#source: starship troopers

[totallyrwbyquotes]

Oobleck: Good morning, girls, I know this is earlier than expected, but it is time for us to move out! You have five minutes!

Yang (in a sleeping bag): Of course, sir.

Oobleck: Where is Ms. Belladonna?

Blake (poking head out of Yang's sleeping bag): Um... here, sir.

Oobleck: ...fine, make it ten minutes.

(Source: Starship Troopers)

#submission #rwby #incorrect quotes #incorrect rwby quotes #source: starship troopers

[unfailingeagle]

A cold one with the boys, all my homies hate space bugs!

#sfm #source filmmaker #warhammer #40k #warhammer 40k #helldivers #helldivers 2 #starship troopers #earth defense force

[doubleca5t]

why did you post a gif from a movie with fascist and racist source material. you do know what starship troopers is about right?

I don't know anon, do YOU know what Starship Troopers is about?

[jeff-from-marketing]

Hey it's been a hot minute, I'm gonna go off about Helldivers 2 for a bit, because the whole thing fascinates me.

Funnily enough it's not even the actual game itself that truly fascinates me, as great as it is. I do genuinely think that, while not perfect, it's a very solid game that knows what kind of experience it wants to deliver, and does a fantastic job delivering on it. The Starship Troopers-esque satire is hilarious, and I love how much the gameplay reinforces that satire through things like reinforcements canonically being a whole new Helldiver sent into the meat grinder, and that the mission still counts as a celebrated victory even if you never make it back alive. I could even talk about how the objectively clunky system for calling in orbital support is actually a positive for the game, but only this game and the type of experience it's selling.

But none of that is what fascinates me about this game so much. Because y'see, I played the first Helldivers game, and it was also a great bit of fun! It's actually why I was interested in the second one to begin with. But I also know that the first Helldivers was not a very wide reaching game, none of Arrowhead's games have been. They've not done poorly by any means, they're still in business and have been for over a decade now. But they've always been fairly niche affairs. Until now. To really sell the picture, I wanna rattle off player counts for their previous games:

Magicka in 2011, Arrowhead's first big game and published by Paradox, had an all-time max player count of 11,727 players according to SteamDB. I don't believe it was on any other storefronts, but I could be mistaken. A quick wikipedia visit tells me that the game sold roughly a million units over a year which, again, not bad! Especially for a game that is admittedly fairly unusual, but is a lot of fun!

The Showdown Effect in 2013, which I only just found out about right now after double checking my numbers, had a all time high of just 3,284 according to SteamDB, and is now delisted from Steam. Though apparently there's a remake from another company happening? There's a lot less info on this one in general.

Gauntlet in 2014, this one I do know a bit more about since I also played this one. A remake of the original 1985 game, and was a good bit of fun as well! This one is trickier to get an accurate player count reading, because it did have a PS4 release and those are harder to find numbers for. Regardless, it was also on Steam, so therefore I can use those numbers at least, which gives me a max consecutive player count of 12,730. I don't know how much PS4 factored into this.

And now we get to the real interesting one: Helldivers 1. Again, this is tricky because not only was it on console, but it was actually on console before it was ever on PC, which heavily skews numbers. SteamDB has the peak at just 6,744, but this doesn't sit right with me. I've seen estimates of 50k people around the place, some say 35k, but never a solid source. It's also very difficult to search atm because of how much Helldivers 2 is blowing up. Speaking of...

So Helldivers 1 is their most popular game, and I'll be generous and say that the 50k count is the accurate one. So surely Helldivers 2 can't be that much more- oh I'm not even going to pretend, you already know what's going on here. The game has reached ~450k concurrent players just on Steam alone! And the game also exists on PS5, and if I recall correctly: there's official statements saying that the player counts are roughly equal with each other. That means a peak of ~900,000 individual players. To illustrate how bonkers batshit insane that is, motherfucking Fortnite has a current consecutive player count of roughly one million.

Let me reiterate: a game that came out of basically nowhere with little marketing, from a small studio with only about 100 employees, is rivaling the juggernaut that is fucking Fortnite. That is insane.

As someone who has played all of Arrowhead's previous games besides The Showdown Effect, this is bonkers. There's a reason the sentiment was "there's no way to have predicted this" when the servers were at their worst, because look at the previous data! How is anyone supposed to predict a sequel to a niche game (from a company very few people have heard about) to get a ~1800% increase in max player count? Their initial server capacity was 250k, which would've been very optimistic if you were just going by Helldivers 1 numbers. But then that wasn't enough. And then 360k wasn't enough. And then 450k wasn't enough. We're now at 700k server capacity and just finally getting things under control. This game just exploded in a way no one could have reasonably predicted. And I have no idea why this is the case either.

I'm not saying it's not deserved; it absolutely is! Like I said, game is great, and there's not even any shitty business practices I can bitch at this time! It's just so sudden and out of nowhere that it baffles me. Such a small percentage of these players would've even heard of the first game, let alone played it. It didn't have a massive marketing campaign, this is pretty much all spread through word of mouth, which is insane in its own right. It's not even like the game is entering an untapped market, it shares its existence with games like Deep Rock Galactic, Vermintide, Darktide, the actual Starship Troopers game, probably some others I'm forgetting. And yet, despite all of this, it breached containment something fierce. I don't have a big conclusion to make from all this, I'd love to be able to say "oh people are just getting tired of Triple A- oh I'm sorry, Quadruple A gaming and this is a breath of fresh air" and it is that, as was Baldur's Gate 3, but I'm not naive enough to think that's the main reason. Not when so many other great games continue to go undiscovered, and so many people still end up buying whatever the next big Triple A thing is. It's a great game to play with friends, and there's a lot going for it and a lot of charm, but such is also the case for the other games I already listed in this paragraph and they don't see the same popularity.

Whether it's just dumb fucking luck, or a really oddly specific set of circumstances at play that I can't see, I'm just dumbfounded and flabbergasted. But I'm not exactly gonna complain. It's fun getting sent into the meat grinder to spread Managed Democracy, and I'm glad the game is doing as well as it is, though I do hope that the devs get to have a bit of rest once the dust finally settles a little bit.

#helldivers #helldivers 2 #seriously if they ever need to update the example sentence for the word “unprecedented” this would be a solid candidate #this has genuinely kept me up at night before just thinking about how wild it is compared to all of Arrowhead's other games #let alone compared to just Helldivers 1

[will80sbyers]

Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.

Yep!

Long post warning lol

300

2001: A Space Odyssey

47 Meters Down: Uncaged

12 Monkeys

28 Days Later

13th Warrior

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

Altered States

Amelie

American Sniper

Analyze This

Annihilation

Aristocats

Armageddon

Assassins Creed

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Arrival

Almost Famous

Batman Begins

Batman V. Superman

Basket Case

Battle at Big Rock

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Behind Enemy Lines

Beverly Hills Cop

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Billy Madison

Black Cauldron

Black Swan

Boondock Saints

Borat

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Burn After Reading

Broken Arrow

Blade Runner

C.H.U.D

Con Air

Cast Away

Congo

Constantine

Children of Men

Cabin in the Woods

Crank

Casablanca

Carrie

Crimson Tide

Clueless

Dukes of Hazzard

Don’t Breathe

Death to Smoochy

Doom

Dark Knight

Dogma

Deep Blue Sea

Dreamcatcher

Drop Dead Fred

Die Hard

Die Hard 2

Die Hard 3

Don’s Plum

Dances with Wolves

Dumb and Dumber

Edward Scissorhands

Enter the Void

Ex Machina

Event Horizon

Emma (2020)

Forrest Gump

Fargo

Fisher King

Full Metal Jacket

Ferris Bueller

Fallen

Fugitive

Ghost

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Ghostbusters

Good Fellas

Girl Interrupted

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Get Out

Good Will Hunting

Hackers

High Fidelity

Hellraiser 1

Hellraiser 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Hidden

High School Musical

Hurt Locker

Heat

Hunger Games

Highlander

Hell or High Water

Home Alone

I am Legend

It’s a Wonderful Life

In Cold Blood

Inception

I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang

Inside Out

Island of Doctor Moreau

It Follows

Interview with a Vampire

Inner Space

Into the Spiderverse

Independence Day

Jupiter Ascending

John Carter of Mars

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

James Bond (All Movies)

Julie

Karate Kid

Knives Out

Kingsmen

Little Miss Sunshine

Labyrinth

Long Kiss Goodnight

Lost Boys

Leon: The Professional

Let the Right One In

Little Women (1994)

Mad Max: Fury Road

Magnolia

Men in Black

Mimic

Matrix

Misery

My Cousin Vinny

Mystic River

Minority Report

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Neverending Story

Never Been Kissed

No Country for Old Men

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

North by Northwest

Open Water

Orange County

Oceans 8

Oceans 11

Oceans 12

One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Ordinary People

Paddington 2

Platoon

Pulp Fiction

Papillon

Pan’s Labyrinth

Pineapple Express

Peter Pan

Princess Bride

Paradise Lost

Primal Fear

Prisoners

Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Reservoir Dogs

Ravenous

Rushmore

Road Warrior

Rogue One

Reality Bites

Raider of the Lost Ark

Red Dragon

Robocop

Shooter

Sky High

Swingers

Sword in the Stone

Step Up 2

Spy Kids

Saving Private Ryan

Shape of Water

Swept Away

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Superbad

Society

Swordfish

Stoker

Splice

Silence of the Lambs

Source Code

Sicario

Se7en

Starship Troopers

Scrooged

Splash

Silver Bullet

Speed

The Visit

The Italian Job

The Mask of Zorro

True Lies

The Blair Witch Project

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Tangled

The Craft

The Guest

The Devil’s Advocate

The Graduate

The Prestige

The Rock

Titanic

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Fly

Tombstone

The Mummy

The Guardian

The Goofy Movie

The Peanut Butter Solution

Toy Story 4

The Ring

The Crazies

The Mist

The Revenant

The Perfect Storm

The Shining

Terminator 2

The Truman Show

Temple of Doom

The Cell

To Kill a Mockingbird

Timeline

The Good Son

The Orphan

The Birdcage

The Green Mile

The Raid

The Cider House Rules

The Lighthouse

The Book of Henry

The A-Team

The Crow

The Terminal

Thor Ragnarok

Twister

The Descent

The Birds

Total Recall

The Natural

The Fifth Element

True Romance

Terminator: Dark Fate

The Hobbit Trilogy

Unforgiven

Unbreakable

Unleashed

Very Bad Things

Wayne’s World

What Women Want

War Dogs

Wedding Crashers

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Welcome to Marwen

Wet Hot American Summer

What Lies Beneath

What Dreams May Come

War Games

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Weird Science

Willow

Wizard of Oz

Wanted

Young Sherlock Holmes

You’ve Got Mail

Zodiac

Zoolander

#stranger things #ask #st4 #st4 movies

[sonichedgeblog]

Sonic makes a brief cameo in the 'Starship Troopers' Pinball game, made by SEGA. During a match phase, one of the bugs can think about Sonic. Source: Doug's Home Arcade Collection https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rPQFyXgC5g&ab_channel=Doug%27sHomeArcadeCollection

#Starship Troopers #Pinball #SEGA #Sonic #Sonic The Hedgehog

[sophie-frm-mars]

Hi Sophie! In light of the genocide in Palestine and the conspiracies around it, do you have any thoughts on how to avoid conspiracy thought?

You pointed out in Conspiracy on the Left that conspiracists will often switch from using language that recognizes incentives and structures, to language that indicates direct malice and intent. I've seen this in real time with Zionism where people will stop using it as a term to describe the ideology and actions of Israel and America (economic and military interests, the historical inertia of the british empire, the interest of capital and western nations using Israel as a base in the Middle East), to using it as a placeholder for jews (people accusing individual people (usually american) of attempting to silence voices with media platforms)

I was gonna say I find this one really straightforward, but at the same time I myself have actually rushed into condemnations of Israel that gave too much leniency to antisemitic ideas, so there probably is a bit more to it. I'll get to it

Firstly, the straightforward part of it is that there are jews all around the world who absolutely fucking despise israel and its genocidal project, so even saying "Israel doesn't represent jews" is too mild. Israel actively denies citizenship to ethiopian jews for instance. I think the main thing is to recognise it for what it is - an outpost of imperialist white supremacy in the Middle East - and to recognise Zionism as a primarily American and imperial core phenomenon rather than a jewish one.

Once you have those ideas down it's pretty easy to separate it out because assuming that any jewish person or org supports Israel just because they're jewish is clearly antisemitic. But here's the rub, Israel uses jewish identity as a shield to justify its actions. At the same time that there are illegal settlers literally giving interviews saying "I describe myself as a fascist" the Israeli state claims that Hamas reads Mein Kampf and that Palestinians are literal Nazis. Not only that but Israeli statesmen use references to things like Amalek to signal their genocidal intentions, basically using the cultural references of Judaism to simultaneously hide behind and also attack.

Where I fell into something antisemitic was when I found out about the IDF cumjacker squad, the guys who go out to get the semen of Israel's fallen dead. the Jizzrael Defence Force if you will. Someone who was talking about it said that the justification had some kind of origin in the hebrew bible and I parroted this without thinking until a jewish friend pulled me up on it. There was no source and there was frankly no reason to repeat it even if it had been true, right? but I got carried away. The reality is that the cumjacker battalion exists for the same reason as sterilisation & organ harvesting programs, because Israel is a Starship-Troopers-Ass fascist nightmare state that sees the bodies of the pure and good as essential to the domination of the future and the bodies of the impure and wrong as wretched at worse and resources at best.

How I think we can avoid the trap of sharing these rhetorical points is by remembering what Israel's relationship to judaism is, which is primarily as a shield. "Shoot and Cry" is the phrase to remember. Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir said "We can forgive them for killing our children but we can never forgive them for making us kill theirs". This bogus remorse over their genocide of palestinians (because they understand genocide because of the holocaust, see?) and constant preemptive counterattack (Amalek attacked Israel first, see) is the place where Israel touches base with jewish identity, but if you can't see any benefit to Israel's strategy in association with jewish identity, it's likely someone is just trying to say The Jews instead of Israel or repeating the talking point of someone who is.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 17

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

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

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

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

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries, angst

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Disclaimer: This chapter marks the point at which this story starts to overlap with canon events. I have heavily referenced events from Chapter 14: The Tragedy. You will find some additions and revisions to allow the reader character to fit into the story, but a lot of the dialogue is the same as in the original episode.

---

In the far reaches of the Outer Rim, an Imperial cruiser drifted between star systems.

To some, it appeared as a relic of a bygone era – a time of darkness and turmoil that few remembered fondly. To others, it was a cautionary tale – a warning of what might again come to pass if the forces of greed and a hunger for power were to grip the galaxy once again.

But to Lieutenant Elia Kane, and to thousands of other young hopefuls roaming the corridors of that cruiser, it was a symbol of the glory that awaited them on the other side of this long dormancy. If, of course, they had the discipline, the fortitude, the loyalty to seek it.

Lieutenant Kane was determined to find that glory, and with the message she was about to deliver, she felt herself grow one step closer to achieving it. With a self-assured nod at the trooper guarding the door, she thumbed her access code into the control panel and crossed the threshold into one of the most exclusive sections of the cruiser.  

“Moff Gideon. The tracking beacon has been installed on the Razor Crest.”

Turning on his heel to face her, the older man offered her a small, pleased smile and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Does he still have the asset?” Gideon asked, dark eyes flashing.

“Yes.” Kane felt a swell of pride rise in her chest, drawing herself up a little straighter. “Our source confirmed it.”

He nodded to himself then, and Kane thought he looked confident, resolved, like one who had spent months setting up his pawns one by one, in a perfect line, and was finally settling in to play the game. To the death, if needed.

“And we will be ready,” he said, and the lieutenant permitted herself the faintest smile.

Yes. They would be ready. She would make sure of it.

---

“Dank farrik!”

You looked up from your datapad at the sound of Din’s cursing echoing from the cockpit and down into the cargo hold.

After the last week in hyperspace, the anticipation of waiting for the silhouette of Tython to appear in the viewport had been too much for you. From the moment the Razor Crest had dropped to sub-light speeds earlier this morning, the tension and the uncertainty had been palpable, close and unavoidable like the stale, recycled air. Din was always a bit stoic, a bit difficult to read, but if nothing else, you knew that Grogu could sense something was amiss. No matter how hard you attempted to engage the boy in a game or a song or a story, he had been completely uninterested, seemingly absorbed in playing with that little silver ball he loved so much and intent on avoiding eye contact with both you and his guardian. Feeling a bit useless, you had retreated into the hold nearly an hour ago, desperate to distract yourself.

Now, it seemed as though you were missing something important happening on the second level. Abandoning your datapad in the bunk, you crossed to the ladder and gripped the rungs, ready to climb up and see what all the fuss was about.

“ – did good!” Din’s voice reached you at the foot of the ladder, only slightly muffled by the closed blast doors at the entrance to the cockpit. “I just…when the nice lady said you had training, I just… You’re very special, kid. We’re going to find that place where you belong, and they’re going to take real good care of you.” You felt your heart seize in your chest when you realized what you were hearing, what you had inadvertently eavesdropped on. He sounded so hopeful, so positive, and you couldn’t help but wonder whether that emotion was genuine or if it was an act, something he was putting on in an attempt to ease Grogu’s worries. Or perhaps to ease his own.

“This is Tython,” he explained, continuing in that bright, energetic voice, one he only ever used when speaking to the boy. “That’s where we’re going to try and find you a Jedi. But you have to agree to go with them if they want you to, understand?”

Silence greeted his question, and you leaned your forehead against the ladder’s rungs, afraid to move, afraid to breathe should you accidentally interrupt this tender, significant moment between the Mandalorian and the child who had been like a son to him for so long.

When he spoke again, the bounty hunter had sobered somewhat, his words more wistful, more somber. “Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too…powerful. Don’t you want to learn more of that Jedi stuff?” Again, you heard no reply – no giggle or squeal or even whine from the little boy, and instead Din sighed, and you felt the Razor Crest dip beneath you. He had begun your descent through the atmosphere. You would be landing soon.

“I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do. You understand, right?” he asked after a moment. He sounded resolute to your ears, committed to his cause, and again you wondered who he was trying to convince – Grogu or himself. Either way, it made your chest ache.

A handful of minutes later, and you felt the telltale jolt of the reverse thrusters engaging. A groan from the ship’s underbelly told you landing gear had been extended, and then the deck plating beneath you vibrated with a heavy thump. As the hum of the twin engines wound down into silence, a pair of dusty brown leather boots appeared at the top of the ladder.

“Time to go?” you asked as Din descended into the cargo hold, Grogu clutched close to his chest.

The Mandalorian nodded once. “I ended up having to set us down a ways out – the peak where the temple ruins are is too small for the Crest. We’ll have to travel the last stretch with the windows down.”

You frowned, puzzled by the turn of phrase. “Meaning?”

However, rather than responding, Din instead proceeded to rummage through one of the smaller cargo bins, one you knew held tactical gear that was too bulky to fit in his beloved weapons locker. Shifting aside what looked like an ancient, weather-worn breastplate that appeared to have been painted green at one time in its storied history, he withdrew something that gleamed silver in the dim light of the cargo hold, something heavy and solid and unmistakably featuring twin rockets at its base.

His jetpack.

With a practiced, steady motion, the bounty hunter slung the jetpack over his shoulder and mounted it to his backplate, the hulking thing snapping into place as though tailor-made to do so.

“We’re…flying?” You cursed the tremble in your voice, the way your nerves were immediately apparent in the stammer of your question.

Something like a chuckle filtered its way through his vocoder. “Unless you’d rather walk, cyar’ika.”

You ended up making the journey to the peak cradled in Din’s arms like a damsel, tucked close to his chest with your braid whipping in the wind and Grogu strapped securely to your torso in his leather carrier. For the first time since you had woken than morning, you saw the brightness return to the boy’s eyes as he soared through the open air, and although your stomach was full to bursting with butterflies and enough adrenaline coursed through your veins to make your hands shake, you thought you might just understand. Nothing had ever felt so freeing – nothing but the beating sun, the arid breeze, and the strong, competent arms of the bounty hunter you both loved keeping you safe.

---

When Din had told you that you were taking Grogu to the ruins of an ancient Jedi temple, you had pictured something grand. Old, certainly, weathered and worn with time and the elements, of course, but in your mind, the structure had been stately; it had possessed a certain gravitas that would make its link to the legendary order clear to the naked eye. And at the very least, in your mind, it had been enclosed.

What you found as the Mandalorian landed the three of you gracefully on the leveled peak of the mountain was…rather simple in comparison. Instead of a temple, you found a stone henge – edged in giant, jagged rocks that seemingly sprouted directly from the mountain itself and tilted slightly inward to create an open-air, dome-like effect. At the center of the henge, in a shallow, sunken circle, sat another rock, this one much smaller, perhaps half your height. It was rounded, as smooth as the others were coarse, and situated as though a perfectly spherical stone had been buried half in the ground, leaving only one hemisphere exposed to the elements.

The only ornamentation to be found in the entire space was a ring of glyphs you didn’t recognize carved shallowly into the surface of the center stone. A humbler “temple” you could not have imagined.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Din said tentatively, setting you on your feet at the edge of the henge. You watched as he scanned the area, his steps cautious as he approached the stone in the center of the circle. “Does this look…Jedi to you?”

Almost unconscious of the gesture, you ran your hand over Grogu’s back, pressing him closer to you in the carrier that you had strapped to your front today. Your other hand rested warily on the hilt of your blaster, a concession that your bounty hunter companion had only agreed to when you reminded him of how close you had come to putting a shot right through Kevok Teklolq’s head.

“It looks ancient,” you quipped.

He nodded slowly in agreement then beckoned you forward, urging you deeper into the circle. Slipping Grogu from his carrier, he bundled the boy close to his chest then brought him over to the rounded stone.

“I guess you sit right here.” Din settled Grogu on top of that stone, right in the center, then took a step back, leaving him a wide berth. With a deep exhale and one final scan of the surrounding area, he added, “Okay. Here we go.”

For a moment, both of you stood there watching the kid look around aimlessly, babbling and cooing to himself as he watched the shrubs wave in the wind. He followed a little butterfly with his eyes, completely content to just sit and watch the world go by, and you and Din looked at each other dubiously.

“What’s…supposed to happen?” you asked after a beat, voice almost a whisper, as though afraid to disturb whatever supernatural forces might be at work in this place that you couldn’t see.

The Mandalorian shrugged, letting out a sigh as he took a step closer to Grogu again, trying to get his attention. “This is the ‘seeing stone.’ Are you seeing anything? Or are they supposed to see you?” He brought a hand up to the side of his helmet, flipping on his thermal scanners as he paced around the stone. “Maybe there’s some kind of control or something.”

He examined the base of the stone and ran his fingers over the shallow ring of glyphs that spanned the circumference but to no avail. For his part, Grogu simply reached out a little three-clawed hand to grasp at a butterfly that had fluttered too close to his face, completely unaware of the apprehension of both you and his guardian.

“Oh, come on, kid,” Din groaned, a mild annoyance creeping into his modulated voice after another unproductive moment of silence. “Ahsoka told me all I had to do was get you here, and you’d do the rest.”

Before you could offer any of your own encouragement, a rumbling sounded in the distance. Deep and loud, the sound echoed through the mountains and valleys, bouncing off of the massive rocks surrounding the henge. Your gaze instantly jumped to the bounty hunter, who already had his blaster out of its holster and his visor tilted up to the sky. You did the same, pulling your own blaster from where it hung from your boilersuit pocket, heart in your throat as the rumbling grew ever closer, ever louder.

It was definitely a ship – something with three engines but not a model you immediately recognized by sound alone. All you knew for certain was that it sounded old, and it seemed to be heading straight toward you.

You did not have to wonder for long, however, for just as you were about suggest to Din that perhaps you should come back to the peak later, when you were certain you were alone, a distinctive silhouette dropped through the atmosphere and arced toward the mountain where you stood. Painted in worn patches of tan, sage green, and red, with a wide, round base reminiscent of a deep space scanner dish, two small wings, and a long, narrow body, the ship flew in a way that made it look like it was standing upright. You felt your jaw drop at the sight, your unease suddenly tempered by fascination and something like awe.

“No way,” you breathed, watching the ship round the mountain peak and begin a landing pattern in the distance, just over the nearest hill. “Is that a kriffing Firespray?”

Thankfully, Din didn’t appear to be the least bit distracted by what kind of ship had just landed. Instead, you watched as he darted over to the edge of the stone henge, adjusting his helmet scanners in an attempt to spot exactly where among the hills and brush the ship had touched down. You couldn’t see a thing from where you were, but when you heard him curse under his breath, too low for his vocal modulator to pick up, your unease returned with a vengeance, causing your hand to flex over the grip of your blaster.

“Well?”

With a kind of tight, emphatic urgency you had rarely seen in him, the Mandalorian spun around, ignoring your question completely and going straight for where Grogu sat on the seeing stone.

“Time’s up, kid – we’ve got to get out of here.”

However, just as Din stretched out his hands to pluck the boy from the center of the stone, his wide, beetle-like eyes slipped shut, a calm, pensive expression washed over his little wrinkly face, and those mysterious glyphs ringing around the surface of the stone began to glow. Watery, blue-white light poured into the henge, shooting up from the ground in a narrow circle around the seeing stone, streaming into the air in a hollow column with Grogu in the center. Even from your position several meters away, you could feel the energy radiating from that light as though it were a physical thing. You felt it pressing against your skin, tugging your hair out of your braid, plastering your boilersuit to your skin. There was no wind, not really, and yet you squinted against it instinctually as though staring into a gale-force.

Grogu was doing it. He was actually doing it.

But you were no longer alone, and suddenly everything Din had told you about his and Grogu’s past – how he had been wanted by ex-Imperials, how he had been tracked and chased across the galaxy a dozen times over, how his life was in danger every time they got close – came crashing back into your memory, and you knew. The kid couldn’t stay here.

Din, it seemed, had come to the same conclusion. Eating up the distance between himself and the seeing stone in a handful of long, reckless strides, he snapped, “We don’t have time for this! We’ve got to get – ”

As though he had run headfirst into a wall made of rubber, the moment the Mandalorian made contact with that shimmering blue-white column of light, he seemed to bounce off of it, the energy field sending him flying backward almost to the edge of the henge in a crumpled beskar heap.

“Din!” You darted to his side immediately, horrified, but before you could lay a hand on him in concern, he was already staggering to his feet breathlessly.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he panted, waving your concern away as he limped back toward the seeing stone, back toward Grogu. “Hey, snap out of it, kid! We’ve got to get out of here!”

If the little boy could hear him, he gave no indication. He had settled into a peaceful, meditative posture, his arms loose at his side, his fingertips pressed together, and his face serene. Whatever was happening to him, whatever he was doing in there, it didn’t seem to be hurting him.

“I think we have to let him finish,” you said, glancing between the child and the tense, battle-ready bounty hunter now pacing the circle of the henge like a caged animal.

He shook his head at that immediately, the noon sun glinting off of the beskar dome of his helmet. “It’s too dangerous. We’re too exposed here.” He crossed to the edge of the henge once again, staring down between the massive rocks, zooming in with his helmet scanners with his shoulders on edge. After a moment, he said, “Yep, we’ve got company. At least one humanoid heading this way.”

You swore colorfully. “You go, head them off. I’ll stay here with Grogu.”

Meeting your gaze with his for the first time since the ship was spotted, you watched as he silently debated with himself. The hand around his blaster hilt twitched, his other hand balled in a tight fist, and he seemed to take you in – from the top of your head to the toes of your dusty boots, and you thought you might have heard him sigh. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you two up here on your own.”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice.” You drew yourself up to your full height, hoping that perhaps if you carried yourself like you were confident in this, like you were certain you would be safe, it would somehow become true. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

Din hesitated for only another moment before his shoulders softened somewhat. Nodding once at you, he leaned around you to shout in Grogu’s direction. “I’ll see if I can buy you some time, kid. Can you please hurry up?”

With one final glance in your direction, Din took off down the side of the mountain, blaster at the ready.

---

As you stood in the silence of the mountain peak, nothing but the breeze and the thrum of the energy field to break it, you were reminded of that first night on Maramere. Hovering at the mouth of the Razor Crest, damp in the salty night air, a blaster you were only barely familiar with heavy in your palm, eyes always scanning, searching the horizon. Waiting. You were always fucking waiting.

There had been a handful of blaster rounds exchanged soon after the Mandalorian had disappeared into the brush along the side of the mountain. Far away and faint, you hadn’t been able to identify anything further about them – like who might have shot them or at whom – but minutes had passed since then, quiet minutes with nothing but you, the meditating child, and the Force that did nothing to assuage your anxiety.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself against the pull of your own thoughts, your own fears, steadying your hands, slowing your heartrate. You could not allow yourself to succumb to the sickening dread at the idea that those shots you heard might have met their mark on Din. Grogu was vulnerable, alone, and inaccessible. Your boy needed you clear-headed. Your boy needed you strong. You could not, would not fail him.

But then a military transport shuttle dropped from the sky, and its familiar shape had horror sinking like lead in your stomach, bleeding through your limbs, robbing the calm, collected breath from your lungs.

It was Imperial. An Imperial military transport shuttle. Which could only mean…

You rushed to the edge of the henge, shielding your eyes against the glare of the sun as you watched the shuttle land mere feet from the Razor Crest. The rear of the ship dropped open, extending a wide durasteel ramp, and a glint of white armor flashed in the noon light.

Storm Troopers. A whole platoon of Storm Troopers.

You lurched back toward the center of the circle, inching as close as you dared to the repellent energy field, putting your back against the radiating force of it as you positioned your body between the child and the direction of the shuttle. Blaster drawn, you brought it up to the ready, both sweaty hands wrapped around the hilt. You kept your eyes on the space between the rocks where you thought they might appear, and you sent up a silent prayer to every deity you had ever heard of that it would be enough – that Din was alive and well, that he had seen the Troopers descend through the atmosphere and would be ready for them, that he could handle that many. If he could not, it would all be down to you.

Tell-tale, high-pitched shrieks of blaster fire erupted outside of your line of sight – dozens of rounds, more than your ears could track, accompanied by the sound of shattering rock and incoherent shouting that echoed through the mountain range. The sound gave you hope at first, told you that at least someone was putting up a fight, but the longer it continued, the more uncertain you became of who exactly was doing the fighting. Was it really just your bounty hunter? It sounded like more than just him. Who had he found, emerging from that Firespray? Was it possible that they were an ally?

The fighting seemed to stretch on and on, and just as you were beginning to wonder whether you might be better served descending the mountain to help, a flash of beskar caught your eye just over the ridge, and your knees nearly gave out beneath you in relief as Din Djarin came barreling into the circle of the henge.

“Time to go, kid!” He was winded from the climb, his chest heaving beneath his breastplate, and his jetpack had seemingly gone missing, leaving his tattered black cape to flutter unencumbered in the breeze.

“Honey, breathe,” you coaxed, meeting him halfway to the seeing stone with a steadying hand on his pauldron. Your palm rested over the outline of his Mudhorn signet, its familiar shape soothing you. “What did you find?”

But he simply shook his head, brushing your touch aside, visor singularly focused on the boy behind you. “No time to explain. We can’t stay here, there are too many of them.”

Slipping around you, and without another word, the Mandalorian angled his broad, armored shoulders into the force of the energy field and began fighting his way forward, once again trying to breach its borders and snatch the child from its center. His progress was impossibly slow, as though he were attempting to push the seeing stone up the side of the mountain, and he grunted and groaned with similar effort. Hands outstretched before him, arms trembling with the strain, you watched in horror as the tips of his fingers just barely brushed the inner layer of the energy field before the blue-white light seemed to pulse, and the bounty hunter was flung back through the air with a cry. Mere inches from the edge of the stone henge, his body crumpled to the ground in a pile of dark fabric and beskar, face down in the dirt, limp and unmoving.

“Din!” You sprinted to his side, tucking your blaster into your pocket as you went. Collapsing to your knees beside his prone form, you heaved him over onto his back, the bulk of him plus his full suit of armor almost more than you could budge on your own. “Come on, Din, wake up. Wake up!” You shook him by the shoulders, loose hair and panicked sweat falling into your eyes as you stared down at him. You met your own reflection’s gaze in the ink-black surface of his visor, but you didn’t need to examine your face to know that you looked as distraught as you felt as the Mandalorian remained motionless beneath you.

You tried in vain for a few more moments to rouse him, but it was no use. He was out cold, and the fighting down the side of the mountain had only gotten louder, which you presumed meant it had gotten closer. Crawling over to the edge of the henge, careful to stay low enough to the ground to be hidden by the brush, you risked a peak down the slope and into the valley below.

There, far enough in the distance to keep you safe from blaster bolts but still far closer than you were comfortable with, you could see two foreign figures picking off the wave of Storm Troopers one by one, and you realized then that these must have been the people that had arrived in the Firespray. One appeared to be a woman dressed in orange and black tactical gear, a sleek helmet on her head blocking most of her face from view. Even from a distance, you could tell she was a wicked shot, taking out trooper after trooper even in the short amount of time you had been watching. The other figure was far more mysterious – a bald man with deeply tanned skin clad in flowing black robes, carrying a long, thin blaster rifle and some kind of curved polearm strapped across his broad back. He, too, was an excellent shot, though his blaster seemed to pack less of a punch than the one wielded by his companion.

Crouched there in the brush, you watched as the Storm Troopers advanced relentlessly even as their numbers dwindled, driving the other two combatants to retreat further back, taking shelter as they could behind the rocky terrain. It was clear from where you stood that although the troopers far outnumbered your mysterious allies, the skill advantage clearly went to the two figures in black.

However, just as you were beginning to feel confident that they might be capable of defeating this insurgency on their own, without Din’s help, the Storm Troopers produced a small, freestanding artillery, and your stomach dropped to your feet as they began to loose volleys of explosive rounds along the side of the mountain. The ground shook beneath you, and you bit back a startled scream as the impact sent chunks of rock and clouds of dust pouring from the cliffside where your two allies hid. They wouldn’t be able to withstand that kind of firepower, and neither would you, should they get make their way much closer. You needed Din.

Scurrying back over to his side, you redoubled your attempts to wake him. Saying his name, shaking his shoulders, running your hands across his body, focusing on the parts you could touch without beskar getting in the way. Tucking your fingers under the folds of his cape, you managed to find a scrap of skin just on the edge of his cowl, and you dug your fingernails into that flesh, catching on his collar bone, hoping the sting would be enough to bring him back to himself.

And then a second Imperial transport shuttle dropped through the sky, the sound of its engines joining the commotion of the firefight, and as though that was the cue that he had been waiting for, the Mandalorian startled awake with a groan.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you sighed, falling back onto your haunches where you knelt beside his body. You wiped sweat and dust from your brow with the back of your sleeve, praying that the tears of frustration and fear that had been prickling the backs of your eyes stayed put in your tear ducts. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” The bounty hunter sounded dazed, exhausted. “The kid – ”

You held up hand, interjecting immediately. “He’s still in a trance. I can’t get through to him. And more troopers just landed at the base of the mountain.”

“I have to try again.” He staggered to his feet then, immediately lurching in the direction of the seeing stone where Grogu still sat, unmoved and unaware of all that was happening around him. “That’s it, kid! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Din, don’t – ” You jumped to your feet, fingers scrabbling at the back of his cape as though to hold him back, but the man was insistent and would not be deterred.

Extending his gloved hands once more into the corona of the energy field, he was once again repelled backward, this time somehow managing to keep his feet.

“It’s no use,” you snapped, frustration rising in your chest. Clearly flinging himself at that ray shield-like force wasn’t helping. The man was getting frantic, and it scared you. If he would just slow down and think for a second… “We’re going to have to wait it out!”

“We don’t have time for that!”

You paused for a moment, forcing back your short-tempered retort. You had one idea – just one, and you didn’t like it. But up here, you were useless, and if you tried to meet the Storm Troopers head-on, like Din would, like the two mysterious figures at the base of the mountain would, you would get yourself killed, and then you would less than useless. There was only one thing you could think of that you could do in this situation that would actually help. If you were brave enough to do it.

“What if…what if I went and got the Crest?”

The Mandalorian came up short at that, turning to face you head on with a cocked helmet, silent incredulity rolling off of his posture.

“Grogu isn’t coming out of that energy field until he’s done with whatever he’s doing. We’re just going to have to keep him safe until he quits on his own. I’m a decent shot in a starship, and we’re going to need more than blasters if we want to fight off that many troopers.”

He appeared to consider the idea, looking like he wanted to protest but unable to come up with a reason why, or better yet, a different idea all together. Another explosion rocked the mountainside, blaster fire continuing to sing in the distance, and after a beat, he nodded once.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I’ll cover you.”

Drawing your blaster once more, you spared a quick glance at Grogu’s sweet, serene face, and then both you and Din crossed to the edge of the henge one final time.

“Okay, we’re going to protect you. Just stay there,” you called back to the child. Imbuing every ounce of confidence you could muster in your words, you added, “We’ll be back soon.”

The bounty hunter wrapped one of his hands around your elbow then, urging you to meet his gaze. As gently as he could manage in a rush, he ducked down and butted the forehead of his helmet against yours. “Be careful, cyare,” he rasped, and you felt yourself smiling in spite of the circumstances. There he was. That was your Din.

“You, too,” you whispered. You allowed yourself a singular moment to breathe in the scent of him – beskar and blaster residue, sweat and spice – and then you ducked into the brush and began your descent down the mountain.

One hand wrapped around your blaster hilt, the other held out to your side for balance, you kept as low to the ground as you could manage, your boots slipping and sliding through the dirt and gravel on the steep slope down. You kept your eyes on the conflict as much as you could, taking shelter behind rocks or flattening yourself against the ground when blaster rounds strayed too close to where you crept. Everything was so loud – the incessant blaster fire, the intermittent explosions from the artillery, the shouting of the troopers. It all had your heart hammering in your ears, your stomach tight and leaden with anxiety, and you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you were to come upon a trooper now and be forced to defend yourself, your hands would be shaking too badly to level your blaster. Instead, you prayed that Din’s return to the battle would be enough of a distraction to keep you from their notice.

Once you got to the Razor Crest, you would be safe.

Once you got to the Razor Crest, you would keep your boy safe.

Those thoughts, those promises you made to yourself, were the only things that kept you from curling into the smallest ball you could manage and wedging yourself behind a rock to wait out the conflict.

Your prayers were answered the moment Din made it back to the fray. Back-to-back with the strange woman in black, you watched in awe as he activated the battery of small guided missiles built into the back of one of his vambraces – whistling birds, he called them – and launched them all at once. A dozen tiny rockets streaked through the air, leaving smoke trails in their wake, and ripped through the flimsy plastisteel armor of as many Storm Troopers, crumpling their bodies to the ground.

That was your chance – your window of opportunity. You took off at a sprint, arms and legs pumping, fighting to keep yourself upright on the incline of the ridge, forgoing the shelter of the rocks and the brush in favor of speed. All of the efforts, all of the attention of the troopers were now squarely focused on Din. You had to make it as far as you could before they realized you were there. The Razor Crest was so far away, but you could make it. You just needed enough time…

You made it almost all the way to the flat, barren clearing where you had landed, a mere 150 meters from the bottom of the Razor Crest’s familiar ramp, before the telltale sound of jetpack engines filled your ears. You had just enough time to drop to the dirt before a dark form came arcing through the air around the side of the ridge, sailing directly into the center of the conflict.

An explosion greater than any you had seen thus far heralded his landing, and your palms flew to your ears instinctively against the thundering blast. You felt the detonation in your bones, your eardrums ringing, your skull feeling a bit rattled, and you watched with nothing short of awe as from the smoke, a man clad in a familiar set of weathered, green-painted beskar rose unscathed.

It was the man from earlier, you realized – the strange man in the robes with the alien-looking polearm strapped to his back. Except now, in addition to the polearm, he was wielding a blaster, multiple rocket launchers, and a full complement of Mandalorian armor, and he moved with the confidence and the ferocity of a man who was quite accustomed to doing so.

You had watched Din fight. You had seen the way he transformed under the pressure of battle – the way he slipped into this other identity, this other state of being with his blaster in his hand. He was focused, fierce, competent – fluid and yet sharp simultaneously, unrelenting in his assault, unforgiving in his intensity. This man fought like Din but with the addition of all the blunt savagery of a bull determined to break out of its pen, and you couldn’t help but hesitate in the face of it.

You couldn’t help but stop to watch.

With a heavy swing of his vambrace, the mysterious man backhanded the nearest trooper across his helmet, shattering the thing upon impact and sending the infantryman toppling to the ground. He took out three more with his blaster in quick succession, felling them where they stood, then took aim at the portable generator powering the artillery. The generator exploded in a burst of flame, sending several nearby troopers into the air with the force of it, and then he was eating up the ground in long strides, alternating between his blaster and some kind of projectile weapon built into his vambrace. Everywhere he went, Storm Troopers littered the ground, falling in the face of his violent strength.

This man was magnificent and utterly terrifying.

The Storm Troopers seemed to agree. Once it became clear that there was no victory to be found for them now that this newcomer had joined the fray, their commanders gave the order to fall back. A thrill shot through you at the sight of their gleaming white armor retreating under a rain of blaster bolts, and before you knew it, both of the transport shuttles were in the air and rapidly ascending back into orbit.

They didn’t make it far, however. Taking aim with the oversized artillery shell mounted to the side of his jetpack, the man in the green armor launched the rocket in the direction of the retreating vessels. You followed the arc of the round through the air and watched as it collided with its mark in a burst of flame. Black smoke belched from the hull of the hit shuttle, pouring into the afternoon air, and with an echoing groan, it fell from the sky, taking the other shuttle down, too, in its descent.

You couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from the wreckage. So dumbstruck and impressed by the raucous display of power were you that you nearly missed the single, red laser cannon burst that streaked through the atmosphere.

In the same way that it had in the forests on Maramere, when you had leveled your blaster at another being for the first time and pulled the trigger, time seemed to slow to a crawl as you watched that laser burst part the clouds on its way down from orbit. Ripping its way through the air, it zipped unerringly toward its target in one clean, continuous line. Your eyes widened with horror as you tracked its path, and you thought you might have loosed a shout of warning, but it hardly mattered. There was nothing you could do to stop it.

The laser burst tore through the Razor Crest like it was no more substantial than a brittle, fallen leaf, and you watched, helpless, as the ship burst apart at the seams in a ball of flames and shrapnel.

You were so close to the impact that you didn’t even have enough time to dive for cover. The force of the blast hit you like a wall of bricks, lifting you from the ground, throwing you back several feet, limp as a rag doll. All of the air evacuated your lungs as you collapsed onto the hardpacked dirt, and white-hot agony seared through you as the roiling wave of fire that exploded from the ruined ship licked at your exposed skin, singing your hands, your neck, your face.

The Razor Crest. They had destroyed the Razor Crest.

You tried to suck in a breath, but the air was so hot, scorching your lungs, coating your throat with ash and dirt. Coughing and sputtering, you lurched to your feet, needing to get away from the epicenter of the flames, but Maker, your ears hurt – they were ringing in your head, drowning out the roar of the fire, the labored sounds of your own breathing, even the thunder of your own heartbeat. It was making you dizzy. You could barely keep your feet under your body.

The world was spinning.

The Razor Crest was gone.

You could feel astringent tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, streaking through the dirt and the soot and the raw skin on your cheeks. Were they from the smoke, or from the grief in your chest?

Din’s ship. Your ship.

Your home, the only real home you had known since you were a child. Gone.

You dug your blunt nails into the nearest rock, scrabbling along its jagged surface, feeling the inflamed skin of your fingertips catch on the ridges to keep you upright. You had to get to Din, to Grogu. They would be coming for him now.

Now that you couldn’t run away.

With every wavering step you took out of the blast radius, you could feel your vision clearing, could feel your breath coming a bit easier in your lungs. Your body still ached everywhere, and your skin felt like you had been laying out under Tatooine’s twin suns with cooking oil slathered across your body for several hours, but you could move again, and the more time you spent on your feet, the more your equilibrium began to restore itself. It was a level of pain that you could push through, and in that moment, you were determined to push through it.

As the mountain peak with the stone henge began to take shape in your field of vision once again, you noticed several things at once. First, you could see both Din and the strange woman in black and orange tactical gear racing up the side of the mountain, weapons drawn, scaling the steep incline at a shocking pace. Second, you noticed that the blue-white column of light that had surrounded Grogu had disappeared. Finally, peeking through the craggy rocks along the circumference of the henge, you could see the glint of metal. A lot of it, like whatever had joined Grogu in the center of the circle was absurdly large.

Or like there were many of them.

Packing away the pain in your muscles and the agony in your lungs, refusing to acknowledge either of them, you broke into a run.

---

“Abort pursuit! Disengage! Do not harm the child!”

You were dead on your feet as you staggered into the circle of the henge. Utterly winded, gasping for breath, muscles seizing and shaking with overuse, eyes watering, burning your tender skin as tears spilled over. Neither Din nor the woman acknowledged your arrival at first, both of them staring into the clear, blue sky, their bodies bent over the comm link in the woman’s hand. Stomach sinking in your abdomen, you glanced around them both toward the center of the circle.

The seeing stone was empty, dormant once more, and Grogu was gone.

A gruff male voice echoed from the strange woman’s comm link, one you had never heard before. “Copy. I’ll do a loose follow, see where they’re headed.”

You leaned heavily back against the closest stone, woozy and wrung out. You had failed. You had promised to keep him safe, and you had failed.

Half a breath later, and the comm link crackled to life once more. “They’re back,” the voice on the other end said.

The woman was quick to reply, curt and direct. “Who?”

“The Empire. They’re back.”

“That can’t be.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and both Din and the woman whirled around to face you, the latter’s hand flying to the grip of her weapon.

“Cyare,” the Mandalorian breathed, taking an uneasy step toward you, hand outstretched. You couldn’t imagine how you looked to him then. Limp and listless against the rock, barely standing, dotted with burns, covered in dirt and soot, steeped in heartache.

For her part, the woman glanced back and forth between you and Din for a moment, dropping her hold on the blaster rifle strapped to her body only after she had determined that the two of you knew each other. Speaking into her comm link again, she snapped, “The Outer Rim is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic.”

The reply back was just as quick. “This isn’t a spice dream. I can see the Imperial cruiser with my own eyes.” A brief pause, and then, “Heading down.”

For the first time since you had spotted the Firespray descend through the atmosphere, silence fell over the mountain peak. Din couldn’t seem to look away from you, nor you from him, though neither of you moved to be closer to the other. The woman in black stood by and said nothing, clearly an outsider in the grief that was beginning to settle over the two of you. Feeling a fresh wave of tears welling behind your eyes, you whispered, voice breaking halfway through, “Grogu?”

Your bounty hunter shook his head once and broke your gaze, turning instead to stare at the column of smoke rising from the remains of the Razor Crest. “He’s gone.”

You swore you could feel your heart crack inside your chest, and those tears spilled unchecked and silent. He sounded hollow, empty and lifeless inside, and you wanted so badly to go to him, to say his name, to comfort him somehow. Perhaps also to seek comfort from him, if you were being honest. But as you pulled yourself away from the support of the rock behind you, he held up a hand, the same hand that had been reaching for you a few moments ago, and stopped you in your tracks.

“I’m going to survey the wreckage,” he announced, visor pointed toward the ground, away from you, away from the other woman. Before you could say another word, he disappeared over the edge of the peak, descending the mountainside once more.

You took a single, feeble step after him before your thigh muscles gave out beneath you, send you toppling toward the ground. But the woman in black got there first, catching you beneath your armpits, hauling you back onto your feet.

“Whoa, easy there,” she said. “And who might you be?”

You sniffed heavily, dragging your sleeves across your tear-stained face. You winced at the feel of the abrasive fabric against your burns, but you gave her your name all the same. Your voice sounded small, wrecked even to your own ears, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed. Your ship was nothing but a smoking crater in the ground. The Empire had kidnapped your little boy. Your entire body ached. You couldn’t be bothered with trying to put on a brave face for this stranger.

“I’m…I’m his…” You struggled to put your relationship with Din into words, to phrase it in a way that could be understood by someone else, particularly when you weren’t even certain you understood it yourself. You were his crew member. His engineer. His nanny. His friend. His lover. You were just…

“I’m his.”

The woman offered you a puzzled look, but the corner of her mouth quirked up in something like a smile. “I’m Fennec Shand. Mando and I are old…acquaintances. What happened to you? You look like you’ve seen better days.”

“I was going after our ship, the Razor Crest, while you guys were fighting those troopers,” you replied, finally starting to feel a bit steadier on your feet with Fennec’s support. “I was going to offer air support. I was nearby when it blew up.”

“Dank farrik.” She looked you up and down, dark eyes shrewd. “We have some medical supplies in our ship. It’s not much, but it’ll stop these burns from getting infected, and it should help keep you from scarring.”

You shook your head immediately at that. “No, I have to go, I have to be with him – ”

“Okay, okay, one step at a time. You’ll never make it back down the mountain on your own.” Fennec looped one of your arms over her shoulder, anchoring you to her body with a strength that surprised you. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

---

As Din Djarin picked through the paltry remains where the Razor Crest once stood, Fennec Shand and a man you had learned was named Boba Fett looked on with somber expressions.

The former had calmly, patiently, tirelessly helped your battered and bruised body down the side of the mountain, supporting your weight when your legs threatened to give you beneath you and catching you up as best as she could on what you had missed while you stood guard over Grogu. When you reached the scorched patch of earth, still trailing whisps of smoke into the air, she had found you a relatively flat rock to rest on. Now, you joined the bleak, silent vigil, allowing your Mandalorian to scavenge through what was left of his home in relative privacy.

Maker. How could any of this be real?

“May I offer you a handkerchief, little one?” You startled at the question, glancing up over your shoulder at the solemn face of the man in the weathered green armor. This was the man you had watched so effortlessly eliminate so many troopers from your hiding spot in the brush, but in contrast to when he was in battle, he had removed his helmet, choosing to carry it in the crook of his arm instead. He had a worn scrap of black cloth in his hand, and it fluttered in the faint breeze in a way that reminded you of Din’s cape. “It looks as though you might need it more than I.”

You studied the man, Boba Fett, for a moment before nodding and accepting his offering. Passing the handkerchief over your face, you sighed softly in relief. The fabric was so much softer than your boilersuit, so much gentler on your injuries. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Din bending down to uncover something from the ash. Grogu’s favorite little silver ball, crusted in dirt but miraculously intact.

More tears streamed down your face at the sight, and you quickly wiped them away. If Boba spotted the furtive gesture, he had the good grace to not say anything about it.

Clearing your throat, you opened your mouth to ask him about the armor he wore, to confirm that it was, in fact, what you thought it was, and that it had come from the Razor Crest before its destruction, but before you could form the words, Din had clambered his way out of the shallow crater left by the detonation, a long, metal spear in his hands.

“This is all that survived,” he said, showing Boba the weapon.

The older man quirked an eyebrow knowingly. “Beskar.”

Din nodded.

“I want you to take a look at something.” Thumbing a quick combination into his vambrace, a holographic projection appeared in midair between the two armored men. “My chain code has been encoded in this armor for 25 years. See, this is me, Boba Fett.” He pointed at the section of the code that indicated his name, his planet of origin, and some biometric data. “This is my father, Jango Fett.” He pointed again, this time at another section of text further down on the display.

Din drew back somewhat in surprise. “Your father was a foundling,” he said, recognition in his voice.

“Yes. He even fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars.”

You felt your own eyebrows raise at that. Whether Boba himself was Mandalorian remained unclear, but from what you knew of the Creed, it hardly mattered. If his father was Mandalorian, Boba was owed the same inheritance.

Like Grogu.

“Then that armor belongs to you,” Din agreed.

Boba offered him a serious half-bow, the gesture almost courtly. “I appreciate its return.” His gruff voice took on a note of sincerity then, a note of warmth, and you felt the corner of your mouth quirk up at the sound.  

“Then our deal is complete.”

Boba hesitated at that, holding up a hand to pause. “Not quite.”

“How so?”

Din was done with this conversation, you could tell. He wanted to leave, to be done with this place and leave the smoking pit where his ship used to be behind, where he didn’t have to look at it anymore.

But the other man appeared undeterred by his surliness. “We agreed, in exchange for the return of my armor, we would guarantee the safety of the child.”

“The child’s gone.” You felt your heart stutter at his words, the matter-of-fact way he said them, the hollowness in his voice. It made your lower lip tremble, and again, you wished you could reach out and pull him to you, hold him. But he couldn’t have made it any clearer that he didn’t want that right now, and you certainly weren’t about to force the issue. Not in front of two strangers, anyway.

“Until he is returned to you safely, we are in your debt.”

Din was silent for a moment, glancing between Boba and Fennec for confirmation. The latter nodded once, deadly serious, and a surge of hope welled up in your chest at their clear, steadfast commitment. Both of them were skilled fighters. The countless, white-armored bodies that littered the valley and mountainside were testament enough to that. Would they be willing to put themselves at risk for the sake of the child? It certainly seemed so.

“If you truly mean that,” Din began, hesitant but considering, “I have some thoughts on how you might pay back that debt.”

The other man inclined his head him, quick to retort, “My word is my bond, Mandalorian. We had an accord, so shall it be done.”

“Good. Then we need transport to the Outer Rim.”

You frowned slightly at that. Back to the Outer Rim? Even the closest planets in that region were several days away at light speed. What was Din after?

 Boba seemed to have no compunctions with this plan, however. “Of course. Where are you heading?”

“Nevarro,” he replied. “If we’re going to find the cruiser that took him, we’re going to need help. I have a contact on Nevarro with New Republic law enforcement rights. She might be able to pull some strings for us.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? I would bet that most of us don’t exactly have the best history with…agents of the law,” Fennec quipped wryly.

“I understand. But I trust her. She was a gun for hire for years before she went straight. Even if she can’t help us, she’ll be discrete.”

The other woman exchanged a significant look with Boba, the two of them seemingly having a discussion without words. After a beat, he nodded and said, “Very well. The journey to Nevarro is a long one from here. Come, we leave immediately.”

Fennec was at your side almost instantly, pulling you to your feet from the rock on which you perched. You winced as you settled onto your legs, having gotten stiff while you waited, but she was patient as you found your footing. You offered her a soft smile of thanks, but before you could take your first step, another set of gloves appeared in your peripheral vision.

“It’s all right, I’ll get her there,” Din said, extending a hand to you in offering. Your eyes snapped up to his face, meeting his gaze through his impenetrable visor. It was the first time he had looked you in the eye since the two of you had left that mountain peak, since he had pressed his forehead to yours and asked you to be careful. You couldn’t help but feel as though the man staring back at you had been fundamentally changed in the intervening hours. This man was colder, more distant, cloaked in grief and vengeance.

He was right there, with his hand outstretched, and yet, he had never felt so out of reach.

But you could not bring yourself to say no to the chance to be close to him. And so, swallowing thickly, you nodded in agreement and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms.

Din was silent as he carried you to where Boba Fett’s Firespray had landed, and if he noticed the fresh tear tracks you hid against the folds of his cape, he did not acknowledge them.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

[sterlingarcher23]

An endless summer skateboarding & a seashell lamp

If you didn't notice, they told us what Max is doing in her head right now in the coma.

She covers her "The Endless Summer" poster with her head in S2 and completely in 4. (There's a lot going on behind Max's head)

Note how the sea shell lamp is only on when Max is with El.

Proxys

Oh, and we had that scene in which William, sorry, Billy says "You know what happens if you lie to me." ... Yeah. He did. Break her skateboard. I mean Vecna did. Her. - the Dear Billy poster says "No more lies. No more hiding" and Vecna/Edward using Billy's appearance.

Seriously. They spoon feed us everything.

Interesting how they use other characters to foreshadow and be proxys of others. Like Henderson means Son of Henry, Eddie = Edward/Vecna who plays him in the game. William is possessed... I mean Will, I mean Billy. And some lines from Robin are proxy lines for El. - Like "I wanted her to look at me..." but someone is in the way. (El is misinterpreting her own feelings. And then there's this "I love her and I can't lose her again" and it's Max looking embarrassed)

If you want to stop One

But I digress. Now, speaking of this scene. El IS the only One to stop One (remember Owens: You are One of the good Ones). That's been foreshadowed in the very first scene in which she sees Max.

Max is circling and wouldn't have stopped, Mike tried, if El hadn't stopped her in a manner of speaking. Brenner told us how to stop One.

In order to stop One, you need to fly, you need to be consumed and Max "Can't stop".

This One is circling endlessly like Terry Ives in her mind and this is likely the connection with the rainbow sequence in the lab scene and the zooming effect.

In the skateboard scene from Season 2 the Zoomer is mentioned the first time. Twice.

Told you. - Zoomer.

Spoon fed. - Taking the wheel, like taking control.

And circling, spinning is totally an ElMax theme.

The sea shell lamp scenes also form a pattern with it off when Max is alone, broken, haunted and hunted by abusers like William/Vecna and on when she's with El.

There's another scene coming to complete this pattern with the lamp on in Season 5 (even if that lamp is probably created in the mind.)

Sea shells btw have a lot of meanings:

"Seashells are often associated with love and fertility. In some cases, the seashell can be seen as symbolic of female genitalia. Medieval Christian traditions associate seashells with pilgrims.

In some new age traditions, seashells are used to symbolize the unconscious and are associated with emotions. Thanks to their connection to the sea and water, they are also evocative of peace and tranquility." Kitty Jackson - Quote from this article about Botticelli's Birth of Venus.

Sea shell lamp on = love & femininity. Wonder Woman. Um, that's, how would Will phrase it: "Something something...on the nose"

Red Skittle btw is Strawberry.

Taste (consume) the rainbow....

😉 (sorry for the Starship Troopers joke)

#max mayfield #elmax #stranger things #el hopper #elmax is endgame #Elmax Endgame #stranger things analysis #elmax supremacy #eleven and max #max stranger things #max x eleven #stranger things eleven #stranger things theory

[yourmumsc0ck]

NER KAR'TA (4)

"My heart"

'THE RECONCILE'

Summary: A time after the Purge, Bo-Katan runs into an old 'acquaintance' as she roams the galaxy alone

Bo-Katan Kryze x fem!ClanVizslaR

(Can be read individually)

Word count: 1.8k

"Imperial security checks ahead, have identichips ready. Imperial security checks ahead..." the monotonous drone of the announcement resonates from the speakers across the cramped street in a slightly unsynchronised echo. Being pulled along with the turbulent tide of city night goers, even Bo couldn't navigate her way out of the crowd that she had found herself so suddenly immersed in.

Despite the cloudless night sky far above, the overwhelming darkness of the atmosphere meant the permanent streams of starship underbelly lights replaced the static stars. The only sources of light at ground level came from boldly lit storefronts advertising all manners of exotic items. However, the cramped, high-walled street meant almost all of these lights were permanently obscured by curtains of passers by or sheets of stiffly vertical rain.

"Understood," a stormtrooper states firmly to member of the crowd, whose figure was covered by a low-hanging, dark robe. The torrential rain pommels off every sky-facing surface, which includes Bo's exposed head. As dripping auburn hair falls into her face and obscures her view, the former Mand'alor only catches a glimpse of the dark figure merging back into the sea of people.

Helmet firmly under her arm and cloak, Bo focuses on finding her way out of this situation: she has no identification, and any facial scan would send her straight to the ISB for definite execution. She hadn't battled this long through her life to lose at surprise ID checkpoint.

Slowly inching her way to the right side of the street, she finds herself uncomfortably close to the row of stormtroopers attentively monitoring the process. Bo knew she had to make a break for it soon.

Looking up a little, she hopes her semi-clear view of the galaxy above would not be her last. It was too soon to say goodbye.

Inhaling deeply and grasping the hilt of her holstered hand blaster, Bo steps out of the crowd and tries to slip away between two groups. Despite her efforts, it was almost inevitable that she would be spotted.

"Hey! You there!" the slight augmented voice of a trooper calls out sharply as he lifts his blaster, "Stop where you are!"

Revealing her fire arm, Bo shoots before he can, the pinpoint shot sending him into a crumpled heap.

"Stop!-"

Another falls to her blaster shot, but she hadn't expected the reinforcements to surround her with such quick coordination.

"Hands up! Drop your weapon!" the stormtrooper ahead of her yells.

Bo refuses: she won't go down so easily.

"I said: hands up-" the man continues, taking two steps forward. Bo raises her blaster quickly, ready to fire, "Drop it-"

"Stop!" a strangely familiar voice cuts through the already turbulent situation. To her left, Bo watches with confusion as the hooded figure from earlier emerges. In the fractured darkness of the street, their face is still obscured, "I am ISB Lieutenant Paxton, and this rebel is under my custody."

'Oh, kriff," Bo thinks with a sense of almost humorous dread, "Maybe I should've got myself shot."

"Sir, may I see some identification?" the nearest one asks with a deep, clipped tone.

There's a moment's pause, before the figure responds, "Yes... if you must."

Holding out the indentichip for examination, the trooper quickly stiffens and holds his blaster to his side, "Sorry, sir. Would you like an accompanying guard, sir?"

"No, that won't be necessary, trooper," the voice dismisses him, before approaching Bo in two measured steps, "This rebel will not attempt to fight me, if she knows what's best for."

"Very well, sir."

"You are dismissed," the others all hurry away. Arm suddenly twisted behind her back, Bo finds herself being pushed forcefully down a deserted alley way, winding through a maze of identically depressive streets.

"Get off me, you-" surprisingly, the supposed ISB agent lets go before even having to complete her demand. Bo watches the still-concealed figure, before asking with indigent confusion, "Who are you?"

"You are a very different woman to find, Kryze," you respond slowly, watching as her eyes search desperately under your hood for any glimpse of your appearance.

"Who are you?" she asks again, slowing and emphasising each word. You can see why she was such an intimidating Mand'alor.

"I got word from various contacts of a 'lone Mandalorian female with blue and white armour'. It had to be you," you continue, "didn't make the journey to track you any shorter. Like really, Canto Bight? Daiyu?"

Bo pauses, as if realising that this person is no ordinary bounty hunter or recruiter. However, they also couldn't be from the Empire. This time, with caution and deep thought to her words, she asks again, "...Who are you?"

You let out a slight huff: you thought she might have worked it out herself. With the rain still pouring between you like a thick, translucent pane of scratched glass, you tug down your hood and immediately feel the pummelling droplets cascading over every inch of your exposed head.

Despite being able to see her for the past few minutes, it's different to see her when she can see you as well. It had been so long, yet she and her gaze had changed so little. Both her gaze for people, and her gaze for you.

"...Mesh'la?" she takes a tentative step forwards, watching you as intently as she always did. However, this time you can see into her eyes as well (something which her heavily guarded persona used to conceal so steadfastly). She appears almost... nervous. But how could that be?

"Bo- I-" your words catch. Despite practicing a whole range of ways this could go, all memory of that preparation was lost down the gutter along with the tidal curtains of sweeping rain. As she takes another step, it's apparent that she is becoming even clearer; every curve and ridge of her face was so familiar.

"You died..." she mumbles, her face falling to a concernedly disappointed one as she almost appears to be trying to wake herself from a vision of sorts. That wasn't quite how you saw this going. You had had your fair share of near-lethal run ins with the Empire, but none that- oh...

Tenad 3 Major: a run of the mill, mid-rim trade port which had an unusually lucrative cargo going through it a few years ago. Now, to all of your sources - including your initial informant and semi-boss at the time - it was barely guarded with anything more than a couple of TIEs. Easy work. Except... it really wasn't. A few mistimed proton bombs and another volatile cargo shipment (doing what volatile shipments do) later, and the Empire had declared you dead. Or, 'perished with indistinguishable incineration' was there exact phrasing.

"Tenad was a mess, but I'm fine..." the vast burn marks from the proton blast and general anarchy said differently. However, with some backstreet modshop appointments and a few too many of those bacta viles later, and you looked significantly less like fried Bantha fodder than before. Didn't mean you felt less like it though.

"Your ear..." of course she noticed so quickly. With a face of pure concern, her exposed fingertips reach up to brush the freezing, rain-covered metal surface.

Despite keeping it exposed because you thought it looked pretty badass, you begin feel slightly insecure. What if she doesn't like it? It's not very Mandalorian, is it?, "I've been meaning to, uh, cover it up, but- but I-"

"I like it, cyar'ika," she smiles lightly, the slight tense in her jaw and static nature of her eyes telling you she hadn't done that in a while. But you loved the sight. Tracing around the shape, her finger follows down to where the metal binds back with the skin by your jaw. As she crosses the boundary, you shiver at the contact, "It's been so long... I feel like I know nothing about you anymore."

"You know everything important, cyare," you lean slightly into her touch. There's a clear Rancor in the room however, so you decide to get it over with, "I'm so sorry... about the Purge, that is... I- you..."

She notices how you get lost again, choking up at the thought of losing your home so permanently beyond your reach. For you, Mandalore was not a place; it was foremost a people. And those people were so brutally gone.

"It wasn't the planet... it was my clan; my people beyond that. I was lost, but I still slept. That was, until I hear you were dead, and I never even got the chance to protect you..." you step forward as her eyes glaze, knowing this moment of such vivid vulnerability was something she wasn't used to. You grab her free hand, pulling away layers of the rain between you until it is only a thin veil, "All I could see was your burning armour, and smoke, and a wreckage, and you just being gone, and-"

"Shh, cyare..." you reach your hand up to her rain-soaked cheek and hold it with tantalising delicacy as you ghost your finger over the edge of her cheek bone. The dim night - interrupted intermittently by dashing streaks of transport lights above - condenses and confines itself into the high-walled, cramped alley like a compressed blanket, pushing you even further together. You breath, "One day, you will balance those nights lost with ones of pure nothingness. And I will be here... if you want me, that is."

She lets out a huffed laugh, a playfully sad smile toying on her lips, "Of course I want you, mesh'la."

Your tracing stops as you fix your position. A silent conversation passes between you, just as you imagine the mystical force to allow the Jedi to do the same. It's paralysingly small between you, however the tumbling torrents of rain still find gaps to trickle through. That and half a breath of air are all that is between you.

"You still have it," you sort of blurt out as you notice the fragment of rugged, red stone you had given her as a parting gift now hanging around her neck on a black chain.

She smiles softly, though a sad tinge creeps up and down-turns her eyes a fraction, "I couldn't hope to close my eyes for a minute without it."

There's no dramatic crash, nor are jumping sparks between you. Instead, it feels homely. The familiar feeling of your closeness had been in everything but the physical nature. The lack of rain between you had left a warm silence to enclose around you like a swaddling blanket. Neither of you deepen the tantalising connection, allowing the light brushes and urge for air to bring you back to reality.

Bo finally tilts her chin down, her forehead resting on yours, "All this time..."

"I didn't live..." you breath deeply, "because I can't live without ner kar'ta (my heart)."

Aww, wasn't that cute. Anyway, that's the end so check out the rest of the series if you haven't already!!

#star wars #the mandalorian #bo katan kryze #the clone wars #bo katan #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian #lgbt #wlw #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 3 #bo katan kryze x reader #bo katan x reader

[vintagenews]

Here's a precursor to the Heinlien novel and film Starship Troopers, concerning Earth's war against alien insects. 

Source and details.

#vintage headline #insect #bugs #headline

[cantsayidont]

MOTHERLAND: FORT SALEM (2020–2022): Extremely frustrating bootlicking modern fantasy series, set in an alternate America in which witches with genuine supernatural powers are required by law to submit to military conscription upon their 18th birthdays. The show follows three new witch cadets, Tally Craven (Jessica Sutton), Abigail Bellweather (Ashley Nicole Williams), and Raelle Collar (Taylor Hickson), as they go through basic training to join a magical War on Terror against a ruthless terrorist organization called the Spree — of which Raelle's new girlfriend Scylla (Amalia Holm Bjelke) is secretly an agent.

Although the premise is truly cringeworthy, the first season offers some intriguing worldbuilding (including a novel treatment of the witches' magic, which is called "work" and based on sound) and paints a surprisingly dark picture of the witch army — so dark that it starts to seem like the original intent might have been closer to Paul Verhoeven's STARSHIP TROOPERS than a supernatural TOP GUN. Despite all its unsavory flag-waving, the Season One storyline touches on the dehumanizing effects of military training, the Army's use of torture, the grim consequences of refusing conscription, and even the negative environmental impact of military witches' "work"; the season's climax then has the witches' rather sinister commanding general (Lyne Renée) — a 300-year-old witch who survives by literally stealing the youth from volunteers and who is apparently plotting a military coup — ordering the green recruits to commit an atrocity that has significant civilian casualties.

The second season, however, immediately beats a cowardly retreat from any criticism or questioning of the Army or its leadership, shrugging off the disturbing events of the previous season (without actually undoing or contradicting anything that was previously shown, including the atrocity the protagonists committed!) and shifting focus to a stupid, unpleasantly grisly new conflict with an ancient secret society of witch-hunting bigots that threatens all witches. This conflict also occupies the the third season, which drifts yet further afield with some oddball revelations about the ultimate source of witch magic and culminates in a finale that somehow manages to elide all of the actual conflicts established in the show.

The first season has enough points of interest to suggest an opportunity missed, but the increasingly repugnant jingoism and the later seasons' obnoxiously woolly mysticism (even by the standards of a show about military witches) become harder and harder to tolerate even on a dopey nerd show level, and of the ostensible core cast, only Scylla gets anything approaching substantive characterization. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Yes, but you'll hate yourself in the morning. VERDICT: If you can stomach the basic premise (Mazel tov!), the first season (and only the first season) might be worth a look, but the rest goes from bad to worse.

#teevee #hateration holleration #motherland fort salem #jessica sutton #ashley nicole williams #taylor hickson #amalia holm #lyne renée #the cruel thing about the first season #is that it gives the misleading impression that the show #might be capable of transcending (or inverting) its own jingoism #which makes the subsequent reactionary shit worse #than if it had just been top gun with witches from the start #i know many viewers stuck it out for raella and scylla #but raelle is so sidelined in the later seasons that there's no emotional momentum there #and it's pinkwashing #which sits very ill given the show's disturbing militarism #pinkwashing #look it up

[anxiouspineapple99]

Just a Little Ghost Story

By: @clonemedickix

The derelict Venator was a gold mine for scavenging electronics and old supplies. What ammunition hadn’t cooked off in the fires following the crash were still locked within their cushioned bays, precious metals such as copper and gold were still peeking out of walls undisturbed by time or touch. Icy wind whipped at the edges of the broken and shattered hull, sometimes catching an object well enough to disturb its rest, but for the most part, the once proud ship sat in silence, waiting to be discovered, or hoping to rest in peace.

The young woman crawled carefully through the old hull, harvesting the rich finds as she went, placing items in her bag to carry home. She might be here picking through this wreckage for days; she had more than one container to store her bounty in, and a sturdy freighter to fly back to her home planet. The girl was never bothered by being alone. She lived in solitude when she worked, and enjoyed the quiet as she explored old crash sites for recoverable items. The credits made off this haul would help her little sister get the starship and education she was hoping to one day attain. The creaking and groaning of the settling hulks she worked in were like the sighs and grumbles of an old friend; she tuned them out for the most part, but was ever on alert for warning signs that the area she worked on was unstable. She’d heard things that were unexplainable sometimes. Often the source was made clear after probing and careful progress, but there were times that a reason for the whispers, the softly spoken words, were never clarified. The young scavenger always did her best to show proper respect for the sites she visited; many of them were crash sites where lives had been lost. It would not do to insult the memory of the dead. 

The girl’s name was Rhaella, and she moved from wreck to wreck, following the signature of copper deposits, which was a rare enough metal in their galaxy to bear notice on a scanner. She’d come across this old Venator on her way home, thinking her trip was going to be a bust. It appeared the ship had never been discovered by other scavengers, so this was a truly lucky find - she had first dibs. She’d come to the surface of the unnamed moon cautiously, not knowing what the atmosphere would be like, whether there were inhabitants or other important details. This was an unknown place, as far as the maps knew. The onboard ship sensors reported the air was breathable, though cold. She would need her snow gear for this salvage.

Landing her ship near the crushed hull of the old Jedi cruiser, she surveyed the damage quietly. It had taken quite a beating, one of the command superstructures completely gone, large holes blown out of the sides and rear of the ship as if the engine plant had exploded. Atmospheric re-entry had devastated the hull; none aboard would have survived the crash. The ship had plowed a long trail of wreckage and refuse behind in its wake; she would inspect that later. 

As she walked around the prow of the ship, she saw it’s name painted in faded Aurebesh on the side. The Tribunal. They’d had some strong, powerful names for their ships, she remembered. Bold monikers that would inspire awe and respect in the masses. Continuing on, she noticed something poking out of the snow, placed in regular rows in the shadow of the broken hull. Coming closer, Rhaella stopped with a small gasp. Helmets. Clone trooper helmets, placed on makeshift pikes and stuck into the earth in neat rows. Someone had taken the time to recover the bodies from the wreckage and bury them with respect. Rhaella paused, listening to the wind whip snow around, passing through the eaves and halls of the old, crushed ship with low moans and whistles. So she wasn’t the first visitor, after all, unless someone had survived the crash and buried these troopers as friends. Whichever it was, the girl stood for a moment, taking in the solemnity and obvious care given to the departed. 

She wondered what kind of men they were in life. Rhaella had never met a clone trooper before; she’d heard they were all very handsome super soldiers, cloned from a Mandalorian bounty hunter and bred solely to fight for the Republic. The helmet she stood before had an impressive, carefully done paint job with the old Republic rondel proudly on the center brow. The clones were gone now; the Republic was gone now. But clearly this clone had been proud of the people he had served. 

The Empire had been in place for a handful of months, and so far no one she knew was impressed. People seemed more afraid than happy; inflation ran rampant as people hoarded necessities and families went hungry. Rhaella had heard that the clones had been the very instrument of the fall of the Jedi; they’d turned on them to a man to execute them for treason. The girl sighed. They didn’t sound very loyal, if they could so suddenly turn on the very generals they’d been fighting alongside for three years. Giving the small graveyard a respectful nod, she whispered a soft prayer that her friend had taught her to thank the dead for their sacrifice, then she moved on, feeling that she’d shown proper regard for the souls lost on this site. 

Rhaella carefully picked her way into the interior of the old star destroyer, glancing up at the high walls and realizing she would need her rappelling equipment. She set her bag down on the floor and dug through it to unload her harness, rope and clips that would help her climb the walls and stay secure as she investigated what parts were salvageable. After tugging the final strap of the harness tight, she reached into a pocket and removed a small ear bud that would let her listen to music and any comms that came from the ship. Rhaella never wanted to be out of pocket if her family called for her; they would worry. She clicked on some music and then set about to find a stable route to the top of the hull.

A few hours later, she had a full bag of valuable wiring and electronics parts that she could sell. She would have to make her way down and back to her ship, the Tecova. Her satchel was too heavy and full to keep working, and she was hungry and cold. She could use a break. As she grabbed her rope release at her hip, she heard a voice over her music say, “Have you seen the Captain?”

The voice was clear and present enough to startle Rhaella, and she squeezed the release harder than she should have, dropping herself nearly thirty feet in seconds and almost crashing to her feet. Her heart plummeted to her stomach at both the rush of her mistake and how real the voice had sounded. Stopping her descent a mere ten feet off the ground, she took a few gasping breaths, steadying herself before reaching for the hull and stable footing. Rhaella quickly disconnected herself from her rappelling line and glanced around the empty space, wondering if she’d missed the presence of a person while she’d been hanging above the floor working. She saw no one; she was alone. She took a few more breaths, telling herself it was just the wind playing tricks with her mind, and then turned to walk back to her ship.

The girl had to admit, she was unnerved by how close that voice had sounded. There was no possibility of it being an actual human; she’d been hanging above the old fighter hanger with no floor beneath her for at least one hundred feet. No one could have been up there with her without a rope, or some type of magic she’d never heard of. After eating and resting, she emptied her bag and geared up to start working again, trudging back through the snow and following her path from earlier. The memory of the unnerving voice still made her skin crawl a little, but she shook it off and got back to her rope. She climbed back up to near where she’d been working earlier, her music pumping through her small ear bud while she hummed softly to herself, pushing the nervous butterflies from her mind.

She found stable footing on an old gantry that had once run along the wall of the massive hangar, and sat for a while, though she remained secured to her rope for safety. Rhaella always carried small snacks and water for energy replenishment, and while she took her short break, she nibbled at the bar of food, picturing what the ship must have looked like before she came to this sad end. She imagined it had been bustling with activity, loud with the noise of mechanics and clone soldiers shouting to each other, messages barking over the loudspeakers with updates and orders. She’d seen pictures of the clone troopers in their armor before, and in her mind she watched as they crossed the deck proudly, laughing at stories they told each other, encouraging each other for their next mission. 

She was dreamily humming along with a song while seeing the activity in her mind, when she heard, “Did Commander Tano get away?” Rhaella instinctively turned to the speaker and screamed when she saw the face of a man with a strange tattoo sitting next to her, his face earnest with the question he’d just asked. She scrambled to her feet and made to jump from the gantry, but when she looked back, there was no one there. Her action had made the small platform groan and screech at the sudden shift of her weight, and she worked to calm herself so she didn’t cause it to collapse. Rhaella gulped at the air, trying to lower her heart and respiratory rate; the panic she felt was threatening to suffocate her. Voices were one thing in her line of work, but seeing things was not; she’d never come up against what must be a spirit before. She felt some semblance of control return, and she carefully moved back to where she’d been sitting, her hand running over the gridded deck like it might burn her. 

Feeling a little braver, Rhaella laughed at herself, and said out loud, “Okay, ghosties… I can’t work with you scaring me like that, or I’ll end up one of you. How about you tone down the fear factor?” There was no reply but the howling of the wind outside, as it blew past the damaged structure of the ship. Rhaella shrugged and went back to sitting quietly, listening for anything unnatural to make itself known. She waited for nearly half an hour, then got ready to resume working, pulling herself back to a standing position.

“I’m sorry for scaring you…,” she heard a soft voice say from the area behind her.

Rhaella held her breath. The voice was actually interacting with her, not the wind playing tricks on her ears. She steadied herself, closing her eyes and taking a few breaths before looking up to see who was speaking. Green eyes met a pair of beautiful, sad brown eyes that were almost solid, but somewhat transparent. It was a young man, a handsome young man, wearing blue and white armor that was scuffed and cracked in multiple places, burn marks marring the plates here and there. He’d most likely had pleasing tan brown skin once, but now was ghostly pale, his old Republic roundel tattoo a faded black. The man stared at her silently, his feet resting on a part of the gantry floor that wasn’t really safe for weight bearing, but seemed to not notice the obvious bulk of the soldier resting on it. 

Rhaella was staring at a ghost. A karking, no joke ghost. And it had spoken to her - was in fact waiting for her to reply. The odds of that, the sheer astounding nature of this whole interaction both fascinated and terrified her.“I…um…,” she stammered. “I’m okay, I guess. Who are you?,” she blurted finally. 

“I’m Jesse,” he said in his soft voice. 

Rhaella was in uncharted territory. How was one supposed to speak to a ghost? Did he know he was a ghost? Did he remember how he died? He seemed to be looking for two different people, if his previous questions were any indication. The man seemed to be as lost as she was, reaching out for contact but unsure of how best to go about it.

“Do you have a name?,” he asked quietly.

“I, uh, yeah. Rhaella. It’s Rhaella.” She swallowed and realized her mouth had gone completely dry in shock at this interaction. Was she supposed to offer her hand to shake? How was one supposed to greet a ghost they’d only just met? She opted for making small talk, while her mind turned at a blistering pace, trying to decide if she should run, or stay. “How, um… how did you get here, Jesse?” 

He was clearly a clone trooper, most likely belonging to one of the bodies planted in the cold soil outside. She vaguely remembered seeing a helmet that matched his facial tattoo. He must have been important to the person who’d buried him; they’d placed his grave in the center front of all the others. 

“The ship crashed. We were fighting the Sith and the Jedi, and the hyperdrive failed…,” he paused, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he reached for the memory. “I think the ship started to break up when we entered the atmosphere. The men, my brothers… Have you seen Captain Rex? Did Commander Tano get away?” 

She recognized the two names he’d already mentioned earlier in his repeated question. “I don’t know those names, Jesse. I, uh… I’m here to salvage what I can from this wreck, to take back for sale, for credits.” She hoped he didn’t feel she was robbing his grave, or that her actions hadn’t disturbed him from his sleep.

“You don’t know the Captain? What about the Jedi? Could you ask them?” He looked progressively more and more upset, and Rhaella’s heart broke for the handsome young man. He had no idea, clearly, that the Republic and the Jedi were as dead as he was.

“Jesse, the Jedi are gone. Their Order was destroyed by the clone troopers the day they tried to assassinate Emperor Palpatine. The Republic is gone too - we live in the Galactic Empire now. There are no Jedi…” She felt awful, having to explain this to the clone.

“They’re gone? No! They can’t be. It was all a horrible mistake! They can’t be gone.” He broke off, staring off into the distance and murmuring about Captain Rex and Commander Tano again. Rhaella felt almost like she was watching something private, embarrassed at his distress.

After a few moments, she edged her way towards the wall, wanting to get back down from her perch. While the ghost was pleasant and even nice to look at, she was deeply uncomfortable with his presence and still afraid of the possibilities. What if he turned on her? What if her answers or lack thereof upset him further and he used some ghostly power on her to hurt her? She didn’t know; she’d never encountered a real ghost before. She had no idea what to expect. Rhaella had just gotten her foot set and was ready to push off, letting the rope take her weight when she heard Jesse call out behind her, “Wait!”

Turning her head back to look at him, she found him startlingly close to her again. Personal space was evidently not a thing in the realm of ghosts. Rhaella gave a chuff of surprise and gripped her rope carefully; she didn’t want another slip up like the previous trip. The clone looked at her a little desperately, a hand out tentatively as if he were thinking of touching her arm. Rhaella stared at his not quite solid hand, wondering curiously if she would be able to feel his touch. 

“Please, don’t leave. I’ve been alone for so long…,” his soft baritone was heartbreaking with his plea. “I won’t hurt you. Maybe we could just…talk?” 

Rhaella stared into his sad brown eyes, feeling he wasn’t trying to trick her. He seemed like any other person would be, that was tired of being alone. She stopped moving for a minute, thinking about whether it was safer to stay put a bit longer, or run for her life. Mentally a part of her screamed out a hysterical giggle that she was talking to a ghost, and contemplating sitting down and spending time with it, no less! Objectively, hurrying a person on a rappelling line wasn’t the safest thing she could do; she took a deep, steadying breath and decided to sit back down for a bit. See if this Jesse was even able to keep this appearance up for much longer. Rhaella thought she saw actual relief on his face as she relented. She settled back onto her perch carefully, her eyes speaking volumes about her readiness to just roll off the ledge and pray to the Maker she could catch herself with her safety before bouncing off some jagged piece of wreckage, while trying to get away.

Jesse seemed to sense her hesitation and fear, and he backed off, moving to the far edge of the little gantry. “Thank you, Rhaella,” he said in his soft, slightly accented tones. 

“Don’t mention it,” Rhaella murmured a bit wryly. This whole situation was a bit ludicrous, but he was such a polite ghost. 

“You said the Republic is gone. For how long?,” he asked carefully. 

She was a little afraid to tell him he’d been here for nearly five months. “It’s been about 4-5 months since the day the Republic fell,” she answered him slowly, watching his reaction a little hesitantly. 

Jesse said nothing for a long time, his face sad. Finally he moved, appearing to sit on the ledge, though he more or less floated on nothing. “So you’re saying the Jedi are all dead?” He looked a bit stricken, as if he felt partially responsible. 

“Some escaped. There’s these Jedi hunters called Inquisitors that go around looking for them now. The Jedi are all considered enemies of the Empire though, and anybody that sees one is supposed to turn them in.” Rhaella watched the ghost warily; she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Was he truly alone here, or were there more of his ghost brothers to keep him company? How awful if he was really all by himself. He didn’t speak for a long time, as if slowly digesting what she’d told him. “Who is the Captain you’re looking for, and… Tano? Commander Tano?” Jesse’s gaze met hers as she spoke.

“Captain Rex was my clone commander and friend.” His face was a picture of grief. “Commander Tano was the Jedi assigned to our mission. We went to Mandalore to free their world from the control of the crime boss, Darth Maul. I remember - we captured him… about tore the city of Sundari up to get him. He captured me, too, but let me go for some reason…” He paused, trying to pull the threads of memory back into some kind of readable tapestry. “We were on our way back to Coruscant with Maul when Order 66 went out.”

Rhaella was listening patiently, but she’d never heard of Order 66 before. “What was that?,” she asked curiously.

“What?,” he asked her back, unsure of what she meant.

“Order 66. What was Order 66?,” she clarified.

“Oh. Well, this guy called Darth Sidious sent out an encoded message to all the clone commanders to execute the Jedi for treason. Captain Rex got the order, and charged us to find Commander Tano and Darth Maul, and execute them. We tried to get Ahsoka early on, but she got away from us.” His voice trailed off, as he continued to search for the memories. “I think Captain Rex changed his mind about the order though… I think I remember him helping her, and us accusing him of treason.” Jesse looked stricken at the thought. 

It made sense that the two leaders had survived somehow; after all, someone thoughtful and seemingly knowledgeable had buried all the bodies after the crash. Rhaella said nothing as Jesse brooded. She was starting to get cold sitting with him, high in the bowels of the old cruiser. She shifted her weight a bit, trying to stretch her legs as best as she could. He didn’t seem to notice; Jesse was worlds away reliving the last moments of his life. She wondered what he had been like as a living soul. He was definitely handsome; her mind wondered at what Coruscant must have looked like with thousands of these men wandering the streets. Nowadays, it was so rare to find a clone that it brought notice purely because of its rarity. 

She had to stand; if she let her muscles cramp up she’d be in a real pickle trying to rappel back to the ground. Jesse’s head came up when she got to her feet, stiffly. Rhaella saw his look, and said, “I need to warm up. I’m cold and getting stiff, and hungry.” She saw his expression start to break at the fear of her leaving, and rushed to cut him off. “I’ll come back! I’m not done here. I just…can’t stay here as long as you.” How to politely discuss the dead’s lack of physical needs?

Jesse pursed his lips unhappily, but nodded to Rhaella. “I’m sorry I kept you so long. I forget it’s cold here…” His voice trailed off, as he looked away across the cavernous, destroyed hangar. “Please come back,” he begged her softly. 

Rhaella looked at him flatly and got her rope taught, her feet positioned to step off the ledge. “I’ll come back, Jesse, I promise.” She saw him nod, and she hit the release at her hip, walking herself carefully down the wall back to the ground. 

Maker, she was stiff from sitting up there all afternoon. She had two full bags of salvaged scrap; technically she could leave with what she had. It wouldn’t be as full a bounty as she had been planning on, but she didn’t have to stay. Reminiscing with ghosts wasn’t part of her job description. But. He seemed so sad, and compelling, like someone she might have liked in a different life. And she had promised him she would be back. Rhaella took a quick shower and settled in for the night to sleep; she would keep her word. Besides, this haul would most likely push her earnings over that which was needed for her sister’s tuition and ship, and she couldn’t pass that up.

Rhaella woke the next morning to a weak sun shining through the windscreen of the Tecova. It didn’t promise any increase in warmth, but she knew it was time to get moving. She put on her cold weather gear and rappelling harness, and tied her boots snugly, grabbing her satchel to head back to the ship. This time when she passed the little clone graveyard, she paused to look at the worn helmets more carefully. Sure enough - the helmet foremost in the center had the same Republic rondel as Jesse’s facial tattoo. It had to be his spot. She stared at it mutely for a minute, her mind deep in thought.

“Do you think if you stare at that long enough, I’ll climb out of that hole?,” a dry, softly muted voice asked right at her side.

Rhaella made a very undignified sound and jigged a dance that made Jesse’s pale face light with an attractive smirk. Very faintly, she could hear him laughing at her. 

“That is SO RUDE, Jesse!,” she shouted at him, hoping her heart would return to a normal rhythm quickly. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that. Are you trying to make my heart stop?” Her tone clearly showed her level of annoyance at him for the breach in etiquette.

“Well, you were staring so hard at my helmet, and it was really too perfect an opportunity to pass up…” His smile was incredibly endearing for a dead guy. “Besides, I don’t think you can exact revenge on the already deceased, so I figured I was pretty safe.”

“I could just leave, then. Because you’ve used up your allotment of jump scares with me, mister,” she said threateningly. Rhaella was somewhat satisfied to see Jesse’s look change to one of chastised amusement.

“Please don’t leave. It’s nice to have someone to talk to; I’ve been alone for a long time.” 

That triggered something that had been nagging her. “Why are you alone, Jesse? Where are the other spirits that should be with you? Someone took the time to bury all of you, so you obviously didn’t blink out by yourself.” 

“Truth be told, I don’t know who did this for us,” he said with a regretful shrug. “I wish I did. But as to why I’m alone, I guess I missed that particular boat. When the Guide came for my brothers, I either wasn’t paying attention or wasn’t here yet. I’ve been waiting ever since.” He stopped, his full lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout. “I guess she’s been busy, to have left me here. I would never have thought she would forget me.”

Rhaella looked over at him curiously. He was actually much harder to see outside the ship, in the brighter light. The sunlight made it more difficult to make out his lines or see the expression on his face, but she could tell he was sad as he mused about this entity that had not come for him. “Who is ‘The Guide’? I’ve never heard that title before.”

Jesse didn’t answer at first, and she was about to ask again when he spoke up. “General Lara Lin. The Guardian of the Balance, and the Guide of Souls. It’s her job to lead the worthy dead to the Undying Lands to be with our brothers. She and I were pretty good friends during the war, and she in fact married a clone commander in secret…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he thought. “She was with her own company of clones - the Dragon Company - the day Order 66 came out. I guess it’s entirely possible they killed her, too.” Jesse stopped speaking and stared at the helmets of his brothers, as well as his own, for a long time. 

“That’s a very interesting name,” Rhaella said in a leading tone, hoping to get Jesse talking again. “She was a Jedi, and yet had the power to lead souls to this ‘Undying Land’ you mentioned?”

“She was never a Jedi,” he said with a shake of his head. “She was a goddess. Tasked with maintaining the balance between the light and dark throughout the whole universe. She offered to help in the war, really just to try and save as many clones as she could, and the Jedi allowed it.” Jesse paused again; it seemed like it cost him more effort to manifest outside, remain visible and audible in the sun and wind. “They wanted her power, her fighting skills, but most of all, her dragon.” He saw Rhaella’s head come up in surprise and curiosity. Jesse smiled, a little pride in his eyes over having known this amazing woman. “She rode into battle on the back of a massive, black, fire breathing dragon. He was like having a super weapon with brains, on top of brawn. They accepted her help without much argument, so I guess she was guilty by association, just for helping the Jedi.”

“If she was a goddess, wouldn’t that make her immortal?” Rhaella was trying to wrap her head around the logic of this story, but then laughed at herself. She was standing here, talking to the ghost of a man who’d died months before, having a conversation like they were good friends. Maybe logic didn’t play into things as much as she’d previously thought.

“That’s what we all believed,” he said quietly. There was disappointment and perhaps even a little fear in his voice, as he considered the ramifications of her remaining alive, but not coming to lead him on to whatever land the dead went to. He just couldn’t believe that she could be dead, murdered by her own loyal clones.

A particularly hard gust of wind blew around the corner of the Venator’s prow, knifing its way through Rhaella’s snow gear. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, her teeth chattering a bit. Glancing at Jesse, she said, “I’ve got to get out of this wind. Come on, Jesse. I’ve got work to do. Walk and talk.” Rhaella moved into the ship’s interior quickly, working her way back to the spot she’d left the previous day. She worked steadily for hours, Jesse sticking close to her and often telling her what was behind the wall panels before she cracked it open. He was actually fairly useful as an assistant, and Rhaella found his company comforting and entertaining. He must have been a hoot to hang out with in life, she thought to herself while he nattered on about old times with his brothers. 

She finished another day with him, this time more companionably than before, as they chatted about the war, his life as a soldier, and her experiences both with the war and now the Empire. At one point he asked her if everything the clones had suffered through was for nothing - the Empire didn’t sound all that great. It didn’t seem that the lives of the galaxy had been improved through its work, and truly, he heard hints of dictator-like rule in her words. She shrugged. She was a nobody, her family of no consequence. They just wanted to make an honest living and enjoy life. She was here, salvaging this ship to help her sister cover the funds for a new star ship and tuition for higher education. Rhaella didn’t mind the work; in fact she rather enjoyed the sense of adventure and history as she crawled all over shipwrecks and crash sites. She’d learned a lot of things from the places she’d been, the artifacts she’d seen. It wasn’t a life many were lucky to have. 

But she couldn’t deny the things she’d heard about the Empire’s rule. The violence of the stormtroopers. The seeming unfairness of the laws that changed rapidly, practically on a daily basis. The feeling of unhappiness that pervaded the lands she’d been to. The citizens of the galaxy weren’t content with their lives, and the rumors and whispers always led back to the same cause: the Empire. It made her sad to think that everything Jesse and his brothers had been through - their creation in fact - was all for naught. Rhaella could tell the thought bothered the clone, as he retreated into himself after a while. 

It was getting late, and the temperatures were dropping. Rhaella lowered herself back to the ground level, and packed her things to head back to the Tecova. She glanced over at Jesse and invited him to go with her, get out of the cold, as naturally as if he were as real as she, and she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening in shock, afraid she had just insulted him mightily. “I’m so sorry, Jesse! I… didn’t think before I spoke.” She fell into silence, afraid she would see hurt in his ghostly brown eyes. Instead, she found humor.

“It’s okay, Rhaella. I can come with you, since you so kindly invited me. Though, I’m not very warm company,” he said with a smile and a shrug. 

Rhaella smiled back, cocking her head a little to the side. “You’re still company, and between you and me, I’ve enjoyed today.” She started walking towards her ship, Jesse’s spirit moving along with her, almost as he would have had he been material. When she got to the ramp, she hit the controls to lower it and gain access to the warm interior. She looked over, expecting to find her friend beside her, but Jesse was gone. She felt a crushing disappointment, that maybe he couldn’t leave the vicinity of the old Venator after all. Rhaella glanced at her boots for a moment, huffing softly in dismay, and climbed the ramp to head inside, making sure to stomp the snow off her boots as she went. 

The ramp closed behind her, sealing her into the climate controlled ship like a warm hug. Rhaella carefully unlaced her boots, removed her climbing harness, and then shrugged out of her heavy snow gear, hanging them to dry in the cargo area of the ship with practiced ease. She was down to just a layer of thermal under clothes with a set of overalls for pants, but felt comfortable moving about her very mobile home. She shrugged out of the suspender straps, letting them hang around her hips as she walked into the small commissary area, digging through the conservator for something to eat and drink. 

She was bent over riffling among the pantry shelves when she heard a voice drawl amusingly, “I must say, that’s an interesting look you have going on.” 

Rhaella squawked and jumped, bumping her head on the shelf above. She whirled around, finding Jesse in the room, seemingly leaning against the wall in a very lazy, playboyish manner, and yelled at him, “Jesse, quit karking scaring me like that, or I’ll disinvite you!” Huffing angrily as she slammed the meal container on the counter, she added, “And I’ll leave!”

Jesse laughed, having figured by this time she was going to do no such thing. “You’re cute when you make that noise,” he said, still giving every impression of holding up the wall of the ship with his handsome, muscled, but ghostly physique. 

“If you weren’t already dead, I’d throw knives at you,” Rhaella retorted, some humor evident in her voice. “It’s unfortunate that you’re so charming, and transparent.” She ran her eyes over his spectral body appraisingly. He’d have been so much fun to date, she thought to herself with a little smirk. 

Jesse chuckled softly. “But I am charming, and stunningly handsome. I used to have to beat pretty girls off with a stick, before…” 

“Yeah I bet that did nothing for your fat head though,” Rhaella muttered, somewhat to herself. 

“I’ll have you know, I was one of the most popular clones in the Grand Army of the Republic. Flocks of ladies wanted to hang out with me at 79s,” he bragged lightly.

Rhaella rolled her eyes a bit. “What’s ‘79s?’”

“Only THE best clone bar on Coruscant! My brothers from Torrent Company used to shut that place down, partying so hard. The Corries regularly had to come toss us out.” He smiled at the memories. “The place was amazing, all lit up with neon light, beautiful splashes of color everywhere - even the graffiti outside was pretty in its way. There were always beautiful women there…but truth be told, they tended to avoid our table.” His brown eyes were gazing off into the distance, reliving the nights of loud noise, laughter, dancing and booze.

“They didn’t like your tattoo and bragging on yourself, did they?,” she said with a smirk.

Jesse’s head snapped up in response to her little jab. “Ha, ha. Actually, it was because the General scared all of the competition away. Didn’t matter that she was only there for one clone - they didn’t like sitting near her.” He gave Rhaella a wry smile. 

“The same General that hasn’t come for you? That General?,” she asked a little archly.

“That General, yes. She was so…beautiful and like, lit up the whole bar just by being there. She would dance with us, laugh with us, play her crazy music from Earth, drink with us, like we were all the best of friends. Family, even.” His voice trailed off at the end, as if he couldn’t reconcile the General of that time with the one who’d left him here, forgotten and alone.

Rhaella could hear the tone of bitter confusion and disappointment in his voice. She sighed softly, feeling sorry for her ‘friend’, if that’s what you called him. She still had small moments where her inner person demanded to know what the heck she was doing, talking to him as if he were a real person. As she pulled her food out of the nanowave, she said, “Maybe it’s like you said, and something happened to her on the day of Order 66. Maybe she will still show up to get you.” Rhaella hoped so for his sake. 

She sat down at the small table in her commissary and ate her food, while Jesse moved to stand opposite her, watching her silently. She glanced up at him and briefly felt bad that he couldn’t share her meal. “I’d offer you something to eat, but…,” her words trailing off at the obvious, unspoken fact that he couldn’t.

“It’s okay. I’d rather watch you. It’s nice just to be with someone again.” He leaned against the wall across from her little nook and silently gazed at her.

Rhaella felt his gaze a little unnerving, though meant kindly. “Because staring at me while I chew is so entertaining…” Her conscience chided her for being slightly petty; the poor man was dead and so very alone, after all. She should cut him some slack. 

She scarfed her food down quickly in an effort to sidestep the issue, got up and put her trash and utensils away. Without thinking much, she moved to her bunk and got fresh clothes out, then walked to the refresher for a quick shower. Looking back she said, “I’m gonna clean up. You’re welcome to stay, so long as you stay… out here. No cheating and peeking through walls, okay?” After watching him do just that all day in an effort to help her locate valuable salvage items, she wanted to make the boundaries clear.

Jesse smiled back at her a little playfully. “Well, kriff, you figured me out.” He jerked his chin up, saying, “Go ahead. I’ll behave.”

Rhaella smiled back sincerely. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.” She was true to her word, though if he had peeked, he’d have seen her thousand yard stare as she mechanically washed herself, while dreaming of what it might have been like to have such a man to hold, to shower with. He really was cute, even with the gaudy tattoo. His personality was open, frank and kind, while at the same time humorous. He’d have been fun to be around, she was sure. 

When she came back from the refresher, she looked for Jesse, expecting him to be in the same place she’d left him. When he didn’t readily appear, she called to him, wondering if he’d gone back to the Tribunal, or wherever he went when she wasn’t around. He didn’t answer, and she felt a surge of disappointment. Oh well, she thought. Guess I should get some rest while I have the chance. She snuggled into her small bunk, pulling the covers up to her neck and turned to face the wall. She sighed in comfort at finally being able to stretch out, even if the mattress was thin, and opened her eyes one last time while mentally reviewing her bedtime checklist. 

She was met with the sight of two spectral brown eyes staring back into hers and flinched the tiniest bit. By now she was more or less used to Jesse’s unpredictable appearances. She assumed he was doing it as something of a joke at this point, and he grinned at her mischievously. “If you were real, I’d have decked you right in that cute nose.”

“If I were real, it would be hard to punch me while I kissed you,” he said with a smile. 

“And who said I would let you kiss me?,” Rhaella sputtered back at him with a small laugh. 

“It’s just an inevitable thing - beautiful women can’t resist my smile.” He flashed her a winning smile and she laughed harder.

“Evidently beautiful women excluding that General you keep bringing up.”

Jesse chuckled. “She was a singular case. Besides, Rex would have probably never forgiven me if I tried.” 

“Rex? That Captain you’ve asked about several times? Your friend?” She seemed to recall that was one of the names he’d dropped when they first met. 

“Yes, Captain Rex. They were married in secret at the beginning of the war. Love at first sight. Luckiest clone I ever met.” He sighed a little remembering a life that had slipped away.

“You know, typically if a guy is interested in someone, he doesn’t fill the conversation up with talk of another woman. Just a little life tip,” Rhaella added dryly. 

“I should remember that for the next time I’m alive,” he said with a chuff. “You really are, you know.”

“What?” Rhaella was drifting off into sleep, unable to withstand the pull as her eyes closed. 

“Beautiful,” Jesse murmured. “Sleep well, Rhaella,” he said as her eyes closed and she gave out a peaceful sigh. 

Rhaella woke the next morning feeling mostly rested, with the odd sensation of having been held lovingly while she slept. She hadn’t been snuggled like that in years, not since her last boyfriend ghosted her. It was a warm, happy feeling, and she strongly suspected it had something to do with her new friend, which was strange considering he couldn’t manifest in such a way as to physically touch her. As she rolled over to get a glimpse of the weak, cold sun peaking through her windscreen, she wondered where he’d gone to. 

“You talk in your sleep,” she heard an amused voice quip from the area cockpit. 

“Well, polite people don’t generally point it out. Did no one ever teach you manners?” Rhaella climbed out of her bunk and moved to the refresher to start her day. 

“I recall that was an elective offered, but I wanted to learn how to blow things up, shoot well and study pick up lines more.” He was rewarded with a low snort from the midship behind him. He liked making her laugh; it made him feel almost alive again. “How long will you actually be here?,” Jesse asked casually, turning to stand and seeing her pulling her suspenders over her shoulders. The ghostly clone stopped to appreciate the image of her slowly snapping one of them tight, as she smiled at him a little coquettishly. He dreaded the thought of her leaving, when he would be alone again.

Rhaella’s face darkened a little at the question. “I’m not sure… a few more days at least. There’s only so much I can pack away on here before I end up over the weight limits, and after today’s haul, I’ll probably be far and away over my earnings goal.” She saw his face tighten, unhappy at the news that their time would come to an end sooner than later. “I was wondering, Jesse…is there anybody you can think of I could contact, that might be able to find that General? If she could help you, I mean.” She was loathe to leave him here alone; she already felt somewhat responsible for him, invested in his happiness. 

“I don’t know. Everyone associated with her was either a Jedi or a clone. If they all turned on her, I don’t know how you’d find her.” His face fell, the lack of options stinging a bit.

“Hmmm. Well, maybe something will come to us while we work. Or maybe we will just get lucky, and she’ll realize she left something important behind here.” For sure, Rhaella was sickened at the thought of Jesse having to remain here, when it was time for her to leave. 

After working for several hours without much in the way of conversation, Rhaella finally decided to ask Jesse something she’d been wondering. “Can you still touch things? I mean, like a solid person would?” Her look was full of simple curiosity, if not slightly out of a small - tiny - vein of selfish interest. 

Jesse laughed softy. “You’re wondering what it would feel like if I could touch you, aren’t you?,” he said with a playful, truly beautiful grin. Rhaella felt her heart skip a couple of beats, seeing his flirtatious smile. 

“Maybe a little… It felt like you had, when I woke up this morning.” She rushed to qualify the statement at the naughty light that came into his eyes. “I mean, it felt like you held me while I slept. …It was … nice.” She looked at him a little hopelessly and shrugged.

He smiled again, though it was a softer, slightly bitter expression. “I can’t. I’m not alive, so nothing to be solid with.” His mouth curved up on one side and he added, “I guess what you felt was just my charming personality wishing it could have held you.”

Rhaella simply stared back at him, finding no words to say to that. It was heartbreaking, hearing him try to maintain some semblance of laughter and positivity at his situation. She felt for him badly, if not for herself and what she was missing out on. She decided to change the subject. “Your armor isn’t quite what I remember the clone trooper armor looking like. Why is it different?”

“I was an ARC Trooper. Special training, heavier armor with double pauldrons for protection. We were like clone commandos, but the lite version, heavier on tactical thinking.”

“I see. Were there a lot of ARC Troopers?,” she asked curiously.

“No. There were only about one hundred of us, in an army of millions. We got shared out between a lot of different units, depending on the mission. My Company produced quite a few ARCs, probably because Rex had gotten ARC Trooper training too, and knew the value of it, the qualities to look for in a candidate.” He sighed. “Rex was the closest thing to a father I ever knew. And a brother at the same time.” His voice was a little flat, acknowledging feelings for a man he’d never get to see again. 

“He sure sounds like a good leader, from all you’ve said. And a bit of a renegade too, if he got married to a general in secret. I’m not sure I’ve heard a story like that about the troopers - I thought you were all bred to obey orders without question.” She was a little startled when Jesse’s tone changed to one of slightly offended defensiveness.

“You know, we could think for ourselves. We weren’t just mindless drones with no feelings or wants of our own.” His face showed a heavy dose of bitterness. “People treated us like we were just numbers, even some of the Jedi. But to each other, we were brothers, individuals, with our own personalities, dreams, desires… That kind of thing used to make Fives so karking mad when he thought about it.” He huffed into a broody silence, starting at the wall in front of them.

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I didn’t mean to upset you. How could anybody see you as just a number after spending even five minutes with you?,” Rhaella asked gently. She wanted to reach out and comfort him so badly, and her hand moved before she thought better of it. All she felt was air. 

Jesse caught her gesture and smiled at her a little sadly. “Some people were good about treating us right. General Skywalker valued us as individuals. Master Yoda did too, supposedly. General Kenobi was always respectful, but then he worked with Cody, so there’s no question he knew we weren’t just copy paste robots. It’s that garbage thinking like the rest of the galaxy, that made me get this tattoo. Or Fives his. Or any of us really, decorating our armor, getting ink, picking our names. Because the Kaminoans did treat us like numbers, and called us by our CT numbers, never our names. They were so dehumanizing,” he said with something of a little snarl. 

“I’m glad there were some leaders that saw you as the men you were,” she said softly. 

The unlikely pair worked the rest of the day with minimal conversation, simply content with each other’s company. At the end of the day, as the sun started to set again and it got colder, Rhaella dropped down from the spot she’d been working on and got her gear stowed. She and Jesse headed back to the Tecova together, to warm up and rest. 

Thoughts on how she could help Jesse whirled in her mind. There had to be some small way she could reach out and find someone. She had some contacts that were on the shadier side of business; maybe they would have heard something about dealings with other clones or a missing Republic General. As she snuggled up in her blankets, with Jesse laid there next to her watching her sleep, her last thought was perhaps she could throw a random comm out into the Void on channel 00. Old stories told that that channel was heard by all manner of other creatures, even far away galaxies not yet explored. Her father had told her once that you could call up space whales using channel 00. Looking into Jesse’s warm but ethereal brown eyes as she drifted off, she thought to herself with a small smile, ‘If I can find a space whale on that channel, surely I can find a universe-traveling goddess of the dead.’

The next morning, as soon as she woke, she moved to the cockpit and comm box. Jesse wasn’t on the ship, and she wondered briefly where he’d disappeared to, but it made her little chore a little easier. She dialed in channel 00 and hesitated before she spoke. “This message is for General Lara Lin, wherever you are. ARC Trooper Jesse got left behind, and is all alone. Please find him and help him. He deserves better than this.” She stopped to think about her message for a minute… should she repeat it? Was she crazy for what she was doing, for a ghost? Had this all been a hallucination? The speaker crackled softly, almost as if someone had joined the line, and Rhaella held her breath. Nothing answered her back, however, and she let out her breath with a disappointed sigh. Well, she’d tried. She leaned over and ordered the computer to continue playing the message in bursts every hour. Maybe it would get picked up and sent on to some entity that could do something.

She got dressed and geared up, and went back to the ship to work. It was some time before she saw Jesse. She was quietly moving down old corridors, working her way into old rooms and chambers, looking for electronics that were in good enough shape to salvage. She shoved her way into one room and took note of her surroundings. It was a bunk room. It must have been the clone quarters on the ship, where the men were berthed. She heard a sound that could have been a sigh, and moved toward it. Sure enough, around a corner on a bunk that was still intact and fairly free from damage, sat Jesse. He was bent over, holding his face in his hands, and Rhaella could tell just by the set of his shoulders he was deeply upset, most likely crying. She almost left, wanting to spare him the embarrassment of being seen in a private moment, but as she turned to retrace her steps, he called her name.

“Rhaella, it’s okay. You don’t have to go.”

“You weren’t on the Tecova this morning. Are you okay?,” she asked gently.

“No, I’m dead. And I’m stuck here alone, with no way to fix things!,” he said with his voice full of despair. 

She had no reply for that; he wasn’t wrong. There was nothing cute or funny about his situation, and she wished dearly that she could help him. She was startled to realize she had real feelings for this man, who wasn’t even alive. Rhaella was invested in what happened to him now. “How can I help you, Jesse? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? It hurts, seeing you suffer,” she said, her voice pleading. “I sent out a message on comm channel 00 this morning, asking for anyone to find the General and tell her you’re here and alone.” She saw his eyes lift to hers in surprise. “I mean,” she sputtered, feeling a little idiotic about it now, “my dad always told me you could contact space whales on that channel. If you can find a space whale, surely you can find a goddess?” She stopped talking suddenly, feeling like a fool as he watched her.

Jesse smiled softly after a moment. He was touched that she cared enough to try for him, but he had little faith that her efforts would be rewarded. “Thanks, Rhaella. Thank you for trying.” He stood and moved to stand in front of her. “I wish I could touch you, hug you.” He raised a hand to her upper arm, just at the point where it joined her shoulder, and fanned his fingers over her. They passed right through her, not even the slightest hint of his touch reached her. Jesse closed his eyes in despair and sighed, standing silent for a long time. “There’s an electronics room about four doors down on the left that has some good stuff. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll let you work alone today.” 

Rhaella was disappointed, knowing her day wouldn’t be filled with his playful, joking banter. His presence had already become important to her in the span of four days. A part of her couldn’t imagine her life without him now, as if she’d lived her entire life on this crash site with him. It was clear Jesse wanted to be alone, however, so she nodded and left him to continue working. He’d been right about the electronics room; she found a veritable gold mine of strippable tech, and filled her bag with the items before making her way back to her ship at the end of the day. It had felt very empty, working without him by her side.

As soon as Rhaella stepped inside the warmth of the Tecova, she looked up to see Jesse leaning against the wall, watching her. She gave him a little smile, simply happy to see him, and worked at getting out of her layers of clothes. Down to just her overalls and thermals again, she got herself some dinner, and sat down at the table. Jesse had watched her with a hunger that was slightly unnerving in its intensity. “You’re staring at me like a nexu tracking a chicken, Jesse. What’s up?”

“I can’t help it. You’re just…beautiful. And quite attractive in those overalls with the suspenders down around your hips.” Her eyes came up in surprise at the baldness of his stated attraction. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could touch you right now.” 

Her mouth had gone dry at the sincerity and need in his voice, and her body actually gave a lurching throb at the immediately lustful thought of where that touch might lead. Only a blind fool would deny that Jesse was handsome and had the body of a god, even if it was immaterial and nonphysical. Rhaella stared back at him mutely, the wheels turning in her mind so obvious to him that Jesse smirked at her a little triumphantly. 

“Dammit, Jesse, what am I supposed to do with that knowledge?! Now I won’t be able to function with that in my head!” She stood as she pounded her fists on the table in annoyance and stalked over to the refuse bin to dispose of her trash and clean her utensils. She cleaned the fork, knife and spoon with angry, curt movements that spoke volumes about her level of aggravation and sexual frustration, thanks to his confession. Drying them, she half slammed them back in their drawer, shooting daggers with her eyes at Jesse from behind the sink. Finally she jerked her gaze away and sighed. “I’m going to get a shower. ALONE. Sans a partner. And if it takes me a while, you just remember it’s your damn fault.” 

Rhaella saw with some satisfaction that his eyes widened in surprise, as he tried to puzzle out if that was an invitation or merely a statement of fact. She smiled as she kicked off the overalls, revealing her form beneath, sheathed only in thermal underwear. She walked over to her bunk and collected clean clothes and a towel, then seemed to pause a brief moment to think. Jesse watched in silent awe as she reached down for the hem of her thermal shirt and pulled it over her head, dropped it to the floor, then shimmied out of the thermal leggings. Rhaella picked up her bundle of clean garments and turned to face him, a truly wicked little gleam in her eyes. She walked towards him as he stood, his arms crossed over his chest, his brown eyes wide and feasting on the view in front of him. “Excuse me. I need past you.”

Jesse stepped aside, cocking an eyebrow at her as she gave him an imperious little nod and walked by. She knew he was staring at her butt, and heard him give out a little huff of surprise at the tattoo on her back. It was a type of panther that lived on her home world, striped in an exotic way and reaching out with one claw tipped paw to snatch at someone, it’s mouth open in a snarling roar, showing it’s fangs. “Like what you see?,” she asked him a little coyly. 

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman,” he said, his voice a little gruff. She saw him swallow thickly, shifting a little uncomfortably, but still staring at her cute little tush. 

“Come tell me that in here, then.” The water was warm as she stepped under it, and she somehow felt rather than saw his presence behind her in the refresher. She lathered up her hair with shampoo, holding the sudsy mop up and showing him the back of her neck, where the cat’s tail ended in a curl, just at the nape of her hairline. He’d not noticed it before because of her thick pony tail. Rhaella picked up the bar of soap and ran it over the curves of her body, making sure to shoot little glances his way as the bar glided over her smooth surfaces. She saw Jesse’s Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallowed again around a mouth gone dry with ghostly lust. “I wish you could touch me right now, too,” she said in a rather sultry tone.

“You could touch yourself, though…,” he murmured. 

“I could, couldn’t I?,” she said with a playful smirk. She ran her fingers over her full, perky breasts, feeling the nipples rise, imagining it was his touch rather than hers. She heard him sigh with want, even as she sighed with arousal. “You like that?,” she asked him, her voice purring.

“I do. Those are some nice boobs, so soft, so bouncy. I’d play with them for hours. I’d suck and lick those perky little nipples until you slapped me away.” His eyes were so dark now from passion, she could barely tell the different between his pupils and irises, and she knew he was not making it up.

“And what about…here? If I touched myself here, what would you want to do?,” she asked as her fingers trailed down her stomach to her center, gently playing over her swollen clit and slick folds. She was so turned on by this man who couldn’t even physically touch her, she was surprised she wasn’t already having a runaway climax at how weirdly erotic this byplay was. 

Jesse moaned softly, his lips slightly open as if he could already taste her, smell her aroused scent. He watched as she moved her index finger around her clit in tight little circles, sighing in pleasure at her own touch. She propped one foot up on a small footstool in the shower, to give herself better access, and he saw her slip two fingers inside of herself, curving them to hit that perfect spot. Rhaella’s head tipped back in pleasure and she moaned softly to herself. Jesse’s heart burned at not being able to partake, or feel what she felt. She was so beautiful, so kind to him, and he wanted to be able to pleasure her, give her this rather than make her do it herself. But she seemed to be fully enjoying it, showing off for him, so he drank in the sight of her fucking herself with her own delicate fingers. He could see she was so wet for him she was dripping, and it did things to his mind as he watched. 

Rhaella’s senses were exploding, so turned on by this exhibition for Jesse. Her body screamed at her in frustration that he wasn’t the one kissing her, touching her, fucking her with his fingers. She longed for his lips on hers, or his tongue on her clit. Her body cried out for the sensation of him sucking at her gently, burying his face in her sex and fondling her breasts. The mental images of him doing these things drove her over the edge, and as she felt her own touch caress her G spot and circle her clit just so, Rhaella suddenly felt the tightly bound coil within her snap. She came with something almost like a roar, the scream tearing from her throat, while with her imagination she felt and saw Jesse holding her against his body as he thrust his hard cock into her over and over, losing himself in a hot jet of release within her warm body. For a moment the vision was so real she could truly feel it, lost within the dream, but then she felt her knees give out and she slid to the floor of the shower in a crumpled, exhausted heap, her eyes closed in bliss. 

“You’re gonna drown down there…,” she heard him say a little dryly, his voice still husky with excitement. 

“I’d die happy though, and just maybe we could really do that, if we were both ghosts?” She cracked one eye open to peek at him from her spot on the floor.

He smiled at her wryly. “I’m not sure it works that way, but I’m game if you are.” He laughed softly. “Come on, I don’t want you to drown, even for the price of mind blowing sex with that body of yours. Get dry and let me give a very poor impression of snuggling you while you sleep.” He watched as she stood slowly, shakily, and turned off the water, then toweled off. She got dressed and headed to her bunk, where she got under the covers and looked into his mesmerizing brown eyes. 

Rhaella could feel sleep stealing up behind her, to tow her under its dark cloak. As her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off, she whispered, “I think I love you, Jesse.”

“It’s the tattoo, I know.” He was rewarded with a sleepy giggle as she let go and sighed in sleep. He knew she couldn’t hear him, but Jesse whispered back to her. “I think I love you, too, Rhaella.”

On the last day, as Rhaella packed her gear and secured all the salvaged scrap in the hold of her ship, Jesse sat at her table in the midship area, silently watching her. They were both so broken up over this farewell; she was almost willing to tell him kriff it, I’ll just live here with you! The feelings in her heart were confused and frantic, but she was pretty sure now she loved him - a man she couldn’t touch, who had no corporeal body, but whose soul was the most kind and genuine that she’d ever met before. 

There had been no word on the comm channel, and Rhaella assumed that her plea had gone into the Void completely unheard and unnoticed. No one would be coming to help Jesse, and it made her feel shattered and sick. Tears filled her eyes as the thoughts whirled in her head, and she quickly sniffled softly and wiped at her cheeks, hoping he didn’t see. Crying over the situation wouldn’t help, she grumbled at herself mentally. Don’t make him feel worse than he already does. 

Rhaella had a couple items stacked just inside the old Venator that she needed to get, before she could leave. She got her cold weather gear on, and walked outside to collect them, Jesse following quietly behind. It took her a few trips, but on the last, she stopped in front of his helmet one last time. She felt his presence as he stood next to her. 

“I wish I could have met you in another time and place, Jesse,” she said softly.

“Because the thought of what I could have done to your body if we had, is going to haunt you for the rest of your life, isn’t it?,” he replied with his typical naughty grin.

Rhaella laughed. “It probably will,” she agreed. She turned to him, wanting to see his eyes. “I’m glad I met you, no matter how much or what I’ll regret down the line. And I’ll keep trying to find that general, to get you help. I’ll come back here to check on you. I won’t leave you alone, Jesse, I promise.” Her eyes again welled with tears at the awful thought of leaving, seeing his broken expression playing across her mind.

“I’ll be okay, Rhaella,” he said gently, reaching out to touch her shoulders, then putting his hands back down. 

“But I won’t be,” she said thickly, tears rising in her eyes. 

They stood before the little gravesite for a good while, the cold wind whipping around the edges of the ship’s hulk. She didn’t even notice the cutting blasts in her misery. As she was about to turn back to her ship, there was a distant call on the wind. It sounded like a scree, and a soft barking roar. Jesse seemed to have heard it too, and both looked up to the sky, hunting for the source of the sound. Jesse’s face lit up with something like joy, and he looked to Rhaella excitedly. “I think that might be my ride finally come to get me.”

Rhaella’s eyes widened with surprise and hope. Could it be? Could her message have gotten through after all? She heard the faint rustle of great leathery wings and saw a large black creature approaching from the distant rear of the Tribunal. It soared overhead, its massive bulk casting a great shadow over them, as the colossal animal over flew their position, his long tail streaming behind long after his body had passed over. It banked in the distance and came back, stretching his enormous feet toward the earth, his great talons curving into the snow and soil as he settled before them with a grumble like the tearing of metal. 

As the dragon lowered his head towards them, his great fiery golden eyes watching them knowingly, a slim, tall woman with a veritable mane of curly brown hair hopped off the giant creature, walking through the snow towards the pair. She was dressed in cream colored riding breeches with suede inner knee patches, and a pair of tall, worn brown riding boots that came to her knees. She had on a heavy hooded parka for warmth and the wind whipped the edges of the garment around her, lifting her curls and making them dance around her face. The woman had beautiful, luminescent blue eyes that were shining with warmth at Rhaella and Jesse, and her smile could have melted the moon’s snow. 

“You sure took long enough, General,” Jesse said with a laugh. He walked straight up to General Lin and hugged her, hearing Rhaella’s startled gasp behind him. He’d actually hugged the General. She had seen it; he had been able to make physical contact with her.

“I’m sorry for the delay, Jess,” she said with a soft drawling accent that surprised Rhaella, as she pulled away from the clone. “I’m sorry for everything, the whole damn mess. You all deserved better.” Lara looked at the woman standing awkwardly beside him, and smiled. “Who’s your friend?,” she asked, as if it were perfectly normal for Jesse to be a ghost, and yet have a friend.

“I’m Rhaella,” she said in reply, a little overwhelmed by the dragon and the General, seeing now what Jesse had meant about the girls in the bar not wanting to be near this…goddess. “I, um… came to salvage the ship. It’s what I do…,” she murmured, her voice trailing off. 

Lara smile at her warmly. “Thank you, Rhaella, for finding him, keeping him company, and calling for help. Your kindness and compassion will never be forgotten.”

“I just…I didn’t want to leave him here, alone,” she said in a rush, hoping the General would understand her intentions, her reasoning, without explanation. 

“I understand. Jesse is a very true and beloved friend of mine, and now it’s time I get him back to his brothers.” She smiled at Jesse with real affection and love. “They’ve been waiting for you.” Looking back at Rhaella, though, her brows knit in something of a question. “I think, though, you wanted to know something about Jesse?”

Rhaella’s face showed her confusion. “Know something? I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, shaking her head.

She saw Jesse’s face light up with a knowing expression though, and he stepped toward her, reaching out for her as for a hug. Rhaella suddenly felt the warmth of his strong hands on her shoulders, as they slid around to join behind her, and he pulled her into the heat of his chest as he snugged his head next to hers. He was real, just for this moment. He was solid, present, and truly holding her just as she’d imagined, his muscular body pulled tightly to hers in her bulky snow gear. Jesse pulled back for the briefest moment and then leaned in to kiss Rhaella on the lips, feeling her melt at his touch, responding in kind to his mouth on hers. This was nice, worth waiting for, a memory she’d never forget. 

Behind them the General snickered softly in a laugh and said, “Careful Jesse, don’t want to suck the life out of her.” 

“This is the last kiss I’m ever going to feel General, kriff off!,” he growled back with a laugh. 

When Jesse and Rhaella finally parted, it was obvious their attachment would be rooted in a love that lasted forever, no matter how brief. It was a unique, singular love founded in respect and friendship. Lara smiled to see it; these days the people of this galaxy needed to dig deep and hold on tightly to the good things, as evil took hold in every corner of every world. Jesse smiled at Rhaella lovingly, studying her eyes as he held her shoulders under his hands.

“Thank you, Rhaella, for not running away when you met me. For braving it out and sticking with me. I’ll never forget you,” Jesse said softly. “Keep my helmet with you; it would be better for you to have it, rather than falling apart here.” 

“I’ll never forget you, either, Jesse.” She wasn’t sure what to say at this moment, especially knowing he was gifting her something so important to his memory. ‘I love you?’ ‘Could you make him real again, so I can keep him forever?’ She didn’t think either of those would do her much good, so she opted for something that would make him laugh, one last time. “Maybe the next time we meet, you’ll have learned some of those manners…”

Jesse laughed, as she’d hoped. “But then you wouldn’t know me anymore! Maybe the next time I see you, I’ll show you why I was so popular with the ladies…” Lara snorted behind them and tried to turn the laugh into a bland cough, and Rhaella laughed at his brag.

In her customary drawl, Lara said, “Alright, Jesse. Save some mysteries for the future. Let’s get you home.” Turning to Rhaella, she again thanked her for helping Jesse. “If you ever need a place to live, in these troubled times, here are some coordinates that might help you out.” Looking back at Jesse and then to the girl, she said, “You’ll meet again, someday. Count on it.” She smiled at the girl, and turned to walk back to her dragon. 

Jesse looked at Rhaella for a long moment, no longer solid; he couldn’t touch her now, and he knew it was time to leave. “I’ll wait for you, and watch for you. And I’ll see you again, Rhaella. But not yet. Have a full life, be happy. And someday, I’ll be there.” 

He gave her a charming one sided smirk, winked at her, then turned to follow the General, climbing up on the back of the massive beast, settling in behind his leader. The dragon spread his mighty, leathery wings and hauled himself skyward with a shove, giving out a loud squawk in farewell. 

Rhaella watched as they disappeared into the far distance, then sighed, feeling empty. She walked over to Jesse’s grave and simply stared at it for a long time, the memory of his warm smile, his flirty joking and finally his strong hug and soft kiss playing through her mind. She reached out and took the blue and white helmet with the Republic rondel off the pike gently, holding it to her body like an embrace. “I’ll meet you again, Jesse. Just, not yet.” 

The girl turned and climbed aboard her ship, closing the doors and securing her bounty for travel. The engines whined as she powered up, and as the darkness of the sunset settled over the once proud Venator, Rhaella turned on the ship’s search lights for safety. The Tecova rose smoothly into the air, giving her a final view of the remains of the Jedi cruiser as they spread out before her. Rhaella took in the majesty of what once was, the ghost of the Republic’s former greatness represented in the fallen destroyer. Then the Tecova turned, heading away from the Tribunal. She hoped no one ever found the ship after her; she hoped it would stay silent and peacefully resting, a testament to the era that had been lost the day she crashed. The dead deserved their rest, the memory of their sacrifices preserved by those that cared.

Glancing over at the copilot’s seat, she gave Jesse’s helmet a little smile. Maybe once she dropped off her haul and saw her sister off to university, she would check out those coordinates the General had given her. She programmed in the route for her home world, and the Tecova disappeared into the blue worm hole of hyperspace, leaving the small, uncharted moon behind, free of its ghosts. Rhaella smiled at that final thought. 

#submission #pineapple’s 2023 halloween party

[fashionbooksmilano]

Dards d'art

Dards d'Art

Mouches, moustiques...Modernitè

catalogue par Michèle Moutashar

Musée Arles, 1999, 198 pages, 20x30cm, Rel. à spirale, ISBN 0982-291, L'ouvrage a la forme d'un papillon

euro 45,00

email if you want to buy [email protected]

Arles, Musée Réattu et Musée Carmarguais, 9 juillet - 10 octobre 1999 organisée par la Ville d'Arles

Chef-lieu des Bouches-du-Rhône, commune la plus étendue de France (elle couvre 75 000 hectares) et, en l'occurrence, capitale des moustiques ­ qui n'ont pas leur pareil pour transformer le plus bucolique des pique-niques en scène de Starship Troopers ­ Arles a temporairement trouvé la solution en localisant au musée Réattu l'exposition «Dards d'art». Sous-titrée «mouches, moustiques" modernité», celle-ci propose un survol panoramique de la rencontre entre le monde des insectes et celui des arts, photo, peinture, vidéo, installation et sculpture confondues. Où l'on observe en effet, à grand renfort de pointures réquisitionnées pour l'occasion (Alechinsky, Calder, Man Ray, Dora Maar, Miró, Annette Messager, Germaine Richier"), que toutes ces petites bestioles rampantes ou volantes sont à peu près autant une source de peurs phobiques pour le vulgum pecus qu'un inépuisable vivier d'inspiration créatrice, circonscrite ici au XXe siècle.

Ce catalogue d'exposition de Michèle Moutashahar (Musée Réattu, Arles, 1999) se présente comme un gros papillon bleu aux ailes repliées. Le dos du livre est constitué de spirales, une fois ouvert, il figure le corps du papillon. Le titre, construit sur un calembour et des allitérations, et la fantaisie de la reliure sont autant d'accroches destinées à piquer la curiosité du lecteur, convié à une rencontre entre l'art contemporain et les insectes.

01/02/24

#dards d'art #art exhibition catalogue #Musée Réattu Arles 1999 #Michèle Moutashar #art et insectes #mouches #mustiques #modernité #Calder #Alechinsky #Man Ray #Miró #Dora Maar #Jiri Kolar #fashionbooksmilano

[mystacoceti]

Recently I had occasion to read Robert Heinlein's Starship Troopers, a book that surely provided Norman Spinrad with one of his models for The Iron Dream. Thanks to Norman it isn't necessary to say much concerning Heinlein's politics. I'm sure that Heinlein himself would reject the label so many of his critics would pin on him, that of "totalitarian." He might, after a bit of qualifying, go along with "authoritarian" wince his story does make such an issue of implicit obedience to authority. What is embarrassing to me about this book is not its politics as such but rather its naivete, its seeming unawareness of what it is really about. Leaving politics aside and turning to that great gushing source of our richest embarrassments, sex, I find Starship Troopers to be, in this respect as well, a veritable treasury of unconscious revelations. The hero is a homosexual of a very identifiable breed. By his own self-caressing descriptions one recognizes the swaggering leather boy in him most flamboyant form. There is even a skull-and-crossbones earring in his left ear. On four separate occasions, when it is hinted in the book that women have sexual attractions, the only such instances in the book, each time within a single page the hero picks a gratuitous fistfight with the other servicemen—and he always insists on what a lark it is. The association is reflexive and invariable. Sexual arousal leads to fighting. At the end of the book the hero has become a captain and his father is a sergeant serving under him. this is possible because his mother died in the bombing of Buenos Aires by Bugs, who are the spiritual doppelgangers of the human warriors. In an earlier captain-sergeant relation there is a scene intended to be heartwarming, in which two men make a date to have a boxing match. Twice the hero makes much of the benefits to be derived from seeing or suffering a lashing. Now all of this taken together is so transparent as to challenge the possibility of its being an unconscious revelation. Yet I'm sure that it was, and that moreover any admirer of the book would insist that it's just my dirty mind that has sullied a fine and patriot paean to military life. So why bring it up at all? For two reasons. The first is that such sexual confusions make the politics of the book more dangerous by infusing them with the energies of repressed sexual desires. It may be that what turns you on is not the life of an infantryman, but his uniform. A friend of mine has assured me he knows of several enlistments directly inspired by a reading of Starship Troopers. How much simpler it would have been for those lads just to go and have their ears pierced. The second related reason is that it is a central purpose of art, in conjunction with criticism, to expand the realm of conscious choice and enlarge the domain of the ego. It does this by making manifest what was latent, a process that can be resisted, but not easily reversed. And so even those who dislike what I have had to say may yet find it useful as a warning of how things appear to other eyes, and be spared, in consequence, needless embarrassment.

from "The Embarrassments of Science Fiction", Thomas M. Disch

#pearl diver #very good collection of essays. general recommendation to anyone interested in post-60's sf and related topics

[cuppajj]

Lore notes on the Mech Pilot AU

I was going to put this under the initial post but it got a little long, so I'm putting it here instead!

The TL;DR is that the mech pilot au involves giant robots fighting other giant robots, as well as fending off alien attacks, exploring the universe, with a little bit of space gods thrown in.

Earth and Cybertron are one in the same (but for simplicity's sake I'll call it Cybertron), though the geographical features and regions are cybertronian with the flora and fauna of earth. Cybertron has colony worlds that stretch throughout the rest of the solar system and beyond, so planets like Caminus and Velocitron still exist. When the war happens, it's on Cybertron and other colonies and planets, and the two sides fight with giant mecha (that are either manufactured or retrieved as endoskeletons/base frames from the planet's core).

Primus and Unicron are supernatural entities that form the cores of two respective planets. While primus is the core of cybertron/earth and is the source of naturally forged mecha skeletons, Unicron is the core of a dead, distant, monster-infested planet that slowly traverses the universe in search of his brother. Sometimes these unicronic beasts will find Cybertron, and the best mech pilots will rise to eliminate them.

Titans are directly spawned from Primus, and the only case of a fully sentient mecha. Curiously though, they can create artificial human bodies to masquerade as an ordinary mech pilot. Some are the size of entire cities, though others are only the size of massive starships. Long ago, the city titans served as as vessels tasked to form colonies on other planets, while the starship titans were talked to chart the edges of the known universe. However, some have remained on Cybertron, and their artificial human consciousnesses walk among ordinary society. Their speakers are real humans who attain cybernetic attachments to help them last longer with their titan, but they are still mortal and die after thousands of years.

Mech pilots are situated in the chest, with the eyes of the mecha serving as cameras they can see in the cockpit. The mechs themselves are divided into classes categorized by size, the smallest (known as the miniature class) being 20 ft and the largest (known as the leviathan class) being 200 ft. Their structure is also determined by their purpose. Bulkier mecha meant that are military grade or meant for hard labor will be bigger and have wider cockpits complete with a bigger dashboard, but smaller/slimmer mecha meant for less labor intensive scientific/exploration/stealth work will have narrower cockpits with smaller dashboards. The mecha are more greebled than their transformer counterparts, with more articulating lines, cables, and/or vents, and are in some cases bulkier (especially the commander, bastion, and leviathan class). They can still transform, but the process isn't instantaneous and is mostly reserved for military or labor mecha. Not every human is a mech pilot, but they can become one as long as they're licensed. They technically don't need one, but if you want to abide by the law, it's required.

The spark is the mecha's power source that is situated behind or under the cockpit. The pilot's suit has a fragment of this spark energy as well, that acts as a signature that binds them to said mecha. Pilots can use other mecha, but they will never be as skilled and powerful as they would be if they stuck to the mecha they share the spark signature of. Functionism still exists in this au, and there's a prejudice against those who don't pilot "Primus-born" mecha. Manufactured mecha are built with artificial spark signatures, whereas forged mecha carry spark signatures fro Primus. Most mecha are manufactured, with the primus-born mecha reserved for the most elite pilots, richest buyers, or others who acquire them through different means.

The classes of mecha are as follows: Miniature Class (20-50 ft), Trooper Class (70-80 ft), Cavalier Class (90-100 ft), Bastion Class (110-130 ft), Commander Class (140-170 ft), and Leviathan Class (180-200 ft). The most common military mecha are the Trooper and Cavalier Classes, with the Commander and Bastion Classes piloted by military elites. The rarest was the Leviathan class, which was exclusively for specially-recruited teams which piloted them at once (combiner equivalent). The largest mecha used to be the Bastion Class, but the war introduced the larger Commander and Leviathan classes. Map for scale (using the greatest possible heights for each):

The Autobot and Decepticon war still happened. Optimus and Megatron both pilot commander class armor, the former's being primus-born and the latter's being manufactured. Megatron's mecha was a Bastion Class that was retrofitted into a Commander Class.

The everyday mech pilot usually pilots a miniature or trooper class, though the more affluent pilot cavaliers. Bastions are a rarity, lest you're a pilot meant to work in hard labor. Deep space exploration, mining, and construction work are prominently carried out by manufactured Bastion Class mecha.

The Quintessons are an alien race from a distant world, who once enslaved the cybertronians and exploited the well in which Primus created mecha. They were driven off the planet after the uprising, but they were able to successfully replicate Primus's creation ability on their own world, creating sentient and hostile robots that obey the orders of their masters. They also tamed the local wildlife of their planet, from small creatures to kaiju-sized monstrosities, and will often send them to Cybertronian colonies, Cybertron itself, or elsewhere to wreak havoc or serve their ulterior motive. After the war, much of Cybertron's best mech pilots have banded together to fight this threat, establishing an organization that recruits mech pilots to aid the cause on different levels.

The average joe with a mecha can be paid to help in humanitarian efforts on Cybertron (or sometimes its colonies), but those who are more daring can undergo a two and a half-year training course that prepares them to fight legitimate threats for even higher pay. It can still technically be a part time job, but the requirements to stay part of the organization can be pretty strict, so slacking is heavily discouraged too. The full-timers are those who have undergone the full four year training course to venture into space to seek out and fight threats away from Cybertron or its colonies.

This organization is run by Ultra Magnus, a Commander Class pilot. Elita One and Bumblebee (Bastion and Cavalier respectively) are also officials. Rodimus (Cavalier Class) might be an official too if he wasn't off doing his own thing.

Like in the normal universe, are still post-war skirmishes between Autobots and Decepticons, and all sorts of people with ulterior motives. Even though the war’s over, fighting happens all the time.

Cybertronian society is basically a technologically advanced earth with the same visual urban aesthetic as Cybertron.

Non-cybertronian species such as Quintessons, Nebulans, etc. stay the same.

#this is everything i have right now so I'll make more posts the more lore i come up with #this is like a fusion of gundam and pacific rim with like maybe a wee bit of voltron #mech pilot au #transformers au #maccadam #transformers #side note but im like so close to making lord imperious delirious relevant in this au because i want to do more with him #the temptation is strong man