🏻

Heard they closed he caryl thread (if it’s for good or not idk).Thing is simple with them: Carylers CANT go to other threads to say anything. Even though assholes go into the caryl thread all the time. Like, honestly, while I was there was like that, it continues to be like that after I left, and it will be like that until that site closes down (which I hope it will be soon). It’s double standards all around and them (members/mods) acting like assholes.If any caryler go to another thread to start shit, they get warnings or get their posts moved, and the assholes are protected. It assholes go to the caryl thread to start shit, they are allowed to discuss because that’s what the threads are about. If you block them, you’re wrong. If you ignore them, you’re not following the purpose of the thread. You either agree with them and cry or cry and agree with them. Is that simple.They probably closed the thread because Carylers were happy. Because we got wonderful things yesterday. And that forum breathes and survives by absorbing our misery. So we either “need to stop enjoying the pictures so much” or we had to be put in our place, which is: crying in a corner. That’s what TSDF and 90% of their members/mod is about. I understand who still wants to be there, but my personally advice is: get out. That place doesn’t deserve you. And since every thread becomes a thread about how Caryl won’t ever happen or why Carol is going to fade in the background I wonder what they will do when they don’t have anything to talk about/anyone to poke and bully while they are there.

[whitemarkfashions]

I just added this listing on Poshmark: Angelina Mod Dress 3082-ryl.

[deartvshow]

So you're cool with your mod constsntly making derogatory remarks about Daryl/NR? C@ryl fans are fans of his as well. How does that make it a haven for c@rylers? That is as bad as other boards allowing the menopausal comments about C@rol. It's bullshit that this is a legit complaint that's being dismissed for mods to at least hold back from calling Daryl/NR names and treat him as respectfully as others.

Dear Angry Anon, 

If you were a moderator who disliked a character- let’s say Beth for instance, would you want to be forced to always be positive and cheerleading for Beth? Or any other character you liked?

Some fans, whether moderators on our site or any other site, may like one character but not another.  No, we do not force them to pretend to love any character on the show. How is that a crime?

In the Caryl relationship topics, what you see is that folks who don’t adore both simply do not go in there and post.  They do not comment in those safe- haven topics, and they continue working the rest of the site. That’s fair. 

Some fans like a character but do not lust after the actor or actress who plays them.  How is that a crime exactly?  

If you are a member of our site, I wish you would let me know examples of what you say is calling Daryl names?  What names were called, when and by whom?

We moderators check constantly for problem posts.  As Darksister said with the last anon about this, we’ve found none of this and no posts were reported as problematic. 

Do you honestly love every single character and actor on TWD as much as you love Norman Reedus and Daryl? I doubt it. Do you hold your tongue and not judge others who dare to feel differently?  This anon proves that you do not. 

We offer Caryl fans a safe haven, but that has never meant that our moderators have to pretend to love something they do not.  I would never pretend to believe B3thel was a true ship nor support it for example, There are plenty of other sites which have places for that ship and for those who adore both characters and actors.

Fandoms sometimes get this twisted notion that every single character has to be loved, adored and seen as perfect.  Ditto that every single actor has to be perfect in every way and adored for that.  Welp, that’s neither realistic nor human nature frankly.   

Every moderator on every fan site would likely quit if required to love all characters equally and cheerlead for all of them. 

Could you do it yourself?  I’m guessing no. 

Feel free to provide examples of what you call “mods constantly make derogatory remarks” about characters and actors. Or better yet, come to the site, post positive comments about all the characters and actors.  Lead by example and report posts you feel break the rules. 

Ripley

[askdarus]

Anonymous said to askdarus: @mod. The looks low key weren't the same though when Glenn died he cried and looked to be in physical pain about the whole thing but when he found out C@rol left again he just looked disappointed but I think part of him understands its what she wants and he respects that. That is completely different to the Glenn situation and I'm angry that anybody thinks its the same type of pain to Daryl. They need to stop reaching for C@ryl material. (Sorry if this came of as rude to anybody)

{So I posted this as a post instead of an ask due to the fact that I don’t really want this showing up in certain peoples’ searches and then those certain people come at this blog and all that. Anything bolded is what I censored from the ask so it wouldn’t be showing up in searches.

But I do agree that certain people (definitely not everyone) are reaching and being a little disrespectful to Glenn and Abe’s deaths in the process. I doubt they’re trying to be disrespectful, but still.}

[antidaryldixon-blog]

You hating on a FICTIONAL character is comical. Hate the writers, AMC. Don't hate on someone that doesn't exist.

i was about to reply to a follower saying “at least a d*ryl stan hasn’t tried us yet” but thanks for ruining that!!

joke’s on you ‘cause i hate d*ryl, the w*lking dead, and the people in charge

fiction affects reality so he may not be “”real”” but the very real things i have to deal with are: seeing him, his damn hair, his merch, his overexposure, and last but surely not the least his stans online and irl

– other mod

[chrkrose]

Same ol' TSDF. Assholes start shit in C@ryl threads, C@rylers defend themselves, mods step in way after the drama is already at its ugliest and lock the thread as punishment. Classic.

*Take away the thread permanently* just updating you on that lmao.*sighs* you know, I tried to come back there after a friend of mine asked me to so we could hang around like we used to do before over there. Even though we had to put up with a lot of shit. But it's not worth it, it was a mistake. Specially after what they allowed other members to say about me because I dared to say there were some double standards happening and if we could at least follow the rules so everyone could post without wanks (of course the last part is completely forgotten and apparently I was playing the victim card I guess). I mean, you go to a thread of a ship you don't like and you say "why are u guy so angry all the time and full of wank?" But this is not considered trolling or anything. Alright alright... if people at least knew half of what happens BTS *sighs even louder*. It's just not worth it. They want us out of there, they made it clear plenty of times, and truth to be told I'm even feeling a little dumb by trying to come back and discuss things over there when I think about things I had to read from some of those people over there. To the Carylers that will stay, good luck. And feel free to vent at my inbox. But if you want an advice, if you're not welcomed to a place, I don't see the point of insisting to be accepted. The rules will never be the same to us as they are to others, even though they like to pretend it is.Im out ✌🏼

[chrkrose]

Why did TSDF even chime in? The board is anti-C@ryl but the mods usually fake it better than that. But them saying anything about a PROMO pic? When they'd gone out of their way to not spoil the C@ryl moments in 7.10 when their source knew shit all along? Not so good at faking things anymore, I guess.

I'm sorry, I really didn't understand exactly what you were trying to say with this question, could u send me again? :/ I got a little confused.

[antidaryldixon-blog]

“it’s not that serious” yet you are still here... on a blog with a url that clearly states wtf it’s about. 

“it’s not that serious” yet why tf are you coming after one semi-active anti blog that doesn’t even have that many followers??? lmao at least admit that you’re just as salty, if not saltier (i’ve mentioned being a bitter hater on this blog so many times that this isn’t even a drag)

i’d at least understand if you’re coming after me if i constantly shit on d*ryl’s tag but i don’t. i censor character names and screenshot messages so they won’t show up on searches. how tf are you even finding us tbh?

you’re acting like the antis have a massive anti squad lmao. they usually have valid reasons to be bitter especially after 7x01 and even way before that (may i remind you of “if d*ryl dies we riot”?)

if you go through parts of this blog, there are also posts about the writers and characters like n*gan

even if he’s fictional, he’s real enough to be liked or disliked. hell, people even make confession smut blogs and draw nsfw art, so someone can sure as hell make a damn hate blog

– other mod

[antidaryldixon-blog]

Why do you use * in the names? ( I'm really curious)

i mentioned this in our contact page. it’s bc tumblr’s search filters suck. even if i don’t tag the character in the post, uncensored names in posts will appear on tumblr.com/search/insertnamehere (tumblr.com/tagged/insertnamehere should be fine)

that’s why i have to censor names (d*ryl, n*gan, etc). even original posts with ‘anti’ will appear lmao what a mess seriously

(also i suck and i havent been on tumblr but other messages will be answered.....eventually............................)

– other mod

[antidaryldixon-blog]

this is SUCH a cursed ask

in terms of personality, i’ll automatically remove d*ryl. i don’t remember him being on the same level as the other 3. all i can remember from greg is that he’s a snitch but i’ll also cross him off compared to the other two left. simon doesn’t talk that much which leaves me with Monologue King.

i’m tossing between n*gan and d*ryl in terms of fanbase. as far as i know, greg and simon do not have thirsty fans (although this fandom never ceases to amaze so...). maybe the fact that n*gan has so many thirsty fans to begin with. then again, d*ryl has been around for nearly a decade which pains me.

– other mod