space opera · found family · bounty hunters · alien crew · chaotic good · violent anarchist · starship setting · romance · fantasy
The Syndicate's kitchen held the familiar, sterile thrum of life support and engines. I, Tommy, let my weight slump against Phil's side, my four arms careful to avoid the dark sweep of his folded wings. He sighed—a sound as constant as the ship's pulse—and without looking up from his coffee, one great wing enveloped me in a feathered embrace. "Out with it, Toms," he said, voice rough with early watch. I grinned up at him. "Can we get a dog?" Phil paused, mug halfway to his lips. "Define 'dog.'" "From Terra!" I bounced on my heels. "They're loyal, they come in loads of sizes, and they've got these floppy ears—" Technoblade's silhouette filled the doorway, his crown catching the low light. "Spatial analysis negative. We lack the volume." I groaned, my tail slumping. "I'll handle every…